Traducción
Original
Capítulo VII
Siguen las contraposiciones
Quedaron sorprendidísimos Silven y el barón, así de las expresiones de Arabela como del modo de retirarse. Glanville se quedó cortado y Carlota, advirtiendo a su hermano cerca de ella, dijo a media voz a Silven que, sin duda, antes de partir, volvería a despedirse. No pudo Silven dejar de reírse, a despecho de su gravedad. Glanville se disgustó mucho, pero no pudiendo enojarse sin ser injusto, eligió el irse. El barón se quedó disertando sobre las extravagancias de su sobrina y Carlota hizo cuanto pudo para ponerlo de mala fe.
Desaprobó el barón la maligna intención de su hija y recapituló muchísimos instantes en que Arabela había hablado (según él se explicaba) tan sabiamente como un ministro. Silven convino en que tenía un fondo inagotable de erudición, una memoria maravillosa y unos conocimientos extensísimos, y de allí a poco se fue volviendo a protestar que jamás había hecho declaración alguna indiscreta. Entretanto nuestra heroína estaba entregada a sus meditaciones y dio orden a Lucía para que examinase el estado en que se hallaba Silven y le diese los consuelos que estuviesen en su mano. Bajó Lucía, entró en la sala con ademán cuidadoso y miró hacia todos lados sin hablar palabra. Preguntáronla padre e hija qué buscaba.
—Busco al señor Silven para darle los consuelos que estén en mi mano.
—Está bien, muchacha; dile a tu señora que Silven no necesita consuelos.
—¡Ay, cielos! –exclamó Arabela al oír esto–. ¡Habrá puesto él mismo fin a sus desventuras! ¡Cuán desgraciada soy! ¡Belleza cruel! ¡Fatal rigor!... Pero, ¿por qué me he de afligir tanto? ¿No pereció por Pantea el infeliz Perinto? ¿No causaron los rigores de Barsina la muerte de Oxiartes? ¿No determinó a Orondates a atentar contra su propia vida la severidad de Estatira? Anda, Lucía, mira qué ha sido de él143...
Bajó segunda vez Lucía, más afligida que la primera y preguntó sollozando si había ya muerto Silven. El barón, sin entender lo que oía, dijo a Lucía que avisara a su ama que bajase al instante.
—Vengo –dijo la heroína a su tío– a informarme de si es todavía tiempo de perdonar al desdichado Silven, para que parta en paz.
—Sobrina mía, algo tarde has venido, pero consuélate que ha marchado muy en paz.
—¡Cómo! ¿No existe ya?
—Pero…, pero… sobrina, ¿qué es lo que dices?... Me sorprendes extraordinariamente… ¿Te chanceas, por ventura? p. 210
—No me chanceo, por cierto.
—Esto es ya demasiado, sobrina: ¿sabes que tus proposiciones me cansan? Dices más de lo necesario para creer que estás…
—Me hacéis injusticia, tío, si me sospecháis capaz de alguna flaqueza: ¿qué diríais, pues, si hubiera sostenido su cabeza sobre mis rodillas y derramado lágrimas y, en fin, si hubiese?...
—¡Dios mío! –prorrumpió el barón, levantando las manos al cielo–, ¿viose nunca semejante delirio?
—¿Pues qué dudáis que los haya habido como estos? Si lo dudáis es señal de que nunca oísteis hablar de la princesa de Media144.
—Si tal he oído, el demonio me lleve.
—Permitidme, pues, que os diga lo que hizo por el príncipe de Asiria.
—¡Dios de mi alma! –dijo Glanville con vehemencia–. ¡Dadme sufrimiento porque no puedo más conmigo!
Arabela, resentida, lo miró con orgullo y le preguntó si había algo que le desagradase en lo que ella acababa de decir.
—En verdad que sí, prima mía, y en tal manera que no alcanzo a expresároslo.
—Siento por vos, ya que vos no lo sentís, que seáis menos generoso que Ciro.
