At around this time‚ one afternoon when Luiza was on her way to ‘Paradise’‚ she suddenly saw emerging from a doorway‚ just beyond the Largo de Santa Bárbara‚ the harassed figure of Ernestinho.
‘What are you doing here‚ cousin Luiza!’ he said‚ greatly surprised. ‘What are you doing in this part of town? How extraordinary! Who would have thought it!’
He was very red-faced‚ his alpaca jacket flapped open and he was excitedly brandishing a thick roll of papers.
Luiza was slightly embarrassed; she said she had come to visit a friend. No‚ he wouldn’t know her‚ she had just arrived from Oporto.
‘Ah‚ I see. And what have you been up to? When is Jorge coming back?’ He immediately apologised for not having come to see her‚ but he had not had a moment free! In the mornings‚ he worked at the Customs office and in the evenings‚ he had rehearsals.
‘So that’s still going on?’ asked Luiza.
‘Indeed it is.’
And he added enthusiastically:
‘Oh‚ yes‚ indeed it is! It’s going wonderfully well! But it’s such a lot of work!’ He had just been to visit the actor Pinto‚ who was playing the role of the lover‚ the Count of Monte Redondo; he had heard him recite the final words of the third act: ‘Accursed be this cruel fate crushing me! So be it‚ then‚ I will fight hand to hand with fate itself. Let battle commence!’ Absolutely wonderful. He had also come to tell him that he had changed the monologue in the second act. The impresario thought it too long.
‘So he’s still interfering‚ is he‚ the impresario?’
Ernestinho looked slightly hesitant.
‘Just a touch …’ Then‚ his face radiant: ‘But he’s thrilled with the play itself! They all are! Yesterday he said to me: “Pipsqueak …” That’s what they call me‚ just for fun‚ you understand. It’s amusing‚ don’t you think? Anyway‚ he said to me: “Pipsqueak‚ the whole of Lisbon will be there for the first night! It’ll be a sensation!” He’s a good fellow really! Now I’m off to see Bastos‚ the columnist from The Truth. Do you know him?’
Luiza couldn’t quite remember.
‘You know Bastos!’ he insisted.
And seeing that Luiza knew neither the name nor the man‚ he exclaimed:
‘But everyone knows him!’ And he was on the point of describing him in detail and listing his works‚ when Luiza‚ impatient to be done‚ said:
‘Oh‚ yes‚ I remember him now! Of course … I know who you mean!’
‘Well‚ anyway‚ I’m going to his house‚’ he said smugly. ‘We’re great friends‚ you know‚ he’s an excellent fellow‚ and he’s got the sweetest little baby boy!’ Then squeezing her hand tightly‚ he went on: ‘Goodbye‚ then‚ cousin Luiza‚ I can’t stop. Do you want me to walk with you?’
‘No‚ thank you‚ it’s only around the corner.’
‘Goodbye‚ then‚ and give my regards to Jorge.’
He was just about to bustle off‚ when he turned suddenly and ran back to her:
‘I forgot to tell you: all will be forgiven in the end!’
Luiza opened her eyes very wide.
‘At the end of my play‚ I mean!’ exclaimed Ernestinho.
‘Ah!’
‘Yes‚ her husband forgives her‚ he’s given the post of ambassador and they go and live abroad. It’s more realistic that way.’
‘Of course‚’ said Luiza vaguely.
‘The plays ends with her lover‚ the Count of Monte Redondo saying: “I will go into the wilderness where I will die of this ill-starred passion!” It works really well!’ He stood looking at her for a moment‚ then said brusquely: ‘Goodbye‚ cousin Luiza. Regards to Jorge!’
And he scurried off.
Luiza entered ‘Paradise’ feeling most upset. She told Bazilio about the encounter. Ernestinho was such a silly creature! He might talk about it later‚ mention the time of day‚ and she might be asked about this ‘friend from Oporto’.
Taking off her hat and veil‚ she added:
‘It really isn’t sensible to meet so often. It would be best if we didn’t. Someone might find out.’
Bazilio gave an irritable shrug and said:
‘If you don’t want to come‚ then don’t.’
Luiza looked at him for a moment‚ then bowed deeply:
‘Thank you very much!’
She was about to put on her hat again‚ but he came over to her‚ clasped her hands and embraced her‚ murmuring:
‘You were the one who talked about not coming! What would happen to me‚ though? You’re the only reason I’m in Lisbon.’
‘It’s just that sometimes you say things … you behave as if…’
Bazilio smothered her words with kisses.
‘Now‚ now‚ no quarrels. Forgive me. You look so lovely.’
When Luiza went home‚ she went over that scene in her mind. No‚ she thought‚ it was not the first time he had been short with her and shown himself to be utterly indifferent towards her‚ her reputation and her well-being! He simply and selfishly wanted her to be there every day! Let the gossips talk‚ let the noonday sun burn her‚ what did he care? But why was that? It was patently obvious that he loved her less now. His words and his kisses were growing cooler by the day. He was never gripped now by a desire that caught her up in one trembling caress‚ nor by a superabundance of feeling that made him fall to his knees‚ his hands trembling like those of an old man! He no longer hurled himself upon her as soon as she appeared at the door‚ as if upon a frightened prey. They no longer had those silly‚ meandering‚ childish conversations‚ full of laughter‚ into which they would blithely plunge after the ardent‚ physical hour was past‚ when she would lie in sweet lassitude‚ her blood cool‚ resting her head on her bare arms! Now‚ once they had exchanged a last kiss‚ he would light a cigar‚ as if he had just finished supper in a restaurant! And he would go straight over to a small mirror that hung above the washbasin to comb his hair with a little pocket comb. (Oh‚ how she hated that comb!) Sometimes‚ he would even look at his watch! And while she was getting dressed‚ he no longer came over to her‚ as he used to at first‚ to help her put on her collar‚ pricking himself on the pins‚ laughing as he did so‚ and bestowing farewell kisses on her bare shoulders before her dress closed about them. Instead he went and drummed his fingers on the windowpanes or else sat morosely‚ jiggling one leg up and down!
