Traducción
Original
Capítulo XVI
Visitas de duelo
—¡Destino cruel!–decía con voz ternísima–. ¡No te contentastes de privar mi infancia de las caricias y cuidados de una madre amorosa, sino que también me dejas sin el único apoyo que tenía en el mundo, cual era el de mi padre, mi amigo y protector de mi juventud!
Para sollozar se detuvo y luego continuó así:
—Reliquias preciosas del mejor padre, ¿por qué no me han permitido regaros con mis lágrimas? ¿Por qué os han desaparecido antes de que mis ojos os pagasen el tributo que os debían?... ¡Y vosotros, desapiadados*! ¿Por qué me estorbasteis que cumpliese con mi padre amado mis últimas obligaciones? ¿Por qué me arrancasteis de donde estaba? ¡Sombra sagrada que reverencio, perdona esta falta involuntaria a tu desconsolada hija!... ¡Perdona a la que solamente vivirá para consagrarte sus llantos!
Poco maravillado Glanville de aquel monólogo, iba a entrar para consolarla, pero su padre le detuvo, diciéndole, con ademán de consternación:
—Mi sobrina está más mala de lo que nos han dicho, porque la posee un delirio.
—No, señor –le repuso Glanville, sentido de la reflexión–; no delira mi prima: es comunísimo en los grandes dolores aliviarse con las quejas.
—Pero las que acabo de oír –añadió el barón– son muy extraordinarias y persisto en creer que tiene trastornada la cabeza.
Iba a decir más Glanville cuando Lucía llegó a decirles que su ama los esperaba. Encontráronla negligentemente recostada sobre una camilla. El luto la sentaba tan bien que el barón quedó admiradísimo. Arabela abrazó a su tío con un afecto tal que lo dejó muy prendado, pero la presencia de Glanville renovó sus lágrimas.
—La última vez que nos vimos, primo mío –le dijo–, cumplíamos entre los dos unas obligaciones muy tristes. ¡Ay! Si Dios hubiera oído nuestros ruegos, mi padre se hubiera mostrado reconocidísimo a tan generosos cuidados. Os estoy tan agradecida como merecéis y espero que nunca me acusaréis de ingrata.
—Si os parece que me debéis alguna gratitud, querida prima, el único medio de acreditármela es el de moderar vuestro dolor y mirar por una salud que amo sobremanera: a vos y a mí nos convida a ello la razón, nuestra desgracia es de una especie que no admite remedio. p. 74
—¡Qué débil es mi dolor si lo comparo al de infinitos ilustres afligidos! Sisigambis (que seguramente no carecía de fuerza ni de valor) se envolvió en un manto, así que supo la muerte de su nieta y no sobrevivió más que tres días a su pena. Menecrates mandó hacer un grandioso sepulcro a su esposa y se enterró en él con sus cenizas. Estos sí que son gloriosos efectos de ternura y altas pruebas de verdadera afición. Después de esto, ¿qué son las lágrimas que me veis derramar37?
Glanville, mortificado con semejantes despropósitos, hizo cuanto pudo para desvanecerlos…, pero su padre, que nunca había oído hablar de Sisigambis ni de Menecrates, la preguntó si había conocido al caballero y a la señora, que hicieron tales extravagancias.
—Los he conocido, tío mío, de la misma manera que todos los que han leído sus historias.
—¡Sus historias! Habrás visto sin duda eso en algunos romanzotes antiguos; créeme, sobrina mía, no leas semejantes librajos, porque te aseguro que son perjudiciales a la juventud38.
—Me pesa –replicó Arabela– que no pensemos del mismo modo.
—Te aseguro, sobrina mía, que me encontrarás siempre un tío complacientísimo mientras no tengamos que contestar más que sobre niñerías iguales, pero, no obstante, creo que una señorita joven razonable y juiciosa, como tú lo eres, debería hacer elección de otras lecturas que de las ridiculísimas sandeces de que abundan todas tus historias caballerescas y heroicas.
