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Capítulo XIX
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Ocupabase seriamente el santo cura en discurrir* los medios de sacar a Arabela de sus errores. Así que esta se halló capaz de sostener una conversación algo larga, la hizo a la memoria lo que le había dicho relativo a Clelia y la demostró, con toda la claridad y honradez posible, que su acción no solamente era contraria a las máximas de la religión, sino también muy oportuna para que la graduaran de extravagante. Arabela, más dispuesta ya a defender sus opiniones que cuando padecía, probó por sus principios que la religión no prohibía el deseo de ilustrarse, que el heroísmo se fundaba sobre la virtud y que era injusto reprehenderla una acción semejante a la que se admiraba en una heroína aplaudida por todos los historiadores. Escuchola el cura con mezcla de admiración, de lástima y de respeto. La costumbre contraída de sujetar su dictamen le fue inútil para con Arabela163. Conoció que tenía una lógica consecuente, que era peligroso concederla un principio y necesario combatirla con sus armas propias. Esto resolvió. Arabela estaba como aguardando deseosa la respuesta del cura. Este lo conoció y la habló así:
—Aunque es harto difícil, señora, no escuchar con atención lo que decís, no he podido, mientras hablabais, dejar de llevar mis ideas acompañadas de una suerte de lástima hasta la desgraciada ceguedad de los hombres y hasta las consecuencias, casi siempre falsas, que sacan de los principios que se les pegan.
—Ignoro, señor cura, sobre qué cae vuestra reflexión, si habla conmigo o si es resultado de un momento de distracción; hasta ahora nada me ha cegado: me han sucedido muchas desgracias, pero, como inferiores a las sucedidas a personas superiores a mí por la dignidad y el nacimiento, han servido siempre para consolarme; algunas veces me han envidiado y he podido ser aborrecida, pero no juzgaba yo que se me llegase a mirar como un objeto de lástima.
Advirtió el cura que tomaba mal camino y volvió sobre sí diciendo:
—No es de admirar que hayáis tenido envidiosos, habiendo la naturaleza reunido en vos cuantos bienes pueden desearse, pero ser aborrecida cosa es que no alcanzo a creer, a pesar de la experiencia que tengo de que los hombres se inclinan a no amar a los que los aventajan en perfecciones. p. 236
—Os declaro, señor cura, que no me ha picado vuestra primera proposición y, así, no procuréis paliarla con lisonjas: vuestro carácter se opone a ello; vengo de las puertas de la eternidad, donde todas las clases y estados se confunden y no he dado todavía con aquella ligereza que hace los cumplimientos preferibles a las instrucciones: si habéis descubierto en mí alguna cosa corregible, os ruego que apartéis a un lado esa urbanidad, que podría privarme de vuestros consejos, y que me habléis con el corazón en la mano. Un hombre como vos solo ha de tener por horroroso al vicio y la virtud desgraciada debe causaros compasión, y no merecer vuestra censura. Ejercitad en mí la autoridad que os da vuestra edad y estado, que os prometo docilidad.
Algo embarazado el cura, meditó algunos instantes su respuesta.
—Ya veo, señor, que dudáis de lo que os digo… bien está; para poneros, pues, en el caso de que obréis libremente, os dispenso de…
—Vuestra imaginación, señora, corre demasiado: conjeturáis lo que debo pensar y esto es raciocinar sobre una suposición… Cuando os di parte de mis reflexiones sobre la ceguedad y miseria humana, en general, estaba yo lejísimos de teneros por objeto de lástima. Cualquiera que os conozca ha de convenir en que poseéis cuanto se necesita para ser completamente dichosa, pero también en que os forjáis inquietudes y terrores de que está exenta hasta la misma ignorancia.
—Con dificultad concibo, señor cura, por qué exceptuáis a la ignorancia de inquietudes y de terrores; yo creía, al contrario, que debía ser tímida, pues careciendo de las necesarias noticias para precaver los riesgos, debía, por lo mismo, carecer de recursos para evitarlos.
—No digo, señora, que esté exenta de verdaderos males, sino que lo está de los resultantes de la imaginación, porque no supone cosas extraordinarias, no ve raptores en gentes que caminan sosegadamente y no se arroja al agua para imitar a Clelia.
—¿Conque opináis, señor cura, que me asusté sin motivo?
—Lo cierto es, señora, que nadie tuvo gana de robaros.
—Un eclesiástico, señor, ha de ser tan veraz que no asegure cosas dudosas; me parece que tan probable es el que os engañáis, como el que yo164.
—Atended, señora, a que nuestra conversación es una conferencia y a que es menester que haya relación directa entre las respuestas y las preguntas.
—Lo sé; os he preguntado si creíais que me asusté sin motivo. Respondisteis positivamente que sí y sobre esto hice una reflexión relativa a mi pregunta y a vuestra respuesta. Suele ser a veces permitido juzgar por las apariencias y ciertamente las había de que los que tomáis por caminantes fuesen raptores.
—¡Qué, señora! ¡Persistís en esa descabellada opinión!
—Nada se refuta con epítetos, señor cura; tenéis que probar que entregándome a mi temor, fundado o no, hice un absurdo. p. 237
—Os confieso, señora, que siento repugnancia a disputar con vos, no porque tema ser vencido, sino porque acostumbro a hablar a mis discípulos con aquella dureza de expresiones que la filosofía permite y temo, en el calor de la conferencia, faltaros al respeto que os debo… Si queréis disimular lo que pudiera decir, os probaré seguramente que os asustasteis sin motivo.
—Por muy cara que la verdad se compre, señor cura, es barata; lo disculparé todo y os ruego encarecidamente que entréis en materia.
—El miedo de un mal futuro, señora, ha de ser proporcionado al peligro y este se calcula o por la comparación o por las probabilidades: juzgamos de lo futuro por lo pasado y solo debemos amedrentarnos cuando vemos presentes las mismas causas que produjeron cualquiera mal. Cuando un capitán de navío, en una calma total, ve que se levantan nubes, aguarda una tempestad y la opone todos los recursos de su arte. Cuando un soberano levanta un ejército, sus vecinos se mueven y se preparan para no ser sorprendidos. Digo, pues, que son necesarias causas, cuyos efectos sean conocidos para hacernos temer un riesgo y nada advierto en unos viajeros que no os dijeron cosa alguna y que solo divisasteis a lo lejos, capaz de producir un terror semejante al que os puso a pique de ahogaros, que es cuanto hubierais podido hacer en el caso de haber intentado con vos alguna violencia. Fuera de esto, ¿ha sucedido jamás que una persona de vuestra clase haya sido acometida casi públicamente en presencia de otras tres mujeres? ¿Cabe en la imaginación que un hombre sea tan temerario que se exponga de este modo al suplicio o a la infamia? ¿Vense suceder cosas semejantes? ¿Hay en Inglaterra un solo ejemplo de un rapto de esta especie?
