Traducción
Original
Capítulo XI
Conversación sabia, interrumpida inoportunamente
Aunque el marqués estaba inquieto con la obstinación de su hija, no se resolvía a usar de su autoridad; era el último medio de que pensaba servirse.
La llegada de su sobrino le volvió alguna parte de su tranquilidad y, después de haberle reñido algo sobre su extravagancia, le encargó que fuese él mismo a hacer las paces con Arabela.
Glanville voló a su cuarto deseosísimo de nuevos conocimientos sobre sus atribuidos delitos. No lo recibió, porque Lucía le dijo que se estaba desnudando. Paseose Glanville mientras llegaba la hora de cenar, saliola al encuentro cuando la vio venir, díjola cosas muy atentas y solo recibió respuestas frías; una cierta languidez pintada en sus ojos añadía tantas gracias a las de su persona que Glanville la vio con nueva admiración. Pusiéronse a cenar y, a los postres, quiso Arabela retirarse, pero su padre la pidió que acompañase a su primo hasta que él hubiera cerrado su correo para Londres...
—Prima mía –la dijo Glanville–, ya que no queréis tener mando sobre mí, espero siquiera que no os resentiréis de una vuelta totalmente debida a vuestras órdenes y a mi obediencia.
—Supuesto, señor, que no me es permitido tener voluntad, agrádeme o no me agrade la cosa, nada debe importaros mi resentimiento ni mi gusto.
—¡Nada! Yo os aseguro que no es así. Pongo por testigo al cielo de que si alcanzara los medios de agradaros me los veríais emplear con cuanto celo cabe en mí... Decidme, pues, os lo suplico, cómo he podido ser tan infeliz que haya incurrido en vuestro desagrado.
—Me parece que os lo he dicho clarísimamente.
—¡Pero es verdad que os enojáis cuando os aman! ¿Es este suficiente delito para ser echado de vuestra presencia?
—Es inútil que sepáis si me enojo porque me amen, mas sabed que me ofendo de que me lo confiesen.
—Pero, prima, si el que tiene el atrevimiento de deciros que sois amable y que os ama no es de nacimiento inferior al vuestro, me parece que no debéis graduar de injuria semejante declaración; no estáis obligado a amarlo, mas debéis agradecerle la buena opinión que tiene de vos.
—Si el amor es un sentimiento involuntario, ¿qué gratitud tengo que mostrar a quien me ame? p. 65
—Si confesáis que el amor es involuntario, habéis de convenir en que también lo es la ofensa que en él halláis y, si no agradecéis el uno, es injusto que toméis la otra por un insulto.
—Os separáis de la cuestión: esta no es saber si hay ofensa en amarme, sino si la hay en decírmelo.
—No siendo delinquiente la acción, la declaración no puede serlo23.
—Por más capciosos que sean vuestros raciocinios no me seducen: consultad a la costumbre.
—¡La costumbre!... ¡Ay, querida prima! Está contra vos: las damas se ofenden tan poco de los obsequios que se las tributan que procuran, al contrario, multiplicarlos; sus triunfos son tener muchos adoradores... Convenid en que vuestro razonamiento está a favor mío.
—Ignoro de qué especie son las damas que permiten tales libertades, pero sé que Estatira, Parisatis, Clelia, Mandana y todas las ilustres heroínas de la antigüedad no permitieron jamás semejantes declaraciones24.
—¡Por Dios, prima hermosa, que no os guieis por esas impertinentes antiguallas! Las costumbres que van con la preocupación son mudables y bastan veinte siglos para desvanecerlas.
—Si el mundo no es ahora más virtuoso que entonces, ciertamente que no es más sabio, con que, si no es mejor, no veo por qué* las costumbres actuales hayan de ser preferidas... Conozco poco a los hombres, pero aguardo, en el curso de mi vida, encontrar más Orondates, Artajerjes y héroes parecidos al ilustre amante de Clelia, que Tiribazos, Artajes y Glanvilles25.
—Juzgo, prima, que me agregáis a mala compañía, pero si el ilustre amante de Clelia no hubiese revelado su amor, ¿cómo hubiera la posteridad tenido conocimiento de él?
—No lo declaró hasta que los servicios hechos a Clelio y a su hija le dieron derechos a su estimación, pero fue mal recibido cuando se aventuró a hablar de su amor y pasó mucho tiempo antes de que hubiese expiado el delito de haberlo revelado.
