Traducción
Original
Capítulo XIII
Historia de Jorge Belmur
—Aunque no parezco sino un caballero particular, mi nacimiento es, con todo, muy ilustre. Fueron mis ascendientes testas coronadas; debieron la soberanía a su valor y la perdieron por una inesperada y constante serie de desdichas.
—¡Pues qué! –interrumpió el barón–. ¿Descendéis de un monarca? Nunca me lo habéis dicho. Por cierto que ignoraba tuviese vuestra genealogía esa ilustración: ¿cuánto ha que murió el último rey de vuestra raza?
—Señor, no habrá mucho más de ochocientos años: mis ascendientes eran sajones y reinaron en Kent, y desciendo, en línea recta, del primero de estos reyes.
—Pero ¿dónde está ese reino de Kent?
—Está ceñido, al poniente, por la provincia de Sussex; al oriente, por la de Surrey; al mediodía, por la Mancha; y al norte, por el estrecho de Douvres; y separado de las provincias de Essex y de Middlesex por el Támesis, de la parte del norte95.
—Grandísimo reino, a la verdad –dijo el barón–, porque no es más que una provincia de Inglaterra: si vuestros ascendientes fueron reyes, convenid conmigo en que fueron unos reyes muy tristes.
—Pequeños o grandes –dijo Arabela–, ello es que aumentan mi estimación a Belmur: un noble origen aconseja siempre un noble modo de pensar… Consolaos, desventurado príncipe, que, si la fortuna os despojó de vuestro reino, no del valor y de la virtud. Acaso la providencia os favorecerá algún día, haciéndoos entrar en vuestros derechos.
—Pero…, pero... sobrina mía, ¿cómo puedes albergar en tu cabeza tan descabellados pensamientos? ¿Piensas que un reino se gana tan fácilmente? ¿Y que un joven atolondrado, sin ejército y sin armada, pueda lisonjearse con una esperanza tan quimérica?
—El grande Artabano –replicó Arabela– no tenía armada ni ejército y..., pero dejemos esta disputa para escuchar a Belmur. p. 153
—Es inútil –continuó el narrador– informaros de las desgracias de mi familia y daros a conocer las gradaciones que la han llevado insensiblemente al estado en que se encuentra: sobrada exactitud en mi narración cansaría seguramente vuestra paciencia y una menuda descripción de mis cosas me afligiría. Direos sencillamente que mi padre, hombre pacífico, gustaba de la tranquilidad y que pasó su vida cultivando la porcioncilla de tierra que había heredado del príncipe Veridomer, mi bisabuelo, sin haber pensado nunca en recobrar la soberanía de Kent.
—¡Qué diablos de cuento es ese! –interrumpió el barón–. He conocido a Eduardo Belmur, vuestro bisabuelo, y no creo que ninguno, en la provincia de Kent, le haya llamado el príncipe Veridomer. ¡Quitad allá, Belmur! ¡Quitad allá! Decid cuanto quisiereis, pero, a lo menos, no salgáis de la verisimilitud.
Belmur, sin descomponerse, continuó su historia.
—Tal era el estado de las cosas cuando nací; pasaré también en silencio las menudencias de mi infancia.
—Y haréis bien –añadió el barón–. Sin duda llevaríais muchos azotes y este es asunto de ninguna importancia.
—Os engañáis, tío mío, porque las niñeces de las personas ilustres tienen siempre algo de raro y en ellas se descubre regularmente el germen de su grandeza.
—Por no cansar al señor barón –siguió diciendo el joven– no repetiré las primeras acciones de mi vida, aunque conservo memoria de que las graduaron de maravillosas y pronosticaron que me sucederían cosas singulares.
—A la verdad, amigo –dijo el barón– que he sido testigo de algunos pronósticos que no os eran favorables, porque erais el más descarado picaruelo que en mi vida he visto.
—Cierto es que mis inclinaciones inquietaron a mi padre, quien cuidó escrupulosamente de mi educación, y yo correspondí a sus cuidados con mucha docilidad: a los trece años hacía con gracia y destreza cuanto me habían enseñado, y era, si así me atrevo a explicar, la admiración de cuantos me conocían.
