X. The Pyncheon Garden | X. El jardín de los Pyncheon |
| CLIFFORD, except for Phoebe′s More active instigation would ordinarily have yielded to the torpor which had crept through all his modes of being, and which sluggishly counselled him to sit in his morning chair till eventide. But the girl seldom failed to propose a removal to the garden, where Uncle Venner and the daguerreotypist had made such repairs on the roof of the ruinous arbor, or summer-house, that it was now a sufficient shelter from sunshine and casual showers. The hop-vine, too, had begun to grow luxuriantly over the sides of the little edifice, and made an interior of verdant seclusion, with innumerable peeps and glimpses into the wider solitude of the garden. | DE no ser por la presencia de Phoebe, Clifford hubiera continuado sumido en su apatía, que le obligaba a permanecer sentado perezosamente en el sillón. Pero la muchacha no dejaba nunca de proponer una visita al jardín, en el cual el tío Venner y el daguerrotipista habían hecho grandes reformas, y reparado el techo de la glorieta, convirtiéndolo en un refugio contra el sol y los eventuales aguaceros. El lúpulo crecía exuberante a su alrededor, formando un interior tapizado de verde dejando huecos para contemplar, a través de ellos, la soledad del jardín. |
| Here, sometimes, in this green play-place of flickering light, Phoebe read to Clifford. Her acquaintance, the artist, who appeared to have a literary turn, had supplied her with works of fiction, in pamphlet form,--and a few volumes of poetry, in altogether a different style and taste from those which Hepzibah selected for his amusement. Small thanks were due to the books, however, if the girl′s readings were in any degree more successful than her elderly cousin′s. Phoebe′s voice had always a pretty music in it, and could either enliven Clifford by its sparkle and gayety of tone, or soothe him by a continued flow of pebbly and brook-like cadences. But the fictions--in which the country-girl, unused to works of that nature, often became deeply absorbed--interested her strange auditor very little, or not at all. Pictures of life, scenes of passion or sentiment, wit, humor, and pathos, were all thrown away, or worse than thrown away, on Clifford; either because he lacked an experience by which to test their truth, or because his own griefs were a touch-stone of reality that few feigned emotions could withstand. When Phoebe broke into a peal of merry laughter at what she read, he would now and then laugh for sympathy, but oftener respond with a troubled, questioning look. If a tear--a maiden′s sunshiny tear over imaginary woe--dropped upon some melancholy page, Clifford either took it as a token of actual calamity, or else grew peevish, and angrily motioned her to close the volume. And wisely too ! Is not the world sad enough, in genuine earnest, without making a pastime of mock sorrows ? | A la luz vacilante del sol, Phoebe leía en voz
alta para Clifford. Su amigo, el artista, que
poseía aficiones literarias, le proporcionaba
novelas y libros de poesía, de gusto muy
distinto de los que Hepzibah hubiera escogido.
Sin embargo, poco debía agradecer a los
libros, si las lecturas de la muchacha eran más
apreciadas que las de su vieja prima. La voz de
Phoebe era musical y reanimaba a Clifford con
la chispa de su tono y le mecía con sus
cadencias armoniosas.
Pero los relatos -en los cuales se absorbía
Phoebe, poco habituada a aquella clase de
obras- interesaban muy poco a su oyente.
Cuadros de costumbres, escenas apasionadas,
de amor, de sentimiento, todo esto no afectaba
a Clifford, porque carecía de sentimiento,
porque carecía de experiencia para probar la
parte de verdad que contenían o porque su
propio dolor era piedra de toque que le
demostraba la falsedad de las emociones
escritas.
|
| With poetry it was rather better. He delighted in the swell and subsidence of the rhythm, and the happily recurring rhyme. Nor was Clifford incapable of feeling the sentiment of poetry,--not, perhaps, where it was highest or deepest, but where it was most flitting and ethereal. It was impossible to foretell in what exquisite verse the awakening spell might lurk; but, on raising her eyes from the page to Clifford′s face, Phoebe would be made aware, by the light breaking through it, that a more delicate intelligence than her own had caught a lambent flame from what she read. One glow of this kind, however, was often the precursor of gloom for many hours afterward; because, when the glow left him, he seemed conscious of a missing sense and power, and groped about for them, as if a blind man should go seeking his lost eyesight. | Con la poesía, era distinto. Clifford se deleitaba con el ritmo y la rima. Sentía la poesía, aunque no cuando alcanzaba profundidad o elevación, sino cuando era etérea y fugaz. Era imposible adivinar en qué exquisito verso brillaría el hechizo, pero al levantar los ojos, Phoebe se daba cuenta, cuando ello sucedía, de que una inteligencia más delicada que la suya había captado la chispa de una llama que para ella no lucía. Uno de esos momentos anunciaba, sin embargo, largas horas sombrías, pues cuando se apagaba aquella chispa, Clifford parecía consciente de su fuerza perdida, como un ciego que busca la vista que perdió. |
| It pleased him more, and was better for his inward welfare, that Phoebe should talk, and make passing occurrences vivid to his mind by her accompanying description and remarks. The life of the garden offered topics enough for such discourse as suited Clifford best. He never failed to inquire what flowers had bloomed since yesterday. His feeling for flowers was very exquisite, and seemed not so much a taste as an emotion; he was fond of sitting with one in his hand, intently observing it, and looking from its petals into Phoebe′s face, as if the garden flower were the sister of the household maiden. Not merely was there a delight in the flower′s perfume, or pleasure in its beautiful form, and the delicacy or brightness of its hue; but Clifford′s enjoyment was accompanied with a perception of life, character, and individuality, that made him love these blossoms of the garden, as if they were endowed with sentiment and intelligence. This affection and sympathy for flowers is almost exclusively a woman′s trait. Men, if endowed with it by nature, soon lose, forget, and learn to despise it, in their contact with coarser things than flowers. Clifford, too, had long forgotten it; but found it again now, as he slowly revived from the chill torpor of his life. | Le agradaba mucho más que Phoebe le hablara
y le hiciera penetrar en los hechos vivos por
medio de sus ocurrencias y descripciones. La
vida del jardín ofrecía temas en abundancia.