And he showed her no respect‚ no consideration. He looked down his nose at her‚ as if she were an under-educated bourgeois woman of limited experience who knew only her own small neighbourhood. And he had a way of walking up and down‚ head held high‚ smoking and talking of ‘Madame so-and-so’s wit’ or ‘Countess so-and-so’s clothes!’ As if she were stupid and her dresses mere rags! It really was too much! Indeed‚ it was as if he were doing her a great honour by possessing her. She immediately thought of Jorge‚ Jorge who was so respectful in his love for her! Jorge‚ for whom she was‚ without a doubt‚ the prettiest‚ most elegant‚ most intelligent and most captivating of women! And the idea began to grow in her that perhaps she had sacrificed her blissful‚ tranquil life for a most uncertain love!
One day‚ when he seemed even more than usually cold and distracted‚ she spoke to him openly about this. Sitting up very straight on the wicker sofa‚ she spoke sensibly and slowly‚ with a calm‚ dignified air. She said that she could see he was bored‚ that his great love for her had died‚ that it was therefore humiliating to her that they should continue seeing each other in these conditions‚ and that she felt it would be more dignified if they finished.
Bazilio was looking at her‚ surprised at her solemnity; her words seemed so studied and affected; he smiled and said serenely:
‘You learned that little speech off by heart!’
Luiza got brusquely to her feet and confronted him‚ a sneer on her lips.
‘Are you mad‚ Luiza?’
‘I’ve had enough! I make all kinds of sacrifices for you‚ I come here every day‚ I compromise myself‚ and for what? To see you utterly indifferent‚ utterly bored.’
‘But my love…’
She gave a scornful laugh.
‘My love! Oh‚ don’t pretend‚ it’s too ridiculous!’
Bazilio got angry:
‘That’s all I needed‚ a scene like this!’ he said vehemently. And standing before her‚ arms folded‚ he went on: ‘What do you want? Do you want me to love you the way they do in the theatre‚ in the Teatro de São Carlos? You women are all the same! When a poor wretch loves a woman naturally‚ like everyone else‚ with his heart‚ but with no fancy‚ leading-man gestures‚ they say he’s cold‚ that he’s bored and ungrateful‚ but what do you expect? Do you want me to throw myself at your feet‚ to declaim and roll my eyes‚ to make vows and other such nonsense?’
‘You used to do all that “nonsense”.’
‘Yes‚ at the beginning‚’ he replied brutally. ‘But we’ve known each other far too long for that now‚ my dear.’
It had only been five weeks!
‘Goodbye‚’ said Luiza.
‘I see. Are you angry with me?’
Eyes downcast‚ nervously pulling on her gloves‚ she replied:
‘No.’
Bazilio stood‚ barring the door and holding out his arms:
‘Be reasonable‚ my love. A relationship like ours isn’t like the duet from Gounod’s Faust. I love you; you‚ I think‚ care for me; we make the necessary sacrifices‚ we meet‚ we’re happy. What more do you want? What are you complaining about?’
She replied with a sad‚ ironic smile:
‘I’m not complaining. You’re quite right.’
‘So you’re not angry‚ then?’
‘No.’
‘Word of honour?’
‘Yes.’
Bazilio took her hands.
‘Give Bibi a little kiss then.’
Luiza kissed him lightly on his cheek.
‘On the lips‚ on the lips!’ And wagging a threatening finger and looking at her hard‚ he said: ‘What a temper she’s got! It’s easy to see whose blood you’ve got running in your veins‚ that of Senhor António de Brito‚ our devoted uncle‚ who used to pull the maids’ hair!’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’
Luiza hesitated for a moment‚ then said:
‘Yes.’
She arrived home feeling exasperated and humiliated. It was six o’clock. Juliana announced angrily that Joana had gone out at four o’clock and had not returned‚ and supper wasn’t ready yet.
‘Where did she go?’
Juliana shrugged and gave a little smile.
Luiza understood. She had gone to see some lover‚ some love. She pulled a face expressive of disdainful pity.
‘And much good may it do her‚ the little fool!’ she said.
Juliana looked at her‚ shocked.
‘She’s drunk‚’ she thought.
‘Oh well‚ never mind!’ exclaimed Luiza. ‘I’ll wait.’
And pacing excitedly about her room‚ she brooded on her anger.
‘How selfish‚ how rude‚ how base! And a woman ruins herself for a man like that. How stupid!’
How he had pleaded‚ how small and humble he had made himself at first! But that is what men’s love is like – it tires easily!
