Desired of the People
by Machado de Assis
— Oh! Counselor, then he starts speaking in verse.
— All men must have a lyre in their hearts — or they are not men. May the lyre resound at all times, not for any reason, I don't say, but from far away, and through some private reminiscences... Do you know why I seem like a poet to you, despite the Ordinances of the Kingdom and my gray hair? ? It's because we're going ahead in this Glory, alongside the Foreigners' Secretariat... There's the famous hill... Ahead there's a house...
— Let's go.
— Come on... Divina Quintilia! All these faces that pass by are different, but they speak to me of that time, as if they were the same as before; it is the lyre that resonates, and the imagination does the rest. Divine Quintilia!
— Was her name Quintilia? I met by sight, when I was at the School of Medicine, a beautiful girl with that name. They said it was the most beautiful in the city.
— It must be the same one, because it had that reputation. Slim and tall?
- That. What ended it?
— Died in 1859. April 20th. I will never forget that day. I'm going to tell you a case that's interesting to me, and I think it's also interesting to you. Look, that was the house... He lived with an uncle, a retired police station leader, and he had another house in Cosme Velho. When I met Quintília... How old do you think she would have been when I met her?
— If it was in 1855...
— In 1855.
— He must have been twenty years old.
— He was thirty.
- Thirty?
—Thirty years. It didn't look like it, nor was it any enemy that gave him that age. She herself confessed it and even with affectation. On the contrary, one of her friends stated that Quintília was no more than twenty-seven; but since they were both born on the same day, she said that to diminish herself.
— Bad, no irony; Look, irony doesn't make a good bed with longing.
— What is nostalgia if not an irony of time and fortune? See there; I start to feel sententious. Thirty years; but in truth, it didn't seem like it. She remembers well that she was thin and tall; He had eyes, as I said then, that seemed cut from last night's cape, but, despite being nocturnal, without mysteries or abysses. Her voice was very soft, somewhat Apaulista, her mouth was wide, and her teeth, when she simply spoke, gave her mouth an air of laughter. She laughed too, and it was her laughter, in partnership with her eyes, that hurt me a lot for a while.
—But if the eyes had no mysteries...
— They didn't have them so much that I went so far as to assume that they were the open doors of the castle, and laughter was the bugle that called the knights. We already knew her, my office partner, João Nóbrega, and I, both new to law, and as intimate as anyone else; but he never reminded us to date her. She was then in the galarim; she was beautiful, rich, elegant, and a member of the world. But one day, in the old Provisional Theater between two acts of the Puritans, as I was in a corridor, I heard a group of young men talking about it, like an impregnable fortress. Two confessed to having tried something, but without fruit; and everyone was amazed at the girl's celibacy, which seemed inexplicable to them. And they teased: one said it was a promise until he saw if he gained weight first; another who was waiting for his uncle's second youth to marry him; another who had probably commissioned some angel from the gatekeeper of heaven; trivialities that bothered me a lot, and on the part of those who confessed to having courted or loved her, I thought it was nameless rudeness. What they all agreed on was that she was extraordinarily beautiful; there they were enthusiastic and sincere.
_Oh! I still remember!... she was very beautiful.
— The next day, when I arrived at the office, between two cases that didn't come, I told Nóbrega about the conversation from the day before. Nóbrega laughed at the incident, reflected, and after taking a few steps, he stopped in front of me, looking, silent. — I bet you date her? I asked him. — No, he said; not you? Well, it reminded me of something: are we going to attempt the assault on the fortress? What do we lose from this? Nothing, either she puts us out on the street, and we can wait for him, or she accepts one of us, and so much the better for the other, who will see his friend happy. — Are you serious? — Very serious. — Nóbrega added that it wasn't just her beauty that made her attractive. Note that he had the presumption of being practical, but he was mainly a dreamer who lived reading and building social and political apparatuses. According to him, those boys at the theater avoided talking about the girl's assets, which were one of her spells, and one of the likely causes of some's disconsolation and everyone's sarcasm. And he said to me: — Listen, neither deify money nor banish it; Let's not believe that it gives everything, but let's recognize that it gives something and even a lot, — this watch, for example. Let's fight for our Quintilia, mine or yours, but probably mine, because I'm more beautiful than you.
— Counselor, the confession is serious, were you joking...?
— It was like this by playing, still smelling of the gym benches, that we got into a business with so much consideration that it could have ended in nothing, but it gave a lot of effort. It was a wild start, almost a children's pastime, without the hint of sincerity; but man proposes and the species disposes. We knew her, even though we didn't meet frequently; Once we were willing to take common action, a new element entered our lives, and within a month we were fighting.
