Traducción
Original
Capítulo XIII
Continuación de la aventura de los libros
Fuese Glanville a pasearse al jardín para distraerse. Allí encontró a su tío, a quien contó ingenuamente la escena que acababa de representarse entre su prima y él. Al marqués le pareció chistosa y se divirtió con ella unos instantes.
—Es necesario –le dijo– reconciliaros. No obstante, Glanville, estás culpado en no haber aprovechado bien aquella ocasioncilla de hacer un obsequio: ¿podías imaginarte que mi hija, pidiéndote cuenta de tu lectura, no conociese que no la habías complacido?
—Soy un atolondrado, señor, lo confieso, pero si conseguís rehabilitarme en el concepto de mi prima, prometo ser en lo venidero escrupulosamente exacto en hacer su voluntad.
Fue el marqués a ver a su hija, que estaba en su gabinete, afligidísima de la afrenta que acababa de sufrir. Su pesar era tanto mayor cuanto Glanville había ya hecho en ella alguna ligera impresión; esto es, hablando un lenguaje elevado, que no solamente no lo aborrecía, sino que estaba dispuesta a desearle mucho bien: sus bellos ojos estaban humedecidos de lágrimas y se la conocían en el rostro los vestigios de las derramadas. Hizo el marqués como que nada advertía, se llegó a ella con afecto y la dijo que Glanville estaba apesadumbradísimo de haberla disgustado, y añadió que iba, como amigo común, a proponer su mediación para reconciliarlos.
—¡Ay, señor! ¡No me habléis de un indigno que se ha hecho, por su ingratitud, un objeto odioso!
—Pero, hija mía, ¿qué agradecimiento particular te debe tu primo, para que pueda ser un ingrato?
—Le miré favorablemente por el modo con que se comportó y no parece que se ha mostrado sensible a ello.
—Muy seriamente tomas las cosas, hija mía: al oírte creería cualquiera que se trataba de un gravísimo insulto... Glanville prefirió tu conversación a una lectura fastidiosa: ¡gran mal por cierto!... Me parece que debieras habérselo estimado. No concibo como puede producir tanto ceño una novela ridícula, que nadie tiene la paciencia de leer31.
—Si conocierais el libro, padre mío, creo que hablaríais diferentemente, pero, sea como fuere, no es posible disculpar a mi primo del modo ultrajante con que me ha burlado.
—Es menester perdonarlo, hija mía; exijo su perdón de tu complacencia.
—No, señor, ni debo ni puedo hacerlo y espero que os dignaréis dejarme libre sobre este punto. p. 70
—Te repito que das demasiado valor a frioleras y piensa, por otra parte, en que es extraño, y aun indecente, tratar con tanto rigor a un pariente que ha de ser tu marido32.
—No es dudable, señor, el que yo no esté dispuesta a obedeceros en cuanto sea posible, pero lo que deseáis no lo es.
—¡Qué! ¿Pretendes persuadirme a que es imposible que Glanville sea mi yerno?
—Lo es el que lo sea sin consentimiento mío; si lo diera, contradiría a la primera ley de la naturaleza que prohíbe obrar contra sí mismo.
—Esa obstinación ya me enfada y, en fin, vuelvo a decirte que tu primo tiene el consentimiento mío porque te conviene y añado que mi aborrecimiento a la vida seguirá a tu repulsa de ejecutar lo que deseo.
—Supuesto que no me es posible obedeceros, veome reducida a la dura necesidad de desagradaros, pero sabré morir, si conviniere, para evitar mi desgracia y vuestro enojo.
—Trastornada está seguramente tu cabeza, hija, pero ¿dónde te has familiarizado con la muerte para hablar de ella con tanta indiferencia?
—No me creo inferior en virtud ni en valor a las heroínas que, perseguidas como yo, la han arrostrado a sangre fría. Si Artemisa, Candaza y la hija de Cleopatra pudieron desafiarla, también puedo imitar sus ejemplos para no ser esposa de un hombre que detesto33.
—¡Oh! ¡Esto es ya mucho! ¡He aquí los efectos de las inicuas novelas que he tenido la debilidad de dejarte leer!...
—¿Dónde están? –continuó diciendo y registrando con la vista todo el gabinete–. Quemaré cuantas encontrare a la mano34.
Aún estaban los libros sobre una mesa; violos el marqués y mandó a una criada que los bajase.
Arabela, no atreviéndose a interceder por ellos, los dejó expuestos al furor de su padre y lloró con amargura su suerte. Pero la fortuna, que nunca abandona a los personajes ilustres, los sacó del peligro en que estaban.
31 ‘tanto enfado’; ceño: «Metafóricamente se llama así lo desapacible, desagradable, enfadoso, o triste de cualquier cosa que tenga alguno de estos defectos» (Aut).
32 ‘das demasiado valor a menudencias’; una friolera es un «dicho o hecho de poca importancia y que no tiene substancia, gracia ni utilidad alguna» (Aut).
33 De acuerdo con Dalziel (391-392), estas tres mujeres, Artemisa, Candaza y la hija de Cleopatra, fueron encarceladas y condenadas a muerte, y expresaron la manera con que la afrontaron (Cléopâtre IV.2; XII.1 y XII.3) con expresiones que hace suyas Arabela.
34 Las inmediatamente antes denominadas «inicuas (‘malas’, ‘malvadas’) novelas» son ahora amenazadas con el fuego, a imagen y semejanza de los libros de Alonso Quijano, en el consabido episodio de la biblioteca del hidalgo (DQ I.6).
Chapter XIII
The adventure of the books continued.
In this temper he went to the gardens to pass over the chagrin this unfortunate accident had given him, when, meeting the marquis, who insisted upon knowing the cause of that ill-humour so visible in his countenance, Glanville related all that had passed, but, in spite of his anger, it was impossible for him to repeat the circumstances of his disgrace without laughing, as well as the marquis, who thought the story so extremely diverting that he would needs* hear it over again.