—Mi sobrina recelaba de vuestra modestia y creo que hacía bien –dijo el anciano sonriéndose.
—Mi padre advirtió los destellos de mi talento con cierto placer mezclado de desasosiego; temió que mi valor no me arrebatase a algunas tentativas para recobrar un reino a que tenía derechos y que ellas me acarreasen la muerte; evitó cuanto pudo hablarme de mi nacimiento y se reprendió muchas veces el haberme dicho que yo era legítimo heredero del reino de Kent. ¡Pluguiera a Dios que todavía lo ignorase!
—No cabe guardar mejor un secreto –interrumpió el barón– porque nunca oí hablar de eso ni creo que nadie tampoco. p. 154
—A pesar de los esfuerzos de mi padre para contenerme en los límites estrechos en que nací, conocía yo que mi alma y mi modo de pensar se elevaban a pesar mío y ardía yo de impaciencia por seguir las huellas de mis ascendientes... «¡Destino bárbaro!», solía yo exclamar algunas veces, preñados los ojos de lágrimas, «¿no era bastante haberme quitado un trono? ¿Era todavía necesario, para darme mejor a sentir la bajeza de mi estado, forzarme a tributar respetos a los que disfrutan los despojos de mi desgraciada familia? ¿Era también preciso darme un alma incapaz de doblarse atormentada incesantemente con el deseo de adquirir gloria y sin poder consolarse con la esperanza? ¡Ah, desventurado Belmur! ¿Quién te impide darte a conocer por lo que eres? ¿Quién, que defiendas una causa tan legítima delante del pueblo y que desafíes al usurpador?»
—¿Quién os lo impide? –añadió el barón–; no es difícil la respuesta: el miedo de ser ahorcado, pues nadie ignora que se ahorcan a los locos que se atreven a los reyes96.
—Tales eran, señora, las ideas que mi imaginación me sugería y que me hubieran arrastrado a grandes empresas, si una pasión más dulce, pero acaso igualmente peligrosa, no hubiera apagado aquel fuego devorador, que había encendido en mi alma la ambición y el amor de la gloria.
Detúvose Belmur, tomó mayor gravedad su semblante y clavó los ojos en tierra, como poseído de algún recuerdo afectuoso y triste. Glanville le preguntó si pensaba todavía seriamente en la pobre Doly.
—Contadnos –le dijo– sin disfraz, vuestra primera aventura o, si gustáis, os ahorraré el trabajo, pues ya sabéis que he conocido a esa bonita lechera y que puedo decir cuanto pasó entre ella y vos.
—Verdad es –continuó Belmur, suspirando– que no puedo acordarme sin ternura de Dorotea, de aquella pastora infiel que me enseñó a suspirar y que pagó tan mal mi cariño.... No obstante, haré por continuar. Cumplí los diez y siete años sin haber experimentado el poder del amor, aquel poder que me fue tan fatal. Hallándome cierto día en la caza con mi padre y con mucha gente que nos acompañaba, me perdí y me encontré, después de haber vagado mucho tiempo, en un valle circundado de árboles. Fatigado de mis correrías, eché pie a tierra y até mi caballo, y, buscando un sitio cómodo para descansar, divisé una mujer tendida sobre la yerba: movido de la curiosidad fui hacia ella sin ruido, por no interrumpir su sueño. ¡Qué espectáculo, santos cielos! ¡Qué fue lo que vi! Aquella beldad parecía de unos diez y seis años; su talle era perfecto; una de sus manos sostenía su cabeza, la otra, negligentemente caída sobre la yerba, dejaba ver un brazo hermosísimo y una muselina, que cubría su seno, permitía a los ojos traslucir una garganta blanca como el alabastro97; en fin, su amable persona reunió toda mi atención. Es cierto, señora, que en ninguna parte, excepto en vuestra casa, pudiera encontrarse cosa tan perfecta: su tez era blanca como la azucena, el encarnado de sus mejillas tenía la frescura de la rosa acabada de abrir; sus colorados labios, entreabiertos, dejaban ver dos carreras de perlas, que debían su esmalte a la dulce fragrancia de su aliento; su pelo, de un negro hermoso, ondeaba, al descuido, sobre su cuello y contrastaba lindísimamente con la blancura de su piel; y sus ojos cerrados se dejaban adivinar cuáles serían. Estuve como en éxtasis por mucho tiempo; combatiéronme muchas cosas a la vez para expresar mi admiración. «¡Ah, dioses!», exclamé por último, «¿es posible que no se sepa que tal hermosura existe?». Mi exclamación, aunque articulada en voz baja, despertó a la pastora y abrió los ojos. No es dable, señora, explicaros lo que sentí al verlos: mis ojos eran sobradamente débiles para sufrir el resplandor de los suyos; alejeme un poco para contemplarlos, mas cada rayo que me lanzaban encendía nuevo fuego en mi corazón.