Clifford no se olvidaba nunca de preguntar qué flores habían brotado desde el día anterior. Su sensibilidad para las flores era exqusita. Le complacía sentarse con una flor en la mano, observarla y pasar los ojos desde los pétalos hasta el rostro de Phoebe, como si ambas fueran hermanas. No era un mero deleite por el perfume, la forma o el brillo, sino que iba acompañado de una especie de percepción de la vida, el carácter y la individualidad de cada flor, como si estuviera dotada de sentimientos e inteligencia. Este afecto y simpatía hacia las flores es un rasgo casi exclusivamente femenino. Los hombres, aun cuando la naturaleza les haya dotado de este rasgo, al entrar en contacto con cosas más groseras que las flores, pronto lo pierden, lo olvidan o lo desprecian. Clifford también lo había olvidado, pero lo descubrió de nuevo, al ir recobrándose del estupor y de la apatía en que estaba sumida su vida. |
| It is wonderful how many pleasant incidents continually came to pass in that secluded garden-spot when once Phoebe had set herself to look for them. She had seen or heard a bee there, on the first day of her acquaintance with the place. And often,--almost continually, indeed,--since then, the bees kept coming thither, Heaven knows why, or by what pertinacious desire, for far-fetched sweets, when, no doubt, there were broad clover-fields, and all kinds of garden growth, much nearer home than this. Thither the bees came, however, and plunged into the squash-blossoms, as if there were no other squash-vines within a long day′s flight, or as if the soil of Hepzibah′s garden gave its productions just the very quality which these laborious little wizards wanted, in order to impart the Hymettus odor to their whole hive of New England honey. When Clifford heard their sunny, buzzing murmur, in the heart of the great yellow blossoms, he looked about him with a joyful sense of warmth, and blue sky, and green grass, and of God′s free air in the whole height from earth to heaven. After all, there need be no question why the bees came to that one green nook in the dusty town. God sent them thither to gladden our poor Clifford. They brought the rich summer with them, in requital of a little honey. | Es sorprendente el número de agradables incidentes que ocurrieron en aquel jardín, desde que Phoebe empezó a ocuparse de él. El primer día había visto u oído una abeja, y desde entonces, las abejas no dejaron de venir, el Cielo sabrá por qué, en busca de dulces bocados lejanos, cuando con seguridad había otros jardines y campos de trébol mucho más cerca de sus colmenas. Pero las abejas venían y se sumergían en las flores de calabaza como si no hubiera otras a lo largo de un día de vuelo o como si el suelo del jardín de Hepzibah produjera precisamente la calidad que aquellas laboriosas hadas deseaban para dar el aroma del Himeto a su miel de Nueva Inglaterra. Cuando Clifford oía su zumbido, viniendo de los dorados arriates, las contemplaba con júbilo. No había por qué preguntarse la causa de la presencia de las abejas en aquel rincón de la ciudad polvorienta, Dios las enviaba para alegrar a nuestro pobre Clifford. Traían consigo el magnífico verano, a cambio de un poco de miel. |
| When the bean-vines began to flower on the poles, there was one particular variety which bore a vivid scarlet blossom. The daguerreotypist had found these beans in a garret, over one of the seven gables, treasured up in an old chest of drawers by some horticultural Pyncheon of days gone by, who doubtless meant to sow them the next summer, but was himself first sown in Death′s garden-ground. By way of testing whether there were still a living germ in such ancient seeds, Holgrave had planted some of them; and the result of his experiment was a splendid row of bean-vines, clambering, early, to the full height of the poles, and arraying them, from top to bottom, in a spiral profusion of red blossoms. And, ever since the unfolding of the first bud, a multitude of humming-birds had been attracted thither. At times, it seemed as if for every one of the hundred blossoms there was one of these tiniest fowls of the air,--a thumb′s bigness of burnished plumage, hovering and vibrating about the bean-poles. It was with indescribable interest, and even more than childish delight, that Clifford watched the humming-birds. He used to thrust his head softly out of the arbor to see them the better; all the while, too, motioning Phoebe to be quiet, and snatching glimpses of the smile upon her face, so as to heap his enjoyment up the higher with her sympathy. He had not merely grown young;--he was a child again. | […] |
| Hepzibah, whenever she happened to witness
one of these fits of miniature enthusiasm,
would shake her head, with a strange mingling
of the mother and sister, and of pleasure and
sadness, in her aspect. She said that it had
always been thus with Clifford when the
humming-birds came,--always, from his
babyhood,--and that his delight in them had
been one of the earliest tokens by which he
showed his love for beautiful things.
