In Abraham's Vale,
land of the man, God in vain forced to confront his own pride,
his own anger and shame,
things happen that seem to come from a world of dreams,
a world of sheer hypocrisy.
Abraham had the archaic custom
of using his wife's looks to get out of trouble.
He said she was his sister,
which made life easier when men fancied her.
Abraham's Vale
A FILM BY
SCREENPLAY
BASED ON THE NOVEL BY
In the 18th century, the river Paiva
was the southern boundary of the district of Lamego.
A clever doctor, an expert in phlegm,
called Abraham of Paiva, lived there.
He was caught in bed with a woman from Moimenta,
who later suffered a sordid abortion,
so he went down to Balsemăo
and vanished, which was all he deserved.
Such is Abraham's Vale: Its shade and estates
still bear the trace of a Moorish road,
busy with Granada's Orient trade.
Today, the blood of the Paivas runs in Carlos,
who studied medical science in Oporto,
married to a widow and settled on the estate in Abraham's Vale.
One day, Carlos Paiva came to Lamego, near Abraham's Vale.
It was the feast of Remédios.
There he met the 14-year-old daughter
of a respectable man, eating eels in the main square.
In the star outside Ema saw an omen.
Pure honey.
They are perfect!
No, no!
You have them, they are a speciality.
Say thank you to the nice man.
Mr?
Carlos, Carlos de Paiva.
Carlos? Thank you, Mr Carlos.
Doctor and ploughman, at your service.
Doctor and ploughman! I have been ill...
Please take a seat...
Symptoms, minor complaints,
which oddly, time seems to heal. Strangest of all...
His soul lit up on meeting a doctor and ploughman,
so he told him the saga of his many diseases,
but not much about his wife.
She wasn't long dead and he missed her beauty.
Ema, his only daughter, took after her.
Ema's just like her.
I've an uncle in Estremadura.
I have family there myself.
That Estremadura connection drew them together.
The old man gave him his address
and said he'd call him if he was unwell.
I got better and became an almost healthy person.
A doctor's fate! I'm only ever asked over for purges and bleeding.
Ema thought him a fool.
Nobody purges or bleeds any more.
She noted his masculine grace
and didn't see him again.
Or think about him.
Carlos Paiva returned home.
His wife was washing her feet.
She had a fungus between the fingers, where she put yellow powder.
She was sullen, shouted very loud and dressed badly.
Suddenly, Carlos realized all that
and became gentle and soft to her.
He kept saying she was right. She got suspicious.
He saw someone.
She thought, as lucid as someone sentenced to death.
She began spying upon him.
Time passed and nothing happened.
We never know when the heart suffers
or gains coal to maintain the heat.
Where's Romesal?
Tell him!
Romesal? Straight on... but be careful!
Yes, watch out!
There was nothing to say when Paulino called him up.
He was wearing an oldjacket.
It was a cold autumn day
and there was no heating in the drawing-room, up the stairs.
What brings you here, Dr Carlos?
Carlos...
Paiva, Carlos Paiva.
That's right, Doctor Carlos Paiva.
I'm looking for a good wine
and knowing your expertise...
It's got to be right,
from a good cellar.
I haven't got it.
But I'm sure we'll manage.
It'll be expensive, Doctor.
A royal beverage!
Though even kings drink plonk and think they're doing OK.
I swear, I'm...
Ema seemed even prettier,
her blonde locks falling
on a coarse-knit fisherman's sweater.
Do you remember Doctor Carlos, from Lamego?
No, I don't remember.
But Ema did remember.
She thought he was handsome, with his neat, salesman's teeth.
Ema thought salesmen must have nice teeth to smile so much.
In Lamego?
Yes, in Lamego.
I must attend to my patients.
Even if this is a sick call...
Ema, bring a glass of wine and some biscuits.
There aren't any biscuits.
Don't go to any trouble.
Carlos noticed an antique altar
of surprising and original beauty.
It's a good piece, an inheritance
that my sister Augusta worships. But she's not home today.
Shut up, Jordăo! What's wrong with you?
Cardeano showed Carlos the way out, the same way he came in,
through the main gate, which was never used.
Absurdly, Carlos left feeling bitter.
'Who does she think she is? ', he thought.
Ema was orphaned at the age of six.
Once, when she had earache, they put her mother's milk in her ear.
She remembered a trickle, the feel of her mother's breast.
The rest was a secret connection with the belly whence she came,
where everything moved with elastic ease.
Perhaps the walls of the womb, with plenty of give,
nourishment, growing hands and feet.
Aunt Augusta takes communion every day,
you pray so much you must have earned yourself an armchair in heaven.
You're right.
God knows I can't go long without resting my elbows.
But you ought to believe in God, Ema,
and pray,
instead of reading all those love stories.
Women have no business reading those books.
They aren't any concern of ours.
Why not?
Because they are overpowering.
Even without reading Amadis of Gaul or Orlando Furioso,
who loved ladies with no culture,
ignorant of Latin.
Ema gazed at the altar,
as if unburdening herself of a uniform,
heavy with lace and ornaments,
as if the memory of the cruel drama
of her mother's death stood by this altar
that was like a theatre set.
Aunt is frightened of me.
You'd be happier if I was a nun.
You'd like to see me in a habit,
with a rosary at my belt, like yours.
Her laughter was crystalline,
like a female response
to the male nightingale's song.
Behave yourself, miss!
A nun? The young lady?
That's what they're saying.
That's all we need!
Marina was tough.
Boys who tried it on, soon thought twice.
Well, I'll tell you this,
she's too young and too pretty for a convent.
Branca was easier-going.
She liked men, without submission, just for the heck of it.
Alice had a plan - she was going to marry someone with money.
All of them liked Ema and gossiping with her.
The washerwoman was dumb, from a family of idiots.
But Ritinha was cunning and curious about the world.
She was as strong and as flexible as a vine.
The house was a hive of rumours,
abuzz with plots and gossip,
where the talk was of sex, desire and all the hurts of love.
She can't hear, don't talk to her.
She knows a thing or two
more than we do.
She can tell the type of grape from the wine stain
And blood on sheets, if it's nice and red, she says it's a virgin's.
If it's dark, it's a married woman's.
If it's heavy, then it's nearly over.
Hey, what else do you know?
How can you tell, since she can't speak?
You can see in her eyes what she doesn't say
and from the way she moves.
A man's got to react with so many lovely women!
Look at that!
I can say that myself. What a waste to have your arms
in cold water instead of around a man's warmth.
What next, scarecrow?
Give me a go with one like you.
Get out of here!
Men!
Are you sighing, woman?
What about you, eh?
- No. - You are!
- I am not! - You are!
That's it, I'm not.
That's it, you are!
Sometimes yes, sometimes no!
Sometimes no, sometimes yes!
Ritinha was too pretty to escape masculine attention.
She was fascinated by the depths of men's gaze.
But she resisted them.
Even when she liked someone, she always said no.
She sensed that her children would be deaf and dumb
and that her husband would commit suicide as a result.
So she remained a virgin until the end.
Till she was fourteen,
Ema never left the house.
She was confirmed
at the family altar.
Only once, she went out to present herself to the Mello ladies,
very tasteful and respectable they were.
They spent winters in Cascais
and received Ema now in their house in Viso.
They were two sisters, one of them widowed.
Ema tried to hide her slight limp.
She climbed the stairs and took fright
when she suddenly saw herself in the mirror.
She stood mesmerized.
She entered the drawing-room.
As soon as the sisters saw her,
the same dreadful thought occurred to them:
"This girl is already a formidable woman".
Ema conveyed some kind of extreme.
Her beauty was exuberant
and thus dangerous.
There's something unpleasant,
something sinister about her,
including her looks.
Do you really think she's a beauty?
I don't know how to put it...
Her beauty is a kind of genius.
Come closer.
We want to have a look at you.
Yes...
We want to have a good look at you.
You're very lovely.
Isn't she, sister?
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Ema smiled as if to bite them,
which convinced the sisters, absolutely and doubtlessly,
that she'd grow into a very threatening woman.
How were the ladies?
Look, Father...