—¿Quién diablos, pues, era esa ninfa? –preguntó el barón, admirado de aquella descripción pomposa. p. 155
—Una lechera muy bonita llamada Doly –replicó Glanville con mucha seriedad–. Bien la pudisteis ver en vuestra casa de campo, adonde iba con frecuencia a vender requesones.
—¡Sí, sí! Me acuerdo: era ciertamente linda.
—¿Conque los ojos de esa lechera fueron los que os hicieron el corazón ceniza? Ya pronostico cómo se terminó la historia; pero oigamos hasta el fin.
—El enajenamiento que me poseía me dejó inmóvil y callado; ella mostró susto así que advirtió que yo la contemplaba y dio a huir con increíble agilidad; prestome el amor sus alas, volé tras ella y la alcancé al instante. «No huyáis», la dije, arrodillándome delante de ella. «O sois alguna divinidad o la mujer más hermosa del mundo y, así, o no rehuséis mis adoraciones, si sois lo primero, o mirad favorablemente a un hombre, cuyo respeto es tan puro como el incienso que se ofrece a los dioses».
—Nunca habría oído la pobre Doly cosas tan bellas –dijo el barón–. ¿No se sorprendió mucho?
—Aguardad un poco, padre mío –añadió Glanville riéndose–. Ella corresponderá bien.
—Algo se sorprendió la pastora a la verdad: un color encendido cubrió involuntariamente su bella cara; pero, ya más repuesta, me habló en estos términos: «No soy una divinidad y, por consiguiente, son inoportunas vuestras adoraciones; pero, si algún respeto os produzco, dadme pruebas de ello, no diciéndome cosas que mi sexo no debe oír y que me prohíbe creer la desproporción que parece que hay entre vos y yo».
—Bien respondido –replicó el barón–. Ya empiezo a amar a esa muchacha.
—Me enamoró su modestia tanto como su persona: «no temáis», la dije, «pastora adorable, escuchad las ansias de un corazón que suspira por la primera vez; la llama que lo consume es activa al par de pura y encendida por vuestras gracias: ¿podréis mostraros insensible?» Ya observáis, señora, que como yo miré aquella hermosura solo bajo el aspecto de una pastora sencilla, la hice una declaración extensísima, sin guardar las formalidades que hubiera guardado con otra persona de más alta clase, pero ella me respondió con tanto decoro que la sospeché mujer de nacimiento ilustre; todo contribuyó a confirmarme en aquella idea hasta que, por último, conocí en ella una heroína disfrazada: díjome que se llamaba Dorotea y que era hija de un arrendador de la vecindad; con esta confesión adquirí atrevimiento y entonces la hablé mucho tiempo de amor, sin miedo de ofenderla.