And she was immediately assailed by thoughts of Jorge! He wasn’t like that! He had lived with her for three years‚ and his love was always the same – intense‚ tender‚ devoted. But this other man. How despicable. They had known each other far too long‚ he had said! It was clear to her now that he had never loved her. He had wanted her out of vanity‚ on a whim‚ out of boredom‚ merely in order to have a woman in Lisbon! That was all it was‚ but love? Huh!
And what about her? Did she love him? She thought hard‚ questioning herself. She imagined situations‚ circumstances: if he wanted to carry her far away‚ say‚ to France‚ would she go? No! If‚ by some misfortune‚ she were widowed‚ could she foresee being happily married to him? No!
So what‚ then? And like someone removing the stopper from a long treasured bottle and‚ to her amazement‚ finding that the perfume has evaporated‚ she stood‚ astonished‚ to find that her heart was empty. What had drawn her to him‚ then? She did not even know: having too little to do; the romantic‚ morbid curiosity attached to having a lover; a thousand small‚ inflamed vanities; a degree of physical desire. But had she ever perchance felt the happiness brought by the illicit love so common in novels and in operas‚ that make one capable of forgetting all else in life‚ of facing death‚ of almost longing for death? Never! All the pleasure she had felt at first‚ and which she had mistaken for love‚ came from the novelty of it all‚ from the delicious thrill of eating the forbidden fruit‚ from their meetings in ‘Paradise’ all cloaked in secrecy‚ possibly from other things which she did not even want to admit to herself‚ which made her blush inside!
But did she feel anything very extraordinary now? Good grief‚ she was beginning to feel less excited to be with her lover than to be with her husband! She found the thought of a kiss from Jorge more arousing‚ and they had lived together for three years! She had never felt bored with Jorge‚ never! And she felt deeply bored with Bazilio. What had Bazilio become for her? He was like a husband of whom she was not particularly fond and with whom she had secret meetings outside the house! Was it really worth it?
What had gone wrong? Did the defect lie in love itself? After all‚ the necessary conditions for her and Bazilio to achieve great happiness were there: they were young‚ their affair was shrouded in secrecy‚ they found the sheer difficulties they had to surmount exciting … Why then were they almost yawning with boredom? Because love was highly perishable‚ and the moment it is born‚ it starts to die. Only the beginnings are good. Then there is ecstasy‚ enthusiasm‚ a little bit of heaven. But afterwards … In order to be always able to feel‚ was it necessary to be constantly beginning all over again? That was what Leopoldina did. And she suddenly understood Leopoldina’s faithless existence with utter clarity‚ taking a lover‚ keeping him for a week‚ and then throwing him away like a squeezed lemon‚ and thereby constantly renewing the flower of sensation! And by the tortuous logic of illicit love affairs‚ her first lover made her think vaguely about the second!
The next day‚ she said to herself that ‘Paradise’ really was awfully far away. What a nuisance‚ in that heat‚ to have to get dressed and go out! She sent Juliana to find out how Dona Felicidade was and she stayed at home‚ wearing a white peignoir‚ savouring her idleness.
That afternoon‚ she received a letter from Jorge‚ saying that he would be away for some time yet‚ but that his widowhood was beginning to weigh upon him. When would he ever see his own little house and his own sweet bedroom again?
She was very touched. She was filled to the very depths of her being by a feeling of shame and remorse‚ by a tender compassion for poor‚ good Jorge‚ by a vague desire to see him and to kiss him‚ by the memory of past happinesses. She replied at once‚ assuring him that she too had had enough of being alone‚ telling him to come home‚ that such a separation was sheer nonsense. And at the time‚ she meant it.
She had just sealed the envelope when Juliana brought her ‘a letter from the hotel’. Bazilio was in despair: ‘You did not come to see me‚ and so I assume you must be angry; but it is doubtless your pride and not your love that holds you in its sway: you cannot imagine my feelings when I realised that you would not be there today. I waited until five o’clock; what torment! Maybe I was cold towards you‚ but you were no more pleasant to me. We should forgive each other‚ kneel down before each other and forget all our anger in our love. Come tomorrow. I adore you! What further proof do you need than that I abandon all my interests‚ my friendships‚ my pleasures and bury myself here in Lisbon.’
She grew agitated‚ not knowing what she should do or what she should want. It was true. Why else was he in Lisbon? Because of her. But she recognised now that she did not love him‚ or only very slightly! And it was terrible to betray Jorge‚ who was so good‚ so loving and who lived so entirely for her. But if Bazilio really was so very much in love with her … Her ideas whirled about like autumn leaves‚ buffeted this way and that by contradictory winds. She wanted to be left in peace‚ to be left alone. Why had that man come back? Heavens‚ what was she to do? Her thoughts and feelings were painfully confused.
The following morning‚ she was in the same state of uncertainty. Should she go or shouldn’t she? The heat and the dust outside in the street made her want to stay at home! But how disappointed the poor boy would be! She flipped a five tostão coin in the air. It came down heads. She should go. She got dressed reluctantly‚ irritably‚ albeit filled by a certain desire for the refined pleasures that always accompany loving reconciliations!
What a surprise‚ though! She expected to find him humbled and on his knees‚ but instead he wore a look of frowning severity.
‘Honestly‚ Luiza‚ why weren’t you here yesterday?’