And it was a wonderful coincidence, the good lady thought, that the artist should have planted these scarlet-flowering beans--which the humming-birds sought far and wide, and which had not grown in the Pyncheon garden before for forty years--on the very summer of Clifford′s return. |
[]… Luego, llegaron los colibríes, que encantaban al hermano de Hepzibah. La buena señora pensaba que era una coincidencia maravillosa que el artista plantara aquellas habichuelas de flor escarlata, que atraían a los colibríes -ausentes del jardín de los Pyncheon durante más de cuarenta años- justamente el mismo verano, a cambio del regreso de Clifford. |
| Then would the tears stand in poor Hepzibah′s
eyes, or overflow them with a too abundant
gush, so that she was fain to betake herself into
some corner, lest Clifford should espy her
agitation. Indeed, all the enjoyments of this
period were provocative of tears. Coming so
late as it did, it was a kind of Indian summer,
with a mist in its balmiest sunshine, and decay
and death in its gaudiest delight.
The more Clifford seemed to taste the happiness of a child, the sadder was the difference to be recognized. With a mysterious and terrible Past, which had annihilated his memory, and a blank Future before him, he had only this visionary and impalpable Now, which, if you once look closely at it, is nothing. He himself, as was perceptible by many symptoms, lay darkly behind his pleasure, and knew it to be a baby-play, which he was to toy and trifle with, instead of thoroughly believing. Clifford saw, it may be, in the mirror of his deeper consciousness, that he was an example and representative of that great class of people whom an inexplicable Providence is continually putting at cross-purposes with the world: breaking what seems its own promise in their nature; withholding their proper food, and setting poison before them for a banquet; and thus--when it might so easily, as one would think, have been adjusted otherwise--making their existence a strangeness, a solitude, and torment. All his life long, he had been learning how to be wretched, as one learns a foreign tongue; and now, with the lesson thoroughly by heart, he could with difficulty comprehend his little airy happiness. Frequently there was a dim shadow of doubt in his eyes. "Take my hand, Phoebe," he would say, "and pinch it hard with your little fingers ! Give me a rose, that I may press its thorns, and prove myself awake by the sharp touch of pain !" Evidently, he desired this prick of a trifling anguish, in order to assure himself, by that quality which he best knew to be real, that the garden, and the seven weather-beaten gables, and Hepzibah′s scowl, and Phoebe′s smile, were real likewise. Without this signet in his flesh, he could have attributed no more substance to them than to the empty confusion of imaginary scenes with which he had fed his spirit, until even that poor sustenance was exhausted. | Al pensar en todo esto, las lágrimas asomaban
a los ojos de Hepzibah y tenía que apartarse,
no fuera que Clifford notara su emoción.
Realmente todos los placeres de aquella época
fueron motivo de abundantes lágrimas.
Viniendo tan tardíamente, eran una especie de
veranillo de San Martín, con brumas bajo el
sol y muerte en sus deleites placenteros.
Cuanto más parecía Clifford disfrutar de la dicha de un niño, tanto más tristemente se notaba la diferencia. Con el misterioso y temible pasado que había aniquilado su memoria y el sombrío futuro ante él, solamente le quedaba ese visionario e impalpable hoy que, mirado de cerca, no es nada. Sabía que sus placeres eran juegos de niños, con los cuales se podía jugar, pero en los cuales no se podía creer. Quizá veía, en el espejo de su conciencia, que era un ejemplo y representante de esa clase de gentes a las cuales una Providencia enigmática pone en oposición con el mundo, convirtiendo su existencia en un tormento. Durante toda su vida había aprendido a ser desgraciado, como se aprende una lengua extranjera, y ahora, con la lección bien sabida, no comprendía su felicidad etérea. Frecuentemente, una sombra de duda se reflejaba en sus ojos, y solía decir: -Cógeme la mano, Phoebe, y pellízcame con tus dedos alados. Dame una rosa para que sus espinas me pinchen y vea si estoy despierto. Evidentemente deseaba esas pruebas de dolor, para asegurarse de que el jardín, los siete tejados, el ceño de Hepzibah, la sonrisa de Phoebe, eran cosas reales. Sin esa prueba de su carne, no les atribuiría más substancia que la vaciedad y confusión de las escenas imaginarias con que alimentara su espíritu, hasta que este triste recurso se agotó asimismo. |
| The author needs great faith in his reader′s sympathy; else he must hesitate to give details so minute, and incidents apparently so trifling, as are essential to make up the idea of this garden-life. It was the Eden of a thunder-smitten Adam, who had fled for refuge thither out of the same dreary and perilous wilderness into which the original Adam was expelled. | |
| One of the available means of amusement, of
which Phoebe made the most in Clifford′s
behalf, was that feathered society, the hens, a
breed of whom, as we have already said, was
an immemorial heirloom in the Pyncheon
family. In compliance with a whim of Clifford,
as it troubled him to see them in confinement,
they had been set at liberty, and now roamed at
will about the garden; doing some little
mischief, but hindered from escape by
buildings on three sides, and the difficult peaks
of a wooden fence on the other. They spent
much of their abundant leisure on the margin
of Maule′s well, which was haunted by a kind
of snail, evidently a titbit to their palates; and
the brackish water itself, however nauseous to
the rest of the world, was so greatly esteemed
by these fowls, that they might be seen tasting,
turning up their heads, and smacking their bills,
with precisely the air of wine-bibbers round a
probationary cask.
