“Not at all.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Oh, I know it’s hardly polite to say so, but, firstly, I have the courage of my convictions, and secondly, you were the one who provoked me. Alas, it is true: I do not believe in faithful and eternal love. I’ll let you into a secret. I did once try to love someone; I threw every fiber of my being into it; I prepared myself to heap all my pride and all my hopes onto the object of my love. What a lesson it taught me! Having encouraged my hopes, the object of my love married someone else, who was no more handsome and no more loving than me.”
“What does that prove?” asked Emília.
“It proves that what can and does happen on a daily basis to others happened to me.”
“Yes, but—”
“You must forgive me, but I think it’s in my blood now.”
“Don’t say that. Such things do happen, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again. Will you allow for no exceptions? You need to go deeper into other people’s hearts if you want to find the truth . . . and you will find it.”
“Oh, really!” said Tito, bowing his head and tapping the tip of his shoe with his walking stick.
“I can assure you that it’s true.”
“I doubt it.”
“I feel sorry for a creature like you,” she went on. “If you’ve never known love, you’ve never lived! Is there anything to compare with two souls who adore each other? When love enters your heart, everything is transformed, everything changes, night becomes day, pain becomes pleasure. If you know nothing of these things, you might as well die, because you are the most unfortunate of men.”
“I’ve read as much in books, but I’m still not convinced . . .”
“Have you taken a look around this room?”
“Yes, I looked at one or two things.”
“Did you notice that engraving?”
Tito looked at the engraving she was pointing to.
“I think I would be right in saying,” he said, “that it represents Love taming the wild beasts.”
“Look and learn.”
“What, from the engraver?” asked Tito. “That’s not possible. I’ve seen living engravings. I’ve been the target for many arrows. They can riddle me all over, but I am strong as any Saint Sebastian. I stand firm and do not flinch.”
“Such pride!”
“What could vanquish such pride? Beauty? Not even a Cleopatra. Chastity? Not even a Susanna. Even if you were to combine all the finest qualities in one creature, I would not change. That’s simply how I am.”
Emília stood up and went over to the piano.
“I assume you don’t hate music?” she asked, as she opened the lid.
“No, I love music,” answered Tito, staying where he was. “Although, when it comes to the exponents of music, I only like the good ones. Hearing someone play badly makes me want to see them hanged.”
Emília played the prelude to a symphony. Tito listened with close attention. She really did play divinely.
“So,” she said, getting up, “should I be hanged?”
“No, you should be crowned. You play superbly.”
“That’s another matter on which you are not in the least original. Everyone tells me the same thing.”
“Yes, but nor would I deny the light from the sun.”
At this point, Emília’s aunt came into the room. Emília introduced her to Tito. The conversation took on a more personal, more reserved tone; however, it did not last long, because Tito, suddenly snatching up his hat, announced that he had things to do.
“When will we see you again?”
“Oh, you’ll see me.”
And with that, he left.
Emília followed him with her eyes for some time from the window. Tito, as if indifferent, did not look back.
Just as Emília left the window, Tito met old Diogo, who was heading toward Emília’s house. He appeared to be deep in thought; indeed, so distracted was he that he almost bumped into Tito.
“Where are you off to in this distracted state?” asked Tito.
“Oh, it’s you, Senhor Tito. Have you just come from Dona Emilia’s house?”
“I have.”
“That’s where I’m going. Poor girl, she must be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“Don’t worry, she isn’t,” said Tito coolly.
Diogo shot him a resentful glance.
A silence ensued, during which Diogo played with his watch chain and Tito blew smoke rings with the smoke from his exquisite cigar. One of these rings ended up in Diogo’s face. He coughed and said to Tito:
“Please, Senhor Tito. That’s enough!”
“What’s wrong, my dear sir?” asked Tito.
“Surely you don’t have to blow smoke in my face as well!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. But I don’t understand what you mean by ‘as well.’ ”
“Let me explain,” said Diogo cheerfully. “Give me your arm.”
“Of course.”
And they continued walking along like two old friends.
“I’m ready for your explanation.”
“Here goes. And I want you to be perfectly frank with me. You know that I’m dying of love for Dona Emília. No, don’t argue, just agree. Up until now, everything was going well, then you arrived in Petrópolis.”
“Yes, but—”
“Hear me out. You arrived in Petrópolis and, for reasons known only to you and even though I hadn’t harmed you in any way, you decided to oust me. Ever since then, you’ve been paying court to—”
“My dear Senhor Diogo, this is all pure fantasy. I am not paying court to Dona Emília, nor do I intend to. Have you seen me at her house?”
“You’ve just come from there.”
“Well, it’s the first time I’ve visited her.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Didn’t you hear the way she said goodbye to me yesterday at Azevedo’s house? They were hardly the words of a woman who—”
“That proves nothing. Women, and especially that woman, do not always say what they mean . . .”
“So you think she feels something for me?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Well, it’s news to me.”