—Aunque os tengo respeto, no puedo menos de deciros que es indecente la declamación que hacéis contra las mejores producciones del entendimiento humano; mucho debemos a los autores que trabajaron tanto para entresacar de la historia antigua y reunir las heroicas hazañas de los grandes personajes. Por lo menos convendréis en que, sin la inimitable pluma de la señora Escudery, ignoraríamos las bellas acciones de Orondates, de Aronces, de Juba y de Artabano. Falsos historiadores publicaron que Clelia se arrojó al Tiber para que Porsena no se la llevara en rehenes, pero la Escudery, mejor instruida, nos dice que hizo aquella acción heroica para librar su honestidad de las violencias y persecuciones de Sexto. Sin la Escudery creeríamos que Safo fue una licenciosa: pues de ningún modo, porque amó a Faón con pureza y nunca consintió que la pasión de aquel amante traspasase los límites de una amistad fraternal. Las equivocaciones y falsedades que esta escritora ilustre ha rectificado no tienen número; dudo que otra que ella hubiese descubierto que Cleopatra fue esposa de Julio César y que Cesarión, su hijo, no fue asesinado por orden de Augusto, sino que casó con la hermosa reina de Etiopía, en cuyos estados se refugió. Las acciones valerosas que nos cuenta son muy superiores a las que sabemos por las historias griegas y romanas. ¡Qué mezquinos son sus guerreros comparados con los héroes de la Escudery39!...
—Por cierto, sobrina mía –repuso el anciano–, que has empleado mal tu tiempo, créeme: no cites con frecuencia de esa manera, porque no hay en ello chispa de juicio. Cuando niño, leí cuentos y creía que un hombrecillo del tamaño de mi pulgar corría con las botas puestas de un gigante devorador de muchachos que andaba siete leguas de cada paso: estas puerilidades se destruyen por sí mismas y creo que tus héroes están tan lejos del natural como mi hombrecillo40.
—¡Pero, decidme, señor! ¡Creísteis esas paparruchadas a la edad en que se sabe leer! A pesar de la opinión que parece tenéis de mí, os protesto que no me acuerdo de haber podido ser tan crédula. p. 75
—Mi padre se dedicó a las armas desde niño y ya sabéis, prima mía, que los militares, en Inglaterra, no se pican de erudición.
—¡Mi tío ha servido! ¡Y no respeta las acciones de los grandes guerreros!
—Tus héroes, sobrina mía, son tan maravillosos que nadie ha intentado jamás imitarlos.
—Puédense, no obstante, citar muchos y la Escudery está llena de ellos.
—¿Dónde diablos quieres que se dé con esa gente, a menos que no estén en tu imaginación, que, por desgracia, me parece abundante de quimeras?
—Si vuestra intención, señor, es insultarme sé hasta dónde ha de llegar el respeto que os debo; no hacéis bien en venir a agravar mi dolor y, como no estoy de humor de sufrirlo, os suplico que me dejéis sola.
Viendo Glanville a su prima desabrida, se levantó y convidó a su padre a dar un paseo. El anciano barón salió descontentísimo, graduó a su sobrina de muy mal educada y afeó mucho a su hermano el haber descuidado tanto su educación.
—Os pido, padre mío, que no la juzguéis en estos momentos de enfado; os aseguro que no es lo que parece.
—Es hermosa, te lo confieso; eres mozo y enamorado, y, de consiguiente, hijo mío, incapaz de juzgarla como yo: su modo de hablar es raro y sus ideas estrambóticas; si tuviera el entendimiento que gratuitamente la supones, ¿se persuadiría a cosas que repugnan a un juicio sano? ¿Alabaría a un loco que se enterró con su mujer? ¿Admiraría a una imbécil que muere voluntariamente rebujada en un manto? He oído sus conceptos y es evidente que pasará en todas partes por una extravagante.