It was horrible. They sniffed at me as if I was an animal.
They are educated women.
Maybe, but it's a tough education,
not for the faint-hearted.
Aren't you being a little harsh?
I'm telling you what I think.
I've got a surprise for you.
A memento from your confirmation.
The cheek! They'll pay for this!
Ema didn't know how to deal with obvious lust,
capable of undressing her with pointless rage.
Was it her imagination? Weren't they innocent?
And her provoking this terrible need, blind to generosity.
Their desire was obvious and criminal,
the only reason for patience in the face of death.
Ema's appearances on the terrace caused accidents.
That wall was a rampart.
Dogs and cats were run over.
People lost control of their vehicles, causing panic.
The situation got worse and the authorities were informed.
Marina! Alice!
These servants! No one tells me anything!
What's wrong with Ema?
The mayor's complained about people driving into our wall
because of her. There've been deaths.
Marina! Answer me!
Miss... Miss Ema...
Yes, what about her?
Well, Miss Ema...
She uses the terrace... but only occasionally!
The glare of our windows seems to blind motorists.
You can't blame the young lady.
Naturally!
He said the word "naturally"
like a lawyer, to win time.
It was agreed that the windows of the verandah,
when the sun shone,
reflected its rays into drivers'eyes.
The verandah was a conservatory full of begonias,
maidenhairs and red flowers,
in view of the four o'clock train
to Oporto, for family and friends to go home.
Little angels, they are!
Ema fell ill when she was five.
After plenty of prayers, she recovered.
But her left leg had a limp.
Yes, she was handicapped. What a shame!
It doesn't show.
Of course it shows!
See! He can't bear her.
So? Beauty...
undermines our little games.
Nelson had given up his vocation
to enjoy with Branca, the maid,
a secret affair,
but it was Ema that he really loved.
I'm not that pretty!
You don't like mirrors.
He's really fallen for her.
I know he has.
All because of that damn wall.
Imagine, the mayor, a friend,
wanted me to move the wall back.
They'll send Ema to prison.
It isn't like that.
I have certain responsibilities.
There are complaints.
If you knew
what a father has to go through, Homero.
She's a lovely daughter.
She's not to go near the terrace!
So lovely and no suitor?
Pretty girls must marry quick.
True.
I don't disagree.
I shouldn't but I'm so greedy!
It's true, it's time Ema got married.
There are plenty of suitors, but what a sacred loss.
I'll have rowdy grandchildren like the ones from Carmesim and Chélinha.
Little angels!
Well, Ema?
Let's not talk about it here, Father.
A husband's love is best,
beauty is the fruit of love.
Well said.
Branca, you're so clumsy!
You should be ashamed, Ema!
'I went hunting that day'
'and caught a fine canary.'
'I gave it as a gift'
'to the king's daughter.'
'To the daughter of the king,'
'she's rich and she's Brazilian.'
'She ordered a cage of precious wood.'
'When the cage was ready, she put the canary inside.'
'By day and by night the bird is her pleasure.'
'The canary escaped and caught a cold.'
'Experts were called,'
'21 consultants.'
'But with the doctors came'
'the louse and the flea.'
'The canary died, poor thing, and was buried.'
'There was a party at the end.'
On the back of an ant,
beautiful Josefa, I danced a gig.
On the back of an ant,
beautiful Josefa, I danced a gig.
Dreams, desires, manias,
are merely wishing one was someone else.
Tearing at bodily symbols
(sexual and visual, the worst), a person's nature,
a various collection of fluxes.
Hideous motions, similar to ancient companies of female prophets,
given to deprivations prohibited by men,
so love shoulders the blame for Eros'mediocrity.
Ema knew of unspeakable examples
of love's critical role
in prolonging youth
by encouraging submissiveness.
Time passed.
Aunt Augusta fell ill.
Death came suddenly, as usual.
Ema was shocked.
Though her aunt's life had been discreet, Ema took the loss badly.
Branca, the maid, wasn't much help.
She took to her bed with bellyache.
Dr Paiva was called urgently.
Carlos was surprised: Ema was even more beautiful
now that there was hurt.
To Ema, Carlos seemed sad
and she discovered she liked sadness,
as a reward for sacrifice.
Thank you for coming.
It all happened so fast.
One disaster after another.
Have I come too late?
No, for my poor sister, it happened so quickly.
God have mercy on her!
My deepest sympathy.
Thank you.
But you're in mourning yourself.
My wife died.
It happened suddenly.
We're very sorry to hear it.
Thank you.
Ema's sacrifice was that she hated the life she led.
She no longer went out on the terrace
to show off her beauty.
What was beauty for
if only to be gawped at by salesmen and labourers?
Please, see to Branca, the maid.
She is in terrible pain.
Ema, please show the doctor the way.
This way.
Branca, Dr Paiva's come to see you.
Please come in.
Weakness in the guise of strength.
One shove and Ema would fall.
There were no rules except unpredictability.
Ema knew there was only one thing for it:
She must pretend, play dead.
Yes, it was Nelson,
the man who lost his vocation.
Branca, pregnant by him,
had had a secret abortion
and the excuse of the whole house.
Carlos decided not to betray her.
Her beauty surfaced upon the silk of slumbering hurt.
She was like a wild beast without food,
an animal, a tiny creature,
but with already predatory looks.
She knew that her ties with mediocrity
and her love of childish ways were broken.
As she unbound her hair,
her heart, too, was unchained,
though she found comfort in constraint,
and that was gone forever.
Her mother had been the fourth daughter
of rich people fallen on bad times.
Ema remembered hat boxes full of postcards
her mother received from Lausanne and Paris.
Nelson, the trainee priest, married an heiress,
whose appeal lay in what was missing.
The bride practically raped him before and after the wedding.
She died soon, bequeathing him to a friend,
as if he'd been a pearl necklace.
By spring,
Ema was engaged.
Carlos was silly with joy.
Twice, he put back the wedding
to show he wasn't giving in to that woman he loved.
He was afraid of Ema's character,
so much at odds with the vain submissiveness of her upbringing.
Look! Is that a different river?
Ema thought perhaps it was deep down full of giant fish
that rarely raised their shining heads up from the deep.
We can't try a dress on like that.
Come and see, it's changed!
No, miss, the Douro's always been there.
It's a man.
A man?
Yes, seen from a distance a man looks like a needle.
There's fog, the river is not clear.
You can't see clearly but it looks like...
A boat... drifting.
Maybe.
I know, it's the ferry that takes passengers over to the baths.
I'm getting married and I don't love him.
Please miss! You say such silly things sometimes...
Sweet Lord! Holy Mother!
Marina's questions distracted her.
Then Branca helped to dress her, with the seamstress, Judith,
as a handmaiden.
Something blue, for luck.
More blue, there's never enough.
The blue shoes you asked for.
More blue! Lots of blue for luck.
Carlos asked that the ceremony
should take place in Abraham's Vale.
Mr Cardeano accepted,
on condition that afterwards they went to Romesal.
In order that you may be husband and wife...
bound in holy matrimony, for ever after.
Marriage is the deliberate convergence of two people
who decide to unite, in body and in soul,
in a single destiny, whatever it may be.
Nelson, ex-seminarist for lack of vocation,
twice married, was in love with Ema.
He burst into tears when he heard she was married
and collapsed on to a chair, as if he was about to die.
He recalled the days when he held Branca in his arms
in the conservatory full of begonias,
where a couple of parrots
chortled at the lovers'sighs.
Carlos, you must have considered your decision.
Do you willingly take as your lawful wedded wife
Ema here?
I do.
Ema, you must have considered your decision.
Do you willingly take as your lawful wedded husband
Carlos here?
I do.
Ema, take this ring
as a sign of my love and my faithfulness.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Carlos, take this ring
as a sign of my love and my faithfulness.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
At Romesal, at dusk on the wedding day,
a nightingale trilled so brilliantly,
it delighted whoever was listening.
From the windows of Romesal you could see Abraham's Vale,
land of the Paiva, the Luminares and the Semblano clans.
Ema couldn't persuade Branca to leave,
because she wanted to marry her policeman
and Marina refused too, because she was engaged.
