Confessions of a Young Widow E-Book

Machado de Assis

• Herausgeber: SAMPI Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 38

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

After the death of her husband, a widow decides to reveal the hidden truths of her marriage, including her secret relationship with Emílio, a lover who transformed her life. In a narrative full of irony and criticism of social conventions, Machado de Assis dismantles the facade of marital perfection and exposes the complexities of human passions.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Confessions of a Young Widow

SYNOPSIS

NOTICE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Confessions of a Young Widow

Machado de Assis

SYNOPSIS

After the death of her husband, a widow decides to reveal the hidden truths of her marriage, including her secret relationship with Emílio, a lover who transformed her life. In a narrative full of irony and criticism of social conventions, Machado de Assis dismantles the facade of marital perfection and exposes the complexities of human passions.

Keywords

Irony, secrets, hypocrisy

NOTICE

This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.

Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.

I

Two years ago I made a singular resolution: I went to live in Petrópolis in the middle of June. This resolution opened up a wide field for conjecture. You yourself, in the letters you wrote to me here, set your mind to guessing and came up with a thousand reasons, each one more absurd.

These letters, in which your solicitude betrayed two feelings at once, the affection of a friend and the curiosity of a woman, I didn't answer and couldn't answer. It wasn't appropriate to open my heart to you or to unravel the series of reasons that kept me away from the Court, where the operas at the Teatro Lírico, your departures and Cousin Barroso's family evenings were supposed to distract me from my recent widowhood.

This circumstance of recent widowhood was believed by many to be the sole reason for my flight. It was the least misleading version. I let it pass like all the others and stayed in Petrópolis.

The very next summer you came here with your husband, ready not to return to court without taking the secret that I insisted on not revealing. The word did no more than the letter. I was as discreet as a tomb, as indecipherable as the Sphinx. You laid down your weapons and left.

Since then you've called me nothing but your Sphinx.

I was the Sphinx, I was. And if, like Oedipus, you had answered my riddle with the word “man”, you would have discovered my secret and undone my charm.

But let's not anticipate events, as they say in novels.

It's time to tell you about this episode in my life.

I want to do it in letters, not by word of mouth. Maybe I'd blush for you. This way, the heart opens up better and shame doesn't come to hinder the words on my lips. Notice that I don't speak in tears, which is a sign that peace has returned to my spirit.

My letters will go out every eight days, so the narrative can have the effect of a weekly newspaper pamphlet.

I give you my word that you will enjoy it and learn from it.

And eight days after my last letter, I will hug you, kiss you and thank you. I need to live. These two years are zero in the account of my life: they were two years of boredom, of inner despair, of crushed pride, of stifled love.

I read, it's true. But only time, absence, the thought of my deceived heart, my offended dignity, were able to bring me the necessary calm, the calm of today.

And you know that's not all I've gained. I've gotten to know a man whose portrait I carry in my mind and who seems to me singularly similar to many others. That's no small feat, and the lesson will serve me as well as you and our inexperienced friends. Show them these letters; they're pages from a script that, if I'd had before, I might not have lost an illusion and two years of my life.

I must finish this one. It's the preface to my novel, study, short story, whatever you like. I don't quibble about the name, nor do I consult the masters of the art.

Study or novel, this is simply a book of truths, an episode simply told, in the intimate confabulation of spirits, in the full trust of two hearts that esteem and deserve each other.

Goodbye.

II

It was in my husband's time.

The Court was lively then and didn't have this cruel monotony that I feel here through your letters and the newspapers to which I subscribe.