Como tan persuadido Glanville a la verdad de aquellas observaciones, no pudo contener un suspiro, que su padre notó.
—Supuesto que ha de ser tu esposa –continuó diciendo– trabaja en inculcarla ideas más justas, porque, a pesar de sus inmensos bienes, padecería yo mucho de verme con una nuera que te pusiese en el caso de correrte... Pero, ¿cómo estás con ella?
—Vivimos familiarmente mientras mi corazón no toma parte en las conversaciones porque si yo me atreviera a pronunciar la palabra amor, sería tratado con la mayor dureza.
—Si la dijeras que su padre te ha dejado la tercera parte de sus bienes, en caso de que no quiera casarse contigo, ¿te parece que esto no trocaría su modo de pensar? Déjame hacer, que yo la hablaré como conviene.
—Ruégoos, señor, que nada hagáis, porque ese medio no se aviene con mi desinterés.
—Bien, hijo mío, no te hablaré más de ello, pues, aunque mi hermano me ha nombrado tutor de su hija, no me ha dado libertad para oponerme a sus gustos; verdad es que la aconseja que consulte conmigo, pero puede casarse sin mi consentimiento.
Glanville pensaba más en su prima que en las observaciones de su padre; dio una respuesta lacónica y buscó la ocasión de quedarse solo. Examinó los inconvenientes que podían resultar de la muerte del marqués y previó que su prima, cuando se presentase en el mundo, iba a verse circundada de un enjambre de adoradores, entre los cuales probablemente los habría más amables que él. Esta idea lo tiranizaba... p. 76
—¿Por qué –decía– no le ha encargado su padre expresamente que se casara conmigo?... La veneración que tributa a su memoria hubiera asegurado mi felicidad... Pero, ¿sería yo dichoso no debiendo su corazón más que a la obediencia?...
Después de muchas reflexiones, se fijó en hacer nuevos esfuerzos para agradar a su prima y se determinó a no servirse del medio que le ofrecía el testamento de su tío.
i Mantengo la forma, recogida así en Aut.
37 Sisigambis es la madre del rey Darío; el episodio referido remite a Cassandre II.2; la referencia a Menécrates parece un error, pues, aunque hay dos personajes así llamados en Artamène, todo indica que Arabela (o Lennox) se confunde con otro llamado Menesteo. [Dalziel 392.]
38 Los sufijos despectivos e intensificadores («romanzotes» y «librajos») para calificar los libros leídos por Arabela remiten, una vez más, a los del hidalgo manchego.
39 No todos los personajes citados en este largo párrafo pertenecen a obras procedentes de «la inimitable pluma de la señora Escudery», pues entre ellos figuran protagonistas de Cassandre y Cléopâtre, ambas de La Calprenède. La mención a Clelia arrojándose al Tíber se hallará en el libro de igual título (V.2 y 3), este sí de Madeleine Scudéry; la historia de Safo se encontrará en Artamène X.2; para Cleopatra, Julio César y Cesarión, la novela de La Calprenéde sobre esta reina de Egipto (I. 2 y 3). [Dalziel 392-393.]
40 Parece alusión diáfana al cuento de Pulgarcito (en inglés Tom Thumb), cuya versión de Charles Perrault (Le Petit Poucet) remite a 1697.
Chapter III
Which treats of a consolatory visit and other grave matters.
Arabella, being then awaked* from her slumber, was indulging her grief by complaints, which her women were so used to hear that they never offered to disturb her.
“Merciless fate!” said she, in the most moving tone imaginable. “Cruel destiny! That, not contented with having deprived my infancy of the soft cares and tender indulgences of a mother’s fondness, has robbed me of the only parent I had left, and exposed me, at these early years, to the grief of losing him who was not only my father, but my friend and protector of my youth!”
