Thirteen: 'The Revolver' by Emilia Pardo Bazan

Emilia Pardo Bazan

(1857-1921)

Spain

Although not widely known in the United States, Emilia Pardo Bazan is a central and influential figure in nineteenth-century Spanish literature, the author of more than twenty novels as well as a number of short stories and critical essays on literary and other subjects. The only child of titled Spanish royalty, Pardo Bazan inherited the title of Countess. Yet despite her aristocratic background, her political views were scarcely traditional. An early feminist, she expressed in a variety of writings her profound objections to the oppressive conditions for women in Spanish society. Her fiction is in the tradition of the naturalism practiced by her French counterparts, Emile Zola and Gustave Flaubert, although Pardo Bazan distinguished Spanish naturalism as less deterministic than that of her French contemporaries.

'The Revolver' first appeared in a Spanish newspaper.

~The Revolver~

In a burst of confidence, one of those provoked by the familiarity and companionship of bathing resorts, the woman suffering from heart trouble told me about her illness, with all the details of chokings, violent palpitations, dizziness, fainting spells, and collapses, in which one sees the final hour approach... As she spoke, I looked her over carefully. She was a woman of about thirty-five or thirty-six, maimed by suffering at least I thought so, but, on close scrutiny, I began to suspect that there was something more than the physical in her ruin. As a matter of fact, she spoke and expressed herself like someone who had suffered a good deal, and I know that the ills of the body, when not of imminent gravity, are usually not enough to produce such a wasting away, such extreme dejection. And, noting how the broad leaves of the plane tree, touched with carmine by the artistic hand of autumn, fell to the ground majestically and lay stretched out like severed hands, I remarked, in order to gain her confidence, on the passing of all life, the melancholy of the transitoriness of everything...

“Nothing is anything,” she answered, understanding at once that not curiosity but compassion was beckoning at the gates of her spirit. “Nothing is anything... unless we ourselves convert that nothing into something. Would to God we could see everything, always, with the slight but sad emotion produced in us by the fall of this foliage on the sand.”

The sickly flush of her cheeks depened, and then I realized that she had probably been very beautiful, although her beauty was effaced and gone, like the colors of a fine picture over which is passed cotton saturated with alcohol. Her blond, silky hair showed traces of ash, premature gray hair. Her features had withered away; her complexion especially revealed those disturbances of the blood which are slow poisonings, decompositions of the organism. Her soft blue eyes, veined with black, must have once been attractive, but now they were disfigured by something worse than age, a kind of aberration, which at certain moments lent them the glitter of blindness.

We grew silent, but my way of contemplating her expressed my pity so plainly that she, sighing for a chance to unburden her heavy heart, made up her mind, and stopping from time to time to breathe and regain her strength, she told me the strange story.

“When I was married, I was very much in love... My husband was, compared to me, advanced in years; he was bordering on forty, and I was only nineteen. My temperament was gay and lively; I retained a childlike disposition, and when he was not home I would devote my time to singing, playing the piano, chatting and laughing with girl-friends who came to see me and envied me my happiness, my brilliant marriage, my devoted husband, and my brilliant social position.

“This lasted a year- the wonderful year of the honeymoon. The following spring, on our wedding anniversary, I began to notice that Reinaldo's disposition was changing. He was often in a gloomy mood, and, without my knowing the cause, he spoke to me harshly, and had outbursts of anger. But It was not long before I understood the origins of his transformation. Reinaldo had conceived a violent, irrational jealousy, a jealousy without objection or cause, which, for that very reason, was doubly cruel and difficult to cure.

“If we went out together, he was watchful lest people stare at me or tell me, in passing, one of those silly things people say to young women; if he went out alone, he was suspicious of what I was doing in the house, and of the people who came to see me; if I went out alone, his suspicions and suppositions were even more defamatory...

“If I proposed, pleadingly, that we stay home together, he was watchful of my saddened expression, of my supposed boredom, of my work, of an instant when, passing in front of the window, I happened to look outside... He was watchful, above all, when he noticed that my birdlike disposition, my good, childlike humor, had disappeared, and that on many afternoons, when I turned on the lights, he found my skin shining with the damp, ardent traces of tears. Deprived of my innocent amusement, now separated from my friends and relatives, and from my own family, because Reinaldo interpreted as treacherous artifices the desire to communicate and look at faces other than his, I often wept, and did not respond to Reinaldo's transports of passion with the sweet abandonment of earlier times.

