Francisca Page #5

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nor does it delude or terrify me.

And Jos Augusto?

Jos Augusto is nothing

but a vulgar servant.

- Let me out.

- No, no, wait.

He is a servant and nothing more.

A servant who bends

before any semblance

of prestige.

He is a servant of pretty words,

pretty deeds,

and pretty silly things.

Your love

is a pretty silly thing

only for as long as

I am with you.

After that, it will be

just a silly thing.

Get out of my sight,

you envious and evil man.

Now I know why honest people

hate you.

What are these honest people,

after all?

They are a consequence.

So goodbye, my consequence,

beautiful woman of Paraso.

Paddle.

There's land.

Paddle.

The arrival at Lodeiro had

the expectable discretion.

Fanny at once retreated to the old

room of Jos Augusto's mother.

Next day...

Don't go out. Take a rest.

Give your orders. Feel at home.

I'm going out and coming at night.

I won't be near you very often.

Things must go

in the proper manner.

We're getting married

in a short while.

I must write to my mother.

And my father too.

Love me, and do whatever

you want.

Are you coming back very late?

What did you say, Fanny?

- And my little horse?

- Everything is in order, master.

A fine little animal you have here.

You are the portrait of

master Jos Augusto's mother.

Madam had very beautiful dresses.

Had...

Don't bother,

I will take care of that.

Madam.

Master Jos Augusto

has sent you a note.

To tell you not wait for him

because he's not coming for dinner.

Very well, Clotilde.

What shall I serve?

I have eels with brown gravy.

But your Excellency doesn't like it.

- Anything is fine.

Tea and bread will be enough.

- But Madam will starve.

Don't bother, Clotilde,

I'll be fine.

Come in.

Master Jos Augusto

left you this note.

He's gone to Oporto.

Has he left yet?

Master Jos Augusto?

He has left one hour ago.

- Who has gone with him?

- Marques, who else?

A chaplain with no miter,

a squire with no duty.

Some men are lucky,

others are patient.

D. Josefa ordered me to tell you

that she'll come to visit you,

Madam.

I lent him two towels and I never

saw them again. Men's houses..!

They were made of damask linen.

I'll be very sorry if they are lost.

Jos Augusto, when is he coming?

In five days.

I don't know.

He didn't tell me.

Were it not for men and their ways,

everything would be much better.

Tell me something about

your life in Paraso.

Well...

I'd tender my flowers and go for

a walk by the end of the day.

I'd sit on the church steps

and make drawings of the fields;

an irrigation ditch covered with vines

and a mare with a foal on the side.

Children would sometimes come

to see the drawings. They'd laugh,

as if there was something magical

about it. The sea wind would

blow the drawings away

and children would run to grab them.

Children here are rude.

All they do is begging.

This is a forsaken breed.

- Why?

Their fathers are drunkards. What will

they learn but bad words

and how to steal rabbits from the

warren? They are raised like savages

and then one day

they kill a priest, a friend,

or the mother of their

own sons.

- Kill?

- What do you think, Fanny?

This is not Paraso, nor a greenery

for tuberous begonias.

This is the countryside, with

rude, jealous and miserable people.

They are lazy and beg like blind men.

But they say it's even worse in Douro.

They only work

if the foreman threatens them.

They throw their food onto the floor

if they think it's cold or salty.

They don't attend church.

I don't even know if they feel pain.

They die like animals in a stable,

on a bundle of straw.

Old women beg till they are

one hundred years old.

I met one who came walking from

Marco every Friday.

She talked about the time

when she was a young girl.

Do you know what she talked about?

About her first romance, when she

was twelve. It was the most beautiful

thing that ever happened to her.

Poor woman.

This girl knows nothing about life.

It is bad marriage.

Things you learn too late won't bring

you any experience, only unhappiness.

- Do you want to stay over for dinner?

- No. I must go.

Maybe some other day.

Goodbye, my daughter. If it were

not for men, and their ways,

the world wouldn't be as it is.

Hugo Owen is responsible for

organizing my wedding with Fanny,

but he refused to

meet me.

It seems to me that everybody

has calmed down now.

Only you know the secret

of my arrival in Oporto.

You know, Jos Augusto, it is bad

to be a scoundrel twice.

I know a few stories about

that woman when she was single.

Of the time when she was married,

I hope you'll tell me.

I hope you laugh

and love her.

When it comes to love,

being serious is a great misfortune.

Your friend Camilo said it,

a merchant of words

whom we both despise.

- You are an old child, Raquel.

And I love you.

You are the only woman that I miss.

And missing someone is love.

You have a silly smile

and you love me.

You have a farmer's moustache

and you love me.

I thought you only had three passions:

"Reading Byron,

marrying a rich lady

and living in Terreiro do Pao".

Me, a minister?

I may be eccentric,

but I'm not out-fashioned.

- What they say

is that you are ruined and that you

would marry a rich widow

even if her dowry included her cook,

her old dog,

and her first husband's portraits.

But now you abduct an English woman

who writes poetry

and is nothing more than well-off,

the worst situation

for a witted woman.

- Why?

- Come on... Why?

Mediocrity is the religion

of jurists and their wives.

Balzac said:
"She had wits, although

her husband was a jurist".

You're waging war

against me, Raquel.

And Balzac didn't say "jurist";

he said "notary".

"She was faithful to him,

although she was a notary's wife".

What memory you have,

Jos Augusto!

Romantics have

an incredible memory.

I'm going to the Browne's house.

They are original,

but not typical. You are, from now on,

a typical man.

Your only salvation is to go insane.

Every house will then

receive you again,

and people will admire you once more.

Colonel Owen will give you his

daughter, but without a dowry.

Her mother offers a few diamonds,

as a simple souvenir.

I don't need souvenirs.

These people annoy me.

They think I want their daughter

for their money and their name.

- I don't want anything from those

spies. - Spies? Mind your tongue.

Wasn't Owen the counselor of Dom Pedro?

During the Oporto siege,

he used to visit the King at 11 p.m.

The king was coughing up blood,

he was already sick. But he listened to

Owen's words, it is known.

Political hatred created

those images.

Hatred is a boat, and those

who paddle it remain nameless.

- There is too much hatred.

- Not enough.

If it were enough we wouldn't

endure this life without glory,

without future,

without nothing.

- Where is Camilo?

- He's around. He writes a lot.

He flirts with the nuns with

an unbelievable conviction.

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