ELEONORA AND JOSEPH. Julieta Almeida Rodrigues
got up to leave the room, however, it was as if nothing had happened. In my bed at night, I would recall Josephs pleasurable touching.
Joseph’s company filled my life with zest. We loved learning together. Moreover, when our eyes met, there was a sweetness I hadn’t ever experienced. He made me feel alive, filled with femininity. When his leg moved closer under the table, I welcomed it brazenly. These emotions were new and thrilling, and I knew they were mutual, even if left unacknowledged.
Over time, we became comfortable in each other’s company. Certainly one of the reasons I liked Latin so much! Our notebooks were neat and clean, just as Professore Grassi demanded, but we used them to communicate further. Our touching under the table wasn’t enough. Joseph drew plants and seeds in the last pages of his notebook, and he enjoyed sharing them with me. Little red hearts were mixed in; I found them lovely. His drawings had, of course, Latin names, and I could see how much he enjoyed the natural world. I, on the other hand, had the habit of drying herbs between my notebook’s pages—they spread a nice scent.
I kept my feelings for Joseph locked deep in my soul, they weren’t something I wanted to reveal. Besides, there was no one with whom I could share them. My family had decided long before that I would marry my first cousin Michele. Marriage between first cousins was common in Portuguese families because it kept money within the family. It wasn’t that I was against the life that had been determined for me; it was that Michele and I were very different. We had played together all our lives, but I had never felt the attraction I felt for Joseph.
When Uncle António fetched me from Latin one glorious spring day—hot and humid as only Naples can be—he suggested we go for a lemonade at a fashionable pastry shop in the Strada di Toledo. This was the main street of Naples, recently paved with dark lava flagstones. We walked alongside carriages pulled by horses and carts dragged by oxen while my uncle entertained me with explaining the various uses of lava. As we were about to enter the pastry shop, I saw Joseph close by and wondered if he had followed us. I waved discreetly, indicating that he should keep a distance. He licked his fingers, as if to say the pastries were tasty, and I couldn’t help but feel his sensuality.
Uncle António and I sat at one of the shop’s tables by the window, and I felt relieved that he hadn’t noticed Joseph. Joseph was a converso. He belonged to a New Christian family—Jews who had converted to Catholicism and I was sure my uncle wouldn’t approve of our relationship. It was one thing for the two of us to acquire a good education together, but a different matter for us to be friends. My uncle ordered an assortment of pastries: susamielle, struffoli, roccocò, sapienza, and divino amore. Such exotic names for the renowned Neapolitan pastries! Some were sprinkled with cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg, and the powerful aromas still linger in my memory today.
At this time, I was feeling confused about my future. Marriage was, for me, the natural course for a young, aristocratic woman. I wanted to be a wife and mother. My brothers would probably follow military careers and be stationed out of Naples. My betrothed Michele wanted to be a barrister, he had no inclination for the career of arms. Thus, my parents considered him a good fit for me. When they died, he would assume responsibility for our finances, while I would continue to pursue my life of the mind. However, after experiencing Joseph’s closeness, and his sensuality, I was having serious doubts I could be satisfied in a marriage with Michele.
One day during our lessons, Joseph passed me a message saying he wished to meet alone. He knew my uncle had been invited to the Serra di Cassano and that I would be going as well. He, too, would be there. He must have felt it was time to make a move. He suggested a time we could meet on their terrace. I read the note and indicated with a slight nod that I would be there. The prospect of meeting Joseph alone thrilled me, and I couldn’t think of anything else the rest of the lesson. It must have been the same for him, for his leg pressed ever more tightly against mine under the small table.
It was on the terrace of the Serra di Cassano that Joseph and I were alone for the first time. I was about to turn seventeen and wore a blue pretty dress. He said he was crazed with love; he wanted to marry me. He said he had heard rumors that Michele was a strong candidate for my hand, and he wanted to know how I felt about it.
“Eleonora of my heart, I can’t sleep at night thinking of you,” he said, pressing his chest against my breasts as we hid behind one of the terrace’s marble columns. “You are the lady of my dreams!”
I smiled at his adoring gaze and said, “I feel the same for you.”
“We need to find a way to make our courting official. I want to propose to you. I’ll talk it over with my father and then we’ll talk to yours. You know how sick my father’s been is the last few years—he never recovered from my mother’s death. But I’m confident that when I talk to him about our love, he’ll understand.”
As I listened, all I could see was Joseph’s coarse beard; I was ready to faint with passion. My voice wavered. “My family wants me to marry Michele.”
“But Michele can’t make you happy!” Joseph now kissed my eyes, nuzzled my lips, and lowered his mouth to my breasts. The pleasure I had felt when our legs touched under the table accelerated to a pitch of excitement.
“You’re daring!” I uttered with delight.
“We must find a way,” Joseph said. “Either your father agrees to our marriage or we’ll elope.”
“I want to follow you wherever you go,” I replied.
Dark blue light emanating from the sky bathed us like a blessing. The marble balcony seemed a divine enclave where our bodies nestled. I raised his head between my hands feeling his beard, and kissed his lips. Afterward, we both looked up at the moon—and she was smiling back at us.
Was this the call of love? My feelings had possessed me, as if I had experienced Joseph’s hands on my body all along. Michele had never, ever, touched or looked at me this way.
When I heard Uncle António’s voice calling my name, I hurried inside. I didn’t want us to be seen together, let alone by my uncle. I told him I had been observing the moon, its soft and radiant glow spreading over the Bay of Naples.
That evening changed my life, Joseph and I now shared a secret. The question was whether we could bring our passion to fruition. His daring ways continued as we sat beside each other during lessons. Occasionally he would furtively lay his hand on my legs, his fingers swift and adroit. I didn’t push him away, I welcomed the feeling of fullness that penetrated my whole being. If I turned red, no one noticed anything.
My involvement with Joseph affected my poetry. I felt unleashed, more capable of expressing the essence of my soul. Meeting fellow poets and reciting became easier. It was as if my sexual awareness had given me freedom to express myself. Queen Carolina enjoyed my poetry and its celebratory vein. I had written a poem she particularly enjoyed, Il Tempio della Gloria, The Temple of Glory, celebrating the joining of the Houses of Hapsburg and Bourbon by her marriage. I felt accomplished, and I enjoyed the royal praise. There was talk the queen might appoint me her personal librarian one day. If that ever happened, Naples would see me in a new light.
Joseph mentioned he was waiting for the right moment to speak to his father about us. Since the old gentleman was in a bad spell, he hadn’t had a chance yet. I felt sure of Joseph’s love, so, even though disappointed, I was willing to be patient. The months proceeded for me in this idyllic state. Both Michele and Joseph were in my mind, but I didn’t have to make a public choice. It was late spring; my life was sweet and full of expectation.
As summer approached, Joseph passed me another note in class saying the opportunity to speak to his father had arrived. They would be traveling to Rome, where his father was to meet an old colleague from Coimbra, João Carlos of Bragança, the second Duke of Lafões. I knew the duke was a close relative of Queen Maria of Portugal. Joseph said the duke had lived abroad for many years, but he now wanted to return to Lisbon to establish an academy of sciences. Since his father’s business wasn’t doing well, the duke’s patronage, if he was willing, might help the family finances. Joseph’s note finished by reassuring me he would be back in no time, and that we were made for each other.
But