“It’s only a suspicion, of course, but she talks of nothing else. She asks me twenty times a day about you and your habits, about your past life and your opinions. As you can imagine, I can only say, ‘I don’t know,’ but I’m beginning to hate you, and you can hardly blame me.”
“Is it my fault that she likes me? But, really, Senhor Diogo, there’s no need to worry. She doesn’t like me, and I don’t like her. Carry on regardless and be happy.”
“Happy! If only I could be! But I don’t believe I can, I’m not made for happiness. Look, Senhor Tito, I love that woman as dearly as life itself. One look from her is worth more to me than a whole year of success and happiness. It’s because of her that I’ve let my business affairs go to pot. Did you not notice the other day that I received a most upsetting letter? Well, I’d lost a lawsuit. And all for what? For her!”
“Does she give you any encouragement?”
“Oh, I don’t understand the girl! One day, she’s so sweet to me that I’m in seventh heaven; the next, her indifference is enough to plunge me into hell. Today, a smile; tomorrow, a look of disdain. She tells me off for not visiting her, and then, when I do visit, she takes about as much notice of me as she does of Ganymede—Ganymede is the name of a little dog I gave her. Yes, she cares as much about me as she does for that dog. She does it on purpose. The girl is a complete enigma.”
“Well, I won’t be the one to solve it, Senhor Diogo. I wish you much happiness. Goodbye.”
And the two men parted. Diogo continued on to Emília’s house, and Tito to Azevedo’s.
Tito had just discovered that he was often in Emília’s thoughts, but this caused not the slightest commotion inside him. Why? We will find that out later on. What we must say, thou
gh, is that the same suspicions had arisen in Adelaide’s mind as in Diogo’s. Her close friendship with Emília allowed her to submit Emília to a frank interrogation and to receive an equally frank confession. On the day after the scene just described, Adelaide told Emília her thoughts.
Emília responded with a laugh.
“I don’t understand you,” said Adelaide.
“It’s perfectly simple,” said Emília. “If you think me capable of falling in love with a friend of your husband’s, you’re wrong. No, I don’t love him. As I said to you when I first set eyes on him, I am determined to have him at my feet. In fact, if I remember rightly, you were the one who laid down that challenge, a challenge I accepted. I have to avenge our sex. It may be vanity on my part, but I believe I can do what no other woman has done.”
“Ah, you cruel creature. So that’s it!”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“Why not?”
“Remember that a defeat would be twofold . . .”
“I know, but I won’t be defeated.”
This conversation was interrupted by Azevedo, and Emília gestured to Adelaide to say nothing. It was agreed between them that not even Azevedo should know what was afoot. And Adelaide said nothing to her husband.
III
A week passed.
As we have seen, Tito was exactly as he had been on the very first day. He went for walks, read, talked, and seemed blissfully unaware of the plots being woven about him. During that time, he made only two visits to Emília’s house, once with the Azevedos and once with Diogo. He was the same on both occasions—cold, indifferent, impassive. No look, however seductive or significant, could shake him; not even the idea that he was much in Emília’s thoughts could spark his interest.
“If he really is incapable of love, why does he not at least engage in one of those amours de salon that so flatter men’s vanity?”
This was a question that Emília put to herself, bewildered by the young man’s indifference. She could not understand how Tito could remain so icy cold when confronted by her charms. This, unfortunately, was how it was.
Weary of working in vain, she decided to take a decisive step. She steered the conversation onto the sweet pleasures of marriage and bemoaned her widowed state. The Azevedos were, for her, the image of perfect conjugal bliss. She presented them to Tito as an incentive for anyone wishing to be happy on this earth. Neither thesis nor hypothesis, however, could thaw Tito’s coldness.
Emília was playing a dangerous game. She had to decide between her desire to avenge her sex and what was proper for a woman in her position; she was, however, a proud creature; and while she was respectful of her own strict morality, she did not show the same degree of respect for the inconvenience that went hand in hand with preserving that moral code. Vanity had a prodigious influence over her. And so the lovely widow deployed all licit means to make Tito fall in love with her.
But once he had fallen in love, what would she do? An idle question, since, once she had him at her feet, she would try to keep him kneeling there along with old Diogo. That would be the best possible trophy any proud beauty could aspire to.
One morning, eight days after the scenes described in the previous chapter, Diogo appeared at the Azevedos’ house. They had just finished breakfast. Azevedo had gone up to his study to finish off some correspondence, and Adelaide was in the downstairs living room.
Diogo entered, looking terribly sad, sadder than she had ever seen him before. She ran over to him.
“Whatever’s wrong?” she asked.
“Ah, senhora, I am the most wretched of men!”
“But why? Come and sit down . . .”
Diogo sat, or, rather, slumped down into the chair Adelaide offered him. She took a seat next to him and encouraged him to tell her his woes.
“What’s happened?”
“Two misfortunes,” he said. “The first in the form of a verdict. I’ve lost yet another lawsuit, which is unfortunate, but it’s as nothing compared to—”
“You mean there’s something worse?”
“Yes, the second misfortune came in the form of a letter.”
