Vasconcelos sprang to his feet:
“You must be insane,” he said.
“No, I’m perfectly sane and prudently advising you not to sacrifice your daughter to a libertine.”
“Gomes isn’t a libertine. True, he’s led the life of many a young man, but he loves Adelaide and is a reformed character. It’s a good marriage, and that’s why I think we must all accept it. That’s what I want, and I’m the one who gives the orders around here.”
Lourenço was about to say more, but Vasconcelos had left.
“What can I do?” thought Lourenço.
V
Vasconcelos was not greatly bothered by Lourenço’s opposition to his plans. He could, it’s true, sow the seeds of resistance in his niece’s mind, but Adelaide was easily persuaded and would agree with whoever she happened to be speaking to, and the advice she received one day would easily be overthrown by any contrary advice she was given the following day.
Still, it would be wise to get Augusta’s support. Vasconcelos decided to do this as soon as possible.
Meanwhile, he needed to organize his own affairs, and so he found a lawyer, to whom he gave all the necessary documents and information, charging him with providing the necessary guidance and advising him on what measures he could take to oppose any claims made against him because of his debts or his mortgages.
None of this should make you think that Vasconcelos was about to change his ways. He was simply preparing himself to continue life as before.
Two days after his conversation with his brother, Vasconcelos went in search of Augusta, in order to speak frankly with her about Adelaide’s marriage.
During that time, the future bridegroom, taking Vasconcelos’s advice, was already paying court to Adelaide. If the marriage was not forced on her, it was just possible that she might end up liking the lad. Besides, Gomes was a handsome, elegant fellow and knew how to impress a woman.
Would Augusta have noticed his unusually assiduous presence in the house? That was the question Vasconcelos was asking himself as he went into his wife’s boudoir.
“Are you going out?” he asked her.
“No, I’m expecting a visitor.”
“Oh, who?”
“Seabra’s wife,” she said.
Vasconcelos sat down and tried to find a way of beginning the special conversation that had brought him there.
“You’re looking very pretty today!”
“Really?” she said, smiling. “Well, I’m no different today than on any other day, and it’s odd that you should pick today to say so.”
“No, I mean it, you’re even prettier than usual, so much so, that I could almost feel jealous.”
“Come, now!” said Augusta with an ironic smile.
Vasconcelos scratched his head, took out his watch, wound it up, tugged at his beard, picked up a newspaper, read a couple of advertisements, then threw the paper down on the floor; finally, after a rather long silence, he thought it best to make a frontal assault on the citadel.
“I’ve been thinking about Adelaide,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“She’s a young woman—”
“A young woman!” exclaimed Augusta. “She’s still a child.”
“She’s older than you were when you got married.”
Augusta frowned slightly.
“What are you getting at?” she asked.
“What I’m getting at is that I want to make her happy by seeing her happily married. Some days ago, a very worthy young man asked me for her hand and I said yes. When I tell you the young man’s name, I’m sure you’ll approve. It’s Gomes. They should marry, don’t you think?”
“Certainly not!” retorted Augusta.
“Why not?”
“Adelaide’s just a child. She’s not old enough or sensible enough yet. She’ll marry when the time is right.”
“When the time is right? Are you sure the young man will wait that long?”
“Patience,” said Augusta.
“Do you have something against Gomes?”
“No. He’s a distinguished enough young fellow, but he’s not right for Adelaide.”
Vasconcelos hesitated before continuing; it seemed to him there was no point in going on. However, the thought of Gomes’s fortune gave him courage, and he asked:
“Why isn’t he?”
“Are you so very sure he’s right for Adelaide?” said Augusta, avoiding her husband’s question.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, whether he’s right or not, she shouldn’t get married now.”
“What if she were in love?”
“What does that matter? She’ll wait!”
“I have to tell you, Augusta, that we can’t let this marriage pass us by. It’s an absolute necessity.”
“An absolute necessity? I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain. Gomes has a large fortune.”
“So do we.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Vasconcelos, interrupting her.
“How so?”
Vasconcelos went on:
“You’d have to find out sooner or later, and I think this is the moment to tell you the truth, and the truth is that we’re poor, ruined.”
Augusta heard these words, her eyes wide with horror.
“It’s not possible!”
“Unfortunately, it is.”
A silence fell.
“There, I’ve got her,” thought Vasconcelos.
Augusta broke the silence.
“But if our fortune has gone, I’d have thought you would have something better to do than sit around talking about it; you need to rebuild that fortune.”
Vasconcelos gave her a look of utter astonishment, and as if this look were a question, Augusta quickly added:
“Don’t look so surprised. I think it’s your duty to rebuild our fortune.”
“That isn’t what surprises me, what I find surprising is that you should put it like that. Anyone would think I was to blame.”
“Oh,” said Augusta, “I suppose you’re going to say that I am.”
“If blame there is, then we’re both to blame.”
“What, me too?”