Only Ritinha, the dumb one, came to Abraham's Vale.
Yes, yes... this is Dr Paiva's.
No, he's not in.
He'll be here at dinner time.
You're welcome.
Carlos was always out on calls.
Ema felt abandoned,
and because of emergencies,
Carlos insisted on separate rooms so his wife's sleep wasn't disturbed.
Ritinha, though dumb, was a perfect spy.
Her lack of certain faculties turned into a wonderful sixth sense.
Nothing escaped her.
She was doglike in her devotion.
Ema loved her dearly.
She trusted her with everything,
keys, wine, jewels and letters.
Are you coming with us?
No, I'll stay here for a bit.
Come on, Ema.
No, I like it here.
Be like that, we're off.
When Carlos'sisters
said she'd lost a handkerchief,
Ritinha left without a word.
Anyway Carlos didn't see the point, she couldn't answer the phone.
But Ema was hurt, she missed Ritinha,
she'd looked after her, played with her,
she was a last link with Romesal
and the wide corridors and hallways
of her childhood.
Intending to put an end to Ema's ill-humour,
Carlos took her the next Sunday to the mess in Caverneira,
in the house of the Semblanos, a very respected clan in that area.
The Holy Gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ,
according to St. Luke.
Glory be to thee, O Lord.
At that time, Jesus said to his disciples:
'And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars,'
'and upon the earth distress of nations'
'in perplexity at the roaring of the sea and the waves,'
'men fainting with fear'
'and with foreboding of what is coming on the world;'
'for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. '
'And then they will see the Son of man'
'coming in a cloud with power and great glory. '
'Now when these things begin to take place,'
'look up and raise your heads,'
'because your redemption is drawing near. '
This is the word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
Brothers, we are joyful to be here today
to celebrate the Eucharist.
We just listened to the word of God,
which was announced to us by the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ
and refers to recent times.
In a few moments,
the Lord will be with us through the Sacrament,
a sign of His presence.
The time of the Advent has begun.
The Advent is a path of preparation
and hope for Christmas.
Christmas carries us through time and space to Bethlehem,
so that we can be present at the birth of Christ.
But the Advent also helps us to live
the reality of Christmas in our times.
So be it.
The Paiva girls thought Ema was frivolous.
Carlos understandably but shamefully inquired.
He found nothing wrong: Ema was pure as the stars.
Mr Cardeano was alone now
before the altar that held so many memories.
After his daughter's wedding,
he took to tears and to drink,
which made him even sadder.
He thought his daughter Ema knew little about men.
And somehow Carlos didn't seem the right husband.
Mr Cardeano remained with his mind fixed on Abraham's Vale.
Dumb Ritinha returned to Romesal.
Ema, coming from a house where she was queen.
Felt lost in Abraham's Vale.
It all began when Carlos brought her to the Jacas Ball,
invited by the Luminares,
who were keen to meet Ema, without committing themselves.
The rain had stopped and the moon shone.
Bright leaves and stars peeped through the branches,
giving the night an air of sublime compassion.
May I?
One doesn't expect to find people like you here, though I invited you.
Why not?
It's a ball like any other.
Do you know any other?
No, I said 'like any other'.
Aren't they all the same?
In films, they are.
Luminares wasn't listening.
If Ema learnt to dress, he thought,
she would create quite a stir.
Is something wrong?
How could it be, beside such beauty?
On the contrary!
I was just thinking how unsettling beauty is.
Look.
The romantic purity of the Moon
and an Angel, gentle as Cupid.
Look at this one.
It's the Sun, its erotic burning desire,
king of creation, symbol of love.
Cupid, an angel, adores him.
A lovely woman...
...sometimes hides in a pure and romantic expression
a burning desire.
This lady's face for instance.
May I present my friend,
owner of estate called Vesúvio and a great traveller,
Fernando Osório.
Dr Carlos' Paiva's wife.
An enormous pleasure.
Imagine meeting when the blues are playing.
The blues belong to my father's day, to the 20's.
They're back in fashion.
Shall we dance?
I'm no good.
I insist. Are you scared?
You've only yourself to blame.
Tell me... is that her? Ema?
I've just been introduced. Do you want to meet her?
No, thank you. Not till I must.
Are you coming?
I'd love to.
What happened?
It's nothing you've done.
She's a circus tiger
who wouldn't survive in the jungle.
Evil is for sermons, she doesn't know if it really exists.
Is she invulnerable?
Everyone loves her.
Even her enemies are friends.
He looks like the night nurse.
Carlos! Carlos!
I'm sorry, I didn't see who it was.
This is lucky, I want to introduce Dr Paiva's wife.
Simona, my wife.
Since we're introducing ourselves,
here I am at the service
of the lovely lady
our beloved doctor and friend Carlos Paiva
has chosen as his wife.
Do you know who I am?
I don't know myself.
They call me 'old Semblano'
and say I'm a philandering monkey.
I hate spiritual retreats for couples
and I'm afraid I'll fall from grace.
Old Semblano was full of himself, as usual.
The Jacas ball never happened again,
but it stuck in Ema's mind.
At home, in Abraham's Vale,
she inhaled the cigars Fernando Osório left behind,
and her belly heaved with brutal desire,
which she fooled
by sleeping with Carlos.
Were you in bed?
Don't you want the light off?
I can see you better.
You're so lovely!
Why have the light off?
Because it's more...
...romantic.
Come on.
Carlos realized Ema knew more about love
than he had thought.
It was him, Pedro Luminares,
who led her, almost by the hand, to Caverneira,
and introduced her to Maria Loreto and her husband Semblano,
before Carlos thought of it.
But Carlos went with them.
And what does Ema think of love?
I don't know what to say.
That's the best answer!
Carlos...
...hasn't he taught you?
Do you think it can be taught?
That's true, you either know or you don't.
Isn't that right, Dr Paiva?
Love is...
...an intimate thing.
Maria Loreto,
do you agree?
If your husband says so!
Intimate, but personal.
Very personal!
You say it's personal.
In your particular cases.
But mine happen to be different.
Of course, we're all different.
Men and women, for a start.
That's elementary.
I reckon hunting and love have much in common.
The hunter pursues his prey
and the prey attracts. The hunter aims
and love happens.
Are you saying women are like games?
Not at all Simona, it was a figure of speech.
For women, love's a question of talent.
Look at that statuette.
She's offering herself and he is quietly unexpected.
You can't tell when Love comes or goes.
He has wings, the night and the moon are favourable to him.
Love is liquid, like clouds.
When Psyche awakes, Love is already gone.
That's why I only like Love when it's there.
What did love mean?
For Ema, it was a necessity of social life.
What do you think, Carlos?
What do I think?
I live with you...
...and I drink to our love, Ema!
And also...
...to Mrs...
...and Mr Semblano.
She smiled. The toast seemed hypocritical,
unexpectedly witty and irrelevant.
Carlos was dependent on her as a worm is dependent on soil,
a far cry from the romantic attachment she'd given up hoping for.
But she was jealous of Maria Loreto.
Be quiet, you are leaden.
Don't talk of others in front of ladies.
'Ladies' is such an old-fashioned idea.
Do you wear a plumed hat?
- No. - Some people do.
Only Satan.
But how would you know?
I'm off.
Don't go!
Why not?
Satan would be afraid of you.
Fernando Osório was ruined
and so entitled to his fantasies.
Ruined, for him, meant gold up to his knees,
instead of swimming in it.
Thank you, Simona, that's just what I wanted.
Carlos realized Ema was about to do something rash.
He wanted to plan her rashness to fit his family's ambitions,
at least until the sex was less vindictive.
He offered her Pedro Luminares,
a robot, with one advantage:
He knew how to talk about love.
I've told Simona,
I'm a robot ahead of my time...
...far beyond sex.
Ema had the extraordinary power to make radiant desire
run like bush fire
over corpses of legendary virility,
stubborn virility.
Luminares wants to show us his power over this woman,
but he won't act.
Ema is a flame.
And so beautiful...
You're right, she's a flame.
Poor Dr Paiva, at the edge of the abyss.