—Vuestras interrogaciones, señor cura, se multiplican de manera que necesito responder a ellas. Mi nacimiento no me puede preservar de las empresas de un temerario, pues aún las hijas de los mayores monarcas no han estado exentas. Si los que juzgué raptores no lo eran en efecto (porque sobre este punto rueda la diferencia de nuestras opiniones), privada de auxilios y sin un criado que me defendiera, ¿quién los hubiera impedido ponerme sobre un carro, llevarme a un desierto obscuro, encerrarme en un castillo circundado de bosques y montañas o, en fin, abandonarme en alguna isla desierta?
—Os protesto, señora, que tales proyectos hubieran tenido por obstáculo la imposibilidad. No hay en Inglaterra lugares incógnitos, castillos desiertos circundados de montañas y bosques, ni islas que no estén habitadas y, además, estáis en la parte más segura del reino y no es ciertamente aquí donde un raptor buscaría…
—Señor cura, nada se prueba negando y es menester, para destruir una probabilidad, oponer otra más fuerte. Puede afirmarse que hay un castillo en tal parte cuando se ha visto, pero no se puede asegurar que no lo hay, porque no se ha visto. ¿Puedo creer que la faz del globo terráqueo se haya mudado desde aquel tiempo en que ilustres heroínas experimentaron tantas desventuras? Las fortalezas –lo confieso– pueden ser destruidas por el tiempo, pero los lagos, selvas, cavernas y bosques siempre deben subsistir, y los hay indudablemente que vos no conocéis. Y si son menester ejemplos, ¿por qué no he de temer ser llevada como Clelia a una isla del lago de Trasimeno? ¿Por qué no he de temer ser robada, como Candaza, reina de Etiopía, por unos piratas y correr los mares contra mi voluntad? ¿No puede acaecerme el mismo accidente que envenenó la vida de Cleopatra? ¿No puedo temer las persecuciones que hicieron tan desgraciada la de Elisa? Finalmente, ¿no puedo temer los infortunios de Olimpia, de Bellamira, de Parisatis, de Berenice, de Almazonta, de Agiona, de Albicinda, de Placida, de Arsioné, de Deidamia y de infinitas otras que os nombraría si fuese necesario165? p. 238
—Los más de los nombres, señora, de que habéis formado vuestro catálogo no han llegado a mi noticia; conservo alguna idea de haber visto los otros en las obras cuya lectura suele alguna vez permitirse a los jóvenes para recreo de sus imaginaciones, pero no puedo ocultaros lo que me sorprende verlos representar un papel serio en una conversación como la nuestra. Habéis censurado uno de mis epítetos porque no lo encontrasteis delicado y yo debería quejarme, con más razón, de que oponéis a mis opiniones fábulas dadas a luz por escritores despreciables, para corromper el corazón y el entendimiento, y cuyo mal fin, no obstante, malograron por lo excesivo de sus absurdos.
—Pues yo, señor cura, he aprendido en esos libros (que conocéis tan poco y que, sin embargo, criticáis) a no retractarme de las condiciones que he propuesto. No censuraré, pues, la licencia de vuestras expresiones, que necesariamente deben pasar a los lectores desde los libros. He leído, señor cura, esas obras absurdas, peligrosas y corrompidas, y creo que ni han perjudicado a mi juicio ni a mi virtud.
El cura, a pesar de ser buen lógico, no había antevisto esta consecuencia. Era, pues, aquel el caso de ceder y lo hizo con el modo más respetuoso:
—Os aseguro, señora, que dais a mis palabras un sentido en que no he pensado; avergonzado estoy de haberme excedido y pido que me perdonéis estos instantes de acaloramiento.
—La satisfacción que dais, señor cura, es superior a la ofensa y, fuera de esto, siempre es apreciable quien tiene fuerza en su ánimo para convenir en qué faltó. Tengo, con todo, muchas penitencias que imponeros, porque soy algo vengativa. La primera es probarme que las historias que condenáis son ficciones; la segunda, que son absurdas y, la tercera, que son peligrosas.
Contentísimo quedó el cura de reconciliarse a costa de semejantes condiciones con una persona a quien verdaderamente quería, estimaba y veneraba.
—Voy, pues –dijo–, a cumplir mi primera penitencia, pero os confieso que estoy maravillado de verme con la sentencia de probar una cosa que jamás se ha mirado como sujeta a duda. Verisímilmente sabréis quiénes son los autores de los libros de que tratamos.
—Sí, señor, son franceses del inmediato pasado siglo; no me pico de puntualidad en las fechas, pero creo que pueden fijarse las de los sucesos que refieren a unos dos mil años antes sobre poco más o menos.
—¿Y cómo llegaron esos sucesos a los tales escritores?
—Por medio de actas, de memorias, de monumentos y de historias antiguas.
—Pero, ¿cómo puede ser que esas actas, memorias, monumentos e historias antiguas hayan estado sepultadas hasta el pasado siglo? ¿Quién las puso en manos de esos franceses? ¿Dónde estaban depositadas? ¿Por qué han dado únicamente con ellas los escritores obscuros? ¿Cómo se perdieron, en fin, de tal manera que nadie ha tenido de ellas conocimiento?
Arabela, pasados algunos momentos de meditación, hubo de confesar que las preguntas eran difíciles de responder; convino en que los autores deben indicar las fuentes de dónde sacan las noticias históricas y tuvo, además, por suficiente esta primera prueba, y le suplicó que pasase a la segunda. p. 239
—Tenéis, señora, lo estoy viendo, un juicio sanísimo y no podéis resistiros a la evidencia; y tenéis también un carácter muy veraz, que no os permite negar vuestro convencimiento. Emplearé, pues, los argumentos que me quedaban aún para este punto primero en demostraros lo absurdo de dichas obras, que es nuestro segundo… Son, pues, ficciones.
