[We are smashing together “Los Ojos Verdes” by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870) and a 1909 translation by Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates. For practicing Spanish while reading great literature.]

[Here is the page with all the story’s sections: Los Ojos Verdes]

I

—Herido va el ciervo, herido va; no hay duda. Se ve el rastro de la sangre entre las zarzas del monte, y al saltar uno de esos lentiscos han flaqueado sus piernas…. Nuestro joven señor comienza por donde otros acaban.
“The stag is wounded—he is wounded; no doubt of it. There are traces of his blood on the mountain shrubs, and in trying to leap one of those mastic trees his legs failed him. Our young lord begins where others end.

… en cuarenta años de montero no he visto mejor golpe.
In my forty years as huntsman I have not seen a better shot.

… ¡Pero por San Saturio,[1] patrón de Soria![2] cortadle el paso por esas carrascas, azuzad los perros, soplad en esas trompas hasta echar los hígados, y hundidle á los corceles una cuarta de hierro en los ijares:
But by Saint Saturio, patron of Soria, cut him off at these hollies, urge on the dogs, blow the horns till your lungs are empty, and bury your spurs in the flanks of the horses.

¿no véis que se dirige hacia la fuente de los Álamos,[3] y si la salva antes de morir podemos darle por perdido?
Do you not see that he is going toward the fountain of the Poplars, and if he lives to reach it we must give him up for lost?”

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE LONG-WINDED FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: San Saturio. Saint Saturius was born, according to Tamayo, in 493. In 532 he withdrew from the world into a cave at the foot of a mountain bathed by the river Duero, near where now stands the town of Soria. There he lived about thirty-six years, or until 568, when he died and was buried by his faithful disciple St. Prudentius, later bishop of Tarazona, who had been a companion of the hermit during the last seven years of his life. His cave is still an object of pilgrimage, and a church has been built on the spot to the memory of the saint. See Florez, España Sagrada, Madrid, 1766, tomo vii, pp. 293–294.]

[Footnote 2: Soria. A mediaeval-looking town of 7296 inhabitants {2018 update: close to 40,000 inhabitants} situated on a bleak plateau on the right bank of the Duero. It is the capital of a province of the same name. The old town of Numantia (captured by the Romans under P. Cornelius Scipio AEmilianus, 133 B.C.) lay about three miles to the north of the present site of Soria.]

[Footnote 3: Álamos. The choice of a grove of poplars as setting to the enchanted fount is peculiarly appropriate, as this tree belongs to the large list of those believed to have magical properties. In the south of Europe the poplar seems to have held sometimes the mythological place reserved in the north for the birch, and the people of Andalusia believe that the poplar is the most ancient of trees. (See de Gubernatis, Za Mythologie des plantes, Paris, Reinwald, 1882, p. 285.) In classical superstition the black poplar was consecrated to the goddess Proserpine, and the white poplar to Hercules. “The White Poplar was also dedicated to Time, because its leaves were constantly in motion, and, being dark on one side and light on the other, they were emblematic of night and day…. There is a tradition that the Cross of Christ was made of the wood of the White Poplar, and throughout Christendom there is a belief that the tree trembles and shivers mystically in sympathy with the ancestral tree which became accursed…. Mrs. Hemans, in her ‘Wood Walk,’ thus alludes to one of these old traditions:
FATHER.—Hast thou heard, my boy,
The peasant’s legend of that quivering tree?

CHILD.—No, father; doth he say the fairies dance
Amidst its branches?

FATHER.—Oh! a cause more deep,
More solemn far, the rustic doth assign
To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves.
The Cross he deems—the blessed Cross, whereon
The meek Redeemer bow’d His head to death—
Was formed of Aspen wood; and since that hour
Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down
A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe
Making them tremulous, when not a breeze
Disturbs the airy Thistle-down, or shakes
The light lines from the shining gossamer.”

Richard Folkard, Plant Lore, London, 1892, p. 503.]

END OF THOSE FOOTNOTES

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Las cuencas del Moncayo[1] repitieron de eco en eco el bramido de las trompas, el latir de la jauría desencadenada y las voces de los pajes resonaron con nueva furia,
The glens of the Moncayo flung from echo to echo the braying of the horns and barking of the unleashed pack of hounds; the shouts of the pages resounded with new vigor,
y el confuso tropel de hombres, caballos y perros se dirigió al punto que Iñigo, el montero mayor de los marqueses de Almenar,[2] señalara,[3] como el más á propósito para cortarle el paso á la res.
while the confused throng of men, dogs and horses rushed toward the point which Iñigo, the head huntsman of the Marquises of Almenar, indicated as the one most favorable for intercepting the quarry.

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: El Moncayo. See p. 8, note 1. {2018: OK, I’ll look for that and put it here}]
[Footnote 2: Marqueses de Almenar. A title taken doubtless from the little town of Almenar (650 inhabitants) situated in the province of Soria near the right bank of the Rituerto river, southwest of the Moncayo, and not far from that mountain.]
[Footnote 3: señalara. A relic of the Latin pluperfect (in -aram, -eram), popularly confounded with the imperfect subjunctive. Its use is now somewhat archaic, and is restricted to relative clauses. See Ramsey’sSpanish Grammar, H. Holt & Co., 1902, § 944.]

END OF THOSE FOOTNOTES

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Pero todo fué inútil.
But all was of no avail.

Cuando el más ágil de los lebreles llegó á las carrascas jadeante y cubiertas las fauces de espuma, ya el ciervo, rápido como una saeta, las había salvado de un solo brinco, perdiéndose entre los matorrales de una trocha, que conducía á la fuente.
When the fleetest of the greyhounds reached the hollies, panting, its jaws covered with foam, already the deer, swift as an arrow, had cleared them at a single bound, disappearing among the thickets of a narrow path which led to the fountain.