—Eso es, prima: apretad el cordel y sacadme fuera de mis casillas; parece como que habéis jurado precisarme a que os falte al respeto que os debo para después ahorcarme145.
—¡Ahorcaros! Glanville, ¿habéis perdido el juicio? Ningún héroe habló jamás de ese género de muerte…, pero decidme la causa de una desesperación tan pronta y tan violenta.
Como Glanville nada respondía, continuó así Arabela:
—Bien que yo no me crea obligada a daros cuenta de mi conducta, no habiéndoos permitido esperar otra cosa, cuando más, que mi buen afecto... Con todo, quiero descender hasta justificarme: sabed, pues, que la compasión con que miro a Silven tiene su origen en la bondad de mi corazón, de modo que, si él viviera, lo miraría con total indiferencia o, acaso, con desprecio... No os dejéis, Glanville, arrastrar de unos injustos celos, pues, si me amáis verdaderamente, no podréis formar sospechas injuriosas a mi reputación… Y sabed también de mí que el ser suicida es una falsa imagen del valor y un delirio producido por el miedo; porque, si fuese efecto de la valentía del ánimo, bastaría este mismo principio para sobrellevar los males con paciencia. La esperanza es el único y último recurso de un alma débil, y así que la pierde se le atreve la desesperación. En fin, el golpe fatal con que un cobarde se quita la vida le parece menos terrible que el mal que teme.
Chapter III
The contrast continued.
The company she had left behind her being all, except Mr. Glanville, to the last degree surprised at her strange words and [216] actions, continued mute for several minutes after she was gone, staring upon one another, as if each wished to know the other’s opinion of such an unaccountable behaviour. At last Miss Glanville, who observed her brother’s back was towards her, told Mr. Selvin in a low voice that she hoped he would call and take his leave of them before he set out for the place where his despair would carry him.
Mr. Selvin, in spite of his natural gravity, could not forbear laughing at this speech of Miss Glanville’s, which shocked her brother; and not being able to stay where Arabella was ridiculed, nor entitled to resent it, which would have been a manifest injustice on that occasion, he retired to his own apartment to give vent to that spleen which in those moments made him out of humour with all the world.
Sir Charles, when he was gone, indulged himself in a little mirth on his niece’s extravagance, protesting he did not know what to do with her. Upon which Miss Glanville observed that it was a pity there were not such things as Protestant nunneries, giving it as her opinion that her cousin ought to be confined in one of those places, and never suffered to see any company, by which means she would avoid exposing herself in the manner she did now.
Mr. Selvin, who possibly thought this a reasonable scheme of Miss Glanville’s, seemed by his silence to assent to her opinion; but Sir Charles was greatly displeased with his daughter for expressing herself so freely, alleging that Arabella, when she was out of those whims, was a very sensible young lady, and sometimes [217] talked as learnedly as a divine.* To which Mr. Selvin also added that she had a great knowledge of history, and had a most surprising memory; and after some more discourse to the same purpose, he took his leave, earnestly entreating Sir Charles to believe that he never entertained any design of making his addresses to Lady Bella.
In the meantime, that lady, after having given near half an hour to those reflections which occur to heroines in the same situation with herself, called for Lucy, and ordered her to go to the dining room, and see in what condition Mr. Selvin was, telling her she had certainly left him in a swoon, as also the occasion of it; and bade her give him all the consolation in her power.
Lucy, with tears in her eyes at this recital, went down as she was ordered, and entering the room without any ceremony, her thoughts being wholly fixed on the melancholy circumstance her lady had been telling her; she looked eagerly round the room without speaking a word till Sir Charles and Miss Glanville, who thought she had been sent with some message from Arabella, asked her both at the same instant what she wanted.