“A letter?”
“Yes, read this.”
Diogo removed from his wallet a small pink letter, smelling of essence of magnolia.
Adelaide read the letter.
When she had finished, Diogo asked:
“What do you make of that?”
“I don’t understand,” said Adelaide.
“It’s from her.”
“Yes, and so?”
“It’s a letter to him.”
“Who?”
“Him! The devil! My rival! Tito!”
“Ah!”
“I cannot tell you what I felt when I picked up that letter. I have never trembled before anything in my life, but when I read that, my head began to spin. It’s still spinning now. With every step I take, I feel as if I were about to faint.”
“Don’t despair,” said Adelaide.
“That is precisely why I have come here, in search of consolation, reassurance. I knew you were at home and hoped to find you alone. It’s such a shame that your estimable husband is still alive, because the greatest possible consolation would be for you to accept my poor, misunderstood heart.”
“Fortunately, he’s still alive.”
Diogo uttered a sigh and said:
“Fortunately!”
Then, after a silence, he went on:
“I had two reactions: one was to treat them both with utter scorn, but that would only give them still greater freedom and leave me racked with pain and humiliation; the second was to challenge him to a duel; that would be best, I’ll kill him or else—”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s vital that one of us is crossed off the list of the living.”
“What if you’re mistaken?”
“But I’m not mistaken. I’m absolutely sure.”
“Sure about what?”
Diogo unfolded the letter and said:
“Listen: If you have still not understood me then you must lack all insight. Remove your mask, and I will explain myself. I’ll be having tea alone this evening. The importunate Diogo will not be troubling me with his usual nonsense. Give me the pleasure of seeing you and admiring you. Emília.”
“Is that all?”
“Ah, if it were more than that, I would be dead! But I was able to steal the letter and thus prevent that meeting from taking place.”
“When was the letter written?”
“Yesterday.”
“Calm down. Can you keep a secret? I should not be telling you this, and I’m only doing so because you’re upset. I can guarantee that this letter is a trick. It’s a way of avenging the female sex, a way of making Tito fall in love. That’s all.”
Diogo trembled with joy.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s true, but remember, it’s a secret. As I said, I’m only telling you as a way of reassuring you. Don’t spoil our joke.”
“And this is really true?”
“How many times must I tell you?”
“Oh, what a weight off my mind! I promise you that your secret is safe with me. How very funny. I’m so glad I came to talk to you. Can I tell Dona Emília that I know all about it?”
“No!”
“So I’d better pretend to know nothing.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
Diogo was rubbing his hands together and blinking contentedly. He was radiant with happiness. How glorious, what joy, to see his supposed rival fall into the widow’s trap!
At this point, the inner door opened, and Tito appeared. He had just gotten up.
“Good morning, Dona Adelaide,” he said, then, sitting down and turning to look at Diogo, he added. “Good morning, Diogo. You seem very happy today. Have you won first prize on the lottery?”
“First prize?” said Diogo. “Yes, I have
.”
“Did you sleep well?” Adelaide asked Tito.
“I slept the sleep of the just, of course. I had very sweet dreams. I dreamed about Senhor Diogo.”
“Of me?” murmured Diogo, adding to himself: “Poor man. I feel sorry for him.”
“Where’s Azevedo?” asked Tito.
“He’s gone out.”
“Already?”
“Well, it is eleven o’clock.”
“Eleven! Yes, I did wake up rather late. I have two visits to make, one to Dona Emília—”
“Oh!” cried Diogo.
“Why so surprised, my friend?”
“Oh, no reason.”
“I’ll go and ask them to prepare your breakfast,” said Adelaide.
The two men were left alone. Tito lit a slender cigar, and Diogo pretended to be thinking his own thoughts, all the while shooting sideways glances at Tito, who, after taking only two puffs on his cigar, turned and asked:
“How’s the romance going?”
“What romance?”
“With Emília. Have you managed to convince her of your great consuming passion?”
“I could do with some lessons, actually. Could you teach me?”
“Me? Are you crazy?”
“Oh, I know how experienced you are, modest, but very experienced! Whereas I am a mere apprentice. Indeed, only a short while ago, I was even thinking of challenging you to a duel.”
“A duel?”
“Yes, but it was ridiculous idea which I soon rejected.”
“Besides, people don’t fight duels in Brazil.”
“Defending one’s honor is normal practice everywhere.”
“Bravo, Don Quixote!”
“And I felt my honor had been insulted.”
“By me?”
“Yes, but I changed my mind when I realized I was the one insulting you, by proposing to do battle with a past master; me, a mere apprentice . . .”
“A past master at what?”
“At love! I know it’s true . . .”
“Stop it! I’m no such thing. You’re the master; after all, you’re worth one bear, even two. How could you possibly . . . Were you really jealous of me?”
“I was.”
“You clearly don’t know me. Have you not heard my views on the subject?”
“Sometimes that only makes things worse.”
“Worse? How?”
The Collected Stories of Machado De Assis Page 19