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A fragment from Act
III of “Man
and Superman” by Bernard
Shaw It is all very
odd. One recognizes the Mozartian strain[GYN1]; and on this hint, and by
the aid
of certain sparkles of violet light in the pallor[GYN2], the man's costume explains
itself as that of a Spanish nobleman of the XV-XVI century. Don Juan, of course; but where?
why? how? Besides, in the brief lifting of his face, now hidden by his hat
brim, there was a curious suggestion of Tanner. A more critical, fastidious, handsome
face,
paler and colder, without Tanner's impetuous credulity and enthusiasm, and
without a touch of his modern plutocratic vulgarity, but still a resemblance, even an
identity. The name too: Don Juan Tenorio, John Tanner. Where on earth---or
elsewhere--have we got to from the XX century and the
Sierra? Another pallor in the
void, this time not violet, but a disagreeable
[GYN3]smoky yellow. With it, the
whisper
of a ghostly clarionet
turning this tune into infinite sadness: (Here there is
another musical staff[GYN4].) The yellowish pallor
moves: there is an old crone
wandering in the void, bent and toothless; draped, as well as one can
guess,
in the coarse brown frock
of some religious order. She wanders and wanders in her slow hopeless way, much as a
wasp flies
in its rapid busy way, until she blunders against the thing she seeks:
companionship. With a sob of relief the poor old creature clutches at the
presence of
the man and addresses him in her dry unlovely voice, which can still
express
pride and resolution as well as suffering. THE OLD WOMAN.
Excuse me;
but I am so lonely; and this place is so awful. DON JUAN. A new
comer? THE OLD WOMAN. Yes: I
suppose I died this morning. I confessed; I had extreme unction; I was
in bed
with my family about me and my eyes fixed on the cross. Then it grew dark;
and when the light came back it was this light by which I walk seeing
nothing. I have wandered for hours in horrible
loneliness. DON JUAN.
[sighing] Ah!
you have not yet lost the sense of time. One soon does, in
eternity. THE OLD WOMAN.
Where are
we? DON JUAN. In
hell. THE OLD WOMAN [proudly] Hell! I in
hell! How
dare you? DON JUAN. [unimpressed] Why not,
Senora? THE OLD WOMAN. You
do not
know to whom you are speaking. I am a lady, and a faithful daughter of the
Church. DON JUAN. I do not
doubt
it. THE OLD WOMAN. But how
then can I be in hell? Purgatory, perhaps: I have not been perfect:
who has? But
hell! oh, you are lying. DON JUAN. Hell,
Senora, I
assure you; hell at its best that is, its most solitary--though
perhaps you
would prefer company. THE OLD WOMAN. But
I have
sincerely repented; I have confessed. DON JUAN. How
much? THE OLD WOMAN.
More sins
than I really committed. I loved confession. DON JUAN. Ah, that is
perhaps as bad as confessing too little. At all events, Senora, whether by
oversight or intention, you are certainly damned, like myself; and
there is
nothing for it now but to make the best of it. THE OLD WOMAN [indignantly] Oh! and I
might have been so much wickeder! All my good deeds wasted! It is
unjust. DON JUAN. No: you were
fully and clearly warned. For your bad deeds, vicarious atonement, mercy without justice. For
your good deeds, justice without mercy. We have many good people
here. THE OLD WOMAN.
Were you a
good man? DON JUAN. I was a
murderer. THE OLD WOMAN. A
murderer! Oh, how dare they send me to herd with murderers! I was not as bad as that: I was a
good
woman. There is some mistake: where can I have it set
right? DON JUAN. I do not
know
whether mistakes can be corrected here. Probably they will not admit a
mistake even if they have made one. THE OLD WOMAN. But
whom
can I ask? DON JUAN. I should ask
the Devil, Senora: he understands the ways of this place, which is
more than
I ever could. THE OLD WOMAN. The
Devil!
I speak to the Devil! DON JUAN. In hell,
Senora, the Devil is the leader of the best society. THE OLD WOMAN. I tell
you, wretch, I
know I
am not in hell. DON JUAN. How do you
know? THE OLD WOMAN.
Because I
feel no pain. DON JUAN. Oh, then
there
is no mistake: you are intentionally damned. THE OLD WOMAN. Why
do you
say that? DON JUAN. Because
hell,
Senora, is a place for the wicked. The wicked are quite comfortable in
it: it
was made for them. You tell me you feel no pain. I conclude you are one of
those for whom Hell exists. |
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[GYN1]WR said “son” but it sounds too Cuban to me so I chose “sonido” instead.
[GYN2]What is marked in green are words I had to look up but not doubted much about.
[GYN3]Surprisingly enough, not a false friend!
[GYN4]Found only a definition in English and translated it to my husband and got: “pentagrama”. Checked in WR and it is correct.
[GYN5]I felt I needed to be more specific than the original, since “sierra” in Spanish can be any mountain.
[GYN6]I didn´t use “¿Cómo se atreve?” because it seemed a little too ambiguous to me.
[GYN7]I think this is a typical collocation in Spanish.
[GYN8]I thought this expressed stronger disbelief than “sé que no estoy en el infierno”.
Academic
year 2007/2008
© a.r.e.a./Dr.Vicente Forés López
© Gabriela Harsulescu
gahar@alumni.uv.es
Universitat de València Press