—Hicisteis muy mal –respondió Arabela– porque si Dorotea era tal cual me la habéis pintado, seguramente os ocultaba su nacimiento y la debisteis, por lo mismo, ciertas consideraciones. La bella Arsinoé, princesa de Armenia, se vio precisada a disfrazarse y pasó mucho tiempo con el nombre de Delia, vestida de labradora; Filadelfo, príncipe de Sicilia, fue más generoso que vos, pues la trató con respeto, enamorado de ella. El príncipe Filoxipes amó a la hermosa Policreta sin saber que era hija del gran Solón y, aunque la tenía por una extranjera, hija de padres pobres, su pasión fue delicadísima98. No debisteis, pues, separaros de su imitación. p. 156
—Confiésoos, señora, que no pude creer a Dorotea; ocurrieron a mi memoria las princesas que acabáis de nombrar; creí por un instante que fuese la hija de algún rey o, a lo menos, de algún legislador; pero el amor suele ser osado y, como le di oídos, me salía mejor la cuenta tratándola como una simple pastora. Ella escuchó mis protestas sin agraviarse y condescendió benigna en que no me aborrecía; semejantes principios me prometían unas consecuencias felices. Separeme de aquella beldad asegurándola mil veces de mi ternura, de mi fidelidad y constancia. Exigí de ella la palabra de que acudiría al mismo sitio las más veces que pudiese, donde recibiría nuevos testimonios de mi amor. Al dejarnos, me pareció que el alma se me arrancaba del cuerpo: seguíanla mis ojos, envidiaba yo la tierra que pisaba y tenía celos del céfiro que la iba acariciando. Permanecí mucho tiempo en la misma postura en que me dejó, meditando en la mudanza que notaba yo en mi ánimo y en la imagen de mi adorada pastora. Empezaba la noche a correr su velo y era necesario volverme a buscar a mi padre; monté a caballo, tomé el camino que me había traído al valle y no tardé en reunirme a los cazadores.
95 El reino de Kent se estableció en el siglo v d.C. y permaneció hasta finales del siglo ix, en que se incorpora al reino de Wessex. Actualmente es uno de los condados o provincias en que se organiza administrativamente Inglaterra y se ajusta con bastante precisión a la descripción que se da del antiguo reino en el texto original inglés, ya que los traductores han cambiado casi todos los puntos cardinales que utiliza Belmur para describir lo que era entonces y sigue siendo hoy en día el condado de Kent: Surrey al oeste, Sussex al suroeste, el canal de la Mancha al sur, el estrecho de Dover al sureste, la región de los Downs al este y el Támesis al norte (The Female Quixote VI.1. 209). De ahí la irónica respuesta del barón acto seguido, pues está describiendo una provincia inglesa, más que un reino.
96 ‘osan enfrentarse a los reyes’.
97 La muselina es una tela de algodón muy fina y delicada; el término se incorpora al diccionario académico en 1803 según NTLLE.
98 La historia de Arsinoe y Filadelfo se relata en Cléopâtre IV.3 y 4 y la de Filoxipes y Policreta en Artamène II.3 (Dalziel 403-404).
BOOK VI
Chapter I
Containing the beginning of Sir George’s history, in which the ingenious relator has
exactly copied the style of romance.
“Though at present, madam, you behold me in the quality of a private gentleman, in the possession only of a tolerable estate; yet my birth is illustrious enough, my ancestors having formerly worn a crown, which, as they won by their valour, so they lost by their misfortune only.”
“How!” interrupted Sir Charles. “Are you descended from kings? Why, I never heard you say so before. Pray, sir, how far are you removed [50] from royal blood? And which of your forefathers was it that wore a crown?”
“Sir,” replied Sir George, “it is not much more than eight hundred years since my ancestors, who were Saxons, swayed the sceptre of Kent, and from the first monarch of that mighty kingdom am I lineally descended.”
“Pray where may that kingdom of Kent lie?” said Sir Charles.