The night before‚ when he realised she would not be coming‚ Bazilio felt angry‚ but more than that‚ he felt afraid; his concupiscence feared losing that lovely‚ youthful body‚ and his pride was appalled to see his docile little slave reclaiming her freedom. He had resolved‚ therefore‚ ‘to bring her to book’. He wrote to her‚ feigning submission in order to draw her back‚ but determined to be severe in order to punish her. And so he went on:
‘Really‚ such childishness! Why didn’t you come?’
His manner enraged her.
‘Because I didn’t want to.’
Then she added:
‘Besides‚ I couldn’t.’
‘Is this any way to reply to my letter‚ Luiza?’
‘And is this any way to greet me?’
They looked at each other for a moment‚ in mutual detestation.
‘So you want an argument‚ do you? You’re just like all the others.’
Then‚ outraged‚ she said:
‘Oh‚ really‚ this is too much. Goodbye!’
She was about to leave.
‘Are you going‚ Luiza?’
‘I am. It’s best that we finish this once and for all.’
He quickly locked the door.
‘Are you serious‚ Luiza?’
‘Of course. I’ve had enough.’
‘All right‚ then. Goodbye.’
He opened the door to allow her past and bowed silently.
She took a step forward‚ then Bazilio‚ in a slightly tremulous voice‚ said:
‘Is this goodbye for ever?’
Luiza stopped‚ her face white. Those sad words ‘for ever’ aroused a flurry of emotions. She burst into tears.
Tears had always made her look even prettier. She seemed so wounded‚ so fragile‚ so helpless …
Bazilio knelt before her; his eyes were full of tears too.
‘If you leave me‚ I’ll die!’
Their lips met in one long‚ deep‚ penetrating kiss. Their overwrought state momentarily lent both of them the sincerity of passion; and they spent a delicious afternoon.
Pale as wax‚ she held him in her arms‚ murmuring:
‘Say you’ll never leave me!’
‘I swear it! Never‚ my love!’
But it was getting late‚ she had to go! And they were both doubtless gripped by the same idea‚ because they looked at each other avidly‚ and Bazilio said softly:
‘If only you could spend the night here!’
She said in a terrified‚ supplicant tone:
‘Oh‚ don’t tempt me‚ don’t tempt me!’
Bazilio sighed and said:
‘No‚ you’re right‚ it’s nonsense. Go.’
Luiza began hurriedly getting dressed. Then suddenly she stopped and smiled:
‘Do you know something?’
‘What‚ my love?’
‘I’m absolutely dying of hunger! I didn’t have any lunch and I’m starving hungry!’
He said forlornly:
‘Oh my poor love! If only I’d known.’
‘What time is it‚ my dear?’
Bazilio looked at the clock and said‚ almost shamefacedly:
‘Seven o’clock!’
‘Good heavens!’
She hastily put on her hat and veil.
‘It’s so late‚ oh dear Lord‚ it’s so late!’
‘And what about tomorrow? What time will you be here?’
‘One o’clock.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes‚ I’m sure.’
The following day she was very punctual. Bazilio was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs‚ and as soon as they went into the room‚ he devoured her with kisses‚ crying:
‘What have you done to me? I’ve been like a madman since yesterday.’
But Luiza was intrigued by the basket sitting on the bed.
‘What’s that?’
He smiled and led her by the hand to the iron bedstead‚ where he opened the basket and said with a grave bow:
‘Provisions‚ banquets‚ bacchanalia! Now you won’t be able to complain afterwards that you’re hungry!’
It was their lunch. There were sandwiches‚ pâté de foie gras‚ fruit‚ a bottle of champagne and ice wrapped in a piece of flannel.
‘It’s wonderful!’ she said with a voluptuous smile‚ her cheeks pink with pleasure.
‘It was all I could manage‚ my dear cousin! You see how I think of you!’
He put the basket down on the floor and approached her with open arms:
‘And did you think of me‚ my love?’
Her eyes and the way her arms folded passionately about him gave her answer.
They lunched at three o’clock. It was delightful; they spread a napkin on the bed; the china bore the mark of the Hotel Central; it all seemed to Luiza so very bohemian and so terribly sweet; and she gave a throaty laugh as she clinked the little bits of ice in her champagne glass. She was filled with an exuberant happiness that overflowed in little shrieks and kisses and all kinds of spontaneous gestures. She ate greedily; and her bare arms‚ as she reached out for the different plates‚ were simply adorable.
She had never found Bazilio so handsome; even the room seemed cosy and utterly perfect for such romantic intimacies; she thought it would be almost possible to live with him for years in that gloomy room‚ in a permanent state of love‚ with lunch every day at three o’clock. They did all the usual foolish things: fed each other titbits‚ which made her laugh‚ revealing her small‚ white teeth; they both drank from the same cup‚ then devoured each other with kisses; then he wanted to show her the correct way to drink champagne. Did she not know about it?
‘What is it?’ asked Luiza‚ raising her glass.
‘No‚ not with the glass‚ please! No self-respecting person drinks champagne from a glass. A glass is fine for white wine‚ but…’
He took a sip of champagne‚ then passed the champagne into her mouth with a kiss. Luiza roared with laughter and found it ‘divine’ and wanted to drink more. Her face was growing flushed‚ her eyes were shining.
They had removed the plates from the bed; and as she sat there on the edge of the bed‚ with her little pink-stockinged feet dangling‚ her elbows resting on her knees‚ her head on one side‚ she had all the languid grace of a weary dove.