Their generally quiet, yet often brisk, and
constantly diversified talk, one to another, or
sometimes in soliloquy,--as they scratched
worms out of the rich, black soil, or pecked at
such plants as suited their taste,--had such a
domestic tone, that it was almost a wonder why
you could not establish a regular interchange of
ideas about household matters, human and
gallinaceous.
| Una de las diversiones que Phoebe
aprovechaba con mayor constancia era la
sociedad de las aves de corral, cuya raza,
según dijimos, era herencia inmemorial de la
familia Pyncheon.
Accediendo a un capricho de Clifford, que sufría al verlas encerradas, las puso en libertad y ahora vagabundeaban por el jardín, causando ligeros daños y aprisionadas, al fin y al cabo, por muros en tres lados y una valla de madera en el cuarto. Pasaban la mayor parte de sus abundantes ocios en los alrededores de la fuente de Maule, donde descubrieron una especie de caracol que resultaba evidentemente una verdadera golosina para el paladar. La misma agua, nauseabunda para todos, era tan estimada por las gallinas y el gallo que, cuando la probaban, meneaban la cabeza y se rechupaban el pico con aire de catadores de vino. […] Todas las aves de corral merecen ser estudiadas, por sus variados y singulares modales, pero no es posible que hayan existido otras con tan extraordinario aspecto y costumbres como esas ancestrales muestras de gallinas. Resumían, probablemente, todas las peculiaridades tradicionales de la rama de sus progenitores transmitida por una sucesión de huevos sin solución de continuidad. O bien ese Cantaclaro y sus dos esposas se habían convertido en humoristas, o quizá estaban algo chiflados, a causa de su vida solitaria y por simpatía con su dueña, Hepzibah. |
| Queer, indeed, they looked ! Chanticleer
himself, though stalking on two stilt-like legs,
with the dignity of interminable descent in all
his gestures, was hardly bigger than an
ordinary partridge; his two wives were about
the size of quails; and as for the one chicken, it
looked small enough to be still in the egg, and,
at the same time, sufficiently old, withered,
wizened, and experienced, to have been
founder of the antiquated race. Instead of being
the youngest of the family, it rather seemed to
have aggregated into itself the ages, not only of
these living specimens of the breed, but of all
its forefathers and foremothers, whose united
excellences and oddities were squeezed into its
little body. Its mother evidently regarded it as
the one chicken of the world, and as necessary,
in fact, to the world′s continuance, or, at any
rate, to the equilibrium of the present system of
affairs, whether in church or state.
No lesser sense of the infant fowl′s importance could have justified, even in a mother′s eyes, the perseverance with which she watched over its safety, ruffling her small person to twice its proper size, and flying in everybody′s face that so much as looked towards her hopeful progeny. No lower estimate could have vindicated the indefatigable zeal with which she scratched, and her unscrupulousness in digging up the choicest flower or vegetable, for the sake of the fat earthworm at its root. Her nervous cluck, when the chicken happened to be hidden in the long grass or under the squash-leaves; her gentle croak of satisfaction, while sure of it beneath her wing; her note of ill-concealed fear and obstreperous defiance, when she saw her arch-enemy, a neighbor′s cat, on the top of the high fence,--one or other of these sounds was to be heard at almost every moment of the day. By degrees, the observer came to feel nearly as much interest in this chicken of illustrious race as the mother-hen did. | Realmente eran unos animales la mar de
extraños. Cantaclaro, sostenido por dos patas
como zancos, con la dignidad de una
interminable línea de antepasados en sus
gestos, no era mucho mayor que una perdiz.
Sus dos esposas tenían el tamaño de la
codorniz y el polluelo parecía muy capaz de
poder volver a meterse en el huevo y, al
mismo tiempo, bastante viejo, seco y
macilento para que le tomaran por el fundador
de su raza. En vez de ser el más joven de la
familia, se diría que sumaba no sólo las edades
de los ejemplares vivos de ella, sino la de
todos los antecesores, cuyas excelencias y
extravagancias se perfilaban en el diminuto
cuerpecito.