“Sir,” replied Sir George, “it is bounded by Sussex on the south-west; Surrey on the west; the English Channel on the south; Dover Straits on the south-east; and the Downs on the east; and it is divided from Middlesex and Essex on the north by the Thames.”*
“A mighty kingdom, indeed!” said Sir Charles. “Why, it makes but a very small part of the kingdom of Britain now. Well, if your ancestors were kings of that county, as it is now called, it must be confessed their dominions were very small.”p. 201
“However that may be,” said Arabella, “it raises Sir George greatly in my esteem to hear he is descended from kings; for, truly, a royal extraction does infinitely set off noble and valiant actions, and inspires only lofty and generous sentiments. Therefore, illustrious prince (for in that light I shall always consider you), be assured, though fortune has despoiled you of your dominions, yet since she cannot deprive you of your courage and virtue, Providence will one day assist your noble endeavours to recover your rights, and place you upon the throne of your ancestors, from whence you have been so inhumanly driven; or, haply, to [51] repair that loss, your valour may procure you other kingdoms, no less considerable than that to which you were born.”
“For heaven’s sake, niece,” said Sir Charles, “how come such improbable things into your head? Is it such an easy matter, think you, to conquer kingdoms that you can flatter a young man, who has neither fleets nor armies, with such strange hopes?”
“The great Artaban, sir,” resumed Arabella, “had neither fleets nor armies, and was master only of a single sword; yet he soon saw himself greater than any king, disposing the destinies of monarchs by his will, and deciding the fates of empires by a single word. But pray let this dispute rest where it is, and permit Sir George to continue his relation.”
“It is not necessary, madam,” resumed Sir George, to acquaint you with the misfortunes of my family, or relate the several progressions it made towards the private condition in which it now is. For, besides that reciting the events of so many hundred years may haply, in some measure, try your patience, I should be glad if you would dispense with me from entering into a detail of accidents that would sensibly afflict me. It shall suffice, therefore, to inform you that my father, being a peaceable man, fond of retirement and tranquillity, made no attempts to recover the sovereignty from which his ancestors had been unjustly expelled; but quietly beheld the kingdom of Kent in the possession of other masters, while he contented himself with the improvement of that small pittance of ground, which was all [52] that the unhappy Prince Veridomer, my grandfather, was able to bequeath to him.”
“Heyday!” cried Sir Charles. “Will you new-christen* your grandfather, when he has been in his grave these forty years? I knew honest Sir Edward Bellmour very well, though I was but a youth when he died, but I believe no person in Kent ever gave him the title of Prince Veridomer. Fie! Fie! These are idle brags.”
Sir George, without taking notice of the old baronet’s heat, went on with his narration in this manner:
“Things were in this state, madam, when I was born. I will not trouble you with the relation of what I did in my infancy.”
“No, pray skip over all that,” interrupted Sir Charles. “I suppose your infancy was like other people’s; what can there be worth hearing in that?”
“You are deceived, sir,” said Arabella. “The infancy of illustrious personages has always something very extraordinary in it, and from their childish words and actions there have been often presages drawn of their future greatness and glory.”p. 202
“Not to disoblige Sir Charles, however,” said the young prince of Kent, “I will not repeat many things which I said and did in the first years of my life that those about me thought very surprising, and from them prognosticated that very strange accidents would befall me.”
“I have been a witness of some very unfavourable prognostics of you,” said Sir Charles, [53] smiling, “for you were the most unlucky bold spark* that ever I knew in my life.”
“It is very certain,” pursued Sir George, “that the forwardness of my spirit gave great uneasiness to my father, who being, as I said before, inclinable to a peaceable and sedentary life, endeavoured as much as possible to repress that vivacity in my disposition which he feared might involve me in dangerous enterprises. The pains he took in my education, I recompensed by a more than ordinary docility; and, before I was thirteen, performed all my exercises with a marvellous grace; and if I may dare say so, was, at those early years, the admiration and wonder of all that saw me.”
“Lady Bella had some reason to fear your modesty, I find,” said Sir Charles, smiling. “For, methinks you really speak too slightly of your excellencies.”
“However that may be,” resumed Sir George, “my father saw these early instances of a towering genius in me, with a pleasure, chastened by his fears that the grandeur of my courage would lead me to attempt something for the recovery of that kingdom, which was my due, and which might haply occasion his losing me.