I bet she moans, makes man and bed moan too!
Barrack-room talk!
Some of them don't moan even if the bed does.
I bet she makes Carlos groan.
During the day!
She's spendthrift, he has to watch his purse.
Yes...
Beauty is beyond price...
...and gain!
I've heard he wins more on the Stock Exchange...
...than by working on people's innards.
Are you happy, Ema?
Yes.
Why do you carry a book about?
Is it a shield against vice or desire?
I've never thought that. Perhaps it is.
I love books.
I read wherever I can.
The house seemed enchanted,
even farmers said so.
Luminares was, after a fashion, a wise man
with an inclination to lethargy.
Ema felt belittled.
It's there to deceive.
Deceive? That's something women do, not men.
Am I deceiving you?
I think in your case we have what's called
'ascension fever'.
You have no wings nor any special powers.
And you don't want to jump off the fifth floor.
Because you believe in gravity.
In short,
you need a psychiatrist or a lover.
You're wrong.
It's stupid to think problems can be solved
by a fall or a cold shower.
Nothing's that simple.
How can you tell if life hangs by a thread?
What do you tell a woman in that case?
Man has several ways of approaching life.
Art, war, business.
Women have no choice.
Men can't understand them, is that it?
Are you happy, Ema?
You've already asked.
It's cold. Let's go.
So here we are, two homogenous couples.
What do you mean? Marriage is not a mayonnaise.
It's time we went Carlos. Goodbye.
Excuse me. Goodbye.
Carlos can't get used to Ema's wish
that they sleep separately.
What's the reason?
It's healthier and so as not to wake up
when he comes home late.
Ema doesn't really love Carlos.
But Carlos loves her and misses her,
the naked skin, the intimacy of a caress made childish by sleep.
But Ema, not he, will end up...
...killing herself?
Yes, I think that's how it'll end.
Pregnant?
Pregnant? How do you know?
Ritinha told me.
The washerwoman? She left ages ago.
Ema visits her father and Ritinha's back there.
Ritinha's a witch.
A witch and indiscreet.
It's a crown of stars above my head.
They say 'verandah'is a celtic word meaning fence,
which is as may be.
No one knows why verandahs were fashionable.
Like a belly, verandahs are a display of authority
and affected desire,
which seduces and shows a person's status.
It invites an appraising gaze which leads to sin,
casting its shade over virginity,
being a place of leisure,
more sensual than sinful.
The verandah of Abraham's Vale was put to new use.
Ema lived there, new-born daughters in her arms.
You're beautiful!
Don't be silly!
Lola was too tall. She seemed backward.
Luisona was prettier and sweeter
and she never ever cried.
Ema didn't know what was wrong with Luisona.
Since her own mother had given birth painlessly.
Nothing affected or hurt her,
neither fire nor steel.
Run along inside!
Are you going to Vesúvio?
Yes, I need to rest a few days.
Your sisters run everything perfectly,
you've your daughters' company.
It's hardly the same.
I'll only be a few days.
Alright.
Go then.
Out of provocation not desire,
Ema began her affair with Osório.
Anyone would have done.
She furthered this story, in which a sentence
was passed in advance upon the lover.
Yes, I'm going to Vesúvio.
Almost immediately, Ema accepted Osório's advances.
He was rich, involved in politics,
divorced, three sons in college.
Look uncle, the boss is taking it easy.
What about you? Are you chasing them?
Or aren't you in that league?
He's rich. If I had money, you'd see!
What would I see?
How they'd fall for me.
You're just a big mouth.
Women need special attention.
You're too young to know about that.
I see!
I know more than you think.
It's an art, Fortunato.
I'm here to tell you that that woman...
...is the kind that makes men wild.
And are you...?
Behave yourself!
And anyway...
Only joking!
Hang on, wait for me!
Nearby...
... stood a jetty against which the water beat with a sinister sound.
Two rotten planks might easily break and cause an accident.
Ema was warned.
It was said La Bandi came to Vesúvio as Caruso went to Manaus.
Ema listened to Osório's stories
and fell into a respectful daydream,
fondly remembering Romesal.
She knew that, as a European gentleman, Osório despised
people who did not know their place.
If I may discuss opera,
since I have the honour of meeting a star of the 'Bel Canto',
I have to say it makes me sad
everything is so vulgar nowadays.
There's no opera left.
Who are these two guests?
The fat one is Baltazar, an opera singer
whom Osório has invited to impress Ema.
The other, Osório's friend Pedro Dossem,
claims kinship with St Anthony of Lisbon
on the basis that a Paduan chronicler,
Giulielmo Ongarello, said in 1441
that Doson was Anthony's surname.
You think opera is dead.
Not at all.
But we live in an era when everything is vanishing.
Love, for example, let's talk about love.
Love is not lyrical any more.
The pleasures of hypocrisy surpass those of the bedroom.
Really?
Dearest Ema...
...there's no sensitivity in a historical cycle which ends in
the battle of Alcácer-Quibir, the siege of Leningrad,
Trafalgar and Waterloo,
or the 25th April revolution.
You're going too far.
Too far?
The new institutions
and social mobility have banished dreams,
be they romantic or practical.
Yes sir, affection and feelings have vanished,
human gifts which absorbed our baser instincts.
'Bel Canto' is no longer appreciated
and 'Bel Canto' is pure sentiment.
That's true.
See how the revolution of 1974
marked the end of elegant feudal customs,
replacing them with party politics.
Agreed.
This egalitarianism is demagoguery
and it is all-powerful.
People wallow in disappointment.
Here and in the colonies.
There is a jeans bourgeoisie
with bursts of righteousness against speculation.
People's attitude to money has changed,
and to illness, and to sex.
Really? Is sex different now?
I think it is, Ema.
More freedom you mean?
More freedom and less feeling.
More sex, no love, no affection.
More homosexuals, despite AIDS.
No more homosexuals nowadays.
Are you defending them?
Neither defending nor blaming.
Just stating facts.
Not allowing?
I don't allow homosexuality because I can't allow anything...
...how shall I put it...
...unnatural.
That's a relief!
Everything can be explained.
Perhaps homosexuality
is leftover...
...androgyny.
Androgyny? What's that?
It's hard to explain.
I mean a trace of an androgynous being,
a unique, primeval creature
who exploded violently
into male and female parts.
You're delirious! Or you're making fun of us.
It's the truth, I'm serious.
There are indications.
Why else has a man got nipples?
They are totally useless except as...
...relics of androgyny.
Seems very complicated to me.
I don't know how we got on to this subject.
I meant to talk about something else.
What?
Life isn't about being happy any more
or distress or wrestling with fate.
What's life for then?
Life is about...
Yes, what is life about?
It's about life...
That's a funny answer.
...or about not living.
Life is about being a statistic.
That's the bottom line.
Don't you agree?
Do you want to disagree?
There's your answer.
An excellent, most worthy reply!
Ema gave herself up to a kind of disease
deep in her innermost being.
She thought permissiveness would help.
She knew Osório was trying to impress her.
So was Pedro Luminares with his fine words,
with their Faustian ring.
How wonderful!
What a wonderful view from Vesúvio!
It reminds me of the volcano that shattered Pompeii.
Correct, my friend.
Anything else sir?
No, that's all.
Very good sir.
He's like a Russian spy.
You soiled that soul,
my soul's delight.
You had my trust and your foul behaviour
has besmirched the Universe for me.
Traitor!
Those are your thanks for friendship.
Lost sweetness,
the memory of a kiss.
I'm telling you, he's a spy.
That man's a spy!
Osório loved Ema, he believed her beauty was beyond compare,
but his snobbery came to the fore
when he had to listen to tales of her saintly aunt Augusta,
with her proverbial goodness.
Ema fooled no one, she had no plots,
she was all show,
dressing and behaving as if to defeat Holophernes.
Her eroticism was fuelled by power
and social status.
Hello?
It's Mother. It's her!
Daddy's out,
visiting patients.
We're very well, I've got a bit of a sore throat.
It's nothing, Daddy says it will soon pass.
Ask where she is.
Where are you, Mummy?
Where?
At Vesúvio? Is it nice there?
