Francisca Page #6

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He is a Luther without a doctrine

Come have dinner today.

- Come have dinner today?

- Look, it seems that he's here.

- I've heard much about you lately.

- Good or bad?

When people talk about us

it's always bad.

When it's good,

they speak low and not openly.

- What do they say of me in Oporto?

- What they said of Socrates in Athens.

That you are vain and very ugly.

Listen, do you want to

join me for lunch tomorrow?

- I must write an article.

- Does the article pay your lunch?

Not with partridges and oysters, no.

Virtue is like that:

give in quickly to atone earlier.

Would you like to have a calessino

like this one?

Jos Augusto, would you like to

have a calessino like this one?

They make them here now.

I would. I'll think about it.

Don't miss lunch tomorrow.

You were the angel

whom I begged God to

send and save me.

Not a very recommendable place

for a lonesome man like you.

Normally a lonesome man is someone

who likes being alone,

with many people around.

- Solitude, the Oporto way,

is usually like that.

Oh, my friend Jos Augusto.

Let's joke around!

I'm tired of serious conversations.

Just yesterday I heard a lady

quoting a book

on the harvesting of rice.

- Do you have fun with those things?

- I don't have fun.

The hatred of success

has soaked my spirit.

I lost the humor

of the anonymous genius.

When they read my articles,

there are people who say:

"This poor devil is not a bad writer".

And you?

- I'm going to get married.

There's still time,

Jos Augusto, don't get married.

I love her, she's in love,

and society demands it from me.

Society demands that you jump into

the river, that you drink vinegar.

It demands you a fraudulent love

and the importance of

being the hero of a mediocre romance.

Is that what you want?

Is that what you want?

What I feel

is perfect love, Camilo.

Beyond perfection

there is tedium.

Or else, if made perfect,

it vanishes completely.

Don't get married.

You're going to kill her.

Kill her?

But I love her!

You love with pride. You only love

the luxury of loving, nothing more.

Fanny's love and the friendship

of a literati like me...

A man who is rich

at the age of twenty-five cannot

have greater

ambitions than these.

The only thing than cannot be greater

is your malice.

It surpasses the reputation

you already had.

You're wrong.

It can be much greater.

Do you know who I am, Camilo?

I could just put you out of here

with a good whipping right now.

I know who you are...

You are a poor devil.

You know how to say it all with few

words. That's good, because

what I really can't stand is those

moralizing feuilletons of yours.

Tonight I must

pick Raquel at the theatre.

If you wish to wait for me at the

Guichard, we can continue this talk.

"These are not

railroad stock shares

for those are not yet

in the catalogue of utopias.

It is just petty literature, to keep you

busy on your honey moon. Camilo".

I shall read them.

Fanny!

- Can't you forgive me?

- I can. What I can't do is love you.

I could love you much,

but I don't.

Love is our second creator.

You had no love for me.

You don't have

enough seduction for me,

nor am I hypocritical

enough for you.

But you will forget me.

If there is a person who can make

me forget you, I shall hate that person.

Were those letters that bad?

I only know that you complained about

me to a stranger.

You said I don't understand you.

I offer you

a brother's name, Fanny.

Your sister, your daughter,

your friend.

your wife, your slave

if you want it.

I swear that you love me and that the

world is a paradise. Man is good,

God is merciful, I am your equal,

soul of your soul, blood of your blood.

- No, I'm nothing for you.

- Your letters have been

circulating among my friends.

They can be copied

and be printed in the newspapers

like a vulgar feuilleton,

word by word.

To whom did you write those letters?

I love you, Jos Augusto.

I love you the way God loves sinners.

You need to be loved that way.

Vicente! Vicente!

From now on, from now on,

I want you to bring me

lunch and dinner!

Women annoy me!

You wretch!

I had seen this coming.

Madam, do not worry.

The hearts of men

are made of garlic vine.

Even dead they don't deserve our tears.

Is there something you need?

No, nothing. Thank you.

I'll be in my room.

- Good night.

- Good night, Madam.

Camilo had a new room

in the Quinta do Pinheiro.

Manuel Negro, who had gone visiting

him, thought that he didn't look well...

Have you read Manon Lescault?

Do you know who Tiberge was?

Such was the man that I lost.

I was ungrateful to him.

But without any infamy.

- Certainly, certainly.

But you can hardly stand on your feet.

- Leave me. He doesn't love her.

- It's a mistake.

- Jos Augusto?

What is not a mistake?

Within nine months,

and by mistake,

a small child will be born and

it will continue the line

of mistakes, for eternity.

Within nine moths

death will be the midwife

of what we create in our heart.

I tell you:
I'd give my talent

to the first beggar

who'd come and say:

"She loves you".

Did you love Fanny?

What else is new?!

Find consolation in a lock of her hair.

"Little does he know about sadness,

he who tells a sad man to cheer up".

The deepest sorrows

grow with consolation.

To assuage them

sounds like an offense.

How were you taken by such a passion?

I never thought Fanny interested you,

or that she looked at you.

I know you.

Satire will overcome tragedy,

and you can save yourself.

- I can save myself,

but through the roads of hell.

which are not that bad.

I suppose they are paved with

absurdity, betrayal, slander.

They're bad for you, Negro,

for you hate to be on the spotlight.

Go away. I must write a chronicle.

- I can see you're cured. - I am dead!

But what difference does it make?

Jos Augusto and Fanny

went visiting Raimundo and Josefa

in the Casa da Capela.

I will consult my friends

to see if they approve of my wedding

after the episode with the letters.

I've written to Jos de Melo

to gather my closest friends

and debate this matter of honor.

Are you insane, my brother?

Who can be a judge of that,

but for your own consciousness?

Do not worry.

My heart tells me that we

will never be strangers.

Gentlemen.

You all know the facts

that brought me ill fame.

I have taken Fanny Owen from her

house and given her my own.

Now I came to know

of some letters

that this child wrote

to another man

when compromise had already

been declared between us.

Shall I keep my word

and get married?

In this case bereft of logic,

logic orders you to marry.

- I loved Fanny but not anymore.

- A wedding out of mercy

may tempt you as a new emotion,

but it will bore you tomorrow.

You came to investigate

Fanny's past

so that you can relinquish

your responsibility in a story

that lost the merits of novelty.

I believe that all this is unwise.

If you don't marry, maybe Fanny

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