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din engleză în spaniolă: The White Wolf of Kostopchin By Sir Gilbert Campbell (From “Wild and Weird Tales of Imagination and Mystery.”) General field: Artă/Literatură
Text sursă - engleză A wide sandy expanse of country, flat and uninteresting in appearance, with a great staring whitewashed house standing in the midst of wide fields of cultivated land; whilst far away were the low sand hills and pine forests to be met with in the district of Lithuania, in Russian Poland. Not far from the great white house was the village in which the serfs dwelt, with the large bakehouse and the public bath which are invariably to be found in all Russian villages, however humble. The fields were negligently cultivated, the hedges broken down and the fences in bad repair, shattered agricultural implements had been carelessly flung aside in remote corners, and the whole estate showed the want of the superintending eye of an energetic master. The great white house was no better looked after, the garden was an utter wilderness, great patches of plaster had fallen from the walls, and many of the Venetian shutters were almost off the hinges. Over all was the dark lowering sky of a Russian autumn, and there were no signs of life to be seen, save a few peasants lounging idly towards the vodki ship, and a gaunt halt-starved cat creeping stealthily abroad in quest of a meal.
The estate, which was known by the name of Kostopchin, was the property of Paul Sergevitch, a gentleman of means, and the most discontented man in Russian Poland. Like most wealthy Muscovites, he had traveled much, and had spent the gold which had been amassed by serf labor, like water, in all the dissolute revelries of the capitals of Europe. Paul’s figure was as well known in the boudoirs of the demi mondaines as his face was familiar at the public gaming tables. He appeared to have no thought for the future, but only to live in the excitement of the mad career of dissipation which he was pursuing. His means, enormous as they were, were all forestalled, and he was continually sending to his intendant for fresh supplies of money. His fortune would not have long held out against the constant inroads that were being made upon it, when an unexpected circumstance took place which stopped his career like a flash of lightning. This was a fatal duel, in which a young man of great promise, the son of the prime minister of the country in which he then resided, fell by his hand. Representatives were made to the Tsar, and Paul Sergevitch was recalled, and, after receiving a severe reprimand was ordered to return to his estates in Lithuania. Horribly discontented, yet not daring to disobey the Imperial mandate, Paul buried himself at Kostopchin, a place he had not visited since his boyhood. At first he endeavored to interest himself in the workings of the vast estate; but agriculture had no charm for him, and the only result was that he quarreled with and dismissed his German intendant, replacing him by an old serf, Michal Vassilitch, who had been his father’s valet. Then he took to wandering about the country, gun in hand, and upon his return home would sit moodily drinking brandy and smoking innumerable cigarettes, as he cursed his lord and master, the emperor, for consigning him to such a course of dullness and ennui. For a couple of years he led this aimless life, and at last, hardly knowing the reason for so doing, he married the daughter of a neighboring landed proprietor. The marriage was a most unhappy one; the girl had really never cared for Paul, but had married him in obedience to her father’s mandates, and the man, whose temper was always brutal and violent, treated her, after a brief interval of contemptuous indifference, with savage cruelty. After three years the unhappy woman expired, leaving behind her two children — a boy, Alexis, and a girl, Katrina. […]
Traducere - spaniolă “El lobo blanco de Kostopchin” una historia de Sir Gilbert Campbell
(Extracto del libro Los extraños y disparatados relatos de la imaginación y del misterio)
En una tierra vasta y arenosa, que parecía una planicie monótona, resaltaba a la vista una casa blanca, en medio de unos campos de cultivo. Mientras, a lo lejos, se hallaban dunas y bosques de pinos hasta llegar a la región lituana de la Polonia rusa. No muy lejos de la gran casa de color blanco, estaba el pueblo en el que habitaba la servidumbre. En el pueblo se encontraba una gran panadería y un baño público , presentes en cualquier pueblo de Rusia por muy humilde que fuese. En general, el sitio parecía mostrar la necesidad imperiosa de un dueño con mano dura; pues los campos habían sido cultivados de manera descuidada , los setos abandonados, cercados por setos quebrados y las herramientas agrícolas rotas habían sido olvidadas en rincones apartados. La gran casa blanca no se encontraba en mejor estado tampoco, con su jardín que parecía una absoluta jungla, los grandes pedazos de yeso que se habían caído desde las paredes y las muchas persianas desprendidas de sus bisagras . En todas partes se extendía el cielo oscuro y cargado del otoño ruso. No había señales de vida, excepto por unos campesinos que ansiaban en silencio la llegada del cargamento de vodki , y por un gato raquítico y medio muerto de hambre, que se deslizaba sigilosamente en búsqueda de comida.
La finca, conocida con el nombre de Kostopchin, era propiedad de Paul Sergevitch, un caballero adinerado y, sguramente, el hombre más insatisfecho de toda Polonia rusa. Así como muchos moscovitas de bien, Paul había viajado mucho y se había gastado el oro acumulado en su trabajo a troche y moche , en las juergas más lujuriosas de todas las capitales de Europa. La cara de Paul era igual de conocida en las alcobas de las mujeres de mala fama, como lo era en las mesas de juegos. No parecía tener ninguna otra preocupación por el futuro que no fuese seguir viviendo la excitante y desenfrenada carrera del despilfarro, pero el acceso a sus grandes recursos le era restringido, de modo que debía mandar siempre a su gerente a por nuevas reservas. Su fortuna no hubiese tardado mucho en sucumbir a los constantes asaltos a los que era sometida, pero un acontecimiento inesperado acabó con su carrera en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. Fue un terrible duelo, en el que un joven de futuro muy prometedor murió a sus manos. Era el hijo del Primer Ministro del país en el que Paul residía por aquel entonces. Las noticias llegaron a los oídos del zar, Paul Sergevitch fue destituido y, tras haber recibido una amonestación severa, le fue ordenado volver a las propiedades de su país natal, Lituania. Terriblemente disgustado, pero incapaz de desobedecer un mandato real, Paul se enterró a sí mismo en Kostopchin, un sitio que no había visitado desde la infancia . Al principio, intentó interesarse por los trabajos de la vasta propiedad, pero para él la agricultura carecía de encanto. El único resultado de eso fue su disputa con un intendente alemán, al que despidió para luego sustituirlo por un viejo siervo llamado Michal Vassilich, el que había sido el mayordomo de su padre . Luego empezó a deambular por el país, con la pistola en la mano y en el camino de regreso a casa, solía sentarse malhumorado a beber brandy y a fumar incontables cigarros, mientras maldecía a su amo y señor, el emperador, por haberle condenado a un destino tan insípido y tedioso . Siguió viviendo esa vida sin rumbo durante unos años, hasta que finalmente, casi sin saber por qué , acabó casándose con la hija del propietario de las tierras vecinas . El matrimonio fue uno de lo más infeliz, pues la chica no le había tenido nunca cariño a Paul , sin embargo, aceptó la unión para obedecer los órdenes de su progenitor. Mientras tanto, Paul, cuyo temperamento había sido siempre despiadado y violento, la trataba, tras un breve intervalo de desdeñosa indiferencia, con brutal crueldad. Después de tres años, la desdichada mujer falleció dejando atrás sus dos hijos: un niño, Alexis, y una niña, Katrina. (…)
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