Su madre le consideraba, sin ningún género de dudas, como el único polluelo de la tierra, indispensable para la continuación del mundo. Una idea menos elevada de la importancia de aquel polluelo no hubiera justificado, ni siquiera a los ojos de una madre, la perseverancia con que le vigilaba, ahuecándose hasta doblar de volumen y atacando la cara de los que se atrevían a mirar con demasiada atención a su prometedor retoño. El celo que mostraba en picotear granos y sus escasos escrúpulos en arrancar flores y legumbres para cazar los gusanos de las raíces se explicaban por la necesidad de sobrealimentar a su hijo. Su nervioso cloqueo, se convertía en amable cloqueo de satisfacción cuando le tenía en seguridad bajo sus alas y en una nota de mal disimulado temor y de estridente desconfianza cuando veía a su archienemigo, un gato de la vecindad que acostumbraba asomarse por la valla. Uno u otro de estos sonidos se oían en casi todos los momentos del día. Poco a poco, el observador acababa tomándose tanto interés por el último descendiente de la ilustre raza como su propia madre. |
| Phoebe, after getting well acquainted with the old hen, was sometimes permitted to take the chicken in her hand, which was quite capable of grasping its cubic inch or two of body. While she curiously examined its hereditary marks,--the peculiar speckle of its plumage, the funny tuft on its head, and a knob on each of its legs,--the little biped, as she insisted, kept giving her a sagacious wink. The daguerreotypist once whispered her that these marks betokened the oddities of the Pyncheon family, and that the chicken itself was a symbol of the life of the old house, embodying its interpretation, likewise, although an unintelligible one, as such clews generally are. It was a feathered riddle; a mystery hatched out of an egg, and just as mysterious as if the egg had been addle ! | Phoebe, después de trabar amistad con la vieja gallina, obtenía permiso a veces para tomar el polluelo en la mano. Mientras examinaba con curiosidad sus rasgos hereditarios -el singular moteado del plumaje, el cómico tupé de la cabecita y una protuberancia en cada pata- el diminuto bípedo le guiñaba el ojo sagazmente. En una ocasión, el daguerrotipista le susurró que aquellos rasgos eran muestras de las excentridades de la familia Pyncheon y que el propio polluelo era un símbolo de la vida de la vieja casa, incluyendo su propia interpretación, tan inteligible como suelen serlo todas. Era un enigma con plumas, un misterio empollado en un huevo, y tan misterioso como si el huevo hubiese sido estéril. |
| The second of Chanticleer′s two wives, ever
since Phoebe′s arrival, had been in a state of
heavy despondency, caused, as it afterwards
appeared, by her inability to lay an egg. One
day, however, by her self-important gait, the
sideways turn of her head, and the cock of her
eye, as she pried into one and another nook of
the garden,--croaking to herself, all the while,
with inexpressible complacency,--it was made
evident that this identical hen, much as
mankind undervalued her, carried something
about her person the worth of which was not to
be estimated either in gold or precious stones.
Shortly after, there was a prodigious cackling and gratulation of Chanticleer and all his family, including the wizened chicken, who appeared to understand the matter quite as well as did his sire, his mother, or his aunt. That afternoon Phoebe found a diminutive egg,--not in the regular nest, it was far too precious to be trusted there,--but cunningly hidden under the currant-bushes, on some dry stalks of last year′s grass. Hepzibah, on learning the fact, took possession of the egg and appropriated it to Clifford′s breakfast, on account of a certain delicacy of flavor, for which, as she affirmed, these eggs had always been famous. Thus unscrupulously did the old gentlewoman sacrifice the continuance, perhaps, of an ancient feathered race, with no better end than to supply her brother with a dainty that hardly filled the bowl of a tea-spoon ! It must have been in reference to this outrage that Chanticleer, the next day, accompanied by the bereaved mother of the egg, took his post in front of Phoebe and Clifford, and delivered himself of a harangue that might have proved as long as his own pedigree, but for a fit of merriment on Phoebe′s part. Hereupon, the offended fowl stalked away on his long stilts, and utterly withdrew his notice from Phoebe and the rest of human nature, until she made her peace with an offering of spice-cake, which, next to snails, was the delicacy most in favor with his aristocratic taste. | La segunda de las esposas de Cantaclaro había
caído en un estado de profunda desesperación
desde la llegada de Phoebe, provocado, según
se descubrió después, por su incapacidad para
poner. Un día, sin embargo, yendo y viniendo
por el jardín con su aire de importancia, su
desdeñoso gesto de cabeza, cloqueando con
indescriptible complacencia, se descubrió que,
a pesar de la poca estimación de los hombres,
poseía en su personita algo que no podía
valorarse en oro ni en piedras preciosas.