"Brigades?"
—Or almost. We hadn't counted on her, she bewitched us both, violently. Within a few weeks we spoke little about Quintília, and with indifference; we tried to deceive each other and hide what we felt. That's how our relationships dissolved, after six months, without hatred, nor fight, nor external demonstration, because we still spoke to each other, wherever chance brought us together; but we already had a separate bank then.
— I'm starting to see a hint of the drama...
— Tragedy, say tragedy; because after a short time, either due to verbal disappointment she gave him, or out of desperation to win, Nóbrega left me alone on the field. He arranged an appointment as municipal judge there in the backlands of Bahia, where he languished and died before the four-year period was over. And I swear to you that it wasn't Nóbrega's inculcated practical spirit that separated him from me; He, who had talked so much about the advantages of money, died in love like a simple Werther.
— Less with a gun.
— Poison also kills; and Quintilia's love could be said to be something like that, it was what killed him, and what still hurts me today... But, I see from what you said that I'm annoying him...
- For God's sake. I promise you no; It was a joke that escaped me. Let's go ahead, counselor; he remained alone on the field.
— Quintília didn't let anyone be alone on the field, — I don't say for her, but for the others. Many came there to drink a cup of hope, and went to supper elsewhere. She didn't favor one more than the other, but she was beautiful, graceful and had that kind of wide eyes that weren't made for jealous men. I was bitterly and, at times, terribly jealous. Every mote seemed to me like a knight, and every knight like a devil. After all, I got used to seeing them as day passengers. Others scared me more, they were the ones that came inside my friends' gloves. I believe there were two or three such negotiations, but without result. Quintilia declared that she would do nothing without consulting her uncle, and her uncle advised her to refuse — something she knew in advance. The good old man never liked visits from men, for fear that his niece would choose one and marry him. He was so used to carrying her around, like a crutch for his crippled old soul, that he feared losing her entirely.
—Wouldn’t that be the reason for the girl’s systematic exemption?
— Maybe not.
— What I noticed is that you were more stubborn than the others...
— ... I was deluded, at first, because in the midst of so many unsuccessful applications, Quintília preferred me to all the other men, and talked to me more widely and more intimately, to the point that it came to pass that we would get married.
—But what were they talking about?
— Everything she didn't talk about with others; and it was amazing that a person so fond of dances and outings, of waltzing and laughing, would be so severe and serious with me, so different from what he used to be or seemed to be like.
— The reason is clear: I found his conversation less boring than that of other men.
- Thanks; the cause of the difference was deeper, and the difference became more pronounced over time. When life down here bothered her too much, she went to Cosme Velho, and there our conversations were more frequent and longer. I cannot tell you, nor would you understand anything, what the hours were that I spent there, incorporating into my life all the life that flowed from it. Many times I wanted to tell him what I felt, but the words were scary and stayed in my heart. I wrote letters upon letters; They all seemed cold, diffuse, or bloated with style. Besides, she didn't give any opportunity for anything, she had the air of an old friend. At the beginning of 1857, my father arrived in Itaboraí; I ran to see him, I found him dying. This fact kept me out of Court for about four months. I returned at the end of May. Quintilia received me, saddened by my sadness, and I clearly saw that my grief had passed into her eyes...
—But what was that if not love?
— I believed so, and I set out my life to marry her. As a result, his uncle fell seriously ill. Quintília would not be alone if he died, because, in addition to the many scattered relatives he had, he now lived with her, in the house on Rua do Catete, a cousin, D. Ana, a widow; but, it is certain that the main affection would go away and in this transition from the present life to the later life I could achieve what I wanted. The uncle's illness was brief; helped by old age, she took him in two weeks. I tell you here that his death reminded me of my father's, and the pain I felt then was almost the same. Quintilia saw me suffer, understood the double reason, and, as she told me later, estimated the coincidence of the blow, since we had to receive it without fail and so soon. The word seemed to me like a marriage invitation; Two months later I decided to ask her to marry me. D. Ana had stayed with her and they were in Cosme Velho. I went there, found them together on the terrace, which was close to the mountain. It was four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. D. Ana, who assumed we were boyfriends, left us the field free.
- Anyway!
— On the terrace, a lonely place, and I might say wild, I uttered the first word.
My plan was precisely to rush everything, afraid that five minutes of conversation would take away my strength. Still, you don't know what it cost me; It would cost less to fight, and I swear to you that I wasn't born for wars. But that thin, delicate woman imposed herself on me, like no other, before and after...
