Este blog tem os melhores leitores. Dir-se-ia ser o caso de um que só aceita ser mencionado com a condição inabalável de não ser mencionado. Até podia ser um grande leitor, mas, ó, não é. Porque é um grande escritor – e triste – que até aceita ser publicado se, CONDIÇÃO INABALÁVEL, o seu manuscrito surgir com a sumida assinatura de um tal de Conde Hugo e se todos jurarmos que foi, o dito manuscrito, encontrado na Zona J, região habitada, como se sabe, por aristocratas polacos (é que tomara Saragoça).
Este meu sobrinho é um filho pródigo que não volta, não quer nada ser triste e escrever. Pior. Não quer e não o faz porque só faz o que quer. E o sacrifício? O sangue, suor e lágrimas? Nicles. A liberdade está sobrevalorizada. A ferros é que era… Como este desgosto que me dá não lhe é suficiente, ainda faz pior. Mostra como seria se aqui estivesse de lugar cativo. Como? Com um libretto de deixar de uma só vez o Tio Scott, o Salvatore não sei das quantas e a prima Lucia verdes de inveja – e capaz de causar uma crise de ciúmes ao arrastado e público namoro entre Manuel Fonseca e Henrique Monteiro expresso em posts, comments e sei lá mais o quê onde até promessas de casamento li com estes lindos olhinhos que a terra há-de comer. Não diga que não avisei. A menina di Vasconcellos é protagonista e há alvíssaras para quem descubra as restantes clefs de um tão singelo romance.
(A despropósito, se estiver virado para Meca, perdão, para o Palais Garnier, olhe, tem sorte, que a bela ópera está em romântica cena – não é tão boa quanto esta porque lá não estão os meus Tristes, mas é o que conseguiram arranjar.)
Eugénia di Vasconcellos
by Count Hugo Donizetti, aka O inabalável da Zona J
In a feud between the portuguese(?) families of Ravenswood (Fonseca?) and Vasconcellos, Enrico (AKA Lord Henry de Vasconcellos) has gained the upper hand over Manuel (Manuel da Fonseca a Cameo of himself, Writer and Adventurer), killing his kinsmen and taking over his estates. At least part of them, the kinsmen and estates. By the time of the opera’s action, however, Enrico’s fortunes have begun to wane. In political disfavor due to his friendship with the Portuguese goverment, he stakes all on uniting his family with that of Arturo (Lord Arthur Bucklaw, a rather strange name!), whom he means to force his sister, Eugénia (Eugénia de Vasconcellos, the Utmost Princess, Stripper to become and a kind of Pucelle de Orleans but with gothic style), to marry.
ACT I. In a ruined park but with an awfull thing that Portuguese mayors call Rotunda(?) near Vasconcellos Castle, Enrico’s retainers prepare to search for a mysterious trespasser. Normanno, captain of the guard, remains behind to greet Enrico, who decries Eugénias’s refusal to marry Arturo, calling her a mother fucker, even if that accusation does not make a great sense, at least for me. When the girl’s elderly tutor, Raimondo, suggests that grief over a previous sexual intercourse (mostly foreplay in reality) and some misunderstanding with an young, but not very polite or even brave knight, and this a cold fact, keeps her from thoughts of love, Normanno reveals that Eugénia has been discovered keeping trysts(?) with a hunter who saved her from a raging bull, or whatever, even if this attitude looks absolutely silly. He suspects the stranger is none other than Manuel, already mentioned as part of the plot. Enrico rages, and as retainers confirm Normanno’s suspicions, he swears vengeance, even if not immediately, as now are there so many things to do, that he does not wishes another minor headache.
At a fountain near her former female dog’s tomb, Eugénia, fearful of her brother, awaits a rendezvous with Manuel (Manuel da Fonseca as a Cameo of himself, Writer and Former Adventurer, now we know already this).