We're thinking about you.
We miss you.
Are you coming back?
Wednesday?
Alright.
Kisses.
On Wednesday?
Kisses, lots of kisses. Bye, Mummy!
Hello? Hello? She's hung up.
Mummy's coming home on Wednesday.
'Swim as far as you like, but come home to die',
as your grandpa used to say.
Now she has a weird friend, Tomásia de Fafel.
Weird? Why?
She isn't even pretty, just extravagant.
She's a hunter and a good rider.
She says she was the first upper class single woman who had a child.
As far as we know.
No, this one raised the child openly and proudly.
Ema says she likes going to the woods whenever there's a storm
and smell the sulphur of the discharge.
You know, Maria de Loreto...
...Ema admires these things.
She admires everything that is riotous and daring.
Sometimes I wonder if she is really normal.
Aren't you trying to deceive yourself?
I don't know what to say.
The truth is that I can only live in peace
because I tolerate all her whims.
Well, hoping that one day age will make her forget
this provocation she's going through.
I don't believe she will.
She uses the power of the prophets,
frightens to draw attention.
Is Ema happy with such an agitated life?
The relationship between Carlos and Maria Semblano,
if they were not lovers,
at least belonged to a type of peculiar desires,
materialized by words.
Carlos had never noticed the lady in the painting,
who looked at him with sympathy.
- She has a sweet look. - Yes, understanding and compliant.
She was a very beautiful woman.
It's Catarina, Viscountess of Benagasilde, my great-grandmother.
It's a Roquemont oil.
She was indeed a very understanding and kind woman, as you said.
I would like to tell you a secret, that is, if you don't know already.
Anyway, maybe this will help.
When I realized that my husband was cheating on me,
with a preference for young ladies,
I understood that there was another reason
beyond the common desire for everything that is new.
Semblano strongly believed in the principle of masculinity,
which relies on the principle of authority.
Look, Carlos, we've been friends for years.
In this kind of subject, Ema acts like a man.
Don't be shocked, it's just a figure of speech.
It's not just the controversial beauty of a woman,
Ema limps.
Well, that might be exciting to some men,
but it's her character I'm referring to.
Let's not talk about this anymore, it's a rather delicate subject.
Exactly!
I will show you my... precautions.
Ema was a potential enemy for Maria Loreto,
who had acquired in the frustrations of childhood
a spiritual vocation and made a vow of simplicity.
Ema was a malignant intrusion.
Perhaps for the same reason:
Both women had split personalities.
Supposedly unsuited to sex,
Maria had certain rights.
What was intriguing
was that men, and not just her husband,
were platonically jealous.
I believe my husband was degrading himself, in his affairs.
In dirty sheets, in unworthy households.
I've set up a garden house,
so he can be more comfortable.
I've taken care of everything,
from hygiene to luxury.
The strangest aspect of this development was that the girls,
who certainly surrendered to the husband's desires,
also gave in to the moral adventure Maria proposed
and remained strictly devoted to her wishes.
Love lives in hiding places, couples would do well to seek out.
See how well I think things out, look at this night table.
My husband is getting on
and frequent encounters with selected young ladies
are hardly the cure for his bad legs.
You mean...
Exactly. I make things easier for him.
You're a doctor, you know that.
Women get by without, but for men of a certain age,
any little thing helps.
The bed is a little high
for Semblano.
He doesn't have your strength.
Carlos! Don't misunderstand me.
Lord! Maria de Loreto!
Don't say anything.
I want you to understand.
I want to help you.
Not as I help my husband.
You are a healthy man.
I want to help you with Ema.
Men and women have similarities as well as differences.
As a woman,
she's condemned to intrude on territory,
on thoughts and pleasures that are not for her.
I sound like an oracle.
I'm giving you the instincts of a woman
who suffered in body and in soul
from the demands of a foolish husband
and a son,
who though a man, was fragile and delicate.
He got from his mother an artistic bent.
Thank you, Carlos.
I should thank you for everything you've said.
I know you as your doctor and now as a man.
But there is something indecent
in what you are telling me.
Yes, there's something indecent in it.
You mean Ema's upbringing?
I mean Ema's and mine and women in general.
We're educated as women,
but our consciences are like a man's.
What do you mean?
There's something not quite true,
the content is not all there,
like a missing rib.
Eve out of Adam?
The difference is imaginary,
a women's thing,
like a creature that swallows another, then rejects it.
Maternity symbolizes this process,
which is to do with absence.
The hollowness to which desire tends.
Very literary thoughts.
Yes, that's what I'm writing about in those papers I showed you.
To write is to give expression to life and society.
That's your son, isn't it?
So...
Have you been sleeping with him?
- Do you know what he is? - What is he?
He's dumb and drinks too much.
In the ball, right here, you introduced him to me.
The ball... You only talk about that ball.
It's as if nothing else happened in your life.
He's stupid, he doesn't even know who wrote 'Lusíadas'.
No one is good enough for you, everyone is worth nothing.
One gets desperate talking to you.
Once, you confessed to me, a while ago,
that, one night, Fernando Osório had loosened the straps of your dress.
- Do you remember? - No, I don't.
I do.
Be careful, Ema.
Don't let any man do what you are able to do yourself.
Otherwise you won't emancipate in life.
What do you want from him?
He's a penny-pincher
and his three sons stick like glue, taking everything they can.
- You introduced me to him. - You said that already.
Love has a bad memory.
Don't go to Vesúvio again, Ema.
Venus doesn't love women like you,
you don't know the art of delusion.
Is delusion an art?
We are not born men or women...
...we learn it.
You and I contradict that.
I know why people call you 'little Bovary'.
But you were the one who called me that.
And Loreto, that snake, told it to everyone.
And why do you call me 'little Bovary'?
Because Madame Bovary didn't learn that art, either.
What you're saying makes sense.
And explains a lot.
But I won't bother giving it much thought.
You don't learn with what you think, but with misunderstandings.
I never understood why people call me 'little Bovary'.
And I already read the book twice.
It must be a misunderstanding, for sure.
We can't have friends anywhere.
They cause misunderstandings.
When she asked an old lover for money,
she found a bloke who had learned the art of men.
Do you know what he did? He said he didn't have it.
He said it perfectly calmly, like someone covering their old anger.
Well said... and well done.
Men are perfect scrooges.
It's the only role they don't play, that they live fully.
My father, when someone asked for money,
even if it were just for matches,
looked like a polished wall with no cracks.
A wall that was impossible to climb.
I robbed him several times.
That's how I got around his stupid tightfistedness.
Really? One could expect that from you.
You can't really distinguish between the real and the imaginary.
Comedy gets the better of life.
Your life.
A theatre performance reduces guilt to a strategy.
It's not devastating and it has no effect on reality.
It's good to listen to you.
But is it true?
I don't know.
There's an empty space in our thought that will never be filled.
It gives us the ability to speak,
to make judgments, which creates relationships.
We say:
'The earth is round. '
Or... 'the woman is the womb'.
It makes no sense, if we want to be exact.
What throws you into disorder is that you delay your judgement
You say:
'Tomorrow I'll be in a place where everything is clear. '
But you want life itself to be your support,
not just the expression of yourself.
Fornicating is not just an undoubting, simple, communicative act,
it's also something that displeases you, that you lead into displeasure.
That's the way of feeling the importance of something.
Do you mean that I won't be happy in love?
Who is happy in love is a fool.
Ema was intent on stepping up the pace of her life
in any way she could,
including indebtedness and as much scandal as possible.
It was ephemeral pleasure Ema was after.
She was prepared
for a semblance of pain.
Now she was home with Carlos and her daughters,
a rare occurrence,
which Lolota and Luisona resented: They wanted to see more of her.
It was the feast of Socorro,
celebrated with tremendous fireworks.
As a child, from the conservatory at Romesal, Ema had seen
the same display with delight.
She remembered the altar where Aunt Augusta used to pray
and gossiping with the maids who loved her,
Marina and Branca and Alice.
Being an orphan was bearable
among the laughing women of Romesal,
whose absolute mistress she was.
But that life had vanished,
by subsequent events extinguished,
like the magnificent sparks of these fireworks.