—Esperad un poco, señor cura: ¡no confundáis una suposición, acaso momentánea, con una cosa irrevocablemente concedida! Me guardaré bien de creer que una cosa no es porque no puedo probar que es. Como los raciocinios para convencer deben estar ligados, acaso encontraré en vuestra segunda prueba motivos de persuasión para la primera.
—Pues que me volvéis, señora, a nuestra primera cuestión, hacedme el gusto de decirme sobre qué fundáis vuestra opinión de que los libros de que hablamos pueden ser verdaderos; convenís en que las objeciones en contra son fortísimas: quedará, pues, demostrada su falsedad, siempre que no haya razón alguna que les sea favorable.
—Juzgo, señor cura, que toda narración que no se refuta por sí misma con sus absurdos puede ser creída. El amor al aprecio y a la estimación está harto generalmente arraigado en el humano corazón y, si naturalmente no lo está, lo adquiere a lo menos, por la experiencia y la razón. Nadie gusta de ser engañado y por eso se desprecian os engañadores. ¿Y qué hombre querría verse universalmente abominado por mentir al público? Probadme que puede tenerse interés en ser falso o dejadme creer que las relaciones en general son verdaderas.
—Puede creerse, señora, a un escritor que haya hecho las investigaciones convenientes para decir la verdad, deseoso de ser creído, pero ciertamente que no era esta la intención de los autores de que hablamos.
—Os engañáis sin duda, señor cura: un autor que no escribiese para ser creído no tendría objeto. ¿Qué placer puede disfrutarse en recitar hechos que nunca han sucedido? El objeto de la historia es instruirnos de los progresos del corazón humano y presentarnos modelos que imitar o de que huir. Cuando oímos decir algo que nos admira, profundizamos sobre si ha de creerse; cesa nuestro interés cuando hay duda y con mucha más razón cuando hay mentira. Probadme, pues, las tres cosas de que hemos convenido y os prometo no solamente olvidar mis libros, sino también mirar a los que los hicieron como impostores que me engañaron indignamente. ¡Ah, cuánto me pesaría entonces el tiempo que hubiese perdido!
—Shakespeare, señora, llama al volver en sí, el hijo de la integridad y del honor; no me debo maravillar del generoso partido que tomáis: pinta vuestra alma y me irrita contra esos autores que os robaron un tiempo de que sois capaz de hacer tan buen uso166… Es necesario, no obstante, considerar que la ficción no siempre ofende a la verdad. Tenemos un escritor admirable que, bajo el nombre de novela, supo dar sólidas instrucciones y trasladar a las almas de sus lectores una piedad muy austera, y, sirviéndome de la expresión de un hombre de talento, enseñó a las pasiones a obrar bajo el mando de la virtud. Las fábulas de La Fontaine no se hicieron para ser creídas y contienen, a pesar de eso, mucha sabiduría y una moral purísima167.
—Las fábulas, señor cura, son cosas increíbles, porque el absurdo se manifiesta por sí mismo: es evidente que los animales no se explican como los fabulistas fingen y que la verdad se envuelve en sus poemitas para hacerla más agradable; tienen un objeto, es verdad, pero no hay instrucción en historias contadas con la majestad histórica, si son falsas. p. 240
—Pues voy a convenceros, señora, de que las de que me habéis hablado tienen este carácter y veo, con gran placer mío, acercarse la hora de su destierro. Decidme, os suplico, ¿qué medio se debe emplear para la aprobación o refutación de un asunto oral o escrito?
—El de compararlo con otros testimonios, combinar las relaciones de las cosas y, en fin, examinar si todo es probable y está ligado necesariamente.
—No pido más, señora. Comparad, pues, las novelas francesas con las historias antiguas: en aquellas encontraréis infinitos nombres de que los historiadores no hablaron jamás, en ellas veréis que vuestros autores dividieron a su arbitrio la superficie del globo, que crearon palacios, y aun monarquías, en todas las partes en que las necesitaron para componer sus cuentos; los veréis mandar a la naturaleza como mágicos y distribuir, por donde les da la gana, rocas, montañas, desiertos, lagos e islas; y los veréis producir selvas deliciosas, bosques, cascadas e inundaciones: ved ahí las máquinas con que han forjado esas historias que habéis creído verdaderas.
—No lleváis intención de engañarme, señor cura: conozco que mi causa es insostenible, no argumentéis más sobre este punto y probadme que las tales historias son absurdas.
—La cualidad más peligrosa de la mentira –replicó el sabio cura– es la de parecerse a la verdad y únicamente se la puede refutar por la falta de relación que tiene con los hechos conocidos. No hay cosa más fácil que fabricar una historia y hacerla gustosísima, si se permite a la imaginación servirse de los medios empleados en los teatros para la representación de las piezas, como figurar un bosque espeso para esconder a un delincuente, sacar triunfante a la virtud y darla un trono imaginario por recompensa... Me acuerdo que, cuando dieron la enhorabuena al Ariosto por la magnificencia de sus palacios, contestó diciendo que la arquitectura de los poetas costaba poquísimo168… Pero volvamos a lo absurdo que he de demostrar. ¿Puede haber cosa que lo sea más que el encontrarse dos habitadores de las extremidades del mundo para tener algunos momentos de conversación; que el dar a un solo hombre la fuerza de mil; que el hacer dependiente la suerte de un ejército de un gesto, de una mirada, de una sonrisa y, en fin, el representar objetos conocidos bajo una forma que nuestra experiencia desmiente? El triste efecto de estas ficciones sobre las tiernas almas es cegarlas, hacerlas temerarias y retardar los progresos de la razón… Puede pasarse una vida larguísima sin ningún acaecimiento maravilloso. El orden establecido en las diferentes sociedades es causa de que las cosas sucedan con bastante regularidad. El valeroso, el cobarde, el fuerte, el débil, el hombre de talento y el necio, todos son arrastrados por una corriente, que llamo uso. Son estimados los unos, despreciados los otros y todo ello se verifica tranquilamente.
Arabela, que había oído al cura atentamente, se aprovechó del primer instante de silencio para hablar a su vez.
—Estoy inclinada a creer que vuestra mucha aplicación os ha quitado adquirir aquel uso del mundo en que estaban muy versados los autores que criticáis. No tengo todavía mucha experiencia, pero he advertido que la vida está sujeta a muchos accidentes y que diariamente suceden cosas nuevas e imprevistas… ¿Tenéis en nada, por ejemplo, mi aventura? ¿No debe clasificarse en los sucesos ordinarios el que una mujer, perseguida por un malvado, se precipite en un río huyendo de él?