“One day, after one of the usual bitter scenes, my husband said:

“ 'Flora, I may be a madman, but I am not a fool. I have alienated your love, and although perhaps you would not have thought of deceiving me, in the future, without being able to remedy it, you would. Now I shall never again be your beloved. The swallows that have left do not return. But because, unfortunately, I love you more each day, and love you without peace, with eagerness and fever, I wish to point out that I have thought of a way which will prevent questions, quarrels, or tears between us-- and once and for all you will know what our future will be.'

“Speaking thus, he took me by the arm and led me toward the bedroom.

“I went trembling; cruel presentiments froze me. Reinaldo opened the drawer of the small inlaid cabinet where he kept tobacco, a watch, and handkerchiefs and showed me a large revolver, a sinister weapon.

“ 'Here,' he said, 'is your guarantee that in the future your life will be peaceful and pleasant. I shall never again demand an accounting of how you spend your time, or of your friends, or of your amusements. You are free, free as the air. But the day I see something that wounds me to the quick... that day, I swear by my mother! Without complaints or scenes, or the slightest sign that I am displeased, oh no, not that! I will get up quietly at night, take the weapon, put it to your temple and you will wake up in eternity. Now you have been warned...'

“As for me, I was in a daze, unconscious. It was necessary to send for the doctor, in as much as the fainting spell lasted. When I recovered consciousness and remembered, the convulsion took place. I must point out that I have a mortal fear of firearms; a young brother of mine died of an accidental shot. My eyes, staring wildly, would not leave the drawer of the cabinet that held the revolver.

“I could not doubt, from Reinaldo's tone and the look on his face, that he was prepared to carry out his threat, and knowing also how easily his imagination grew confused, I began to consider myself as dead. As a matter of fact, Reinaldo kept his promise, and left me complete mistress of myself, without directing the slightest censure my way, or showing, even by a look, that he was opposed to anything of my wishes or disapproved of my actions; but that itself frightened me, because it indicated the strength and tyranny of a resolute will... and, victim of a terror which everyday grew more profound, I remained motionless, not daring to take a step I would always see the steely reflection of the gun barrel.

“At night, insomnia kept my eyes open, and I imagined I felt the metallic cold of a steel circle on my temple; or if I got to sleep, I woke up startled with palpitations that made my heart seem to leap from my breast, because I dreamed that an awful report was ripping apart the bones of my skull and blowing my brains out, dashing them against the wall... and this lasted four years, four years without a single peaceful moment, when I never took a step without fearing that that step might give rise to tragedy.”

“And how did that horrible situation end?” I asked, in odrer to bring her story to a close, because I saw her gasping for breath.

“It ended... with Reinaldo, who was thrown by a horse, and had some internal injury, being killed on the spot.

“Then, and only then, I knew that I still loved him, and I mourned him quite sincerely, although he was my executioner, and a systematic one at that!”

“And did you pick up the revolver to throw it out the window?”

“You'll see,” she murmured. “Something rather extraordinary happened. I sent Reinaldo's manservant to remove the revolver from my room, because in my dreams I continued to see the shot and feel the chill on my temple... and after he carried out the order, the manservant came to tell me: 'Senora, there was no cause for alarm... this revolver wasn't loaded.'

“ 'No, Senora, and it looks to me as though it never was... As a matter of fact, the poor master never got around to buying the cartridges. Why, I would even ask him at times if he wanted me to go to the gunsmith's and get them, but he didn't answer, and then he never spoke of the matter again.'”

“And so,” added the sufferer from heart disease, “an unloaded revolver shot me, not in the head, but in the center of my heart, and believe me when I tell you that, in spite of digitalis and baths and all the remedies, the bullet is unsparing...”

[1895]

Translated by

ANGEL FLORES

NOTES

Few Important Lines:

1. “Nothing is anything,” she answered. “Nothing is anything... unless we ourselves convert that nothing into something.”
2. I began to suspect that there was something more than the physical in her ruin. As a matter of fact, she spoke and expressed herself like someone who had suffered a good deal, and I know that the ills of the body, when not of imminent gravity, are usually not enough to produce such a wasting away, such extreme dejection.
3. “an unloaded revolver shot me, not in the head, but in the center of my heart, and believe me when I tell you that, in spite of digitalis and baths and all the remedies, the bullet is unsparing...”