“Yes, you too. Your wildly extravagant spending sprees have been a major contributor to our downfall; and since I’ve denied you nothing and still deny you nothing, I take full responsibility. And if that’s what you’re throwing in my face, then I agree.”
Augusta gave an angry shrug and shot Vasconcelos a look of such scorn that it would have been valid grounds for divorce.
Vasconcelos saw the shrug and the look.
“A love of luxury and excess,” he said, “will always have the same consequences, which are terrible, but perfectly understandable. The only way of avoiding them is to live more moderately, but that never even occurred to you. After six months of married life, you plunged into the whirlwind of fashion, and your little stream of expenditures became a vast river of profligacy. Do you know what my brother said to me once? He said that the reason you sent Adelaide off to the country was so that you would be free to live with no obligations of any kind.”
Augusta had stood up and taken a few steps across the room; she was pale and trembling.
Vasconcelos was continuing this litany of recriminations, when his wife interrupted him, saying:
“And why did you not put a stop to my extravagance?”
“For the sake of domestic harmony.”
“Lies!” she cried. “You wanted to live a free and independent life. Seeing me embarking on that life of excess, you thought you could buy my tolerance of your behavior by tolerating mine. That was the only reason. The way you live may be different from mine, but it’s far worse. I may have squandered money at home, but you did the same out in the street. There’s no point denying it, because I know everything; I know all the names of the succession of rivals you’ve given me, and I never said a word, and I’m not censuring you now, that would be pointless and
too late.”
The situation had changed. Vasconcelos had begun as judge and ended up as codefendant. It was impossible to deny, and arguing was risky and futile. He preferred to appear reasonable, even cajoling.
“Given the facts (and I accept that you’re right), we are clearly both to blame, and I see no reason to lay all the blame on me. I should rebuild our fortune, I agree. And one way of doing that is to marry Adelaide off to Gomes.”
“No,” said Augusta.
“Fine, then, we’ll be poor and even worse off than we are now; we’ll sell everything . . .”
“Forgive me,” said Augusta, “but I don’t understand why you, a strong young man, who clearly played the larger role in bringing about this disaster, cannot throw yourself into rebuilding our squandered fortune.”
“It would take a very long time, and meanwhile life goes on and we keep spending. As I’ve said, the best way out of this is to marry Adelaide off to Gomes.”
“No, I don’t want that,” said Augusta, “I won’t consent to such a marriage.”
Vasconcelos was about to respond, but Augusta, having uttered these words, had flounced out of the room.
Vasconcelos followed a few minutes later.
VI
Lourenço knew nothing about this scene between his brother and sister-in-law, and, given Vasconcelos’s stubbornness, he had decided to say nothing more; however, since he was very fond of his niece and did not want to see her handed over to a man of whose habits he disapproved, he decided to wait until the situation took a more decisive turn and only then play a more active role.
In order not to waste time, though, and possibly to gain the use of some potentially powerful weapon, Lourenço began an investigation intended to gather detailed information on Gomes.
Gomes, for his part, believed the marriage to be a certainty, and did not waste a moment in his conquest of Adelaide.
He could not fail to notice, however, that for no reason he could ascertain, her mother Augusta was becoming increasingly cold and indifferent, and it occurred to him that she was possibly the source of some opposition.
As for Vasconcelos, discouraged by the discussion in his wife’s boudoir, he was hoping for better days and depending, above all, on the sheer force of necessity.
One day, however, exactly forty-eight hours after his argument with Augusta, he asked himself this question:
“Why is Augusta refusing to give Adelaide to Gomes in marriage?”
One question led to another, one deduction led to another, and a painful suspicion took root in Vasconcelos’s mind.
“Does she perhaps love him?” he wondered.
Then, as if one abyss attracted another abyss, and one suspicion called to another suspicion, Vasconcelos thought:
“Were they once lovers?”
For the first time, Vasconcelos felt the serpent of jealousy biting his heart.
I say “jealousy” for want of a better word, because I don’t know if what he was feeling was jealousy or merely wounded pride.
Could Vasconcelos’s suspicions have any basis in fact?
To be honest, no. However vain Augusta might be, she remained faithful to her unfaithful husband, and for two reasons: her conscience and her temperament. Even if she hadn’t been convinced of her duty as a wife, she would never break her wedding vows. She was not made for passions, apart from the ridiculous passions aroused by vanity. She loved her own beauty above all things, and her best friend was whoever would tell her she was the most beautiful of women; and yet, while she would give away her friendship, she would never give away her heart, and this is what saved her.
And there you have the truth: But who would tell Vasconcelos? Once he began to suspect that his honor was at risk, Vasconcelos started to review his whole life. Gomes had been a visitor to his house for six years and was free to come and go as he liked. An act of betrayal would be easy enough. Vasconcelos recalled words, gestures, glances, none of which had been of any significance before, but which, now, began to look suspicious.
For two days, Vasconcelos was consumed by these thoughts. He did not leave the house, and whenever Gomes arrived, he would observe his wife with unusual interest; even the coldness with which she received Gomes was, in her husband’s eyes, proof of the crime.