—Señora –dijo el cura con gravedad–, no ha de darse como argumento un hecho que es el objeto de nuestra conversación y sobre el que pensamos diferentemente.
Arabela se sonrojó, no intentó disculparse y volvió al cura la libertad de continuar. p. 241
—¡No creáis, señora, que pretenda yo ejercer superioridad alguna, rogándoos que sometáis a mi decisión si los libros de que hablamos pintan bien o mal el teatro del mundo! Carecéis de experiencia y es la única ventaja que tengo sobre vos… Mucho tiempo ha que vivo y que ocupo un empleo público; mi obligación ha exigido que estudiase los caracteres de los que tenía que instruir; ni soy rico ni pobre y, de consiguiente, he podido entrar en todos los estados. Dígoos, pues, con conocimiento de causa, que vuestros autores franceses han creado un mundo nuevo y que no hay cosa más opuesta a la especie humana que los héroes y heroínas a su modo.
—Mucho temo, señor cura, que la comparación no sea favorable a la humanidad.
—Puede ser muy bien, señora, y eso lo juzgaréis cuando estuviereis en el caso de comparar: no quiero decidir una cuestión que puede afligir a un corazón puro como el vuestro.
—En caso semejante, el silencio de un hombre que gusta de alabar es una censura. ¡Plegue a Dios que nunca tengáis repugnancia a hablar de mí!... Pero pues no queréis alabar al género humano, ¿cómo probaréis que las historias que he leído son viciosas, cuando nos dan la idea de una raza de hombres superior a la de que está poblado el mundo?
—No es necesario decidir —replicó el cura— cuáles son los más perfectos, si los hombres verdaderos o los imaginarios; pero sí es cierto que los libros deben trabajarse para instruir y no para encender el fuego de las pasiones violentas, como el amor y la venganza, que son pasiones que conducen necesariamente a los desórdenes más grandes… Temo, señora, que me habéis, al fin, de graduar de sobradamente serio.
—No, señor cura: vuestros discursos me inspiran veneración y respeto. Permitidme que os diga que un hombre como vos se humilla más de lo que debe cuando llega a creer que no se le escucha con la mayor atención.
—Continuaré, pues, señora, representándoos que las obras que impugno afeminan y endurecen a un mismo tiempo el corazón; quiero decir, que lo disponen al amor y a la crueldad, que enseñan a las mujeres a exigir venganzas y a los hombres a ejecutarlas, que dan a las hermosas de vuestro sexo el deseo de ser adoradas y las hacen insensibles a los sacrificios prohibidos por las leyes divinas y humanas. Cada página de esos libros contiene alabanzas y obediencias que ningún mortal puede, sin estar loco, dar a otro de su especie. En ellos se ven batallas en que se sacrifican millares de hombres, sin otro objeto que obtener una sonrisa de una altiva belleza, que mira correr la sangre humana con serenos ojos. Es imposible leer tales obras sin estremecerse de horror o sin perder aquella ternura, que nos liga con toda nuestra especie. Y si, por haber salido al mundo con un carácter feliz, se preserva el individuo del orgullo y de la crueldad, es difícil que se preserve de adquirir el arte de entablar manejos ocultos, que es arte muy perjudicial a las buenas costumbres. El amor (mejor que yo lo sabéis, señora) es el único asunto de las heroínas y…
Sonrojose Arabela, conociolo el discreto cura y dejó de hablar por algunos instantes…
—Empiezo –continuó diciendo– a advertir que vuestros oídos se ofenden de mi método de discurrir; no hablaré más de lo que parece que os afecta y finalizaré las pruebas que os he ofrecido por otro diferente método. p. 242
—Es inútil, señor cura, bastante habéis dicho; siento que mi corazón se rinde a vista de la verdad. ¡Ay de mí! ¡Cómo no he podido ver yo misma esos cuadros que me pintáis con tanta naturalidad y valentía! ¡Perdí todo mi tiempo! Me pesa tanto como me duele y temo mucho haber estado cerca de los delitos de que me hacéis horrorizar.
—Pero, ¡qué, señora! –exclamó el buen cura haciendo un movimiento de espanto– ¡Será dable que, por agradaros, alguno haya quitado la vida!...
Conmovidísima, Arabela no respondió y vertió lágrimas.
—¿Sería posible –vaciló al preguntarlo– que tantas gracias, tanta amenidad y tanta gentileza se hubiesen manchado con sangre?
—No seáis tan pronto en juzgarme, señor cura –respondió Arabela, haciendo por reponerse–. Me estremezco al reflexionar que, obcecada por un fantasma de gloria, pensé en hacerme delincuente de ese crimen; pero, gracias al cielo, mi conciencia está limpia y tranquila sobre este punto.
Quedó el benemérito cura satisfechísimo de su dichoso éxito y, creyendo que una conversación tan larga pedía reposo, se despidió de Arabela y fue a dar cuenta exacta de lo que había pasado. El pobre Glanville, enajenado de puro gozo, abrazó muchas veces al discreto cura y tuvo ganas de arrojársele a los pies.
i discurrir] discurir.
163 ‘imponer su dictamen’.
164 ‘como el que lo haga yo’.
165 Clélie comienza precisamente relatando el episodio acontecido en ese lago del centro de Italia (Dalziel 416). Para la historia de Candaza, véase Cléopâtre III.2; y la protagonista que da nombre a esta novela y menciona Arabela resume todos los obstáculos o accidentes (en plural en el original inglés) a los que está sometido el amor de una heroína: la oposición paterna, los falsos testimonios o malentendidos y la pasión indeseada de rivales. Cleopatra ama a Coriolano, pero su padre Augusto quiere casarla primero con Marcelo y luego con Tiberio; Coriolano sospecha de la fidelidad de Cleopatra y a la inversa, como resultado de lo segundo; Artajes, rey de Armenia, la rapta, y Tiberio intenta hacer lo mismo. Lo acontecido al resto de heroínas mencionadas en este párrafo remite al mismo patrón de figuras femeninas que sufren accidentes de fortuna que dificultan y retrasan el éxito de sus historias amorosas. [Dalziel 416-417.]
166 La cita remite a Macbeth (IV.3), pero en contexto y con significado distintos, como aclara Dalziel 417: «Malcolm describes as “Child of integrity” the “noble passion” of rage with which Macduff attacks his prince for the many black vices to which he has confessed. What Macduff expresses is not, however, just resentment at a wrong done to himself» (417).
