The Alienist and Other Stories of Nineteenth-Century Brazil by Machado de Assis Page A
Authors: Machado de Assis
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satyr’s eyes, following her joyous, sensual movements, a swirling mixture of filly and swan. Everybody moved aside, pressing back into the corners of the not-very-big room, so that she had enough space for her flaring skirt, her rhythmically swiveling thighs, and her quick turns, now to the left, now to the right. Porfirio had added jealousy to admiration, experiencing the impulse to go punch out her dance partner, a tall, muscular young guy who held her firmly around the waist.
The next day, Porfirio woke up determined to win Gloria’s love and her hand in marriage. It seems that his determination paid off quickly, in about six months. Before the wedding, though, as soon as he began to court Gloria, he tried to fill a blank spot in his education, diverting a small quantity from his wages each month to take a dance class, where he learned the waltz, the mazurka, the polka, and the French quadrille. Every other day, he spent fully two evening hours dancing to the music of a flute and antique horn in the company of other young men and half a dozen thin and tired seamstresses. In a short time he had become a master. The first time he danced with his betrothed was like a revelation to her. The other dancers squinted with insincere, yellow smiles, allowed that he wasn’t bad. Gloria melted with happiness.
With that done, Porfirio looked for a house and found the one where he still lives, not big, more on the small side. It was the arabesque adornments on the façade that caught his eye. He did not like the rent, though, and haggled for a time, raising his offer by tiny increments until, receiving no concessions in return, he finally paid the full amount.
Then he arranged the wedding. His future mother-in-law proposed that they go to the church on foot, because it was nearby. He declined gravely, but later, in private with his betrothed and their friends, he laughed at the old lady’s extravagant suggestion. It would look like a kind of procession, bride and groom, wedding party, and guests traipsing through the street on foot, something never before seen! People would make fun of them! Gloria explained that her mother wanted to cut expenses. Cut expenses? If you don’t spend money on a great occasion, when do you spend money? Not a chance. He was young and strong and not afraid of working hard. For her wedding, he told Gloria, she could count on a stylish coach with white horses and coachmen in full uniform, with gold-trimmed hats.
And all this came true. The wedding was a major success, with many coaches and a dance that lasted until dawn. None of the guests wanted to go home. They all wanted to preserve the moment, stop the march of time. But the party finally ended. What did not end was the legend of the party, preserved in neighborhood memory as a point of comparison for other notable parties. The person who lent them the money for the party never asked for it back and, on his deathbed, pardoned the debt. It was that sort of party.
Naturally, though, in the cold light of the next day, reality took charge of the poor cabinetmaker, who had managed to forget it for a few hours. The honeymoon was more modest, fit for minor nobility only. All honeymoons are similar, substantively speaking, for such is the law and prestige of love. This one was a bit different, though, in that Porfirio went from the lap of luxury back to toiling in a carpentry workshop. The couple’s initial enthusiasm resulted in excessive outlays. The house was expensive, and their lives started to get tough. The debts accumulated, softly and in small increments at first: two milréis, then five, tomorrow seven and nine. The biggest debt of all, and the most urgent, was their unpaid rent. Now the landlord threatened to evict them in a week unless he were paid.
Such was the butter (with its rancid taste of misery) that Porfirio smeared on his bread on the morning in question. It was the only butter available. He ate quickly and went out, almost without
The next day, Porfirio woke up determined to win Gloria’s love and her hand in marriage. It seems that his determination paid off quickly, in about six months. Before the wedding, though, as soon as he began to court Gloria, he tried to fill a blank spot in his education, diverting a small quantity from his wages each month to take a dance class, where he learned the waltz, the mazurka, the polka, and the French quadrille. Every other day, he spent fully two evening hours dancing to the music of a flute and antique horn in the company of other young men and half a dozen thin and tired seamstresses. In a short time he had become a master. The first time he danced with his betrothed was like a revelation to her. The other dancers squinted with insincere, yellow smiles, allowed that he wasn’t bad. Gloria melted with happiness.
With that done, Porfirio looked for a house and found the one where he still lives, not big, more on the small side. It was the arabesque adornments on the façade that caught his eye. He did not like the rent, though, and haggled for a time, raising his offer by tiny increments until, receiving no concessions in return, he finally paid the full amount.
Then he arranged the wedding. His future mother-in-law proposed that they go to the church on foot, because it was nearby. He declined gravely, but later, in private with his betrothed and their friends, he laughed at the old lady’s extravagant suggestion. It would look like a kind of procession, bride and groom, wedding party, and guests traipsing through the street on foot, something never before seen! People would make fun of them! Gloria explained that her mother wanted to cut expenses. Cut expenses? If you don’t spend money on a great occasion, when do you spend money? Not a chance. He was young and strong and not afraid of working hard. For her wedding, he told Gloria, she could count on a stylish coach with white horses and coachmen in full uniform, with gold-trimmed hats.
And all this came true. The wedding was a major success, with many coaches and a dance that lasted until dawn. None of the guests wanted to go home. They all wanted to preserve the moment, stop the march of time. But the party finally ended. What did not end was the legend of the party, preserved in neighborhood memory as a point of comparison for other notable parties. The person who lent them the money for the party never asked for it back and, on his deathbed, pardoned the debt. It was that sort of party.
Naturally, though, in the cold light of the next day, reality took charge of the poor cabinetmaker, who had managed to forget it for a few hours. The honeymoon was more modest, fit for minor nobility only. All honeymoons are similar, substantively speaking, for such is the law and prestige of love. This one was a bit different, though, in that Porfirio went from the lap of luxury back to toiling in a carpentry workshop. The couple’s initial enthusiasm resulted in excessive outlays. The house was expensive, and their lives started to get tough. The debts accumulated, softly and in small increments at first: two milréis, then five, tomorrow seven and nine. The biggest debt of all, and the most urgent, was their unpaid rent. Now the landlord threatened to evict them in a week unless he were paid.
Such was the butter (with its rancid taste of misery) that Porfirio smeared on his bread on the morning in question. It was the only butter available. He ate quickly and went out, almost without
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