“However, Charles,” said he, “though I shall do what I can to gain your pardon from Bella, yet I shall not scruple to own you acted extremely wrong, in not reading what she desired you; for, besides losing an opportunity of obliging her, you drew yourself into a terrible dilemma; [76] for how was it possible for you to evade a discovery of the cheat you put upon her, when she began to talk with you upon those passages she had desired you to read?”
“I acknowledge my error, my lord,” answered Glanville. “But if you restore me to my cousin’s favour again, I promise you to repair it by a different behaviour for the future.”
“I’ll see what I can do for you,” said the marquis, leaving him to go to Arabella’s apartment, who had retired to her closet, extremely afflicted at this new insult she had received from her cousin. Her grief was the more poignant, as she was beginning to imagine, by the alteration in his behaviour that he would prove such a lover as she wished for. Mr. Glanville’s person and qualifications had attracted her particular notice, and, to speak in the language of romance, she did not hate him; but, on the contrary, was very much disposed to wish him well. Therefore, it was no wonder she extremely resented the affront she had received from him.
The marquis not finding her in her chamber, proceeded to her closet, where her women informed him she was retired; and, knocking gently at the door, was admitted by Arabella, whom he immediately discerned to have been weeping very much; for her fine eyes were red and swelled, and the traces of her tears might still be observed on her fair face, which, at the sight of the marquis, was overspread with a blush, as if she was conscious of her weakness in lamenting the crime her cousin had been guilty of.
[77] The marquis drew a favourable omen for his nephew from her tears and confusion; but, not willing to increase it by acknowledging he had observed it, he told her he was come, at Mr. Glanville’s request, to make up the quarrel between them.
“Ah! My lord,” interrupted Arabella, “speak no more to me of that unworthy man, who has so grossly abused my favour, and the privilege I allowed him. His baseness and ingratitude are but too manifest; and there is nothing I so much regret as my weakness in restoring him to part of my good opinion, after he had once forfeited it, by an insolence not to be paralleled.”
“Indeed, Bella,” said the marquis, smiling, “you resent too deeply these slight matters. I can’t think my nephew so guilty as you would have me believe he is, and you ought neither to be angry nor surprised that he preferred your conversation before reading in a foolish old-fashioned book that you put in his hands.”p. 79
“If your lordship had ever read these books,” replied Arabella, reddening with vexation, “it is probable you would have another opinion of them; but, however that may be, my cousin is not to be excused for the contempt he showed to my commands; and for daring, by the cheat he put on me, to expose me to the shame of seeing myself so ridiculously imposed upon.”
“However, you must forgive him,” said the marquis. “And I insist upon it, before I quit your apartment, that you receive him into favour.”
“Pardon me, my lord,” replied Arabella. “This is what I neither can, nor ought to do, and I [78] hope you will not wrong me so much as to continue to desire it.”
“Nay, Bella,” said he, “this is carrying things too far, and making trifling disputes of too great consequence. I am surprised at your treatment of a man whom, after all, if ever you intend to obey me, you must consent to marry.”
“There is no question, my lord,” replied she, “but it would be my glory to obey you in whatever is possible; but this you command me now to do, not being so, I conceive you will rather impute my refusal to necessity, than choice.”
“How!” returned the marquis. “Will you endeavour to persuade me that it is not possible Mr. Glanville should be your husband?”
“It is impossible he should be so with my consent,” resumed Arabella, “and I cannot give it without wounding my own quiet in a most sensible manner.”
“Come, come, Bella,” said the marquis (fretting at her extreme obstinacy), “this is too much. I am to blame to indulge your foibles in this manner. Your cousin is worthy of your affection, and you cannot refuse it to him without incurring my displeasure.”
“Since my affection is not in my own power to bestow,” said Arabella, weeping, “I know not how to remove your displeasure; but, questionless, I know how to die, to avoid the effects of what would be to me the most terrible misfortune in the world.”
“Foolish girl!” interrupted the marquis. “How strangely do you talk? Are the thoughts of [79] death become so familiar to you that you speak of dying with so little concern?”
“Since, my lord,” resumed she, in an exalted tone, “I do not yield, either in virtue or courage, to many others of my sex, who, when persecuted like me, have fled to death for relief, I know not why I should be thought less capable of it than they; and if Artemisia, Candace and the beautiful daughter of Cleopatra could brave the terrors of death for the sake of the men they loved, there is no question but I also could imitate their courage, to avoid the man I have so much reason to hate.”
“The girl is certainly distracted,” interrupted the marquis, excessively enraged at the strange speech she had uttered. “These foolish books my nephew talks of have turned her brain! Where are they?” pursued he, going into her chamber. “I’ll burn all I can lay my hands upon.”p. 80
Arabella, trembling for the fate of her books, followed her father into the room, who seeing the books which had caused this woeful adventure lying upon the table, he ordered one of her women to carry them into his apartment, vowing he would commit them all to the flames.
Arabella not daring, in the fury he was in, to interpose, he went out of the room, leaving her to bewail the fate of so many illustrious heroes and heroines, who, by an effect of a more cruel tyranny than any they had ever experienced before, were going to be cast into the merciless flames, which would, doubtless, pay very little regard to the divine beauties of the admirable Clelia, or the heroic valour of the [80] brave Orontes; and the rest of those great princes and princesses, whose actions Arabella proposed for the model of hers.
Fortune, however, which never wholly forsook these illustrious personages, rescued them from so unworthy a fate, and brought Mr. Glanville into the marquis’s chamber just as he was giving orders to have them destroyed.
END OF THE FIRST BOOK
ineeds] obs. Necessarily.