“I came, sir,” said Lucy, repeating her lady’s words, “to see in what condition Mr. Selvin is in, and to give him all the ‘solation’ in my power.”p. 289
Sir Charles, laughing heartily at this speech, asked her what she could do for Mr. Selvin. To which she replied, she did not know; but [218] her lady had told her to give him all the ‘solation’ in her power.
“‘Consolation’ thou wouldst say, I suppose,” said Sir Charles.
“Yes, sir,” said Lucy, curtseying. “Well, child,” added he, “go up and tell your lady, Mr. Selvin does not need any consolation.”
Lucy accordingly returned with this message, and was met at the chamber door by Arabella, who hastily asked her if Mr. Selvin was recovered from his swoon. To which Lucy replied that she did not know; but that Sir Charles bid her tell her ladyship Mr. Selvin did not need any consolation.
“Oh heavens!” cried Arabella, throwing herself into a chair as pale as death. “He is dead, he has fallen upon his sword, and put an end to his life and miseries at once— Oh! How unhappy am I,” cried she, bursting into tears, “to be the cause of so cruel an accident—Was ever any fate so terrible as mine?—Was ever beauty so fatal?—Was ever rigour so unfortunate?—How will the quiet of my future days be disturbed by the sad remembrance of a man whose death was caused by my disdain!— But why—,” resumed she after a little pause. “Why do I thus afflict myself for what has happened by an unavoidable necessity? Nor am I singular in the misfortune which has befallen me—Did not the sad Perinthus die for the beautiful Panthea?—Did not the rigour of Barsina bring the miserable Oxyatres to the grave?—And the severity of Statira make Oroondates fall upon his sword in her presence, though happily he escaped being killed by it?—Let us then not afflict ourselves [219] unreasonably at this sad accident—Let us lament, as we ought, the fatal effects of our charms—But let us comfort ourselves with the thought that we have only acted conformable to our duty.”
Arabella having pronounced these last words with a solemn and lofty accent, ordered Lucy, who listened to her with eyes drowned in tears, to go down and ask if the body was removed. “For,” added she, “all my constancy will not be sufficient to support me against that pitiful sight.”
Lucy accordingly delivered her message to Sir Charles and Miss Glanville, who were still together, discoursing on the fantastical turn of Arabella, when the knight, who could not possibly comprehend what she meant by asking if the body was removed, bid her tell her lady he desired to speak with her.
Arabella, upon receiving this summons, set herself to consider what could be the intent of it.
“If Mr. Selvin be dead,” said she, “what good can my presence do among them? Surely it cannot be to upbraid me with my severity that my uncle desires to see me—No, it would be unjust to suppose it. Questionless, my unhappy lover is still struggling with the pangs of death, and for a consolation in his last moments, implores the favour of resigning up his life in my sight.”
Pausing a little at these words, she rose from her seat with a resolution to give the unhappy Selvin her pardon before he died. Meeting Mr. Glanville as he was returning from his chamber to the dining room, she told him she hoped the charity she was going to discover [220] towards his rival would not give him any uneasiness; and preventing his reply, by going hastily into the room, he followed her, dreading some new extravagance, yet, not able to prevent it, endeavoured to conceal his confusion from her observation. Arabella, after breathing a gentle sigh, told Sir Charles that she was come to grant Mr. Selvin her pardon for the offence he had been guilty of that he might depart in peace.p. 290
“Well, well,” said Sir Charles, “he is departed in peace without it.”
“How, Sir!” interrupted Arabella. “Is he dead then already? Alas! Why had he not the satisfaction of seeing me before he expired that his soul might have departed in peace? He would have been assured not only of my pardon, but pity also; and that assurance would have made him happy in his last moments.”
“Why, niece,” interrupted Sir Charles, staring, “you surprise me prodigiously. Are you in earnest?”
“Questionless I am, sir,” said she. “Nor ought you to be surprised at the concern I express for the fate of this unhappy man, nor at the pardon I proposed to have granted him; since herein I am justified by the example of many great and virtuous princesses, who have done as much, nay, haply more than I intended to have done, for persons whose offences were greater than Mr. Selvin’s.”