Then, pausing a moment, she renewed her complaints with a deep sigh:
“Dear relics of the best of fathers!” pursued she. “Why was it not permitted me to bathe you with my tears? Why were those sacred remains of him, from whom I drew my life, snatched from my eyes, ere* they had poured their tribute of sorrow over them? Ah! Pitiless women!” said she to her attendants. “You prevented me from performing the last pious rites to my dear father! You, by your cruel care, hindered me from easing my sad heart, by paying him the last duties he could receive from me! Pardon, O dear and sacred shade of my loved father! Pardon this unwilling neglect of thy afflicted [88] child, who, to the last moment of her wretched life, will bewail thy loss!”
Here she ceased speaking; and Mr. Glanville, whom this soliloquy had much less confounded than his father, was preparing to go in, and comfort her, when the old gentleman stopping him with a look of great concern:
“My niece is certainly much worse than we apprehend,” said he. “She is in a delirium: our presence may, perhaps, discompose her too much.”
“No, sir,” replied Glanville, extremely confused at this suspicion, “my cousin is not so bad as you suppose. It is common enough for people in any great affliction to ease themselves by complaints.”
“But these,” replied the knight, “are the strangest complaints I ever heard, and savour so much of frenzy that I am persuaded her head is not quite right.”
Glanville was going to reply, when Lucy, entering, told them her lady had ordered their admission, upon which they followed her into Arabella’s chamber, who was lying negligently upon her bed.
Her deep mourning and the black gauze, which covered part of her fair face, was so advantageous to her shape and complexion that Sir Charles, who had not seen her since she grew up, was struck with an extreme surprise at her beauty, while his son was gazing on her so passionately that he never thought of introducing his father to her, who contemplated her with as much admiration as his son, though with less passion.
[89] Arabella, rising from her bed, saluted her uncle with a grace that wholly charmed him; and turning to receive Mr. Glanville, she burst into tears at the remembrance of his having assisted her in her last attendance upon her father. “Alas! Sir,” said she, “when we saw each other last, we were both engaged in a very melancholy office. Had it pleased heaven to have spared my father, he would, doubtless, have been extremely sensible of your generous cares; nor shall you have any reason to accuse me of ingratitude, since I shall always acknowledge your kindness as I ought.”
“If you think you owe me any obligation,” returned Glanville, “pay me, dearest cousin, by moderating your sorrow. Indeed you suffer yourself to sink too much under an affliction which is impossible to be remedied.”p. 85
“Alas!” answered Arabella. “My grief is very slight, compared to that of many others upon the death of their relations. The great Sisygambis, who, questionless, wanted neither fortitude nor courage, upon the news of her granddaughter’s* death, wrapped herself up in her veil; and, resolving never more to behold the light, waited for death in that posture. Menecrates, upon the loss of his wife, built a magnificent tomb for her; and, shutting himself up in it, resolved to pass away the remainder of his life with her ashes. These, indeed, were glorious effects of piety and affection and unfeigned signs of an excessive sorrow. What are the few tears I shed to such illustrious instances of grief and affection, as these?”
[90] Glanville, finding his cousin upon this strain, blushed extremely, and would have changed the subject; but the old gentleman, who had never heard of these two persons she mentioned, who expressed their sorrow for their losses in so strange a manner, was surprised at it, and was resolved to know more about them.
“Pray, niece,” said he, “were you acquainted with these people, who could not submit to the dispensation of Providence, but, as one may say, flew in the face of heaven by their impatience?”
“I am very well acquainted with their history,” resumed Arabella. “And I can assure you, they were both very admirable persons.”
“Oh! Oh! Their history!” interrupted the knight. “What, I warrant you, they are to be found in the fairy tales and those sort of books! Well, I never could like such romances, not I; for they only spoil youth, and put strange notions into their heads.”
“I am sorry,” resumed Arabella, blushing with anger, “that we are like to differ in opinion upon so important a point.”