Poco después sonó un prodigioso cacareo de felicitación, producido por Cantaclaro y el resto de su familia, incluyendo el polluelo, que parecía comprender lo que ocurría tan bien como su padre, su madre y su tía. Aquella tarde, Phoebe halló un huevo diminuto, pero no en el nido de costumbre, pues era demasiado precioso para ser depositado allí, sino astutamente escondido debajo de un grosellero, sobre un montón de hierba seca. Hepzibah, al enterarse del acontecimiento, tomó posesión del huevo y lo destinó al desayuno de Clifford, debido a cierto delicado sabor que, según dijo, habían hecho famosos los huevos de aquellas gallinas. La vieja señora sacrificó así la sucesión de una
antigua raza de aves de corral, con el simple
fin de dar a su hermano una golosina que
apenas llenaba una cucharilla de té.
|
| We linger too long, no doubt, beside this paltry
rivulet of life that flowed through the garden of
the Pyncheon House. But we deem it
pardonable to record these mean incidents and
poor delights, because they proved so greatly
to Clifford′s benefit. They had the earth-smell
in them, and contributed to give him health and
substance. Some of his occupations wrought
less desirably upon him. He had a singular
propensity, for example, to hang over Maule′s
well, and look at the constantly shifting
phantasmagoria of figures produced by the
agitation of the water over the mosaic-work of
colored pebbles at the bottom. He said that
faces looked upward to him there,--beautiful
faces, arrayed in bewitching smiles,--each
momentary face so fair and rosy, and every
smile so sunny, that he felt wronged at its
departure, until the same flitting witchcraft
made a new one. But sometimes he would
suddenly cry out, "The dark face gazes at me !"
and be miserable the whole day afterwards.
Phoebe, when she hung over the fountain by
Clifford′s side, could see nothing of all
this,--neither the beauty nor the ugliness,--but
only the colored pebbles, looking as if the gush
of the waters shook and disarranged them. And
the dark face, that so troubled Clifford, was no
more than the shadow thrown from a branch of
one of the damson-trees, and breaking the inner
light of Maule′s well.
The truth was, however, that his fancy--reviving faster than his will and judgment, and always stronger than they--created shapes of loveliness that were symbolic of his native character, and now and then a stern and dreadful shape that typified his fate. | Nos entretenemos demasiado, sin duda, con
este mezquino arroyuelo de vida que fluía del
jardín de la casa de los Pyncheon. Pero
creemos que se nos perdonará que recordemos
esos ligeros incidentes y pequeños deleites,
teniendo en cuenta que resultaron muy
beneficiosos para Clifford. Olían a tierra y
contribuyeron a dar al anciano la salud y la
substancia de la tierra. Algunas de sus
ocupaciones le fueron menos provechosas.
Sentía singular propensión, por ejemplo, a
inclinarse sobre la fuente de Maule y quedarse
contemplando las huidizas fantasmagorías
producidas por la agitación del agua sobre el
mosaico de guijarros y chinas del fondo. Decía
que, desde allí, unos rostros le contemplaban:
rostros hermosos, con fascinadoras sonrisas,
tan sonrosadas y brillantes que se afligía
cuando desaparecían, hasta que la misma agua
provocaba el embrujo de un nuevo semblante
irreal. Pero a veces exclamaba súbitamente: -¡Fíjate, el rostro sombrío me está mirando !...
Cuando esto sucedía, permanecía triste todo el
día. Phoebe no veía nada de eso, ni la belleza
ni la fealdad; tan sólo los guijarros de varios
colores, movidos por el constante fluir del
agua. El rostro sombrío que tanto inquietaba a
Clifford no era más que la sombra proyectada
por la rama de uno de los ciruelos, que
apagaba la luz interior de la fuente de Maule.
[…] |
| On Sundays, after Phoebe had been at
church,--for the girl had a church-going
conscience, and would hardly have been at ease
had she missed either prayer, singing, sermon,
or benediction,--after church-time, therefore,
there was, ordinarily, a sober little festival in
the garden. In addition to Clifford, Hepzibah,
and Phoebe, two guests made up the company.
One was the artist Holgrave, who, in spite of
his consociation with reformers, and his other
queer and questionable traits, continued to hold
an elevated place in Hepzibah′s regard. The
other, we are almost ashamed to say, was the
venerable Uncle Venner, in a clean shirt, and a
broadcloth coat, more respectable than his
ordinary wear, inasmuch as it was neatly
patched on each elbow, and might be called an
entire garment, except for a slight inequality in
the length of its skirts.
Clifford, on several occasions, had seemed to enjoy the old man′s intercourse, for the sake of his mellow, cheerful vein, which was like the sweet flavor of a frost-bitten apple, such as one picks up under the tree in December. A man at the very lowest point of the social scale was easier and more agreeable for the fallen gentleman to encounter than a person at any of the intermediate degrees; and, moreover, as Clifford′s young manhood had been lost, he was fond of feeling himself comparatively youthful, now, in apposition with the patriarchal age of Uncle Venner. In fact, it was sometimes observable that Clifford half wilfully hid from himself the consciousness of being stricken in years, and cherished visions of an earthly future still before him; visions, however, too indistinctly drawn to be followed by disappointment--though, doubtless, by depression--when any casual incident or recollection made him sensible of the withered leaf. | Los domingos, después que Phoebe regresaba
de la iglesia, solía celebrarse en el jardín una
reunión. Asistían dos invitados. Uno era
Holgrave, el artista, que a pesar de sus
relaciones con los reformadores y de sus otros
raros rasgos discutibles, seguía disfrutando de
la consideración de Hepzibah. El otro -casi nos
avergonzamos de mencionarlo- era el tío
Venner, con camisa limpia, chaqueta de paño
fino, más respetable que la de ordinario, pues
tenía cuidadosos remiendos en los codos, y
podía calificarse de prenda completa, a pesar
de la desigualdad de los faldones.