Bazilio found her irresistible: who would think that a little bourgeois woman could have such chic‚ such style! He knelt down and‚ taking her feet in his hands‚ he kissed them; then‚ criticising her garters‚ ‘those metal fastenings are so ugly’‚ he respectfully kissed her knees; and then he murmured a request. She blushed and smiled and said: ‘No! No!’ And when she emerged from her ecstasy‚ she covered her scarlet face with her hands‚ muttering reprovingly:
He twirled his moustaches‚ very pleased with himself. He had taught her a new sensation; he had her in the palm of his hand!
Only at six o’clock did she leave his arms. Luiza made him promise to think of her all night. She did not want him to go out; she was jealous of the club‚ of the air‚ of everything! And when she was on the landing‚ she turned and kissed him passionately‚ saying:
‘Let’s get here earlier tomorrow‚ shall we? So that we can spend the whole day together.’
‘Aren’t you going to see Dona Felicidade?’
‘Oh‚ who cares about Dona Felicidade! I don’t care about anyone else. I want you‚ only you!’
‘At midday‚ then?’
‘At midday!’
How the solitude of her room weighed on her that night! She was in the grip of an impatience that drove her to prolong the excitement of that afternoon‚ to maintain herself in a state of agitation. She tried to read‚ but soon threw the book down; the two candles burning on the dressing table gave off such a gloomy light; she peered outside at the night; it was warm and calm. She summoned Juliana:
‘Go and put a shawl on‚ we’re going to Dona Leopoldina’s house.’
When they got there‚ after a long delay‚ a dishevelled Justina dressed in a white peignoir opened the door to them. She looked quite shocked:
‘My mistress has gone to Oporto!’
‘To Oporto!’
Yes‚ she would be away for a fortnight.
Luiza was much put out. She did not want to go back home‚ her solitary room terrified her.
‘Let’s go for a little walk‚ Juliana. It’s such a lovely night.’
‘It is‚ madam!’
They walked down Rua de São Roque. And as if guided by the two lines of gaslights lining Rua do Alecrim‚ her thoughts and her desires went straight to the Hotel Central.
Would he be there? Would he be thinking about her? If only she could surprise him‚ throw herself into his arms‚ see his unpacked luggage … The idea made her breathe more heavily. They reached the Praça de Camões. People were strolling about; in the deepest shadows cast by the trees‚ they sat chatting on benches; there was cool water to be drunk; the harsh lights from the windows and doorways of shops stood out against the surrounding dark of night; and the shrill voices of newspaper vendors rose up above the slow murmur of the streets.
Then a man wearing a straw hat passed so close to her‚ so deliberately‚ that Luiza felt afraid.
‘We’d better go back‚’ she said.
In the middle of Rua de São Roque‚ however‚ the straw hat reappeared and almost brushed Luiza’s shoulder; two puffy eyes leered at her.
Luiza walked desperately along‚ the tick-tack of her boots loud on the paving stones; suddenly‚ near São Pedro de Alcântara‚ a lilting Brazilian voice emerged from beneath the straw hat and said‚ very close to her ear:
‘Where do you live‚ sweetheart?’
Terrified‚ Luiza gripped Juliana’s arm.
The voice said again:
‘Don’t be angry‚ sweetheart‚ where do you live?’
‘You scoundrel!’ roared Juliana.
The straw hat immediately disappeared amongst the trees.
They were out of breath by the time they reached home. Luiza felt like crying; she fell onto the chaise longue‚ exhausted and miserable. What folly to go out walking the streets at night‚ with only a maidservant for company! She must be mad‚ what had happened to her? What a day that had been! She remembered it all: the lunch‚ the champagne she had drunk from Bazilio’s kisses‚ her lewd excesses‚ how shameful! And then going to Leopoldina’s house at night‚ and being mistaken in the street for a woman of easy virtue! She suddenly remembered Jorge slaving away in the Alentejo‚ thinking only of her … She hid her face in her hands‚ she hated herself‚ and her eyes grew wet with tears.
The following morning‚ however‚ she woke feeling very happy. She did‚ it is true‚ feel slightly ashamed of her ‘foolishness’ the night before‚ and had a vague feeling‚ an instinct or a premonition‚ that she should not go to ‘Paradise’ that day. Her desire‚ though‚ which was strongly urging her to go‚ immediately furnished her with reasons: Bazilio would be disappointed; if she did not go today‚ then she should never go again‚ and that would mean breaking off their relationship … Besides‚ the lovely morning was calling to her from the street; it had rained in the night‚ and the heat had abated; there was a sweet‚ washed-clean coolness about the light and the blue sky.
At half past eleven‚ she was walking down Rua do Moinho do Vento when she saw the dignified figure of Councillor Acácio coming slowly up Rua da Rosa‚ his sunshade furled‚ his head erect.
As soon as he saw her‚ he made haste to join her and bowed deeply:
‘What a very fortunate encounter!’
‘How are you‚ Councillor! How nice to see you!’
‘And how are you‚ madam? You look extremely well!’
He moved solemnly over to her left and began walking along beside her.
‘You will‚ of course‚ permit me to accompany you on your excursion.’
‘Of course‚ with the greatest pleasure. But what have you been up to? I should be very angry with you really!’
‘I have been in Sintra‚ my dear lady.’ Then‚ stopping‚ he said: ‘Didn’t you know? It was in the newspaper!’