She tells her confidante, Alisa, (note: We are not talking about lesbian bonding, only kind of a listener) the tale of a maiden’s ghost that haunts the fountain or Rotunda, and has warned her of a tragic end to her love for Manuel (already mentioned). Though Alisa implores her to take care, Lucia cannot restrain her love. On arrival, Manuel explains he must go to France on a strange mission but wishes to reconcile himself with Enrico so he and Eugénia may marry. As this is pure nonsense, Eugénia, knowing her brother as a real pain in the ass will not relent, begs Manuel to keep their love a secret. Though infuriated at Enrico’s persecution, this seems logical even to the public, he agrees. The lovers seal their vows by exchanging low cost rings, a little bit of rough safe sex, again almost foreplay only, and by the nature of the things some practical jokes on Alisa, by dropping the freshly used condom on her tea pot, assuming and swearing by the Holy God plus Bible, that it is not what it looks like, but as a rather exquisite modern tea bag, then bid each other farewell.
ACT II. In an anteroom of Vasconcellos Castle, Enrico plots with Normanno to force Eugénia to marry Arturo, as usual. As the captain goes off to greet the bridegroom, Eugénia enters, distraught but defiant, only to be shown a forged letter (sadness of writing?), supposedly from Manuel, proving him pledged to another (Girl?) with whom is used to enjoy abnormal but paid sex. Crushed, she longs for her own death, but only faking, as Enrico insists on her marrying at once to save the family fortunes. Now Raimondo urges her to consent to the wedding, invoking, with no logical reason, the memory of her lost female dog and asking her to respect the family’s kind of desperate finance situation. When she yields, he reminds her there are heavenly rewards for earthly sacrifices, like SWAPS and plenty of fresh money from abroad, just look at Portugal he says. On paramount of that she always can keep Manuel as her secret lover, at least until he becomes so old that he will be disposed off like trash (her own words).
In the great hall of Vasconcellos, as guests hail the union of two important families, Arturo pledges to restore the Vasconcellos’ prestige. Enrico prepares him for Eugénia’s melancholy by pleading again her grief over her female dog’s death. No sooner has the girl entered and been forced to sign the marriage contract, plus some SWAPS, than Manuel bursts in. Returning earlier than expected, as usual, he has learned of the wedding and come to claim his bride to be. Bloodshed is averted only when Raimondo commands the rivals to put up their swords. Seeing Eugénia’s in this case a real forged signature on the contract, Manuel tears his ring from her finger, using vintage Nivea cream, curses her plus the Pope (not the nice Francisco, but the previous German one) and rushes from the hall. Hardly comprehending his words, Eugénia as usual collapses, but stays alert
ACT III. Manuel sits in a chamber at the foot of Wolf’s Crag tower, deep in thought, as a storm rages. Enrico rides there to confront him, and the flames of their enmity flare, like a chrome Zippo lighter. They agree to meet at dawn among the tombs of the Ravenswoods to fight a duel, again as usual.
The continuing wedding festivities are halted when Raimondo enters to announce that Eugénia, gone absolutely mad, has stabbed and almost killed (castrated?) Arturo in the bridal chamber. Disheveled, unaware of what she has done, she wanders in, recalling her meetings with Manuel and imagining herself married to him. When the angry Enrico rushes in, he is silenced by the sight of her pitiful condition. Believing herself in heaven, Eugénia falls dying. But by the nature of the things is only again a fake death.
Among the tombs of his ancestors, Manuel, last of the Ravenswoods (Fonsecas?), laments Eugénia’s supposed betrayal and awaits his duel with Enrico, which he hopes will end his own life. Guests leaving Vasconcellos Castle tell Manuel that the almost dying Lucia has called not his name but the name of Mr. Mourinho, Coach from Chelsea Football club. As he is about to rush to her side, not believing what he has heard, Raimondo arrives to tell of her almost but not assured death, and her bier is carried by. Resolving to join Eugénia in heaven, Manuel stabs himself and almost dies. Everybody recovers, except Portugal but this is another story.
Não me queria gabar da minha rica Eugénia di Vasconcellos, mas canta que é um gosto, mesmo que esteja num maluquedo pegado e praticamente morta…