“I am very sorry, madam,” said Sir Charles, “to hear you talk in this manner. It is really enough to make one suspect you are—”
[221] “You do me great injustice, sir,” interrupted Arabella, “if you suspect me to be guilty of any unbecoming weakness for this man. If barely expressing my compassion for his misfortunes be esteemed so great a favour, what would you have thought if I had supported his head on my knees while he was dying, shed tears over him, and discovered all the tokens of a sincere affliction for him?—”
“Good God!” said Sir Charles, lifting up his eyes. “Did anybody ever hear of anything like this?”
“What, sir!” said Arabella, with as great an appearance of surprise in her countenance as his had discovered. “Do you say you never heard of anything like this? Then you never heard of the princess of Media, I suppose—”
“No, not I, madam,” said Sir Charles peevishly.
“Then, sir,” resumed Arabella, “permit me to tell you that this fair and virtuous princess condescended to do all I have mentioned for the fierce Labynet, prince of Assyria, who though he had mortally offended her by stealing her away out of the court of the king her father, nevertheless, when he was wounded to death in her presence, and humbly implored her pardon before he died, she condescended as I have said to support him on her knees, and shed tears for his disaster—I could produce many more instances of the like compassion in ladies almost as highly born as herself, though perhaps their quality was not quite so illustrious, she being the heiress of two powerful kingdoms. Yet to mention only these—”p. 291
[223] “Good heavens!” cried Mr. Glanville here, being quite out of patience. “I shall go distracted—”
Arabella, surprised at this exclamation, looked earnestly at him for a moment, and then asked him whether anything she had said had given him uneasiness.
“Yes, upon my soul, madam,” said Glanville so vexed and confused that he hardly knew what he said.
“I am sorry for it,” replied Arabella, gravely, “and also am greatly concerned to find that in generosity you are so much exceeded by the illustrious Cyrus, who was so far from taking umbrage at Mandana’s behaviour to the dying prince that he commended her for the compassion she had shown him. So also did the brave and generous Oroondates, when the fair Statira—”
“By heavens!” cried Glanville, rising in a passion. “There’s no bearing this. Pardon me, madam, but upon my soul you’ll make me hang myself.”
“Hang yourself,” repeated Arabella, “sure you know not what you say?—You meant, I suppose, that you’ll fall upon your sword. What hero ever threatened to give himself so vulgar a death? But pray let me know the cause of your despair, so sudden and so violent.”
Mr. Glanville continuing in a sort of sullen silence, Arabella, raising her voice, went on:
“Though I do not conceive myself obliged to give you an account of my conduct, seeing that I have only permitted you yet to hope for my favour; yet I owe to myself and my own [223] honour the justification I am going to make. Know then that however suspicious my compassion for Mr. Selvin may appear to your mistaken judgment, yet it has its foundation only in the generosity of my disposition, which inclines me to pardon the fault when the unhappy criminal repents; and to afford him my pity when his circumstances require it. Let not therefore the charity I have discovered towards your rival be the cause of your despair, since my sentiments for him were he living would be what they were before; that is, full of indifference, nay, haply, disdain. And suffer not yourself to be so carried away by a violent and unjust jealousy, as to threaten your own death, which if you really had any ground for your suspicions, and truly loved me, would come unsought for, though not undesired—For indeed, was your despair reasonable, death would necessarily follow it; for what lover can live under so desperate a misfortune? In that case you may meet death undauntedly when it comes, nay, embrace it with joy; but truly the killing one’s self is but a false picture of true courage, proceeding rather from fear of a further evil than contempt of that you fly to. For if it were a contempt of pain, the same principle would make you resolve to bear patiently and fearlessly all kind of pains; and hope being of all other the most contrary thing to fear, this being an utter banishment of hope, seems to have its ground in fear.”
ia divine] An ecclesiastic.