Interrumpió la conversación la llegada del marqués. Arabela se retiró dejando a Glanville más enamorado que nunca; conoció que su prima tenía echado a perder el entendimiento con las novelas heroicas, pero admiró su memoria y su limpio modo de raciocinar y, convencido de que no podía lograr su gracia si no plegándose a su modo de pensar, no habló más de amor y se dio a fingir un porte muy respetuoso. Pronto advirtió el marqués que su hija miraba a Glanville con menos repugnancia, pronosticó bien de ello y dejó al tiempo y al mérito de su sobrino el cuidado de formar la unión que deseaba.
i por qué] porque. Modernizo de acuerdo con los criterios de edición.
23 ‘no quebrantando ninguna ley’; es el participio de presente del verbo delinquir.
24 Se trata de heroínas del romance heroico francés (vid. «Estudio»). Las hermanas Estatira y Parisatis pasan por hijas del rey Darío de Persia en Casandra, el libro de La Calprenède (Cassandre, 5 vols., 1642–1645), mientras que Clelia es la protagonista de la novela de igual nombre de Madeleine Scudéry (Clélie, histoire romaine, 10 volúmenes, 1654-1660). Mandana, en fin, es la princesa amada por Artamenes en otra novela de Scudéry de título idéntico al pretendiente (Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus, 1649-1653). [Dalziel 391.]
25 Arabela identifica a su pretendiente con otros procedentes de las novelas de Scudéry o La Calprenède de comportamiento poco ejemplar (Tiribazos y Artajes), frente a otros (Orondates, Artajerjes, Aronces (el «ilustre amante de Clelia»), que representan todo lo contrario. Los dos primeros remiten a Cléopâtre (10 vols., 1648-1658) de La Calprenéde y a Artamène (ya referido) de Scudéry; los tres restantes nuevamente a Cassandre (Orondates y Artajerjes) y a Clélie (Aronces). [Dalziel 391.]
Chapter XI
In which a logical argument is unseasonably interrupted.
The marquis was also extremely uneasy at her obstinacy: he desired nothing more ardently than to marry her to his nephew, but he could not resolve to force her consent; and, however determined he appeared to her, yet, in reality, he intended only to use persuasions to effect what he desired; and, from the natural sweetness of her temper, he was sometimes not without hopes that she might at last be prevailed upon to comply.
His nephew’s return restored him to part of his usual tranquillity. After he had gently chid him for suffering himself to be so far transported with his resentment at the little humours of a lady, as to leave his house without acquainting him, he bade him go to Arabella, and endeavour to make his peace with her.
Mr. Glanville accordingly went to her apartment, resolving to oblige her to come to some explanation with him concerning the offence she complained of; but that fair incensed lady, who had taken shelter in her closet, ordered Lucy to tell him she was indisposed, and could not see him.
Glanville, however, comforted himself for this disappointment by the hopes of seeing her at supper; and accordingly she came, when the supper bell rung, and, making a very cool compliment to her cousin, placed herself at table. [61] The soft languor that appeared in her eyes gave such an additional charm to one of the loveliest faces in the world that Glanville, who sat opposite to her, could not help gazing on her with a very particular attention; he often spoke to her, and asked her trifling questions, for the sake of hearing the sound of her voice, which sorrow had made enchantingly sweet.
When supper was over, she would have retired; but the marquis desired her to stay and entertain her cousin, while he went to look over some dispatches he had received from London. Arabella blushed with anger at this command; but not daring to disobey, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, as if she dreaded to hear something that would displease her.
“Well, cousin,” said Glanville, “though you desire to have no empire over so unworthy a subject as myself, yet I hope you are not displeased at my returning, in obedience to your commands.”
“Since I am not allowed any will of my own,” said she, sighing, “it matters not whether I am pleased or displeased, nor is it of any consequence to you to know.”
“Indeed but it is, Lady Bella,” interrupted he, “for if I knew how to please you, I would never, if I could help it, offend. Therefore, I beg you, tell me how I have disobliged* you; for, certainly, you have treated me as harshly as if I had been guilty of some very terrible offence.”
“You had the boldness,” said she, “to talk to me of love, and you well know that persons of my sex and quality are not permitted to [62] listen to such discourses; and if, for that offence, I banished you my presence, I did no more than decency required of me, and which I would yet do, were I mistress of my own actions.”p. 71
“But is it possible, cousin,” said Glanville, “that you can be angry with anyone for loving you? Is that a crime of so high a nature as to merit an eternal banishment from your presence?”