Then, on the morning of the third day (Vasconcelos now rose early), his brother came into his study, looking his usual disapproving self.
Lourenço’s presence prompted Vasconcelos to reveal everything to him.
Lourenço was a man of good sense and, when necessary, could be supportive too.
He listened to Vasconcelos, and when the latter had finished, he broke his silence with these words:
“This is pure nonsense. If your wife is against the marriage, then it’s for some other reason.”
“But it’s the marriage to Gomes she’s objecting to.”
“Yes, because you presented Gomes to her as the suitor, but she might well have reacted in the same way if you had suggested someone else. There must be another reason; perhaps Adelaide has spoken to her and asked her to oppose the marriage, because your daughter doesn’t love Gomes and can’t marry him.”
“But she will.”
“That’s not the only reason she can’t marry him, though . . .”
“Go on.”
“There’s also the fact that the marriage is pure speculation on Gomes’s part.”
“Speculation?” asked Vasconcelos.
“Just as it is for you,” said Lourenço. “You’re giving him your daughter because you have your eyes on his fortune; and he will take her because he has his eyes on yours . . .”
“But he—”
“He has nothing. He’s ruined like you. I did a little investigating and learned the truth. Naturally, he wants to continue the same dissolute life he has led up until now, and your fortune is a way to do that.”
“Are you sure of this?”
“Absolutely.”
Vasconcelos was terrified. In the midst of all his suspicions, he had still clung to the hope that his honor would be saved and that the marriage would set him up financially.
Lourenço’s revelation put paid to that hope.
“If you want proof, send for him and tell him you’re penniless and, for that reason, cannot allow him to marry your daughter. Observe him closely and see what effect your words have on him.”
There was no need to summon the suitor. An hour later, he called at the house.
Vasconcelos told him to come straight up to his study.
VII
After an initial exchange of courtesies, Vasconcelos said:
“I was just about to write and ask you to come.”
“Why’s that?” asked Gomes.
“So that we could talk about . . . about the marriage.”
“Ah, is there a problem?”
“I’ll explain.”
Gomes grew more serious, foreseeing some grave difficulty.
Vasconcelos spoke first.
“There are certain circumstances,” he said, “that need to be set out very clearly, so that there can be no room for misunderstanding . . .”
“I agree entirely.”
“Do you love my daughter?”
“How often do I have to tell you? Yes, I do.”
“And you will love her whatever the circumstances?”
“Yes, unless those circumstances might affect her happiness.”
“Let’s be frank, then, since, as well as the friend you have always been, you are now almost my son. For us to be discreet would be decidedly indiscreet.”
“Indeed,” said Gomes.
“I’ve just found out that my financial affairs are in a parlous state. I have overspent and am basically ruined, and it would be no exaggeration to say that I am now poor.”
Gomes did his best not to look shocked.
“Adelaide,” Vasconcelos went on, “has no fortune, not even a dowry. All I am giving you is a young woman, although I can promise you that
she’s a real angel and will make an excellent wife.”
Vasconcelos fell silent, his eyes fixed on Gomes, as if, by scrutinizing his face he might discover what was going on in his heart.
Gomes should have responded at once, but, for a few minutes, a deep silence reigned.
Finally, he spoke.
“I appreciate your frankness and I will be equally frank.”
“I would expect no less.”
“It was certainly not money that prompted my love for your daughter; I trust you will do me the justice of believing that I am above such base considerations. Besides, on the day when I asked you for the hand of my beloved, I believed myself to be rich.”
“Believed?”
“Yes, only yesterday, my lawyer told me the true state of my financial affairs.”
“Not good, eh?”
“Oh, if only it were as simple as that. But it seems that for the last six months I have been existing thanks entirely to my lawyer’s extraordinary efforts to scrape together some money, because he couldn’t bring himself to tell me the truth. And I only found out yesterday!”
“I see.”
“Imagine the despair of a man who believes himself to be wealthy and, one day, discovers he has nothing!”
“I don’t need to imagine it!”
“I came here today feeling happy, because any happiness I still have resides in this house; but the truth is that I’m poised on the edge of an abyss. Fate has chosen to punish us both at the same moment.”
After this explanation, to which Vasconcelos listened unblinking, Gomes tackled the thorniest part of the matter.
“As I say, I appreciate your frankness and I accept your daughter even without a fortune. I have no fortune, either, but I am still strong enough to work.”
“You accept her, then?”
“Listen, I accept Dona Adelaide on one condition: that she wait awhile for me to begin my new life. I intend going to the government and asking for a post there, if I can still remember what I learned at school. As soon as I’m properly established, I will come back for her. Do you agree?”
“If she’s happy with that,” said Vasconcelos, grasping at this one last hope, “then it’s decided.”
Gomes went on:
“Good, speak to her about this tomorrow, and send me her response. Ah, if only I still had my fortune, then I could prove to you how much I love her.”
The Collected Stories of Machado De Assis Page 13