Some Important Points:

The story is written from first person point of view but the narrator is the listener and Flora is the one telling her story.

The lines 'Nothing is anything' suggest that perhaps Flora exaggerated her situation with her husband and mistook his actions for the worst. Perhaps her husband was not overly possessive and just a little concerned and her own imagination led her to believe the worst. Nothing is the way it seems and we ourselves turn it into something. Flora's own perceptions are important here.

After reading the story the readers realize there was a lack of communication between the couple. Flora loved her husband very much and her husband loved her back but they never tried to solve their differences through dialogue and understanding. Flora never seemed to complain or talk to her husband about his change of behaviour and Reinaldo too, perhaps never voiced his concerns or doubts about her. In this way both of them did not get a chance to explain their actions to the other.

People are not born bad, but certain situations and their reactions turn them into bad people. Perhaps Reinaldo was not a cruel and ruthless possessive lover, but we are unable to be sure because the story is one-sided. We do not get to hear it from Reinaldo's point of view. We only understand Flora's doubts, fears and imaginations. There is a possibility that Flora must have done something to pique Reinaldo's doubts about her actions. Perhaps she was too liberal and carefree which was intolerable for a man of Reinaldo's age and disposition. Therefore, it is not correct to label the two characters on the basis of this one-sided story.

Trust is very important in relationships and lack of trust leads to downfall of even the most sacred bond of marriage.

Nothing is good if it is in excess. Reinaldo's excess of love for his wife lead to possessiveness and jealousy. According to Flora, Reinaldo wished she would look at only his face and alienate herself from everyone else.

When something is lost only then one realizes the worth of that thing. Flora realized how much she was in love with her husband only when he died. She should have valued his love and taken him into confidence through her love and trust. It is the characteristic of a good wife that she considers the likes and dislikes of her husband and tries not to upset him through her actions. Flora should have considered Reinaldo's tastes and molded herself accordingly for a harmonious living. Reinaldo too, should have trusted his wife and tried to tolerate things which make her happy.

Your perceptions matter the most in any situation. Both thought that they were not loved by the other, but in the end it is made clear that they both loved each other very much. But they did not share their assumptions. It was very explicit that Reinaldo's threat was an empty threat, Flora should have realized that if he had not made a move to harm her in four years he never really meant to hurt her at all. She should have approached him and talked to him reasonably through sensible dialogue about their situation. She should have expressed her mortal fear of firearms and tried to reduce the distance between them.

Age could be taken as a factor for the differences between the couple. Being a teenager Flora's activities and interests were contrary to those of a forty year old man who has lived his life and gathered enough experiences to make him a sober individual. Reinaldo should have known that a woman of Flora's age is bound to have social habits and he should have given her enough time to mold herself into the woman he wanted her to be. Flora was too busy carrying on with her lifestyle to realize that perhaps some of her habits were disliked by Reinaldo. The lack of understanding and high expectations on both sides can be attributed to an age barrier.

The 'revolver' is a symbol of fear, danger and killing. From the first sight of the revolver Flora's inner carefree and birdlike personality died and fear took its place. The revolver also represents loss; loss of confidence on part of Flora, loss of love, trust and loss of desires and dreams. For Flora it was a symbol of death and fear of death, considering her past experience about the weapon. It was also the symbol of death of their marriage when Reinaldo died. In the end it represented an empty threat from Reinaldo as an empty weapon. Flora lost her health after she was exposed to the weapon by Reinaldo. She lost her fairness, her youth, her liveliness, her charm and her beauty. Everything withered away and she slowly became an ailing woman.

Main Themes:

• Different facets of love.
• Age Barrier.
• People and their responses to different situations.
• Psychological Analysis of married couples.
• Lack of communication.
• Jealousy and possessiveness.

Questions:

1. What is the exact nature of Flora's illness? Why does she continue to suffer?
2. How would you describe the relationship between Flora and Reinaldo?
3. What is the theme of the story?
4. What does the Revolver symbolize in the story?
5. How do the images of the story contribute to its tone and theme?
   
   
   Credit-Muneeza Rafiq