ELEONORA AND JOSEPH. Julieta Almeida Rodrigues
Joseph terribly, and I missed his touch most of all. Since I couldn’t understand what was happening, I turned to my poetry for refuge.
One day our maid Clotilde said she had a message for me. A young man had approached her in the street and had asked for her confidence. She had raised me and although surprised by the request, passed on the note without comment. The missive was from Joseph and asked to meet at the small garden near our apartment in Via Platea della Salata. He suggested the following afternoon, and that I tell my mother I needed to go out with Clotilde to buy new notebooks.
And so, the next afternoon, shopping with Clotilde, I made it seem like the two of us had bumped into each other by accident. I told Clotilde to wait for me a few yards away. As I moved away to join Joseph, I breathed in the garden’s rosemary—it was intoxicating.
The marvelous sensation vanished as soon as I reached Joseph and saw the gravity in his eyes.
He first said he was in a hurry. Then he handed me a letter he said I should read at home. I felt shocked that he had no more to say. His former personality had vanished, replaced by something I didn’t recognize. With a dark expression, he cautioned me.
“Eleonora, your head is full of naive fantasies and this is good for the art of poetry. But I would like to think of you as being grounded, as I plan to be,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “Concentrate on being a virtuous wife and mother. I fear for you; your imagination is fertile, but it can turn against you.”
When he finished, he leaned over and picked a sprig of rosemary from the nearest bush. He smelled it with closed eyes and then offered it to me.
Without another word, he left. I waited for what it seemed an eternity to see if he would look back before exiting the garden’s iron gate. He did, just as I put the rosemary into the bosom of my dress.
Distressed, I called Clotilde and we went home. Alone in my room, I read Joseph’s letter:
My Dearest Eleonora,
Our love is impossible and we must renounce it for our own good. My father opened his heart to me on our way to Rome and I must free him from feeding one more mouth. I’m his oldest son, I have responsibilities I can’t discard. The Duke of Lafões advised that I follow a religious career in Rome. If I do, he will promote my future in Portugal and, therefore, assist our family. I will help him with his scientific pursuits and, in turn, he will provide for me through various tenças—subsidies or financial ecclesiastic benefits that he can dispose of as he pleases.
Miraculously—and impressed with my intellectual abilities—the duke decided my future for me. I’ve found his offer irresistible, a way out of my family’s predicament. You are lucky that, due to your family’s social standing, you are already on the way to be well-established in Naples. But my father is nearly penniless. Thus, there is no way I can ask your parents for your hand.
We must quiet our feelings, promise never to see each other again. Our determination should be, moving forward, our only ally.
I am going to Rome to start my religious studies soon. Later, I’ll take my Catholic vows. An ecclesiastical life will provide me with erudition, something I very much want. I sincerely hope your marriage to Michele fulfills you. You must make the most of it. I will do the same with my own life. I wish you the happiness a life in Naples promises and can deliver.
Yours truly,
Joseph
I finished the letter and let it drop from my fingers. I felt abject, miserable. How was it possible that Joseph had turned his back on me? I had been abandoned, nothing else made sense anymore. Joseph’s resolute voice told me that he wouldn’t be changing his mind. This was the saddest day of my life. I was becoming a recognized poet in Naples, slated to become the queen’s librarian. But it all seemed without grace now.
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