“Possessed with these thoughts, he carefully avoided saying anything to me concerning the glorious pretences to which my birth gave me a right; and often wished it had been possible for him to conceal from me that I was the true and lawful heir of the kingdom of Kent; a circumstance he never chose to mention to [54] any person, and would have been glad if it had always remained a secret.”
“And so it was a secret,” interrupted Sir Charles. “For, till this day, I never heard of it, and it might still have been a secret if you had pleased; for nobody, I dare say, would suspect such a thing; and very few, I believe, will be inclined to think there is anything in such an improbable tale.”
“Notwithstanding all my father’s endeavours to the contrary, madam,” pursued Sir George, “I cherished those towering sentiments the knowledge of my birth inspired me with, and it was not without the utmost impatience that I brooked the private condition to which I found myself reduced.
“‘Cruel fate!’ would I sometimes cry. ‘Was it not enough to deprive me of that kingdom which is my due, and subject me to a mean and inglorious state, but to make that condition infinitely more grievous, must thou give me a soul towering above my abject fortune? A soul that cannot but disdain the base submission I must pay to those who triumph in the spoils of my ruined house? A soul which sees nothing above its hopes and expectations? And, in fine, a soul that excites me daily to attempt things worthy of my birth and those noble sentiments I inherit from my great forefathers? Ah!’ pursued I. ‘Unhappy Bellmour, what hinders thee from making thyself known and acknowledged for what thou art? What hinders thee from boldly asserting thy just and natural rights, and [54] from defying the usurper who detains them from thee? What hinders thee, I say?’”
“What?” interrupted Sir Charles. “Why, the fear of a halter,* I suppose. There is nothing more easy than to answer that question.”p. 203
“Such, madam,” said Sir George, “were the thoughts which continually disturbed my imagination; and, doubtless, they had not failed to push me on to some hazardous enterprise, had not a fatal passion interposed; and by its sweet, but dangerous allurements, stifled for a while that flame which ambition and the love of glory kindled in my soul.”
Sir George here pausing, and fixing his eyes with a melancholy air on the ground, as if pressed with a tender remembrance, Mr. Glanville asked him, smiling, if the thoughts of poor Dolly disturbed him.
“Pray,” added he, “give us the history of your first love, without any mixture of fable; or shall I take the trouble off you? For you know, I am very well acquainted with your affair with the pretty milkmaid, and can tell it very succinctly.”
“It is true, sir,” said Sir George, sighing, “I cannot recall the idea of Dorothea into my remembrance, without some pain. That fair but unfaithful shepherdess, who first taught me to sigh, and repaid my tenderness with the blackest infidelity. Yet I will endeavour to compose myself, and go on with my narration.”
“Be pleased to know then, madam,” pursued Sir George, “that having my thoughts, in this [56] manner, wholly employed with the disasters of my family, I had arrived to my seventeenth year, without being sensible of the power of love; but the moment now arrived, which was to prove fatal to my liberty. Following the chase one day with my father and some other gentlemen, I happened to lag a little behind them; and, being taken up with my ordinary reflections, I lost my way, and wandered a long time, without knowing or considering whither I was going. Chance at last conducted me to a pleasant valley, surrounded with trees; and, being tired with riding, I alighted, and tying my horse to a tree, walked forward with an intention to repose myself a few moments under the shade of one of those trees that had attracted my observation. But while I was looking for the most convenient place, I spied, at the distance of some few yards from me, a woman lying asleep upon the grass. Curiosity tempted me to go nearer this person; and, advancing softly that I might not disturb her, I got near enough to have a view of her person. But, ah! Heavens! What wonders did my eyes encounter in this view! The age of this fair sleeper seemed not to exceed sixteen; her shape was formed with the exactest symmetry; one of her hands supported her head; the other, as it lay carelessly stretched at her side, gave me an opportunity of admiring its admirable colour and proportion. The thin covering upon her neck discovered part of its inimitable beauty to my eyes; but her face, her lovely face, fixed all my attention.