‘Yes‚ but since your visit to Sintra.’
‘Ah‚’ he said. ‘I’ve been extremely busy! Extremely busy! I have been entirely absorbed in the collation of certain documents which are indispensable for my book.’ Then after a pause: ‘A book whose title‚ I believe‚ is not unfamiliar to you.’
Luiza could not quite remember the title. The Councillor then provided her not only with the title‚ but with the aims of the book and a few chapter headings‚ assuring her of the great utility of the work: it was entitled A Picturesque Description of the Principal Cities of Portugal and Their Most Famous Establishments.
‘It’s a guide‚ a scientific guide. Let me illustrate this for you with an example: let us say that you‚ dear lady‚ wish to go to Bragança; without my book it is quite possible (nay‚ I would say‚ inevitable) that you would return without having sampled the local curiosities; with my book you would have visited the most notable buildings and received both a solid grounding of facts and a great deal of enjoyment.’
Luiza was barely listening to him‚ smiling vaguely beneath her white veil.
‘It’s a lovely day today‚ isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Exquisite. A positively fecund day!’
‘It’s so deliciously cool here!’
They had reached the garden of São Pedro de Alcântara; a gentle breeze was blowing amongst the greenest of the trees; the ground was still damp and‚ despite the bright sun‚ the blue sky seemed pale and remote.
The Councillor then spoke about the summer; it had been positively torrid! In his own dining room‚ it had been forty- eight degrees in the shade! Forty-eight degrees! Then in a foolish impulse to exonerate his dining room of all blame for such excessive heat: ‘But then‚ of course‚ it does face south. Let us be fair now. It does face due south. Today‚ though‚ is most restoring.’
He even invited her to take a turn about the garden. Luiza hesitated. And the Councillor‚ taking out his watch and holding it some way from his eyes‚ declared that it was not yet midday. It was correct according to the Arsenal clock; it was an English watch. ‘Far superior to the Swiss!’ he added solemnly.
Out of sheer cowardice and inertia‚ and wearied by the Councillor’s pompous voice‚ Luiza grudgingly descended the steps into the park. Besides‚ she was thinking‚ she still had time‚ she could always get a carriage.
They went and stood by the railings. Through the gaps they could see‚ falling away below them‚ dark rooftops‚ spaces formed by courtyards‚ fragments of wall revealing the occasional sparse green of a parched garden; then‚ down below in the valley‚ lay the Passeio Público‚ its large oblong of dense foliage broken here and there by white‚ sandy paths. On this side‚ there rose up the inexpressive façades of Rua Oriental‚ windows glittering in the full brunt of the sunlight; behind that‚ though on the same plane‚ were plots of faded green surrounded by strong‚ sombre walls‚ the sad‚ yellow stonework of the convent church of the Incarnation‚ and other disparate buildings‚ up as far as Graça‚ which was crammed with ecclesiastical edifices‚ narrow convent windows and church towers‚ very white against the blue; and beyond‚ the Penha da França set off bright whitewashed walls‚ against which stood out a dark green strip of trees. To the right‚ on the bare hill‚ sat the castle‚ squat and squalid; and the fractured line of rooftops and houses in the Mouraria and the Alfama formed a series of abrupt angles‚ all the way down to the two heavy towers of the portly‚ ancient cathedral. Beyond‚ they saw a stretch of river‚ glinting in the sun; two white sails passed slowly by; and on the farther shore‚ at the bottom of a low hill‚ made blue by the distant air‚ stood a row of gleaming‚ white‚ terraced houses belonging to a small village. From the city below came a low‚ slow murmur‚ in which was mingled the growl of carriages‚ the heavy rumble of ox carts‚ the metallic jingle of carts transporting ironwork‚ and the occasional shrill cry of some street seller.
‘A magnificent panorama!’ said the Councillor emphatically. And he launched at once into a paean of praise for the city. It was definitely one of the most beautiful in Europe and the approach to the city was comparable only to that of Constantinople! Indeed‚ it was the envy of many foreigners! Once a great centre of international commerce‚ it was only a shame that the drains were so poor and the city fathers so negligent!
‘This should really be in the hands of the English‚ dear lady!’ he exclaimed.
However‚ he immediately regretted such unpatriotic sentiments. He swore that this was ‘just a manner of speaking’. He wanted his country’s continued independence; he would die for it if necessary; he‚ of course‚ wanted neither the English nor the Spanish! ‘Only ourselves‚ dear lady‚ the Portuguese!’ And in a respectful voice‚ he added: ‘And God!’
‘Doesn’t the river look pretty!’ said Luiza.
Acácio agreed and murmured in a cavernous voice:
‘Ah‚ yes‚ the Tagus!’
He then wanted to take a stroll about the garden. Above the flowerbeds fluttered white and yellow butterflies; the rhythmic dripping of water in the pool was reminiscent of a modest‚ bourgeois garden; a strong smell of vanilla hung in the air; birds alighted on the heads of the marble busts that rose up amongst the bushes and the dahlias.
Luiza liked this little garden‚ but hated the tall railings.
‘They’re there because of the suicides!’ said the Councillor. In his opinion‚ however‚ the number of suicides in Lisbon had fallen considerably‚ and he attributed this to the harsh‚ but highly praiseworthy way in which the press had condemned them.
‘Because believe me‚ dear lady‚ here in Portugal‚ the press is a force to be reckoned with!’