“Without telling you,” said Arabella, blushing, “whether I am angry at being loved, it is sufficient you know that I will not pardon the man who shall have the presumption to tell me he loves me.”
“But, madam,” interrupted Glanville, “if the person who tells you he loves you, be of a rank not beneath you, I conceive you are not at all injured by the favourable sentiments he feels for you; and, though you are not disposed to make any returns to his passion, yet you are certainly obliged to him for his good opinion.”
“Since love is not voluntary,” replied Arabella, “I am not obliged to any person for loving me; for, questionless, if he could help it, he would.”
“If it is not a voluntary favour,” interrupted Glanville, “it is not a voluntary offence; and if you do not think yourself obliged by the one, neither are you at liberty to be offended with the other.”
“The question,” said Arabella, “is not whether I ought to be offended at being loved, but whether it is not an offence to be told I am so.”
“If there is nothing criminal in the passion itself, madam,” resumed Glanville, “certainly there can be no crime in declaring it.”
[63] “However specious your arguments may appear,” interrupted Arabella, “I am persuaded it is an unpardonable crime to tell a lady you love her; and though I had nothing else to plead, yet the authority of custom is sufficient to prove it.”
“Custom, Lady Bella,” said Glanville, smiling, “is wholly on my side; for the ladies are so far from being displeased at the addresses of their lovers that their chiefest care is to gain them, and their greatest triumph to hear them talk of their passion. So, madam, I hope you’ll allow that argument has no force.”
“I do not know,” answered Arabella, “what sort of ladies they are who allow such unbecoming liberties, but I am certain that Statira, Parisatis, Clelia, Mandana, and all the illustrious heroines of antiquity, whom it is a glory to resemble, would never admit of such discourses.”
“Ah! For heaven’s sake, cousin,” interrupted Glanville, endeavouring to stifle a laugh, “do not suffer yourself to be governed by such antiquated maxims! The world is quite different to what it was in those days; and the ladies in this age would as soon follow the fashions of the Greek and Roman ladies, as mimic their manners; and I believe they would become one as well as the other.”p. 72
“I am sure,” replied Arabella, “the world is not more virtuous now than it was in their days, and there is good reason to believe it is not much wiser; and I don’t see why the manners of this age are to be preferred to those of former ones, unless they are wiser and better. However, I cannot be persuaded that things [64] are as you say; but* that when I am a little better acquainted with the world, I shall find as many persons who resemble Oroondates, Artaxerxes and the illustrious lover* of Clelia, as those who are like Tiribases, Artaxes and the presuming and insolent Glanville.”
“By the epithets you give me, madam,” said Glanville, “I find you have placed me in very bad company. But pray, madam, if the illustrious lover of Clelia had never discovered his passion, how would the world have come to the knowledge of it?”
“He did not discover his passion, sir,” resumed Arabella, “till, by the services he did the noble Clelius and his incomparable daughter, he could plead some title to their esteem. He several times preserved the life of that renowned Roman; delivered the beautiful Clelia when she was a captive; and, in fine, conferred so many obligations upon them and all their friends that he might well expect to be pardoned by the divine Clelia for daring to love her. Nevertheless, she used him very harshly when he first declared his passion, and banished him also from her presence, and it was a long time before she could prevail upon herself to compassionate his sufferings.”
The marquis coming in interrupted Arabella, upon which she took occasion to retire, leaving Glanville more captivated with her than ever.
He found her usage of him was grounded upon examples she thought it her duty to follow; and, strange as her notions of life appeared, yet they were supported with so much [65] wit and delicacy that he could not help admiring her, while he foresaw the oddity of her humour would throw innumerable difficulties in his way, before he should be able to obtain her.
However, as he was really passionately in love with her, he resolved to accommodate himself, as much as possible, to her taste, and endeavour to gain her heart by a behaviour most agreeable to her. He therefore assumed an air of great distance and respect; never mentioned his affection, nor the intentions of her father in his favour; and the marquis observing his daughter conversed with him with less reluctance than usual, leaving to time and the merit of his nephew to dispose her to comply with his desires, resolved not to interpose his authority in an affair upon which her own happiness so much depended.