167 La referencia a ese «hombre de talento» parece remitir al texto que Samuel Johnson escribió sobre el novelista Samuel Richardson y publicó en el número 97 del Rambler (19/02/1751; Dalziel 417). Las fábulas de La Fontaine se publicaron en 1668 (primera parte) y en 1679 (la segunda).
168 La anécdota de Ariosto fue relatada por su hijo Virginio Ariosto (1509–1560) según indica Edmund G. Gardner en The King of the Court Poets. A Study of the Work, Life and Times of Ludovico Ariosto (Archibald Constable, 1906), p. 236 (Dalziel 417).
Chapter XI
Being, in the author’s opinion, the best chapter in this history.
The good divine, who had the cure of Arabella’s mind greatly at heart, no sooner perceived that the health of her body was almost restored, and that he might talk to her without the fear of any inconvenience, than he introduced the subject of her throwing herself into the river, which he had before lightly touched upon, and still declared himself dissatisfied with.
Arabella, now more disposed to defend this point than when languishing under the pressure of pain and dejection of mind, endeavoured by arguments founded upon romantic heroism to prove that it was not only reasonable and just, but also great and glorious, and exactly conformable to the rules of heroic virtue.
[299] The doctor listened to her with a mixed emotion, between pity, reverence and amazement. And though in the performance of his office he had been accustomed to accommodate his notions to every understanding, and had therefore accumulated a great variety of topics and illustrations; yet he found himself now engaged in a controversy for which he was not so well prepared as he imagined, and was at a loss for some leading principle, by which he might introduce his reasonings, and begin his confutation.
Though he saw much to praise in her discourse, he was afraid of confirming her obstinacy by commendation. And though he also found much to blame, he dreaded to give pain to a delicacy he revered.
Perceiving however that Arabella was silent, as if expecting his reply, he resolved not to bring upon himself the guilt of abandoning her to her mistake, and the necessity of speaking forced him to find something to say:
“Though it is not easy, madam,” said he, “for anyone that has the honour of conversing with your ladyship to preserve his attention free to any other idea than such as your discourse tends immediately to impress, yet I have not been able while you were speaking to refrain from some very mortifying reflections on the imperfection of all human happiness, and the uncertain consequences of all those advantages which we think ourselves not only at liberty to desire, but obliged to cultivate.”
“Though I have known some dangers and distresses,” replied Arabella gravely, “yet I did not imagine myself such a mirror of calamity as [300] could not be seen without concern. If my life has not been eminently fortunate, it has yet escaped the great evils of persecution, captivity, shipwrecks and dangers to which many ladies, far more illustrious both by birth and merit than myself, have been exposed. And indeed, though I have sometimes raised envy, or possibly incurred hatred, yet I have no reason to believe I was ever beheld with pity before.”
The doctor saw he had not introduced his discourse in the most acceptable manner; but it was too late to repent:
“Let me not, madam,” said he, “be censured before I have fully explained my sentiments. That you have been envied I can readily believe. For who that gives way to natural passions has not reason to envy the lady Arabella? But that you have been hated I am indeed less willing to think, though I know how easily the greater part of mankind hate those by whom they are excelled.”p. 332
“If the misery of my condition,” replied Arabella, “has been able to excite that melancholy your first words seemed to imply, flattery will contribute very little towards the improvement of it. Nor do I expect from the severity of the sacerdotal character any of those praises which I hear, perhaps with too much pleasure, from the rest of the world.
“Having been so lately on the brink of that state in which all distinctions but that of goodness are destroyed, I have not recovered so much levity, but that I would yet rather hear instructions than compliments. If therefore you have observed in me any dangerous tenets, corrupt passions, or criminal [301] desires, I conjure you discover me to myself. Let no false civility restrain your admonitions. Let me know this evil which can strike a good man with horror, and which I dread the more, as I do not feel it.
“I cannot suppose that a man of your order would be alarmed at any other misery than guilt. Nor will I think so meanly of him whose direction I have entreated, as to imagine he can think virtue unhappy, however overwhelmed by disasters or oppression. Keep me therefore no longer in suspense. I expect you will exert the authority of your function, and I promise you on my part sincerity and submission.”
The good man was now completely embarrassed; he saw his meaning mistaken, but was afraid to explain it, lest he should seem to pay court by a cowardly retraction. He therefore paused a little, and Arabella supposed he was studying for such expressions as might convey censure without offence.
“Sir,” said she, “if you are not yet satisfied of my willingness to hear your reproofs, let me evince my docility by entreating you to consider yourself as dispensed from all ceremony upon this occasion.”
“Your imaginations, madam,” replied the doctor, “are too quick for language; you conjecture too soon what you do not wait to hear; and reason upon suppositions which cannot be allowed you. When I mentioned my reflections upon human misery, I was far from concluding your ladyship miserable, compared with the rest of [302] mankind; and though contemplating the abstracted idea of possible felicity, I thought that even you might be produced as an instance that it is not attainable in this world, I did not impute the imperfection of your state to wickedness, but intended to observe that, though even virtue be added to external advantages, there will yet be something wanting to happiness.
“Whoever sees you, madam, will immediately say that nothing can hinder you from being the happiest of mortals, but want of power to understand your own advantages. And whoever is admitted to your conversation will be convinced that you enjoy all that intellectual excellence can confer; yet I see you harassed with innumerable terrors and perplexities, which never disturb the peace of poverty or ignorance.”
“I cannot discover,” said Arabella, “how poverty or ignorance can be privileged from casualty or violence, from the ravisher, the robber, or the enemy. I should hope rather that if wealth and knowledge can give nothing else, they at least confer judgment to foresee danger, and power to oppose it.”
“They are not indeed,” returned the doctor, “secured against real misfortunes, but they are happily defended from wild imaginations. They do not suspect what cannot happen, nor figure ravishers at a distance, and leap into rivers to escape them.”p. 333
“Do you suppose then,” said Arabella, “that I was frighted without cause?”
“It is certain, madam,” replied he, “that no injury was intended you.”
[303] “Disingenuity,* sir,” said Arabella, “does not become a clergyman—I think too well of your understanding to imagine your fallacy deceives yourself. Why then should you hope that it will deceive me? The laws of conference require that the terms of the question and answer be the same.