“Truly, niece,” said Sir Charles, “if we never differ in anything else, I shall be very easy about this slight matter; though I think a young lady of your fine sense (for my son praises you to the skies for your wit) should not be so fond of such ridiculous nonsense as these storybooks are filled with.”
“Upon my word, sir,” resumed Arabella, “all the respect I owe you cannot hinder me from telling you that I take it extremely ill you should, in my presence, rail at the finest productions in [91] the world. I think we are infinitely obliged to these authors, who have, in so sublime a style, delivered down to posterity the heroic actions of the bravest men and most virtuous of women. But for the inimitable pen of the famous Scudery, we had been ignorant of the lives of many great and illustrious persons. The warlike actions of Oroondates, Aronces, Juba and the renowned Artaban had, haply, never been talked of in our age; and those fair and chaste ladies, who were the objects of their pure and constant passions, had still been buried in obscurity; and neither their divine beauties, or singular virtue, been the subject of our admiration and praise. But for the famous Scudery, we had not known the true cause of that action of Clelia’s, for which the senate decreed her a statue; namely, her casting herself, with an unparalleled courage, into the Tiber, a deep and rapid river, as you must certainly know, and swimming to the other side. It was not, as the Roman historians falsely report, a stratagem to recover herself and the other hostages, from the power of Porsena; it was to preserve her honour from violation by the impious Sextus, who was in the camp. But for Scudery, we had still thought the inimitable poetess Sappho to be a loose wanton, whose verses breathed nothing but unchaste and irregular fires. On the contrary, she was so remarkably chaste that she would never even consent to marry; but, loving Phaon, only with a Platonic* passion, obliged him to restrain his desires within the compass of a brother’s affection. Numberless are the mistakes he has cleared up of this kind; and [92] I question, if any other historian but himself knew that Cleopatra was really married to Julius Cæsar; or that Cæsario, her son by this marriage, was not murdered, as was supposed, by the order of Augustus, but married the fair queen of Ethiopia, in whose dominions he took refuge. The prodigious acts of valour, which he has recounted of those accomplished princes, have never been equalled by the heroes of either the Greek or Roman historians. How poor and insignificant are the actions of their warriors to Scudery’s, where one of those admirable heroes would put whole armies into terror, and with his single arm oppose a legion!”p. 86
“Indeed, niece,” said Sir Charles, no longer able to forbear interrupting her, “these are all very improbable tales. I remember, when I was a boy, I was very fond of reading the history of Jack the Giant Killer and Tom Thumb; and these stories so filled my head that I really thought one of those little fellows* killed men a hundred feet high; and that the other, after a great many surprising exploits, was swallowed up by a cow.”
“You were very young, sir, you say,” interrupted Arabella tartly, “when those stories gained your belief. However, your judgment was certainly younger if you ever believed them at all; for as credulous as you are pleased to think me, I should never, at any age, have been persuaded such things could have happened.”
“My father, madam,” said Glanville, who was strangely confused all this time, “bore arms in his youth; and soldiers, you know, never trouble themselves much with reading.”
[93] “Has my uncle been a soldier,” said Arabella, “and does he hold in contempt the actions of the bravest soldiers in the world?”
“The soldiers you speak of, niece,” said Sir Charles, “were indeed the bravest soldiers in the world, for I don’t believe they ever had their equals.”
“And yet, sir,” said Arabella, “there are a great number of such soldiers to be found in Scudery.”
“Indeed, my dear niece,” interrupted Sir Charles, “they are to be found nowhere else, except in your imagination, which, I am sorry to see, is filled with such whimsies.”
“If you mean this to affront me, sir,” resumed Arabella, hardly able to forbear tears, “I know how far, as my uncle, I ought to bear with you. But methinks it is highly unkind to aggravate my sorrows by such cruel jests; and, since I am not in a humour to suffer them, don’t take it ill if I entreat you to leave me to myself.”
