Josep Maria de Sagarra - Private Life

“You will never understand this, but I will try to explain why I am getting married. Guillem is in a world of his own, I see this. Sometimes he eludes me, I can’t control him, and I need to keep him close to me, by my side. And he needs me, too, for many reasons, do you see? If he is my husband, our situation will change, he will be more centered, he will feel more attached to me than he does now …”

“Or just the opposite, Conxa, just the opposite. I’m starting to realize that you’re more romantic than I am …”

“Maybe I am. But there’s something else. As long as we’re being frank, I’m not ashamed to tell you. I have noticed that some people, no matter how they try to hide it, can’t help but look askance and give us the cold shoulder when they see me talking with him somewhere. I’ve heard talk about the reputation he’s earned and the reputation I’m earning …”

“But, Conxa, didn’t you say all that didn’t matter? For God’s sake, don’t go on …”

“Well, now it’s a question of pride. I want him to be accepted as my husband in everyone’s eyes, with my head held high. I want the satisfaction of seeing everyone who goes around calling him an unscrupulous gigolo and me a degenerate having to invite him into their homes and fawn over him. Don’t you see? They’ll have to respect him, even if it’s only for my money, because, as you know, Guillem is penniless.”

“You are getting married … Or to put it another way, you are using your money to buy a husband, to buy your reputation and that of a man whom you can’t do without. In this regard, then, well, my way of thinking was, indeed, more romantic … You are a modern woman, Conxa, oh yes, much more modern than I! You think that in a year, or two, or perhaps less, this fellow will be respected as your husband and no one will think of him as your gigolo …”

“They can think what they want, but I will be serene and satisfied. And he’ll be tied to me, he’ll be mine …”

“He’ll be tied to you by your money …?”

“Can’t you believe that he really loves me, that we really love each other?”

“I have doubts about everything, Conxa. I can see you’re in a huff. Since I have never in my life experienced such a passion …”

“Naturally, Hortènsia, I already said you wouldn’t be able to understand what’s happened to me. Maybe I am making a big mistake. I’ve made quite a few mistakes in life. Believe me, one more won’t make a difference …”

“All right, Conxa. My tapestry is at your disposal. You realize that after all you’ve told me I feel more obligated than ever to indulge you.”

“Hortènsia, I’d be grateful if you …”

“You mean I can’t say anything about all this? Conxa, it will be very hard for me. I’m a gossip, I can’t help myself. I spend my days airing dirty laundry over lunch, over tea, at the golf course, at the theater. Imagine how hard it will be for me not to be able to tell people, and you know who they are, at least a little smidgen of the conversation we’ve had. What do you expect us to talk about? What could possibly interest us more than dishing the dirt … As I see it, the topic of your wedding would be a bombshell, a trophy I would carry off this very evening at the Hostal del Sol, where I’m going to have dinner with Teodora Macaia, Bobby, and the Moragueses and I think even that flirt Titina and her in-laws will be there. Just think how hard it will be on me to be silent as a tomb, Conxa! But I promise I won’t say a word … I promise …”

TWO MONTHS AFTER this conversation, the news of the wedding of Conxa Pujol, the widow Baronessa de Falset, to Guillem de Lloberola did indeed fall like a bombshell in the world of the posh.

In the men’s circles, you could hear the following comments: “What brass!” “How cynical!” “What a loose woman!” “What a crook!” “What a tart!” and other comments that decency doesn’t allow us to write down.

To be sure, Guillem de Lloberola accepted the baronessa’s proposition in order to secure his situation. Guillem would not have been capable of taking the initiative himself, nor did it ever cross his mind, when he initiated his assault, that that adventure could end in marriage. Gullem had many defects, but a Lloberola could never have plotted so far in advance. If Guillem had foreseen the value of his play from the outset, he could have been qualified as a good diplomat. But Guillem was more of a wastrel, a bohemian, who lived day-to-day. The first time Conxa brought up the idea of marriage, Guillem wrinkled his nose. He had stooped really low and he had lost all shame: in point of fact, he was a maquereau . He took money from Conxa, but that all happened in the murky, irregular world where Guillem drowsed. He found the thought of exchanging that place for a bright world in the full light of day, the thought of becoming a legal maquereau , by means of a grotesque ceremony, presided over by the Catholic Church and the current Civil Code, to be a little disgusting. Once in a blue moon, Guillem felt like a Lloberola, and Conxa’s marriage proposal seemed despicable to him. In addition to veiling the madness of a depraved woman and a man with no illusions in a shroud of propriety, for Guillem such a marriage meant becoming the master of the fortune of a man he had practically murdered. Guillem would be acquiring a certificate of grandeur and esteem by means of a series of base, criminal actions. But Conxa, despite her pirate, Creole blood, was intoxicated by the cowardly air of her social circle, and she wanted to have the pleasure of turning the bite marks of the bordello into the satisfaction of a twelve o’clock Mass to the sound of the municipal band. Conxa persisted, and Conxa demanded. Guillem blinked his eyes and began to get used to the idea of being Conxa’s husband, having a great fortune and the best automobiles at his disposal, and to procuring for himself the most wonderful escapades, out of sight of the sadistic and unnerving sexuality of Conxa Pujol.

In Guillem’s time, protests were ephemeral and people had adopted a general devil-may-care attitude of conformity and acquiescence. The only person Guillem sought some counsel from was his friend, Agustí Casals.

With the coming of the Republic, Agustí Casals had achieved great status. His friendship with Josep Safont and other public figures, his gift for oratory and, above all, his elegance in positioning himself, gave him a splendid standing. Agustí Casals was a good person, and for a while now he had been concerned about Guillem. He wanted to find something, some position, that Guillem could defend. He said Guillem was being ruined, and it was a shame for him to be facing a future with no prospects. When Guillem told him about the wedding project, Agustí reacted more as a lawyer than as a moralist. Agustí knew Guillem, even if he was ignorant of the darkest details of his life, but he knew perfectly well what kind of man he was. If it had been any other kind of person, a more redeemable kind, Agustí would have said to him that the first thing a man must preserve was his dignity. But Agustí could see that Guillem possessed a cancerous morality that had no chance of redemption. As a good lawyer, Agustí saw this as an excellent business plan that, with a minimal concern for appearances, assured his friend of a great position. Agustí advised him to waste no time on scruples he would get no credit for. And if anyone criticized him it would just be a case of the green-eyed monster …

Guillem married, and within four months he was on the board of the Club Eqüestre. He fabricated the thick skin of an ideal husband for himself, and he never took it off, not even at bedtime.