—¡Alto!… ¡Alto todo el mundo! gritó Iñigo entonces; estaba de Dios que había de marcharse.
“Draw rein! draw rein, every man!” then cried Iñigo. “It was the will of God that he should escape.”

Y la cabalgata se detuvo, y enmudecieron las trompas, y los lebreles dejaron refunfuñando la pista á la voz de los cazadores.
And the troop halted, the horns fell silent and the hounds, at the call of the hunters, abandoned, snarling, the trail.

En aquel momento se reunía á la comitiva el héroe de la fiesta, Fernando de Argensola,[1] el primogénito de Almenar.
At that moment, the lord of the festival, Fernando de Argensola, the heir of Almenar, came up with the company.

BY ALL MEANS, HOP OVER THIS FOOTNOTE, IF YOU WISH!
—-

[Footnote 1: Argensola. A name familiar to students of Spanish literature from the writings of the illustrious brothers Bartolomé and Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola (sixteenth century). It is also the name of a small town of some 560 inhabitants in the province of Barcelona.]

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—¿Qué haces? exclamó dirigiéndose á su montero, y en tanto, ya se pintaba el asombro en sus facciones, ya ardía la cólera en sus ojos.
“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, addressing his huntsman, astonishment depicted on his features, anger burning in his eyes.
¿Qué haces, imbécil? ¡Ves que la pieza está herida, que es la primera que cae por mi mano, y abandonas el rastro y la dejas perder para que vaya á morir en el fondo del bosque!
“What are you doing, idiot? Do you see that the creature is wounded, that it is the first to fall by my hand, and yet you abandon the pursuit and let it give you the slip to die in the depths of the forest?
¿Crees acaso que he venido á matar ciervos para festines de lobos?
Do you think perchance that I have come to kill deer for the banquets of wolves?”

—Señor, murmuró, Iñigo entre dientes, es imposible pasar de este punto.
“Señor,” murmured Iñigo between his teeth, “it is impossible to pass this point.”

—¡Imposible! ¿y por qué?
“Impossible! And why?”

—Porque esa trocha, prosiguió el montero, conduce á la fuente de los Alamos; la fuente de los Álamos, en cuyas aguas habita un espíritu del mal.
“Because this path,” continued the huntsman, “leads to the fountain of the Poplars, the fountain of the Poplars in whose waters dwells an evil spirit.
El que osa enturbiar su corriente, paga caro su atrevimiento. Ya la res habrá salvado sus márgenes; ¿como la salvaréis vos sin atraer sobre vuestra cabeza alguna calamidad horrible?
He who dares trouble its flow pays dear for his rashness. Already the deer will have reached its borders; how will you take it without drawing on your head some fearful calamity?
Los cazadores somos reyes del Moncayo, pero reyes que pagan un tributo. Pieza que se refugia en esa fuente misteriosa, pieza perdida.
We hunters are kings of the Moncayo, but kings that pay a tribute. A quarry which takes refuge at this mysterious fountain is a quarry lost.”

—¡Pieza perdida! Primero perderé yo el señorío de mis padres, y primero perderé el ánima en manos de Satanás, que permitir que se me escape ese ciervo, el único que ha herido mi venablo, la primicia de mis excursiones de cazador….
“Lost! Sooner will I lose the seigniory of my fathers, sooner will I lose my soul into the hands of Satan than permit this stag to escape me, the only one my spear has wounded, the first fruits of my hunting.
¿Lo ves?… ¿lo ves?… Aún se distingue á intervalos desde aquí … las piernas le faltan, su carrera se acorta; déjame… déjame… suelta esa brida, o te revuelco en el polvo….
Do you see him? Do you see him? He can still at intervals be made out from here. His legs falter, his speed slackens; let me go, let me go! Drop this bridle or I roll you in the dust!
¿Quién sabe si no le daré lugar para que llegue á la fuente? y si llegase, al diablo ella, su limpidez y sus habitadores.
Who knows if I will not run him down before he reaches the fountain? And if he should reach it, to the devil with it, its untroubled waters and its inhabitants!
¡Sus! ¡Relámpago! sus, caballo mío! si lo alcanzas, mando engarzar los diamantes de mi joyel en tu serreta de oro.
On, Lightning! on, my steed! If you overtake him, I will have the diamonds of my coronet set in a headstall all of gold for you.”

Caballo y jinete partieron como un huracán.
Horse and rider departed like a hurricane.

Iñigo los siguió con la vista hasta que se perdieron en la maleza; después volvió los ojos en derredor suyo; todos, como el, permanecían inmóviles y consternados.
Iñigo followed them with his eyes till they disappeared in the brush. Then he looked about him: all like himself remained motionless, in consternation.

El montero exclamó al fin:
The huntsman exclaimed at last:
—Señores, vosotros lo habéis visto; me he expuesto á morir entre los pies de su caballo por detenerle. Yo he cumplido con mi deber.
“Señores, you are my witnesses. I exposed myself to death under his horse’s hoofs to hold him back. I have fulfilled my duty.
Con el diablo no sirven valentías. Hasta aquí llega el montero con su ballesta; de aquí adelante, que pruebe á pasar el capellán con su hisopo.[1]
Against the devil heroism does not avail. To this point comes the huntsman with his crossbow; beyond this, it is for the chaplain with his holy water to attempt to pass.”

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: Argensola. A name familiar to students of Spanish literature from the writings of the illustrious brothers Bartolomé and Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola (sixteenth century). It is also the name of a small town of some 560 inhabitants in the province of Barcelona.]

END OF THAT FOOTNOTE

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Part II

Credits:
Author: Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870)
Translators: Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates
Smusher-Togetherer: AMW