Mr. Glanville, who knew nothing pleased his cousin so much as paying an exact obedience to her commands, rose up immediately; and, bowing respectfully to her, asked his father if he should attend him into the gardens.
The baronet, who thought Arabella’s behaviour bordered a good deal upon rudeness, took his leave with some signs of displeasure upon his countenance; and, notwithstanding all his son could say in excuse for her, he was extremely offended.
“What!” said he to Mr. Glanville. “Does she so little understand the respect that is due to me as her uncle that she so peremptorily desired [94] me to leave her room? My brother was to blame to take so little care of her education; she is quite a rustic!”
“Ah! Don’t wrong your judgment so much, sir,” said Glanville, “my cousin has as little of the rustic as if she had passed all her life in court. Her fine sense and the native elegance of her manners give an inimitable grace to her behaviour; and as much exceed the studied politeness of other ladies I have conversed with, as the beauties of her person do all I have ever seen.”
“She is very handsome, I confess,” returned Sir Charles. “But I cannot think so well of her wit as you do; for methinks she talks very oddly, and has the strangest conceits! Who, but herself, would think it probable that one man could put a whole army to flight; or commend a foolish fellow for living in a tomb, because his wife was buried in it? Fie, fie! These are silly and extravagant notions, and will make her appear very ridiculous.”p. 87
Mr. Glanville was so sensible of the justness of this remark that he could not help sighing, which his father observing, told him that since she was to be his wife, it was his business to produce a reformation in her. “For,” added he, “notwithstanding the immense fortune she will bring you, I should be sorry to have a daughter-in-law for whom I should blush as often as she opens her mouth.”
“I assure you, sir,” said Mr. Glanville, “I have but very little hopes that I shall be so happy as to have my cousin for a wife; for though it was my uncle’s command I should make my addresses [96] to her, she received me so ill, as a lover, that I have never dared to talk to her upon that subject since.”
“And pray,” resumed Sir Charles, “upon what terms are you at present?”
“While I seem to pretend nothing to her as a lover,” replied Mr. Glanville, “she is very obliging, and we live in great harmony together; but I am persuaded if I exceed the bounds of friendship in my professions, she will treat me extremely ill.”
“But,” interrupted Sir Charles, “when she shall know that her father has bequeathed you one third of his estate, provided she don’t marry you, it is probable her mind may change; and you may depend upon it, since your heart is so much set upon her that, as I am her guardian, I shall press her to perform the marquis’s will.”
“Ah! Sir,” resumed Mr. Glanville, “never attempt to lay any constraint upon my cousin in an affair of this nature. Permit me to tell you it would be an abuse of the marquis’s generous confidence, and what I would never submit to.”
“Nay, nay,” said the old gentleman, “you have no reason to fear any compulsion from me. Though her father has left me her guardian till she is of age, yet it is with such restriction that my niece is quite her own mistress in that respect; for though she is directed to consult me in her choice of a husband, yet my consent is not absolutely necessary. The marquis has certainly had a great opinion of his daughter’s prudence, and I hope she will prove herself worthy of it by her conduct.”
[96] Mr. Glanville was so taken up with his reflections upon the state of his affairs that he made but little reply; and, as soon as he had disengaged himself, retired to his chamber, to be at more liberty to indulge his meditations. As he could not flatter himself with having made any impression upon the heart of Arabella, he foresaw a thousand inconveniences* from the death of the marquis; for, besides that he lost a powerful mediator with his cousin, he feared that, when she appeared in the world, her beauty and fortune would attract a crowd of admirers, among whom, it was probable, she would find some one more agreeable to her taste than himself. As he loved her with great tenderness, this thought made him extremely uneasy, and he would sometimes wish the marquis had laid a stronger injunction upon her in his will to marry him, and regretted the little power his father had over her. But he was too generous to dwell long upon these thoughts, and contented himself with resolving to do* all that was honourable to obtain her, without seeking for any assistance from unjustifiable methods.