[57] “Certain it is, madam, that, out of this company, it would be hard to find anything so perfect as what I now viewed. Her complexion was the purest white imaginable, heightened by the enchanting glow which dyed her fair cheeks with a colour like that of a new-blown rose. Her lips, formed with the greatest perfection and of a deeper red, seemed to receive new beauties from the fragrance of that breath that parted from them. Her auburn hair fell in loose ringlets over her neck, and some straggling curls that played upon her fair forehead set off by a charming contrast the whiteness of that skin it partly hid. Her eyes indeed were closed; and though I knew not whether their colour and beauty were equal to those other miracles in her face, yet their proportion seemed to be large; and the snowy lids, which covered them, were admirably set off by those long and sable lashes that adorned them.
“For some moments I gazed upon this lovely sleeper, wholly lost in wonder and admiration.p. 204
“‘Where,’ whispered I, ‘where has this miracle been concealed that my eyes were never blessed with the sight of her before?’ These words, though I uttered them softly, and with the utmost caution, yet by the murmuring noise they made, caused an emotion in the beauteous sleeper that she started,* and presently after opened her eyes. But what words shall I find to express the wonder, the astonishment and rapture, which the sight of those bright stars inspired me with? The flames which darted [58] from those glorious orbs cast such a dazzling splendor upon a sight too weak to bear a radiance so unusual that stepping back a few paces, I contemplated at a distance that brightness which began already to kindle a consuming fire in my soul.”
“Bless me!” interrupted Sir Charles, confounded at so pompous a description. “Who could this be?”
“The pretty milkmaid, Dolly Acorn,” replied Mr. Glanville gravely. “Did you never see her, sir, when you were at your seat, at …? She used often to bring cream to my lady.”
“Aye, aye,”* replied Sir Charles, “I remember her: she was a very pretty girl. And so it was from her eyes that all those splendors and flames came that had like to have burnt you up, Sir George? Well, well, I guess how the story will end. Pray let us hear it out.”
“I have already told you, madam,” resumed Sir George, “the marvellous effects the sight of those bright eyes produced upon my spirit. I remained fixed in a posture of astonishment and delight; and all the faculties of my soul were so absorbed in the contemplation of the miracles before me that, I believe, had she still continued before my eyes, I should never have moved from the place where I then stood. But the fair virgin, who had spied me at the small distance to which I was retired, turned hastily about, and flew away with extraordinary swiftness.
“When love, now lending me wings, whom admiration had before made motionless, I pursued her so eagerly that at last I overtook her; [59] and, throwing myself upon my knees before her:
“‘Stay, I conjure you,’ cried I. ‘And if you be a divinity, as your celestial beauty makes me believe, do not refuse the adoration I offer you. But if, as I most ardently wish, you are a mortal, though sure the fairest that ever graced the earth; stop a moment to look upon a man, whose respects for you as a mortal fall little short of those adorations he offers you as a goddess.’”
“I can’t but think,” cried Sir Charles, laughing, “how poor Dolly must be surprised at such a rodomontade* speech!”
“Oh sir!” replied Mr. Glanville. “You will find she will make as good a one.”
“Will she, by my troth?” said Sir Charles. “I don’t know how to believe it.”
“This action,” pursued Sir George, “and the words I uttered, a little surprised that fair maid, and brought a blush into her lovely cheeks; but recovering herself, she replied with an admirable grace:
‘I am no divinity,’ said she, ‘and therefore your adorations are misplaced. But if, as you say, my countenance moves you to any respect for me, give me a proof of it, by not endeavouring to hold any further discourse with me, which is not permitted me from one of your sex and appearance.’”p. 205
“A very wise answer, indeed!” interrupted Sir Charles again. “Very few town ladies would have disclaimed the title of goddess if their lovers had thought proper to bestow it [60] upon them. I am mightily pleased with the girl for her ingenuity.”
“The discretion of so young a damsel,” resumed Sir George, “charmed me no less than her beauty; and I besought her, with the utmost earnestness, to permit me a longer conversation with her.