“I ask if I had not cause to be frighted, why then am I answered that no injury was intended? Human beings cannot penetrate intentions, nor regulate their conduct but by exterior appearances. And surely there was sufficient appearance of intended injury, and that the greatest which my sex can suffer.”
“Why, madam,” said the doctor, “should you still persist in so wild an assertion?”
“A coarse epithet,” said Arabella, “is no confutation. It rests upon you to show that in giving way to my fears, even supposing them groundless, I departed from the character of a reasonable person.”
“I am afraid,” replied the doctor, “of a dispute with your ladyship, not because I think myself in danger of defeat, but because being accustomed to speak to scholars with scholastic ruggedness, I may perhaps depart, in the heat of argument, from that respect to which you have so great a right, and give offence to a person I am really afraid to displease. But if you will promise to excuse my ardour, I will endeavour to prove that you have been frighted without reason.”
“I should be content,” replied Arabella, “to obtain truth upon harder terms, and therefore entreat you to begin.”
[304] “The apprehension of any future evil, madam,” said the divine, “which is called terror, when the danger is from natural causes, and suspicion, when it proceeds from a moral agent, must always arise from comparison. We can judge of the future only by the past, and have therefore only reason to fear or suspect, when we see the same causes in motion which have formerly produced mischief, or the same measures taken as have before been preparatory to a crime.
“Thus, when the sailor in certain latitudes sees the clouds rise, experience bids him expect a storm. When any monarch levies armies, his neighbours prepare to repel an invasion. This power of prognostication may, by reading and conversation, be extended beyond our own knowledge. And the great use of books is that of participating without labour or hazard the experience of others.
“But upon this principle how can you find any reason for your late fright? Has it ever been known that a lady of your rank was attacked with such intentions, in a place so public, without any preparations made by the violator for defence or escape? Can it be imagined that any man would so rashly expose himself to infamy by failure, and to the gibbet by success? Does there in the records of the world appear a single instance of such hopeless villainy?”
“It is now time, sir,” said Arabella, “to answer your questions, before they are too many to be remembered. The dignity of my birth can very little defend me against an insult to which the heiresses [305] of great and powerful empires, the daughters of valiant princes, and the wives of renowned monarchs have been a thousand times exposed.p. 334
“The danger which you think so great would hardly repel a determined mind; for in effect, who would have attempted my rescue, seeing that no knight or valiant cavalier was within view? What then should have hindered him from placing me in a chariot? Driving it into the pathless desert? And immuring me in a castle, among woods and mountains? Or hiding me perhaps in the caverns of a rock? Or confining me in some island of an immense lake?”
“From all this, madam,” interrupted the clergyman, “he is hindered by impossibility. He cannot carry you to any of these dreadful places, because there is no such castle, desert, cavern, or lake.”
“You will pardon me, sir,” said Arabella, “if I recur to your own principles. You allow that experience may be gained by books. And certainly there is no part of knowledge in which we are obliged to trust them more than in descriptive geography. The most restless activity in the longest life can survey but a small part of the habitable globe. And the rest can only be known from the report of others.
“Universal negatives are seldom safe, and are least to be allowed when the disputes are about objects of sense, where one position cannot be inferred from another. That there is a castle any man who has seen it may safely affirm. But you cannot, with [306] equal reason, maintain that there is no castle, because you have not seen it.
“Why should I imagine that the face of the earth is altered since the time of those heroines, who experienced so many changes of uncouth captivity? Castles, indeed, are the works of art; and are therefore subject to decay. But lakes, and caverns, and deserts must always remain.
“And why, since you call for instances, should I not dread the misfortunes which happened to the divine Clelia, who was carried to one of the isles of the Thrasymenian lake? Or those which befell the beautiful Candace, queen of Ethiopia, whom the pirate Zenodorus wandered with on the seas?
“Or the accidents which embittered the life of the incomparable Cleopatra? Or the persecutions which made that of the fair Elisa miserable? Or, in fine, the various distresses of many other fair and virtuous princesses, such as those which happened to Olympia, Bellamira, Parisatis, Berenice, Amalazontha, Agione, Albysinda, Placidia, Arsinoe, Deidamia, and a thousand others I could mention.”
“To the names of many of these illustrious sufferers I am an absolute stranger,” replied the doctor. “The rest I faintly remember some mention of in those contemptible volumes with which children are sometimes injudiciously suffered to amuse their imaginations; but which I little expected to hear quoted by your ladyship in a serious discourse.
[307] “And though I am very far from catching occasions of resentment, yet I think myself at liberty to observe that if I merited your censure for one indelicate epithet, we have engaged on very unequal terms, if I may not likewise complain of such contemptuous ridicule as you are pleased to exercise upon my opinions by opposing them with the authority of scribblers, not only of fictions, but of senseless fictions, which at once vitiate the mind and pervert the understanding, and which if they are at any time read with safety, owe their innocence only to their absurdity.”p. 335
“From these books, sir,” said Arabella, “which you condemn with so much ardour, though you acknowledge yourself little acquainted with them, I have learnt not to recede from the conditions I have granted, and shall not therefore censure the licence of your language, which glances from the books upon the readers. These books, sir, thus corrupt, thus absurd, thus dangerous alike to the intellect and morals, I have read; and that I hope without injury to my judgment, or my virtue.”
The doctor, whose vehemence had hindered him from discovering all the consequences of his position, now found himself entangled, and replied in a submissive tone:
“I confess, madam, my words imply an accusation very remote from my intention. It has always been the rule of my life not to justify any words or actions because they are mine. I am ashamed of my negligence, I am sorry for my warmth, and entreat your ladyship to [308] pardon a fault which I hope never to repeat.”
“The reparation, sir,” said Arabella smiling, “overbalances the offence, and by thus daring to own you have been in the wrong, you have raised in me a much higher esteem for you.
“Yet I will not pardon you,” added she, “without enjoining you a penance for the fault you own you have committed; and this penance shall be to prove. First, that these histories you condemn are fictions. Next, that they are absurd. And lastly, that they are criminal.”
The doctor was pleased to find a reconciliation offered upon so very easy terms, with a person whom he beheld at once with reverence and affection, and could not offend without extreme regret.
He therefore answered with a very cheerful composure:
“To prove those narratives to be fictions, madam, is only difficult, because the position is almost too evident for proof. Your ladyship knows, I suppose, to what authors these writings are ascribed?”