‘Shall we move on?’ suggested Luiza.
The Councillor bowed‚ but seeing that she was about to pick a flower‚ he quickly grabbed her arm:
‘Ah‚ dear lady‚ please! The regulations are most explicit! Let us not infringe them!’ And he added: ‘The example must always come from above.’
They climbed back up the steps‚ and Luiza was thinking: ‘Please‚ go home and leave me in Largo do Loreto.’
In Rua de São Roque‚ she glanced at the clock outside a cakeshop: it was half past twelve! Bazilio would be waiting!
She hurried on and stopped in Loreto. The Councillor looked at her‚ smiling expectantly.
‘Oh‚ I thought you were going home‚ Councillor!’
‘I would rather accompany you‚ if I may. Are you sure I’m not being a nuisance?’
‘No‚ no‚ of course not.’
A hired carriage passed by‚ followed‚ at a gallop‚ by a post chaise.
The Councillor hurriedly and ostentatiously doffed his hat.
‘It was the Prime Minister. Did you see? He waved to me.’ He immediately began singing his praises. He was our finest parliamentarian‚ a man of enormous talent‚ and such a way with words! Acácio was just about to make a speech about public affairs‚ when Luiza crossed over to the church of the Martyrs‚ lifting the hem of her dress slightly to avoid some mud. She stopped at the door of the church and said‚ smiling:
‘I’m just going to say a prayer or two. I don’t want to keep you waiting. Goodbye‚ Councillor. Now be sure to visit.’ She furled her parasol and held out her hand.
‘My dear lady‚ I will‚ of course‚ wait for you‚ as long as you do not take too long over your prayers. No‚ no‚ I’ll wait‚ I’m in no hurry.’ And he added respectfully: ‘Such zeal is most praiseworthy!’
Luiza entered the church in a state of despair. She stood beneath the choir‚ thinking: ‘If I stay here for long enough‚ he’ll get tired of waiting and leave!’ Up above glinted the pendants on the glass chandeliers. The light inside was veiled‚ uniform‚ slightly muted. And the whitewashed walls‚ the scrubbed floorboards and the stone balustrades created a pale‚ bright backdrop for the gold of the chapel‚ the purple frontals on the pulpits‚ the darker purple of the drapery beyond‚ and the golden throne beneath the violet-coloured dossel. A cool‚ lofty silence reigned. Before the baptistry‚ a boy on his knees‚ with a zinc bucket beside him‚ was discreetly washing the floor with a rag; here and there the backs of devotees‚ wearing hoods or black shawls over their heads‚ could be seen genuflecting before the various altars; and an old man in a dark woollen jacket‚ kneeling in the central aisle‚ was mumbling prayers in a doleful‚ sing-song voice; he kept bowing and desperately beating his chest‚ and one could see his bald head and the enormous hobnails on the soles of his shoes.
Luiza walked up to the high altar. Bazilio would be getting impatient‚ poor love. She shyly asked the time of a passing sacristan. The man raised his sallow face to a window in the cupola‚ gave Luiza a sideways glance and said:
‘It must be getting on for two o’clock.’
Two o’clock! Bazilio might not wait. She was suddenly filled by a fear of missing her afternoon of love‚ by an urgent desire to be once more in ‘Paradise’‚ in his arms! And‚ full of voluptuous haste‚ seeing once more the room‚ the iron bedstead‚ Bazilio’s trim moustache‚ she looked vaguely round at the saints‚ at the virgins pierced by swords‚ at the wounded Christs. But still she lingered‚ hoping to ‘wear the Councillor down and make him go away’. When she judged that he would have gone‚ she crept out. She saw him at the door‚ an erect figure‚ his hands behind his back‚ reading the list of church appointments.
He began at once to praise her devotion. He had not gone in himself‚ not wishing to disturb her meditations‚ but he heartily approved! It was a lack of religion that lay behind the general spread of immorality.
‘And‚ besides‚ it shows good breeding. You will doubtless have observed that all the nobility attend regularly.’
He fell silent; he drew himself up‚ proud to be walking down the Chiado with a lovely‚ much-admired lady. When they passed a group of men‚ he even bent towards her mysteriously and whispered in her ear with a smile:
‘What a perfect day!’
And when they came to Baltreschi’s‚ he offered to buy her cakes. Luiza declined.
‘Quite right. I myself believe in the importance of keeping regular mealtimes.’
His voice seemed now to Luiza like an importunate whine; and even though the day was not‚ in fact‚ particularly hot‚ she felt as if she were suffocating; her blood was prickling in her veins; she wished she could simply run away‚ and yet still she walked slowly and wretchedly along‚ like a sleepwalker‚ only just suppressing a strong desire to cry.
For no reason‚ completely at random‚ she wandered into Valente’s. It was half past two! After a moment’s hesitation‚ she asked a jovial‚ fair-haired assistant if she could see some foulard cravats.
‘White? Coloured? Stripes? With spots?’
‘Yes‚ an assortment.’
She did not like them. She unfolded them‚ shook them out and put them to one side; and she glanced about her vaguely‚ looking very pale. The assistant asked if she was feeling unwell; he offered her a glass of water or perhaps she would prefer something else …
No‚ it was all right; she just needed some fresh air. She would come back. She left. The Councillor was all solicitude‚ he volunteered to accompany her to an excellent pharmacy he knew in order to buy some orange-flower water. They walked down Rua Nova do Carmo‚ and the Councillor went on at length about the assistant’s excellent manners; not that he was at all surprised‚ for he knew that the assistants at Valente’s were often the sons of excellent families‚ and he went on to give examples.
