Novels from the Portuguese
David Wright
THE ILLUSTRIOUS HOUSE OF RAMIRES by Eva de Quieros Carcanet, f14.95, pp. 320 COUSIN BAZILIO by Eva de Quieros Carcanet, £14.95, pp. 296 Granted that most people have heard of Camoens — but of what other Portuguese writer? Even Fernando Pessoa, In many ways the greatest trailbreaker among modernist poets (he was a contem- porary, almost a precursor, of Pound and Eliot) is comparatively unknown outside Portugal, though his portrait appears on its banknotes — for the Portuguese are care- ful to commemorate their writers. Camoens' birthday is a public holiday, Which is more than we accord to Shakespeare's. After Camoens, their most commemorated writer is the 19th-century novelist, Ega de Quieros. Hardly a town or village is without a street named after him. In Lisbon his effigy is to be seen, immacu- lately dressed, in the act of being accosted by a lady wearing nothing but a wrap she has just removed for his benefit — Truth unveiling herself. Ega de Quieros (1843-1900) has justly been compared with Flaubert and Stend- hal. Carcanet Press is to be congratulated for these reprints of two of his greatest novels. The first — The Illustrious House of Ramires — has affinities with Stendhal for its controlled romanticism spiked with dry realism, illumined by a humane insight to the complexities and contradictions of character and behaviour. In a way it antici- pates Flann O'Brien's At Swim Two Birds, being a novel within a novel. The hero almost the anti-hero — is Goncalo Ramires, a more or less effete aristocrat, last of the most ancient family in Portugal, who is writing a historical novel based on the heroic deeds of his ancestors. The record of their valour and honourable deal- ings is ironically counterpointed by his own pusillanimity and chicanery in actual life. A combination of Don Quixote and Walter Mitty, he is continually humiliated, in con- trast to the victorious feats of his ancestors in the novel under way. Yet Quieros' deep understanding of the contrariety of human beings never allows us to lose sympathy with Ramires, a hopeless muddler who cheats one of his tenants and finds himself forced to tolerate his sister's seduction by a philandering politician. For Ramires is at the same time kindhearted and generous — his unworthy lapses are counterbalanced by admirable amends. Ironic comedy is the keynote of the novel. And at the end of it a friend sums him up:
Do you know who he reminds me of? .. . All Goncalo's different qualities, his weakness, his kindness, his goodness ... His crazes and enthusiasm, which peter out almost immedi- ately, but at the same time his persistence and tenacity ... His constant expectation of a miracle occurring . .. His vanity . . . his sim- plicity which impels him to give his arm to a beggar in the street . . . His terrible lack of confidence in himself which intimidates and restrains him until one day he makes a deci- sion and turns out to be a hero, destroying everything .. . Just as he is, good mixed with bad, do you know whom he reminds me of? ... Portugal.
In contrast to the bucolic setting of The House of Ramires and its Stendhalian undertones, Cousin Bazilio has a metropoli- tan environment. Lisbon and its citizens, vividly evoked, form the background of a tale of seduction much like that of Flaubert's Madame Bovary. But according to Roy Campbell, who translates this novel superbly, it is 'a far deeper tragedy' because its heroine, Luiza,
is not a bitch like Madame Bovary . . . its humour and pathos alternate in an almost unbearable syncopation till the towering climax; it is one of the most tragic novels of the 19th century.
With this estimate I totally agree. Quieros based his plot, not on Flaubert's, but on an actual happening that took place in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where he was for some years Portuguese consul. His sympa- thy and understanding for Luiza, and for Jorge, the deceived husband, transforms what would else be a tale of heartless seduction into a deep-felt and penetrating dissertation on marriage. He is even able to put a case for Juliana, the evil and embit- tered servant who mercilessly blackmails poor Luiza and eventually brings about her death. Only Bazilio, the dandiacal lady- killer, escapes Queiros' empathy. Humour and realism combine with a cast of accu- rately observed protagonists to make Cousin Bazilio a masterpiece. It is note- worthy how subtly Quieros, in describing the furnishing of a room, thereby delin- eates the character of its tenant. Au reste, Quieros records the seduction of Luiza, skilfully evoking sexual proclivities and acts — from mild lesbianism to cunnilingus — without recourse to literal description (contemporary novelists please copy). Here is sentiment without sentimentality. The death of Luiza is related with scarify- ing objectivity. Learning of it on his return to Lisbon, Bazilio discusses her with his English friend Reynaldo, who
did not want to speak ill of the dead. But after all, Bazilio himself told him she wore cotton stockings. What horror!
`Yes, but just for those couple of months I was here ...' said Bazilio with head bowed. `Yes! Yes! Just as a measure of hygiene,' said Reynaldo.
Altogether a great novel.
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