Ema returned to Vesúvio.
Osório had gone back to a wife he despised and children he loathed.
Neither he nor Ema had forgotten their affair at Vesúvio.
Disappointed by Osório's absence,
Ema put on a blue jumpsuit
to go mad in a motor boat.
Can I help you, Mrs Paiva?
You've never offered before.
You're alone today.
You've seen me alone before.
Yes, but...
Forgive me, but...
What is it?
You're rough on that boat.
Only on the boat?
Would you rescue me if I capsized?
Of course. I wouldn't let it capsize.
Even if you died?
Even if I died.
Really?
If I had to.
I'd give my life for you.
All right. Come with me.
Be careful.
Two of those planks are rotten.
I'm not a child, I've been here before.
I know.
Am I safer with you?
It's easy to forget.
What kind of a Bovary?
Ema's lust was just imaginary.
And all she wanted from men
was their desire.
It wasn't pleasure,
but more a reward to the men for wanting her.
A scent of roses struck Fortunato's nostrils.
He glimpsed Ema in a mist of netting.
She was at peace, hands on her chest,
sleeves buttoned up, like a novice at prayer.
She did not let him possess her, treating him like a eunuch,
but the caresses she allowed him were forceful,
as if he had been wounded in his sex.
This refusal was also loyalty to his master.
Ema was not doing wrong.
She was inaugurating a vice.
Good morning, Mrs Paiva.
Good morning. You may go.
Don't you want the curtains drawn?
Please. Then leave.
Very well.
Ema's behaviour stirred Caires'curiosity
and his physical desire.
Fortunato!
What's going on between you and Mrs Paiva?
What's going on? You're always spying on us.
I have to keep an eye on this house.
Aren't I the butler?
Anyway...
I don't like this intimacy.
And Mr Osório will like it even less when he finds out.
Just watch out.
You're jealous!
Have some respect. I'm your uncle
and you're speaking of Mr Osório's guests here,
in a house built by the firm will of a great lady,
the boss' great-great-grandmother.
Have some respect.
Osório was away when Ema arrived.
Ema left a couple of days before he was due back.
Even in the days of their intimacy
their kisses had been light, almost unerotic.
Only when she was with Fortunato did Ema break her platonic rule
under a mysterious constraint which was more than just sexual,
a bitterness which found its release.
Like a savage, sometimes tender, sometimes fierce,
Ema flung herself into Fortunato's arms.
Caires spied on them, his jealousy driving him mad.
Ema and Fortunato's pleasure was all the stronger.
Was it love which brought Ema to Vesúvio?
Vesúvio, with My Lady's House,
patios full of palm trees,
above all a return to harmony
with the odour of the presses and mills
and brandy dripping into buckets.
My Lady's had had a first husband called 'the deceased',
and a second in her prosperous prime
called 'the late lamented'
and last, her favourite,
because he was good at business,
between them, not sheets but sets of accounts,
My Lady called him 'the departed'.
Time passed.
Fortunato took fright and got married in poverty
to recover from high-flown sentiments
which were not in any case his lot.
Osório was away.
Ema knew he'd stayed at a pretentious hotel in Hong Kong,
where the carpet-pile was knee-deep.
Ema returned to Vesúvio
and heard stories about My Lady,
who was said to be tempestuous in love
and estate-management.
She scared off burglars,
fearlessly.
The burglars left sheepishly,
not even looking up at the chandeliers
which My Lady snuffed out with her fingers,
wiping off the soot with the palm of her hand curved like a shell.
Mrs Paiva!
What are you doing?
Barefoot and all...
I like to feel the warmth of the stone.
But a lady like yourself, in that outfit!
Childhood memories, Caires.
I used to help Marina and Branca in the yard.
Good for the mind, good for the body.
Leave that to the bosses, that's their business.
Leave it to the bosses? What would I do?
A woman like you...
...shouldn't do anything.
But I like scrubbing!
You must be a dyke.
Is that all you can say? Filth!
I'm not filthy, I'm just a man.
You give me the...
Pig! Answer my question.
What question?
You know. Just tell me.
Why should I tell the bosses to do the scrubbing themselves?
To make a point!
What point?
That's it!
What point?
You've got rights.
What rights?
A worker's rights!
But if they do the work, what rights have I got?
I'm the boss and they're the workers. Is that what you want?
I've got a real fascist here!
What do you want?
Nothing, boss.
Pedro didn't come and they sent me with this, boss.
Put it down on the step and get going.
Did he behave badly?
He didn't know who I was.
It was very funny.
You shouldn't trust people like that.
He looked like a scoundrel.
You should be careful.
Of him? Or of you too?
Mrs Paiva! I know how to treat a lady.
I have a great deal of respect for you.
I respect you profoundly.
Your wish is my command.
You are everything to me.
If only you knew what was inside me...
I think only of you.
If you wish...
What wouldn't I do for you?
Caires, what is this? Let me go.
With the greatest respect.
My confession was sincere.
And heartfelt, most heartfelt.
I'm not a layabout like Fortunato.
I'm Caires, butler to this most ancient house.
I'm not to be despised like a dog.
You're a rascal, Caires.
I am unhappy.
Unfortunate.
A poor devil.
A flunkey.
Unfortunate.
A poor devil.
Flunkey.
Only My Lady, dressed in black,
stared at her ancestrally, without irony or meaning.
When Osório telephoned to confirm his arrival,
Ema pretended that she hadn't gotten the call.
'Go, my girl. '
'I shall receive this ass who does not deserve your shame. '
Ema thought My Lady could have summoned all her contempt
and thrown it from Vesúvio into the river.
You think like a man, as a woman you have usurped men.
Your inhuman pride is wounded
and all you feel is apathy.
You know how to think and that will be your fall.
It is of no use to you.
Your shoulders are covered in dandruff.
Don't you wash your hair?
That's typical of you.
I need to be a woman to get inside your head.
There's no dandruff.
No, but something similar.
Dust perhaps.
You can detect dandruff
against the white of my jacket.
Luminares told the story of his aunt Alberta,
who had her hair washed on her deathbed.
She was half dead.
Water dripped off an oilcloth and soaked the towels.
She chose a tint,
but wouldn't look in the mirror.
The sensualness of things
that comes with death,
that's what she must have felt.
Only a woman would do that.
But I'm a man, according to you.
Flaubert said, 'I'm Madame Bovary. '
And Flaubert was a man.
They call me 'little Bovary,' but I am not her.
Still less Flaubert.
We share the same first name, Ema, that's all.
A Cardeano by birth,
a Paiva by marriage.
Ema Cardeano Paiva.
Are you mocking me?
No.
I speak with unhealthy affection.
Don't be amazed to see tears in my eyes.
I have no future.
Don't be big-headed.
I am not big-headed.
I am all in the past. Only the past lives in me.
You say you don't have one, but your fate is your fate.
The bottomless well of desire...
You are implacable.
Life...
Life is implacable. Not me.
Wasn't it you who said Carlos was a dog...
...who begs and never bites?
He has an undertaker's soul.
The bills he sends
after a funeral are a scandal.
Dearest...
Who pays for your luxuries? Your jewels and your clothes?
Money must come from somewhere.
I don't know. He hides what he earns, but he makes lots of money.
He has stocks and shares, he buys and sells jewels.
Women are selling gold because they're afraid of burglars.
Luminares wondered whether Ema would not
have made a good La Valliére.
She even possessed the flaw
that stimulates beauty in the eye of corruption.
Satan too was lame.
Beauty must contain a warning if men are to be safe.
Ema tasted evil as if it were a delicacy,
a wine many times strained, passed over years from barrel to barrel,
rounded, strange, deep.
A criminal record of sorts:
That badness which a woman involves in everything,
her pleasures, duties, contracts and suffering.
You couldn't imagine her doing harm,
though she might dip men's hearts
in a spice that gives the earth salt and makes it fertile.
Listen. Are you ever unfaithful to Simona?
No.
I am not that sordid.
I'm not a ladies' man, believe me.
Are men becoming intelligent then?
What will happen if vanity vanishes?