Then‚ getting no response‚ he asked:
‘Are you still feeling unwell?’
‘No‚ no‚ I’m fine.’
‘Well‚ we’re certainly having a delightful walk!’
They walked the whole length of the Rossio. Then they turned and walked diagonally back across. They walked along past Arco do Bandeira towards Rua do Ouro. Luiza kept frantically looking about her‚ in search of an idea‚ an opportunity‚ an incident; meanwhile‚ the Councillor‚ walking gravely by her side‚ continued to discourse. The sight of the Teatro de Dona Maria led him onto the subject of dramatic art; he had found Ernestinho’s play a little too intense. Besides‚ he only really liked comedies. Not that he was immune to the beauties of a Brother Luís de Sousa‚ but his health did not permit exposure to many strong emotions. For example …
But Luiza had had an idea:
‘Oh‚ I forgot! I have to go to Vitry’s. I have to have a tooth filled.’
The Councillor‚ cut off in mid-stream‚ stared at her. And Luiza‚ holding out her hand‚ said hurriedly:
‘Goodbye‚ Councillor. Do come and visit.’ And she almost flew to Vitry’s.
Catching up her dress‚ she raced up the stairs to the first floor‚ where she stopped‚ panting‚ and waited; then‚ very slowly‚ she went back down and peered out. The erect‚ dignified figure of the Councillor was moving off towards the government offices.
She hailed a carriage.
‘As fast as you can!’ she exclaimed.
The carriage almost galloped into the street where they had their ‘Paradise’. Startled faces appeared at the window. She went up the stairs‚ heart pounding. The door was locked; the next door along immediately opened and the landlady’s sweet voice whispered:
‘He’s gone. He left half an hour ago.’
Luiza went down the stairs. She gave her address to the coachman‚ hurled herself into the depths of the carriage and burst into hysterical crying. She drew the blinds in order not to be seen; filled by unexpected feelings of violence‚ she tore off her veil and ripped one of her gloves. She felt an urgent desire to see Bazilio. She rapped desperately on the windows and shouted:
‘To the Hotel Central!’
For she was in one of those moods when susceptible temperaments give way to uncontrollable impulses; there is a mad delight in demolishing duty and propriety; and the soul‚ with a sensual tremor‚ sets off eagerly in search of all that is wrong.
The horses skidded to a halt outside the hotel. Senhor Bazilio de Brito was not in‚ although Viscount Reinaldo was.
‘Take me home‚ then‚ to the address I gave you before.’
The coachman raced off again. And Luiza‚ gripped by a febrile rage‚ rained down insults on the Councillor‚ the dullard‚ the imbecile‚ and cursed the life that had brought her into contact with him and with all their other friends! She was filled by a violent desire to send marriage to the devil and to do whatever took her fancy!
When they reached the house‚ she had no change to give the coachman. ‘Wait!’ she said‚ flouncing up the stairs. ‘I’ll send the money out!’
‘What a tartar!’ thought the coachman.
Joana opened the door and almost recoiled when confronted by a red-faced Luiza who was clearly in a highly agitated state.
Luiza went straight to her room; the cuckoo clock sang out three o’clock. Everything was in a mess; there were potplants on the floor‚ the cloth on the dressing table had not been changed‚ there was dirty laundry draped over the chairs. And Juliana‚ a scarf tied around her head‚ was calmly sweeping and singing to herself.
‘Haven’t you cleaned this room yet?’ bawled Luiza.
Juliana shuddered at this unexpected burst of anger.
‘I was just doing it now‚ madam.’
‘Oh‚ I can see that!’ roared Luiza. ‘It’s three o’clock in the afternoon‚ and look at the state this room is in!’
She had thrown down her hat and her parasol.
‘Well‚ since madam has been coming home later recently …’ began Juliana.
And her lips turned white.
‘What has it got to do with you when I come home? What’s that to you? Your duty is to tidy my room as soon as I get up. And if you don’t like it‚ you can pack your bags and leave!’
Juliana turned scarlet and‚ fixing Luiza with bloodshot eyes‚ she said.
‘I’m not putting up with this!’
And she flung down the broom.
‘Out!’ roared Luiza. ‘Out this instant! I don’t want you in this house a moment longer!’
Juliana planted herself in front of her and‚ repeatedly striking her own breast‚ said in a hoarse voice:
‘I’ll leave when I want to‚ when I want to‚ do you hear?’
‘Joana!’ screamed Luiza.
She wanted to summon the cook‚ a man‚ a policeman‚ anyone! But Juliana‚ beside herself with rage‚ was trembling all over and brandishing her fist:
‘Don’t push me too far‚ madam! Don’t make me do something I’ll regret!’ And in a thread of a voice‚ through gritted teeth‚ she said: ‘Not all the papers were thrown out with the rubbish!’
Luiza drew back and cried:
‘What did you say?’
‘Those letters you wrote to your lover‚ I’ve got them here!’ And she patted her pocket fiercely.
Luiza stared at her for a moment‚ wild-eyed‚ then fell to the floor in a faint‚ beside the chaise longue.