“To the French wits of the last century,” said Arabella.
“And at what distance, madam, are the facts related in them from the age of the writer?”
“I was never exact in my computation,” replied Arabella, “but I think most of the events happened about two thousand years ago.”
“How then, madam,” resumed the doctor, “could these events be so minutely known to writers so far remote from the time in which they happened?”
[309] “By records, monuments, memoirs and histories,” answered the lady.
“But by what accident, then,” said the doctor smiling, “did it happen these records and monuments were kept universally secret to mankind till the last century? What brought all the memoirs of the remotest nations and earliest ages only to France? Where were they hidden that none could consult them but a few obscure authors? And whither are they now vanished again that they can be found no more?”
Arabella, having sat silent a while, told him that she found his questions very difficult to be answered; and that though perhaps the authors themselves could have told whence they borrowed their materials, she should not at present require any other evidence of the first assertion. p. 336
But allowed him to suppose them fictions, and required now that he should show them to be absurd.
“Your Ladyship,” returned he, “has, I find, too much understanding to struggle against demonstration, and too much veracity to deny your convictions; therefore, some of the arguments by which I intended to show the falsehood of these narratives may be now used to prove their absurdity. You grant them, madam, to be fictions?”
“Sir,” interrupted Arabella eagerly, “you are again infringing the laws of disputation. You are not to confound a supposition of which I allow you only the present use, with an unlimited and irrevocable concession.
“I am too well acquainted with my own weakness [310] to conclude an opinion false, merely because I find myself unable to defend it. But I am in haste to hear the proof of the other positions, not only because they may perhaps supply what is deficient in your evidence of the first, but because I think it of more importance to detect corruption than fiction. Though indeed falsehood is a species of corruption, and what falsehood is more hateful than the falsehood of history?”
“Since you have drawn me back, madam, to the first question,” returned the doctor, “let me know what arguments your ladyship can produce for the veracity of these books. That there are many objections against it, you yourself have allowed, and the highest moral evidence of falsehood appears when there are many arguments against an assertion, and none for it.”
“Sir,” replied Arabella, “I shall never think that any narrative, which is not confuted by its own absurdity, is without one argument at least on its side; there is a love of truth in the human mind, if not naturally implanted, so easily obtained from reason and experience that I should expect it universally to prevail where there is no strong temptation to deceit; we hate to be deceived, we therefore hate those that deceive us; we desire not to be hated, and therefore know that we are not to deceive. Show me an equal motive to falsehood, or confess that every relation has some right to credit.”
“This may be allowed, madam,” said the doctor, “when we claim to be credited, but that seems not to be the hope or intention of these writers.”
“Surely, sir,” replied Arabella, “you must mistake [311] their design; he that writes without intention to be credited must write to little purpose; for what pleasure or advantage can arise from facts that never happened? What examples can be afforded by the patience of those who never suffered, or the chastity of those who were never solicited? The great end of history is to show how much human nature can endure or perform. When we hear a story in common life that raises our wonder or compassion, the first confutation stills our emotions, and however we were touched before, we then chase it from the memory with contempt as a trifle, or with indignation as an imposture. Prove, therefore, that the books which I have hitherto read as copies of life, and models of conduct, are empty fictions, and from this hour I deliver them to moths and mould; and from this time consider their authors as wretches who cheated me of those hours I ought to have dedicated to application and improvement, and betrayed me to a waste of those years in which I might have laid up knowledge for my future life.”p. 337
“Shakespeare,” said the doctor, “calls just resentment ‘the child of integrity’, and therefore I do not wonder that what vehemence the gentleness of your ladyship’s temper allows should be exerted upon this occasion. Yet though I cannot forgive these authors for having destroyed so much valuable time, yet I cannot think them intentionally culpable, because I cannot believe they expected to be credited. Truth is not always injured by fiction. [312] An admirable writerd of our own time has found the way to convey the most solid instructions, the noblest sentiments, and the most exalted piety, in the pleasing dress of a novel,e and, to use the words of the greatest geniusf in the present age, ‘has taught the passions to move at the command of virtue.’ The Fables of Æsop, though never I suppose believed, yet have been long considered as lectures of moral and domestic wisdom, so well adapted to the faculties of man that they have been received by all civilised nations; and the Arabs themselves have honoured his translator with the appellation of Locman the Wise.”
“The Fables of Æsop,” said Arabella, “are among those of which the absurdity discovers itself, and the truth is comprised in the application; but what can be said of those tales which are told with the solemn air of historical truth, and if false convey no instruction?”
“That they cannot be defended, madam,” said the doctor, “it is my purpose to prove, and if to evince their falsehood be sufficient to procure their banishment from your ladyship’s closet, their day of grace is near an end. How is any oral, or written testimony, confuted or confirmed?”
“By comparing it,” says the lady, “with the testimony of others, or with the natural effects and standing evidence of the facts related, and sometimes by comparing it with itself.”
“If then your ladyship will abide by this last,” returned he, “and compare these books with [313] ancient histories, you will not only find innumerable names, of which no mention was ever made before, but persons who lived in different ages, engaged as the friends or rivals of each other. You will perceive that your authors have parcelled out the world at discretion, erected palaces, and established monarchies wherever the conveniency of their narrative required them, and set kings and queens over imaginary nations. Nor have they considered themselves as invested with less authority over the works of nature than the institutions of men; for they have distributed mountains and deserts, gulfs and rocks, wherever they wanted them, and whenever the course of their story required an expedient, raised a gloomy forest, or overflowed the regions with a rapid stream.”
“I suppose,” said Arabella, “you have no intention to deceive me, and since if what you have asserted be true, the cause is indefensible,* I shall trouble you no longer to argue on this topic, but desire now to hear why, supposing them fictions, and intended to be received as fictions, you censure them as absurd?”p. 338
“The only excellence of falsehood,” answered he, “is its resemblance to truth; as therefore any narrative is more liable to be confuted by its inconsistency with known facts, it is at a greater distance from the perfection of fiction; for there can be no difficulty in framing a tale if we are left at liberty to invert all history and nature for our own conveniency. When a crime is to be concealed, it is easy to cover it with an imaginary wood. When [314] virtue is to be rewarded, a nation with a new name may, without any expense of invention, raise her to the throne. When Ariosto was told of the magnificence of his palaces, he answered that the cost of poetical architecture was very little; and still less is the cost of building without art than without materials. But their historical failures may be easily passed over, when we consider their physical or philosophical absurdities; to bring men together from different countries does not shock with every inherent or demonstrable absurdity, and therefore when we read only for amusement, such improprieties may be born. But who can forbear to throw away the story that gives to one man the strength of thousands; that puts life or death in a smile or a frown; that recounts labours and sufferings to which the powers of humanity are utterly unequal; that disfigures the whole appearance of the world, and represents everything in a form different from that which experience has shown? It is the fault of the best fictions that they teach young minds to expect strange adventures and sudden vicissitudes, and therefore encourage them often to trust to chance. A long life may be passed without a single occurrence that can cause much surprise, or produce any unexpected consequence of great importance; the order of the world is so established that all human affairs proceed in a regular method, and very little opportunity is left for sallies or hazards, for assault or rescue; but the brave and the coward, the [315] sprightly and the dull suffer themselves to be carried alike down the stream of custom.”