Laughter will dry up
and men will sigh like sick women.
This is a dirge.
You are so lovely!
So utterly beautiful.
I am ashamed of my beauty if it does not tempt you.
Don't be.
Give a thirsty man a drink.
But I'm not thirsty.
Ema assumed he was mocking her.
What happened to poor Ema?
- The moon will blush. - Blush? Why?
I say that because nobody takes notice of her.
And what will happen to us both? Tell me, Pedro.
A love between two persons.
A love as spiteful as pure hatred.
Men built castles,
locked themselves in and reigned anyway among their servants,
including their wives and mistresses.
Ema survived countless failures in the past of women.
Luminares was opposed to Ema's unique beauty
his wife's charms, seen from a different point of view.
But women had to be put on a level with dogs, with vegetables.
Some women couldn't stand it,
and they would often look like men.
What did Ema think of purity?
To be deprived of desire,
which comforts us by having no pointless problems?
Humour that despises
and turns its bouncing sovereignty into great knowledge and the world?
Cardeano welcomed Carlos, who visited him one day,
and they met like two persons who shared the same religion,
without trying to interpret each others' suffering or emotions.
Carlos would call himself 'virtuous,' which was unutterable among men.
Once, when he was already married, forgetting his passion for a moment,
he took one of his nurses into the woods...
... her temporary love compensated for his wife's absence.
Ema grew up in an unsuitable environment for feelings,
suitable for the secrets of life,
fully identifiable with desire and its obligations.
Your daughter, Mr Cardeano...
I don't know how to restrain her.
I don't want to repress her, I really don't.
But the truth is, she is never home.
For long periods. Our daughters miss their mother.
I have given her everything.
Ema likes having a lot of luxuries.
- Who are her friends? - I don't know. She just hangs around.
She seeks refuge in Vesúvio, at Osório's house.
At Osório's estate? Fernando Osório?
- She stays there with him? - No, it's not that.
Fernando isn't even there, he travels a lot.
She just likes the place, likes to ride the launch in the river.
And I think she has a friend, Tomásia de Fafel,
a very weird woman who gives her bad advice.
A person I never met and I don't wish to.
She has another friend, this one I know. Pedro Dossem,
a refined man, who moves in high society.
I think he restrains her a bit.
He's a true gentleman.
I'm always waiting for her...
I think she is lost.
I live in uncertainty,
afraid that someone will bring her home, dead, because of an accident.
That's terrible!
How did you come up with that?
Calm down.
Ema just went astray.
A face like hers makes a man's life worth while.
Cardeano thought he was mad and didn't say a thing.
He thought that maybe Ema needed another husband,
this one was too soft, and had corrupted her with his consent.
Cardeano thought it wasn't good to get close to poor chaps.
Carlos had what he deserved.
There's another thing.
It's very serious.
If it's so serious, just say it.
It's serious and delicate, I wanted to spare you.
Say it!
Just say it!
It's your granddaughter, Lolota.
What about her?
She said in front of me, her mother and her sister,
as if it were quite normal, that she was pregnant.
Pregnant? A single young lady? My granddaughter?
Lolota was a 14-year-old girl who only liked listening to music
and reading women's magazines
to learn about the ruling families in Europe and their marriages.
She became snobbish and only talked to people because she had to.
But nobody cared.
But is it true?
It's true. She said she was pregnant, just like that,
and started to devour candies.
- Devour? - Yes, devour, that's the word.
To devour candies?
I spoke to her in a tender way, wanting to know who was responsible.
And who is the scoundrel?
She answered candidly, it was no one.
- No one? - No one.
She asked if it could have happened in the bath.
In the bath?
- What does Ema say to that? - Ema...
That Lolota is a comedienne, she doesn't dream of lovers,
and doesn't even have the kind of fancy
girls usually have for rock stars.
So... This young lady is trying to mock us?
Or is it you?
I don't understand.
It's up to you.
You raised her. It's the result of modern upbringing.
It's your responsibility.
Deal with it the best you can, but don't give me any trouble.
It's your problem. It's your problem! Goodbye.
Bye, bye.
All of it seemed inexcusable to Carlos.
Ema, who lived like a mole,
desperately digging tunnels.
A selfish father, who had raised his daughter badly,
and him, Carlos, victim of his own passivity,
in a passion that blinded him like sunlight.
Old Semblano died of a heart attack
and at the estate Loreto suffered the loss of a servant,
who was more faithful than people thought.
Maria Semblano knew that her son would be Ema's target.
But young Semblano
was hesitant in letting her seduce him.
But Ema's beauty would be a waste if it weren't appreciated,
and still had a physical effect.
- Why now? - And why not?
We are here now and we want to hear you play, don't we?
You have to, you have to.
- We want to hear you. - I'll think about it.
Come on, son, don't be shy, go get your violin.
He's the opposite of his father, he's very shy.
His shyness comes from a great sensitivity.
- He's an artist, like his mother. - You're too kind...
- He's a very attractive young man. - You think?
There's an uncommon innocence in him.
He would be great for your daughter Lolota.
You think?
- Don't you think so, Carlos? - Absolutely.
They would make a lovely couple. Wouldn't they, Ema?
Yes, if they wanted to.
But please, don't stand there. Sit down. Carlos?
That uniform with medals
reminded her of the altar in Romesal.
Dossem never really understood Ema.
He thought she was... puzzling.
If the woman is the muse, then music is the queen of the arts.
Why do you always say such literary things?
It's the least I can do sitting next to a muse.
Dossem, again?
Your young Semblano is very virtuous.
Thank you.
Always flattering, but not straightforward.
Maria do Loreto, please...
What's the young man's first name?
Narciso.
It couldn't have suited him better.
What are you going to play?
What are you going to play, son?
The fourth string aria from Bach.
Seen from behind, you look like a woman.
Did you regret coming with me?
Are you saying that because I said you looked like a woman?
No, you didn't disappoint me. You proved well you are a man.
The young man felt reality was calling him.
Ema's beauty, elaborated to the point of being untouchable,
gave him the idea that the world was secretly producing
things that belong to privacy and were not meant to be shared,
like sex and bread.
When I was a child and I wanted to know the name of a flower,
people always told me "rose" or "daisy" and I doubted the answer
because I wanted to know more.
Why "rose"? Aunt Augusta got restless,
as if she had to prove God's existence.
'Don't be silly! It's its name', she answered.
For her, God was everywhere and didn't take part in the dialog.
Later, I found out that, in the old Brahman language,
'rose' meant 'swinging' or 'the one that swings'.
A very brief image of the flower, its stem, touched by the wind,
its leaves about to fall. Why 'rose'?
When the wind touches it, it's no longer a rose.
In its swing it is a rose, but soon ceases to be.
What do you mean by that?
That you are a rose? A rose in the wind?
I'm nothing. I'm a swinging state of mind.
Stop, Narciso!
That melody makes me sad.
Let's go.
- What's wrong with that? - Nothing's wrong with that.
It's almost offensive to the industry of house appliances.
That poor woman scrubbing cloths, like a machine, nowadays...
It's completely surreal. - You are a very special person,
but you don't know the situation. It's Ritinha,
I don't know if I ever mentioned her.
If I didn't, it was a serious omission.
- What are you going to tell me? - It's very simple.
She was already a washerwoman at my parents' house.
I was born and raised with her. She's intuitive and very smart.
But she doesn't talk nor hear.
She's deaf, deaf-and-dumb.
She can't do anything else. She's remained single,
and even a virgin, I think. It may seem odd to you
but washing clothes makes her feel fulfilled.
I didn't know. But...
She seemed smart to me.
She's very smart. She knows a lot, she knows everything.
She's a closed book because she can't talk.
And deaf as she is, everything she knows comes through her eyes.
You mean, if she didn't have this "passion"...
See, you understand.
We have a mutual esteem based on the imponderable.
Even if she could talk, she wouldn't know how to explain.
She was dedicated and absolutely upright.
There's this connection between us,
how should I say, primal.
She dedicated her whole life to work,
simply out of devotion, nothing was demanded of her.
But they forgot to give her a medal,
like they did to the old lady who served the Bovary family.