- And then?
—Quintília had guessed, from the look on my face, what I was going to ask of her, and she let me speak to prepare the answer. The answer was interrogative and negative. Get married for what? It would be better if we stayed friends like before. I replied that friendship had been, in me, for a long time, the simple sentinel of love; Unable to contain him any longer, he let him leave. Quintilia smiled at the metaphor, which hurt me, and for no reason; She, seeing the effect, became serious again and tried to persuade me that it was better not to get married.
— I'm old, she said; I'm going in thirty-three years.
— But if I really love her, I replied, and told her a lot of things that I couldn't repeat now. Quintilia reflected for a moment; then he insisted on friendly relations; She said that, despite being younger than her, he had the gravitas of an older man and inspired her with confidence like no other. Desperate, I took a few steps, then sat down again and told him everything. When he found out about my fight with his friend and gym partner, and the separation we had, he felt, I don't know what to say, hurt or irritated. He scolded us both, it wasn't worth it for us to get to that point.
— You say that because you don't feel the same way.
— But is it a delusion?
— I believe so; What I assure you is that even now, if necessary, I would separate myself from him one and a hundred times; and I believe I can tell you that he would do the same thing. Here she looked at me in astonishment, as one looks at a person whose faculties seem disturbed; then he shook his head and repeated that it was a mistake; it wasn't worth it.
— Let's stay friends, he told me, extending his hand.
— It's impossible; ask me for something greater than my strength, I will never be able to see you as a simple friend; I don't want to impose anything on you; I'll tell you that I'm not even going to insist anymore, because I wouldn't accept any other answer now. We exchanged a few words, and I left... Look at my hand.
— He's still shaking...
—And I didn't tell you everything. I'm not telling you here about the troubles I had, nor the pain and regret I was left with. I was sorry, angry, I should have caused that disappointment from the first weeks, but it was hope's fault, which is a weed plant, which took the place of other, better plants. At the end of five days I left for Itaboraí, where some interests from my father's inventory called me. When I returned, three weeks later, I found a letter from Quintília at home.
— Oh!
— I opened it with excitement: it was dated four days ago. It was long; he alluded to the latest successes, and said sweet and serious things. Quintilia claimed to have waited for me every day, not caring that I carried away selfishness until I never came back, that's why she wrote to me, asking me to make my personal and echoless feelings a page of finished history; let just the friend stay, and go see his friend. And he concluded with these singular words: "Do you want a guarantee? I swear to you that I will never marry." I understood that a bond of moral sympathy bound us to one another; with the difference that what was a specific passion in me was in her a simple choice of character. We were two partners, who entered the business of life with different capital: me, everything I owned; she, almost an obol. I replied to her letter to that effect; and I declared that my obedience and my love were such that I gave in, but reluctantly, because, after what had happened between us, I would feel humiliated. I crossed out the word ridiculous, already written, so I could go and see her without this embarrassment; the other was enough.
- Anyway!
— On the terrace, a lonely place, and I might say wild, I uttered the first word.
My plan was precisely to rush everything, afraid that five minutes of conversation would take away my strength. Still, you don't know what it cost me; It would cost less to fight, and I swear to you that I wasn't born for wars. But that thin, delicate woman imposed herself on me like no other, before and after...
- And then?
—Quintília had guessed, from the look on my face, what I was going to ask of her, and she let me speak to prepare the answer. The answer was interrogative and negative. Get married for what? It would be better if we stayed friends like before. I replied that friendship had been, in me, for a long time, the simple sentinel of love; Unable to contain him any longer, he let him leave. Quintilia smiled at the metaphor, which hurt me, and for no reason; She, seeing the effect, became serious again and tried to persuade me that it was better not to get married.
— I'm old, she said; I'm going in thirty-three years.
— But if I really love her, I replied, and told her a lot of things that I couldn't repeat now. Quintilia reflected for a moment; then he insisted on friendly relations; She said that, despite being younger than her, he had the gravitas of an older man and inspired her with confidence like no other. Desperate, I took a few steps, then sat down again and told him everything. When he found out about my fight with his friend and gym partner, and the separation we had, he felt, I don't know what to say, hurt or irritated. He scolded us both, it wasn't worth it for us to get to that point.
— You say that because you don't feel the same way.
— But is it a delusion?
— I believe so; What I assure you is that even now, if necessary, I would separate myself from him one and a hundred times; and I believe I can tell you that he would do the same thing. Here she looked at me in astonishment, as one looks at a person whose faculties seem disturbed; then he shook his head and repeated that it was a mistake; it wasn't worth it.