Clifford se complacía en conversar con el
viejo, a causa de su alegre humor. Un hombre
de la capa social inferior resultaba más
agradable, para el viejo caballero, que otra
persona cercana a su posición. Además, como
había perdido la juventud, se alegraba de verse
relativamente joven, al compararse con la edad
patriarcal del tío Venner.
|
| So this oddly composed little social party used to assemble under the ruinous arbor. Hepzibah--stately as ever at heart, and yielding not an inch of her old gentility, but resting upon it so much the more, as justifying a princess-like condescension--exhibited a not ungraceful hospitality. She talked kindly to the vagrant artist, and took sage counsel--lady as she was--with the wood-sawyer, the messenger of everybody′s petty errands, the patched philosopher. And Uncle Venner, who had studied the world at street-corners, and other posts equally well adapted for just observation, was as ready to give out his wisdom as a town-pump to give water. | Así, estos personajes de carácter tan distinto se sentaban en la especie de glorieta. Hepzibah, serena como siempre y sin abandonar ni un átomo de su rancia nobleza, apoyándose en ella para justificar una condescendencia principesca, ejercía una hospitalidad no carente de gracia. Conversaba, benévola, con el errático artista y aceptaba un consejo prudente -¡ella, tan señora !- del remendado filósofo, recadero de todo el barrio. El tío Venner -que había estudiado el mundo en las calles y en otros lugares igualmente a propósito para una observación a fondo- siempre estaba dispuesto a prodigar sus consejos sabios. |
| "Miss Hepzibah, ma′am," said he once, after they had all been cheerful together, "I really enjoy these quiet little meetings of a Sabbath afternoon. They are very much like what I expect to have after I retire to my farm !" | -Miss Hepzibah -dijo una vez, después de haber charlado todos alegremente-: me gustan estas reuniones de los domingos por la tarde. Se parecen mucho a las que espero disfrutar en mi granja. |
| "Uncle Venner" observed Clifford in a drowsy, inward tone, "is always talking about his farm. But I have a better scheme for him, by and by. We shall see !" | -El tío Venner -observó Clifford con voz queda- siempre está hablando de su granja. Pero yo tengo un plan mejor para él... Ya veremos, ya veremos... |
| "Ah, Mr. Clifford Pyncheon !" said the man of patches, "you may scheme for me as much as you please; but I′m not going to give up this one scheme of my own, even if I never bring it really to pass. It does seem to me that men make a wonderful mistake in trying to heap up property upon property. If I had done so, I should feel as if Providence was not bound to take care of me; and, at all events, the city wouldn′t be ! I′m one of those people who think that infinity is big enough for us all--and eternity long enough." | -¡Ah, míster Clifford Pyncheon ! -dijo el filósofo-. Puede usted forjar tantos planes sobre mí como quiera, pero yo jamás abandonaré el mío, aunque no haya de llevarlo a la práctica. Yo opino que los hombres cometen un error al acumular riquezas. Si yo lo hubiera hecho, no pensaría que la Providencia está obligada a cuidar de mí y, en todo caso, la ciudad no lo haría. Yo soy de los que opinan que lo infinito es bastante grande para que quepamos todos... y la eternidad bastante larga. |
| "Why, so they are, Uncle Venner," remarked Phoebe after a pause; for she had been trying to fathom the profundity and appositeness of this concluding apothegm. "But for this short life of ours, one would like a house and a moderate garden-spot of one′s own." | -Es cierto, tío Venner -dijo Phoebe tras una pansa-. Mas para nuestra corta vida, es preferible poseer una casita, un jardín y un huerto. |
| "It appears to me," said the daguerreotypist, smiling, "that Uncle Venner has the principles of Fourier at the bottom of his wisdom; only they have not quite so much distinctness in his mind as in that of the systematizing Frenchman." | -Me parece -dijo el daguerrotipista sonriendo- que el tío Venner tiene en el fondo de su sabiduría los principios de Fourier, aunque están menos claros en su mente que en la del francés. |
| "Come, Phoebe," said Hepzibah, "it is time to bring the currants." | -Vamos, Phoebe -dijo Hepzibah-, ya es hora de traer la merienda. |
| And then, while the yellow richness of the
declining sunshine still fell into the open space
of the garden, Phoebe brought out a loaf of
bread and a china bowl of currants, freshly
gathered from the bushes, and crushed with
sugar. These, with water,--but not from the
fountain of ill omen, close at
hand,--constituted all the entertainment.