For her good services.
They haven't committed that cruel unfairness.
There are people who are like part of us.
- Like Ritinha? - Like Ritinha.
And like my mother, I lost her when I was a baby.
We are nothing, we are slaves.
What a pleasant surprise!
I was really being ungraceful, talking with your wife about politics.
That's all right, they should run the world.
Sit down, please.
Sit down, girls.
The queen often ruled in monarchies.
And nowadays, in democratic governments,
there is sometimes an elected woman Prime-Minister.
And women do it as well or as badly as men.
Why? A woman in power is no longer news.
I would say it never was.
Were you talking about matriarchies?
No, I was talking about the world going the wrong way,
about what they call 'progress'.
About hunger, misery and unfairness.
Straightforward to the worst!
Well, I was talking about wrong ways. Europe, for instance.
It created a civilization, right, but how?
It took advantage of the things that didn't belong to it.
What did it give them in exchange?
It created a market to better suck the marrow out of them.
Don't you think it's regrettable?
I think you're overreacting a bit, don't you think?
No, I don't think so.
What civilized Europe produces today is nothing but garbage.
Hunger and unfairness.
You speak like a rebel.
In a way, I am.
But a peaceful one.
Peaceful like a dandy, an aristocrat, a "bon vivant."
- Isn't that what you are? - Maybe.
But I don't know where's the incompatibility with justice,
and much less with the idea you have of what's fair.
The problem is just a matter of ethics.
'Ethics' with capital 'e'. That's what's missing.
Europe made it all up without it.
As far as I know, Europe's responsible for everything.
Isn't that a bit drastic?
Well, people take punishment for justice, power for honour,
pride for nobility. Europe...
Which Europe are you describing? The Europe of princes, of royalty,
who have fun at the parties you usually go to?
No, I don't leave that one out, nor any of them.
I don't leave out the republics that followed, either.
They spread like democracies or dictatorships
throughout the East and the West.
I know that people, European or not,
are part of mankind.
That's exactly the problem with the world.
Civilization degenerated
and mankind became the virus that has destroyed nature.
This Europe, there's no other,
created the concept of civilization itself
and is a victim of its own making.
Europe realized it maybe too late
and feels forced to rearrange the world.
She's desperately trying to do it with democracy.
I may agree with you, but not completely.
All that you've been saying... seems too complicated.
It's very complicated and very complex.
By the way, I'm curious,
what about the United States of America?
Are they exempt from this argument of yours?
The United States are the sons of Europe.
Sons and heirs of western civilization.
But they are under saxon influence, or anglo-saxon,
though the mediterranean root is still there.
Yes, I understand.
But they received that culture.
Don't you think that at least that is positive for Europe?
They received a culture as well as a religion.
But both aren't fulfilled yet, neither here nor there.
They were corrupted,
profaned by excessive and dehumanising idolatry and pragmatism.
It's strange...
It's very strange, your... how shall I put it?
- Pessimistic enthusiasm. - Enthusiasm?
On the contrary,
I know I'm not a so-called 'politician'.
If I dare talk about these things,
it's with a spirit and sensitiveness equivalent to those of an artist.
An artist or an aristocrat?
I didn't say 'artist', I said 'equivalent'.
An artist has a poetic vision of the world, of things,
that's why he suffers. - Suffers?
Yes, Ema. Suffers the shock of reality.
Daddy!
This cat is impertinent!
Isn't it your impertinence?
Ema, please...
I'm so sorry,
what I've been saying is really annoying.
No, it's not. I'm delighted to hear you talk. Right, mum?
I have to go, anyway.
I have a meeting.
Thanks a lot for your kindness.
- You really must go... - I must...
That's a shame!
Then I insist on taking you to your car.
I'm amazed!
I didn't recognise you, you look so neat!
What have you been doing, Caires? I haven't seen you at Vesúvio.
I've worked abroad a few years.
- You did? Where? - Mostly in England.
I met some English people in Vesúvio, and so I went.
- And was it good for you there? - Yes, it was, Mrs Paiva.
It was a bit hard at first,
but with the help of a few friends, I got lucky
And things went all right. Are you coming back to Vesúvio?
No, Mrs Paiva, only to pay a visit.
A visit? Are you angry at Mr. Osório?
No, Mrs Paiva, I'm angry at no one.
I bought an estate, near Pinhăo.
I don't want to brag,
but it's a big estate, with a beautiful house.
Not as big as Vesúvio's, but it's a beautiful house.
I would like to invite you, Mrs Paiva
and Mr Paiva too, of course, just for a visit.
We'll think about it.
I must see a patient now.
Goodbye. See you.
Sit down, Caires. Tell me what you've been doing.
Excuse me.
Mrs Paiva, my life is totally changed.
I'm rich now, very rich.
Well done! What about your nephew, Fortunato?
Don't even mention him.
He has become a revolutionary.
He left his wife and went to our old colonies to make trouble.
So, he left his wife?
Yes, he did. He's wicked.
He only thinks about himself and silly things. He's a degenerate.
Mrs Paiva, I know,
I was told that Mr Paiva...
...that Mr Paiva had lost money in the stock market,
well, that he had financial problems.
Who told you that?
People know these things. It goes without saying.
I wanted to tell you that...
Say it.
Mrs Paiva, you know...
...you know the feelings I've had for you for a long time.
When I was abroad, the only thing I could think of was you.
How I missed you...
And what do you want now?
I can help you financially.
I only think of you, Ema.
Caires...
I will do anything for you, Ema.
You don't know the love I feel for you. How I need you.
Caires, you won't cut your wisdom teeth.
Get up and leave.
My daughters will be here any second
and I don't want them to see you like that.
Well, if you don't leave, I will.
Ema felt humiliated.
Suddenly, she thought it would take 500 years of intrigue,
war, prison and written history to belong to that place.
'You're beautiful', said the princess, 'but you didn't get here on time. '
'My maid is more useful than you. '
'Watch how she serves. '
'The way she lets the mint liquor drip down the bottle. '
'She waits and puts it down quietly. '
'Only after the drop returns to the green, fragrant content of the bottle'
'does she put it down, making sure that everything is all right. '
'Could you be that steady? '
'That absolute surrender,'
'letting go of yourself in your own solitude,'
'because that is serving. No, you couldn't.'
Ema ran away again.
And she came back to Vesúvio,
where there was no one waiting for her.
The next morning
men were pruning on a rainy winter day.
When Ema woke up, she suddenly realized
that she couldn't articulate anymore. Then she said to herself:
'I didn't learn the human skeleton, nor how to move the arms'
'or to turn the head. '
'It's not a habit, it's the perfect combination of cause and effect. '
'The connection between things, I never saw how it worked. '
The vineyards of Douro
are one of the most impressive places in the world,
only comparable to the rice fields in China,
also planted in terraces.
A place like this will never die, ever.
It's an honour to suffer,
fated to live in torment,
as we can see by the shape of the grape-vines,
curved, nodulous,
scaly, black.
And, on the third day,
the sun shone, surprisingly shiny and redeeming.
'Go back to your little mental disturbances,'
'your sentimental statement of the pure heart you've lost.'
'We don't lose a pure heart, nor waste it, nor change it.'
Ema dressed up as if she were going to a ball,
and she asked herself how much longing love was there
in her visits to Vesúvio,
or if it was My Lady that she wanted to greet,
like a maid who always returns to the place where she first served.
She left the bouquet for My Lady
and went through the orange grove,
which reminded her of her virginity.
Some time later, Carlos was found dead
on one of the benches in Caverneira park.
He smoked a pipe for the sake of hygiene
because pipe tobacco was less harmful.
The tobacco was still on his fingers, a bit that had fallen from his jacket,
and is head was bent, as if he were going to lean over
and pick up the tobacco box that had fallen to the ground.
His concern was so clear
that the first thing the gardener did was to pick up the box,
as if he were obeying an order.
Maria Loreto Semblano had asked him that day
to revise her last book and she told him:
'None of this matters. '
'But no one imitates better than me'
'a beautiful life. '
Subtitling Margarida Pacheco / CRISTBET, Lda.