“‘Fear not, lovely virgin,’ said I, ‘to listen to the vows of a man, who, till he saw you, never learnt to sigh. My heart, which defended its liberty against the charms of many admirable ladies, yields, without reluctance, to the pleasing violence your beauties lay upon me. Yes, too charming and dangerous stranger, I am no longer my own master. It is in your power to dispose of my destiny. Consider therefore, I beseech you, whether you can consent to see me die. For I swear to you, by the most sacred oaths, unless you promise to have some compassion on me, I will no longer behold the light of day.’
“You may easily conceive, madam, that, considering this lovely maid in the character of a shepherdess, in which she appeared, I made her a declaration of my passion, without thinking myself obliged to observe those respects, which to a person of equal rank with myself decorum would not have permitted me to forget.
“However, she repelled my boldness with so charming a modesty that I began to believe she might be a person of illustrious birth disguised under the mean habit she wore. But, having requested her to inform me who she was, she told me her name was Dorothea; and that [61] she was daughter to a farmer that lived in the neighbouring valley. This knowledge increasing my confidence, I talked to her of my passion, without being the least afraid of offending her.”
“And therein you were greatly to blame,” said Arabella. “For, truly, though the fair Dorothea told you she was daughter to a farmer, yet, in all probability, she was of a much higher extraction if the picture you have drawn of her be true.
“The fair Arsinoe, princess of Armenia, was constrained for a while to conceal her true name and quality, and pass for a simple countrywoman, under the name of Delia. Yet the generous Philadelph, prince of Cilicia, who saw and loved her under that disguise, treated her with all the respect he would have done, had he known she was the daughter of a king. In like manner, Prince Philoxipes, who fell in love with the beautiful Policrete, before he knew she was the daughter of the great Solon; and while he looked upon her as a poor stranger, born of mean parents; nevertheless, his love supplying the want of those advantages of birth and fortune, he wooed her with a passion as full of awe and delicacy as if her extraction had been equal to his own. And therefore those admirable qualities the fair Dorothea possessed might also have convinced you she was not what she seemed, but haply, some great princess in disguise.”p. 206
“To tell you the truth, madam,” replied Sir George, “notwithstanding the fair Dorothea informed me she was of a mean descent, I could [62] not easily forego the opinion that she was of an illustrious birth. And the histories of those fair princesses you have mentioned coming into my mind, I also thought it very possible that this divine person might either be the daughter of a great king, or lawgiver, like them; but, being wholly engrossed by the violence of my new-born affection, I listened to nothing but what most flattered my hopes; and, addressing my lovely shepherdess with all the freedom of a person who thinks his birth much superior to hers, she listened to my protestations without any seeming reluctance, and condescended to assure me before we parted that she did not hate me. So fair a beginning seemed to promise me the most favourable fortune I could with reason expect. I parted from my fair shepherdess with a thousand vows of fidelity; exacting a promise from her that she would meet me as often as she conveniently could, and have the goodness to listen to those assurances of inviolable tenderness my passion prompted me to offer her. When she left me, it seemed as if my soul had forsaken my body to go after her. My eyes pursued her steps as long as she was in sight; I envied the ground she pressed as she went along, and the breezes that kissed that celestial countenance in their flight.
“For some hours I stood in the same posture in which she had left me, contemplating the sudden change I had experienced in my heart, and the beauty of that divine image, which was now engraved in it. Night drawing on, I began to think of going home; and, untying my [63] horse, I returned the way I had come; and at last struck into a road which brought me to the place where I parted from the company, from whence I easily found my way home, so changed both in my looks and carriage that my father and all my friends observed the alteration with some surprise.”
iSir, replied Sir George, it is bounded by Sussex on the south-west; Surrey on the west; the English Channel on the south; Dover Straits on the south-east; and the Downs on the east; and it is divided from Middlesex and Essex on the north by the Thames] In ——, replied Sir George 1752 (1st).
iinew-christen] To christen again.
iiispark] A young man who affects elegance in his dress and manners.
ivhalter] Death by hanging.
vstarted] obs. To rise with a bound or sudden impulse from a resting position.
viaye] arch. or dial. Used to express agreement.
viirodomontade] A bombastic speech.