— Let's stay friends, he told me, extending his hand.
— It's impossible; ask me for something greater than my strength, I will never be able to see you as a simple friend; I don't want to impose anything on you; I'll tell you that I'm not even going to insist anymore, because I wouldn't accept any other answer now. We exchanged a few words, and I left... Look at my hand.
— He's still shaking...
—And I didn't tell you everything. I'm not telling you here about the troubles I had, nor the pain and regret I was left with. I was sorry, angry, I should have caused that disappointment from the first weeks, but it was hope's fault, which is a weed plant, which took the place of other, better plants. At the end of five days I left for Itaboraí, where some interests from my father's inventory called me. When I returned, three weeks later, I found a letter from Quintília at home.
— Oh!
— I opened it with excitement: it was dated four days ago. It was long; he alluded to the latest successes, and said sweet and serious things. Quintilia claimed to have waited for me every day, not caring that I carried away selfishness until I never came back, that's why she wrote to me, asking me to make my personal and echoless feelings a page of finished history; let just the friend stay, and go see his friend. And he concluded with these singular words: "Do you want a guarantee? I swear to you that I will never marry." I understood that a bond of moral sympathy bound us to one another; with the difference that what was a specific passion in me was in her a simple choice of character. We were two partners, who entered the business of life with different capital: me, everything I owned; she, almost an obol. I replied to her letter to that effect; and I declared that my obedience and my love were such that I gave in, but reluctantly, because, after what had happened between us, I would feel humiliated. I crossed out the word ridiculous, already written, so I could go and see her without this embarrassment; the other was enough.
— I bet you followed behind the letter? That's what I would do, because that girl, either I'm wrong or she's dying to marry you.
— Leave your usual physiology; This case is very particular.
— Let me guess the rest; the oath was a mystical hook; later, the master, who had received him, could release her from him, once he took advantage of the absolution. But anyway, run to her house.
— I didn't run; I went two days later. During the break, she responded to my letter with a loving note, which ended with this idea: "don't talk about humiliation, where there was no public." I went and came back again and again and our relationships were reestablished. Nothing was said; At first, it was difficult for me to look like what I was before; then, the demon of hope came to rest in my heart again; and, without saying anything, I thought that one day, one day late, she would marry me. And it was this hope that rectified me in my own eyes, in the situation in which I found myself. Rumors of our marriage spread around the world. They reached our ears; I formally and seriously denied it; she shrugged and laughed. This was the most serene phase of our life for me, except for a short incident, an Austrian diplomat or I don't know what, a young man, elegant, red-haired, with big, attractive eyes, and a nobleman to boot. Quintilia was so gracious to him that he thought he was accepted and tried to move on. I believe that some unconscious gesture of mine, or a bit of the fine perception that heaven had given him, quickly led to the disappointment of the Austrian legation. Shortly afterwards she fell ill; and it was then that our intimacy grew significantly. While she was being treated, she decided not to leave, and the doctors told her that. I spent many hours there every day. Either they would play, or the three of us would play, or something would be read; Most of the time we just talked. It was then that I studied it a lot; Listening to his readings, I saw that he found purely loving books incomprehensible, and if his passions were violent, he would put them down out of boredom. He didn't speak like that out of ignorance; he had vague news of the passions, and had witnessed some of others.
—What illness were you suffering from?
— From the spine. The doctors said that the illness was perhaps not recent, and was touching a sore spot. We thus arrive at 1859. Since March of that year the disease has become much worse; it had a short stop, but towards the end of the month it reached a desperate state. I have never seen a more energetic creature in the face of imminent catastrophe; It was now transparently thin, almost fluid; she laughed, or rather, she just smiled, and, seeing that I was hiding my tears, she shook my hands gratefully. One day, being alone with the doctor, he asked him the truth; He was going to lie, she told him it was useless, that she was lost.
— Lost, no, muttered the doctor.
— Do you swear I'm not lost?
— He hesitated, she thanked him. Once she was certain that she was dying, she ordered what she had promised herself.
— Married you, I bet?
— Don't remind me of that sad ceremony; or rather, let me remember it, because it brings me some comfort from the past. He did not accept my refusals or requests; He married me on the verge of death. It was April 18, 1859. I spent the last two days, until April 20, at the foot of my dying bride, and I embraced her for the first time like a corpse.
— This is all very strange.
— I don't know what your physiology will say. Mine, which is profane, believes that that girl had a purely physical aversion to marriage. She married half dead, at the doorstep of nowhere. Call it a monster if you want, but add divine.
END
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