Arabella, who had for some time listened with a wish to interrupt him, now took advantage of a short pause:
“I cannot imagine, sir,” said she, “that you intend to deceive me, and therefore I am inclined to believe that you are yourself mistaken, and that your application to learning has hindered you from that acquaintance with the world in which these authors excelled. I have not long conversed in public, yet I have found that life is subject to many accidents. Do you count my late escape for nothing? Is it to be numbered among daily and cursory transactions that a woman flies from a ravisher into a rapid stream?”p. 339
“You must not, madam,” said the doctor, “urge as an argument the fact which is at present the subject of dispute.”
Arabella blushing at the absurdity she had been guilty of, and not attempting any subterfuge or excuse, the doctor found himself at liberty to proceed:
“You must not imagine, madam,” continued he, “that I intend to arrogate any superiority, when I observe that your ladyship must suffer me to decide, in some measure authoritatively, whether life is truly described in those books; the likeness of a picture can only be determined by a knowledge of the original. You have yet had little opportunity of knowing the ways of mankind, which cannot be learned but from experience, and of which the highest understanding, and the lowest, must enter the [316] world in equal ignorance. I have lived long in a public character, and have thought it my duty to study those whom I have undertaken to admonish or instruct. I have never been so rich as to affright men into disguise and concealment, nor so poor as to be kept at a distance too great for accurate observation. I therefore presume to tell your ladyship, with great confidence, that your writers have instituted a world of their own, and that nothing is more different from a human being than heroes or heroines.”
“I am afraid, sir,” said Arabella, “that the difference is not in favour of the present world.”p. 340
“That, madam,” answered he, “your own penetration will enable you to judge when it shall have made you equally acquainted with both. I have no desire to determine a question, the solution of which will give so little pleasure to purity and benevolence.”
“The silence of a man who loves to praise is a censure sufficiently severe,” said the lady. “May it never happen that you should be unwilling to mention the name of Arabella. I hope, wherever corruption prevails in the world, to live in it with virtue, or if I find myself too much endangered, to retire from it with innocence. But if you can say so little in commendation of mankind, how will you prove these histories to be vicious which if they do not describe real life, give* us an idea of a better race of beings than now inhabit the world?”
“It is of little importance, madam,” replied the doctor, “to decide whether in the real or [317] fictitious life most wickedness is to be found. Books ought to supply an antidote to example, and if we retire to a contemplation of crimes, and continue in our closets to inflame our passions, at what time must we rectify our words, or purify our hearts? The immediate tendency of these books, which your ladyship must allow me to mention with some severity, is to give new fire to the passions of revenge and love; two passions which, even without such powerful auxiliaries, it is one of the severest labours of reason and piety to suppress, and which yet must be suppressed if we hope to be approved in the sight of the only Being whose* approbation can make us happy. I am afraid your ladyship will think me too serious.”
“I have already learned too much from you,” said Arabella, “to presume to instruct you, yet suffer me to caution you never to dishonour your sacred office by the lowliness of apologies.”
“Then let me again observe,” resumed he, “that these books soften the heart to love, and harden it to murder. That they teach women to exact vengeance, and men to execute it; teach women to expect not only worship, but the dreadful worship of human sacrifices. Every page of these volumes is filled with such extravagance of praise, and expressions of obedience as one human being ought not to hear from another; or with accounts of battles, in which thousands are slaughtered for no other purpose than to gain a smile from the haughty beauty, who sits a calm spectatress* of the ruin and desolation, bloodshed and misery, incited by herself.
[318] “It is impossible to read these tales without lessening part of that humility, which by preserving in us a sense of our alliance with all human nature, keeps us awake to tenderness and sympathy, or without impairing that compassion which is implanted in us as an incentive to acts of kindness. If there be any preserved by natural softness, or early education from learning pride and cruelty, they are yet in danger of being betrayed to the vanity of beauty, and taught the arts of intrigue. Love, madam, is, you know, the business, the sole business of ladies in romances.”p. 341
Arabella’s blushes now hindered him from proceeding as he had intended.
“I perceive,” continued he, “that my arguments begin to be less agreeable to your ladyship’s delicacy. I shall therefore insist no longer upon false tenderness of sentiment, but proceed to those outrages of the violent passions which, though not more dangerous, are more generally hateful.”
“It is not necessary, sir,” interrupted Arabella, “that you strengthen by any new proof a position which when calmly considered cannot be denied; my heart yields to the force of truth, and I now wonder how the blaze of enthusiastic bravery could hinder me from remarking with abhorrence the crime of deliberate unnecessary bloodshed.
“I begin to perceive that I have hitherto at least trifled away my time, and fear that I have already made some approaches to the crime of encouraging violence and revenge.”
“I hope, madam,” said the good man with horror in his looks, “that no life was ever lost by your incitement.” [319]
Arabella seeing him thus moved burst into tears, and could not immediately answer.
“Is it possible,” cried the doctor, “that such gentleness and elegance should be stained with blood?”
“Be not too hasty in your censure,” said Arabella, recovering herself. “I tremble indeed to think how nearly I have approached the brink of murder, when I thought myself only consulting my own glory; but whatever I suffer, I will never more demand or instigate vengeance, nor consider my punctilios* as important enough to be balanced against life.”
The doctor confirmed her in her new resolutions, and thinking solitude was necessary to compose her spirits after the fatigue of so long a conversation, he retired to acquaint Mr. Glanville with his success, who in the transport of his joy was almost ready to throw himself at his feet, to thank him for the miracle, as he called it, that he had performed.
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