Meanwhile, Holgrave took some pains to establish an intercourse with Clifford, actuated, it might seem, entirely by an impulse of kindliness, in order that the present hour might be cheerfuller than most which the poor recluse had spent, or was destined yet to spend. Nevertheless, in the artist′s deep, thoughtful, all-observant eyes, there was, now and then, an expression, not sinister, but questionable; as if he had some other interest in the scene than a stranger, a youthful and unconnected adventurer, might be supposed to have. With great mobility of outward mood, however, he applied himself to the task of enlivening the party; and with so much success, that even dark-hued Hepzibah threw off one tint of melancholy, and made what shift she could with the remaining portion. Phoebe said to herself,--"How pleasant he can be !" As for Uncle Venner, as a mark of friendship and approbation, he readily consented to afford the young man his countenance in the way of his profession,--not metaphorically, be it understood, but literally, by allowing a daguerreotype of his face, so familiar to the town, to be exhibited at the entrance of Holgrave′s studio. | Mientras la opulencia dorada del crepúsculo
enriquecía la atmósfera del jardín, Phoebe trajo
un pan redondo y un tazón lleno de grosellas,
recién cogidas y espolvoreadas de azúcar.
Junto con agua -no de la cercana fuente de mal
agÜero-, constituía el festín.
Impulsado por un sentimiento de bondad,
Holgrave intentaba trabar conversación con
Clifford, para que las horas pasaran más
alegremente que las anteriores y que las
futuras.
-¡Qué agradable es cuando se lo propone !
|
| Clifford, as the company partook of their little banquet, grew to be the gayest of them all. Either it was one of those up-quivering flashes of the spirit, to which minds in an abnormal state are liable, or else the artist had subtly touched some chord that made musical vibration. Indeed, what with the pleasant summer evening, and the sympathy of this little circle of not unkindly souls, it was perhaps natural that a character so susceptible as Clifford′s should become animated, and show itself readily responsive to what was said around him. But he gave out his own thoughts, likewise, with an airy and fanciful glow; so that they glistened, as it were, through the arbor, and made their escape among the interstices of the foliage. He had been as cheerful, no doubt, while alone with Phoebe, but never with such tokens of acute, although partial intelligence. | Durante la merienda, Clifford se iba reanimando y acabó por ser el más alegre de todos. Si era uno de esos destellos del espíritu, frecuentes en las mentes en estado anormal, o si el artista había logrado hacer vibrar alguna cuerda recóndita de su alma, es cosa que no podemos decir. En cierto modo, en una tarde veraniega y con semejante compañía, era natural que un espíritu tan susceptible como el de Clifford se animara y se convirtiera en un buen receptor de cuanto acontecía a su alrededor. Expresaba sus pensamientos alada y caprichosamente. A solas con Phoebe estaba alegre, sin duda, pero no con aquellas muestras de agudeza y hasta de inteligencia. |
| But, as the sunlight left the peaks of the Seven Gables, so did the excitement fade out of Clifford′s eyes. He gazed vaguely and mournfully about him, as if he missed something precious, and missed it the more drearily for not knowing precisely what it was. | Cuando el sol se ocultó tras las buhardillas, la animación de Clifford fue apagándose. Miró vaga y sombríamente, como si echara de menos algo precioso, y con tanto mayor dolor cuanto que no sabía exactamente lo que era. |
| "I want my happiness !" at last he murmured hoarsely and indistinctly, hardly shaping out the words. "Many, many years have I waited for it ! It is late ! It is late ! I want my happiness !" | -¡Quiero mi felicidad ! -murmuró finalmente-. He estado largos años esperándola y ahora... ¡ahora es demasiado tarde ! ¡Sí, demasiado tarde ! |
| Alas, poor Clifford ! You are old, and worn with troubles that ought never to have befallen you. You are partly crazy and partly imbecile; a ruin, a failure, as almost everybody is,--though some in less degree, or less perceptibly, than their fellows. Fate has no happiness in store for you; unless your quiet home in the old family residence with the faithful Hepzibah, and your long summer afternoons with Phoebe, and these Sabbath festivals with Uncle Venner and the daguerreotypist, deserve to be called happiness ! Why not ? If not the thing itself, it is marvellously like it, and the more so for that ethereal and intangible quality which causes it all to vanish at too close an introspection. Take it, therefore, while you may. Murmur not,--question not,--but make the most of it ! | ¡Pobre Clifford ! Eres viejo y estás abatido por penas que jamás debieron caer sobre ti. Eres un ser fantástico y también imbécil, las ruinas de un hombre, un fracasado, como lo es casi todo el mundo, aunque unos en menor grado que otros. El destino no te reserva ninguna felicidad, a no ser que merezca este nombre un hogar tranquilo, en la vieja mansión familiar, con la fiel Hepzibah por compañera, las largas tardes de verano con Phoebe, y esas reuniones domingueras con el tío Venner y el daguerrotipista. ¿Y por qué no ha de ser eso la felicidad ? Si no lo es, se le parece, y más que nada por la cualidad etérea, intangible que posee de desvanecerse cuando se la observa desde demasiado cerca. ¡Tómala, pues, ya que todavía puedes hacerlo ! No murmures. No preguntes. Saca el mejor partido posible de ella. |