Donde el señor Pesca cuenta sobre una oportunidad de
trabajo. Al final algo sobre Dante y
su Divina Comedia, y nuevo
vocabulario: Deuce. De Wilkie Collins
el clásico The Woman in White.
"Now, my
good dears," began Pesca (who always said "good dears" when he
meant "worthy friends"), "listen to me. The time has come—I
recite my good news—I speak at last."…
"Among the
fine London Houses where I teach the language of my native country," said
the Professor, rushing into his long-deferred explanation without another word
of preface, "there is one, mighty fine, in the big place called Portland.
You all know where that is? Yes, yes—course-of-course. The fine house, my good
dears, has got inside it a fine family. A Mamma, fair and fat; three young
Misses, fair and fat; two young Misters, fair and fat; and a Papa, the fairest
and the fattest of all, who is a mighty merchant, up to his eyes in gold—a fine
man once, but seeing that he has got a naked head and two chins, fine no longer
at the present time. Now mind! I teach the sublime Dante to the young Misses, and ah!—my-soul-bless-my-soul!—it is not
in human language to say how the sublime Dante puzzles the pretty heads of all
three! No matter—all in good time—and the more lessons the better for me. Now
mind! Imagine to yourselves that I am teaching the young Misses to-day, as
usual. We are all four of us down together in the Hell of Dante. At the Seventh
Circle—but no matter for that: all the Circles are alike to the three young
Misses, fair and fat,—at the Seventh Circle, nevertheless, my pupils are
sticking fast; and I, to set them going again, recite, explain, and blow myself
up red-hot with useless enthusiasm, when—a creak of boots in the passage
outside, and in comes the golden Papa, the mighty merchant with the naked head
and the two chins.—Ha! my good dears, I am closer than you think for to the
business, now. Have you been patient so far? or have you said to yourselves, 'Deuce-what-the-deuce! Pesca is
long-winded to-night?'"
We declared that
we were deeply interested. The Professor went on:
"In his
hand, the golden Papa has a letter; and after he has made his excuse for
disturbing us in our Infernal Region with the common mortal Business of the
house, he addresses himself to the three young Misses, and begins, as you
English begin everything in this blessed world that you have to say, with a
great O. 'O, my dears,' says the mighty merchant, 'I have got here a letter
from my friend, Mr.——'(the name has slipped out of my mind; but no matter; we
shall come back to that; yes, yes—right-all-right). So the Papa says, 'I have
got a letter from my friend, the Mister; and he wants a recommend from me, of a
drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.' My-soul-bless-my-soul!
when I heard the golden Papa say those words, if I had been big enough to reach
up to him, I should have put my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my
bosom in a long and grateful hug! As it was, I only bounced upon my chair. My
seat was on thorns, and my soul was on fire to speak but I held my tongue, and
let Papa go on. 'Perhaps you know,' says this good man of money, twiddling his
friend's letter this way and that, in his golden fingers and thumbs, 'perhaps
you know, my dears, of a drawing-master that I can recommend?' The three young
Misses all look at each other, and then say (with the indispensable great O to
begin) "O, dear no, Papa! But here is Mr. Pesca' At the mention of myself
I can hold no longer—the thought of you, my good dears, mounts like blood to my
head—I start from my seat, as if a spike had grown up from the ground through
the bottom of my chair—I address myself to the mighty merchant, and I say
(English phrase) 'Dear sir, I have the man! The first and foremost
drawing-master of the world! Recommend him by the post to-night, and send him
off, bag and baggage (English phrase again—ha!), send him off, bag and baggage,
by the train to-morrow!' 'Stop, stop,' says Papa; 'is he a foreigner, or an
Englishman?' 'English to the bone of his back,' I answer. 'Respectable?' says
Papa. 'Sir,' I say (for this last question of his outrages me, and I have done
being familiar with him—) 'Sir! the immortal fire of genius burns in this
Englishman's bosom, and, what is more, his father had it before him!' 'Never
mind,' says the golden barbarian of a Papa, 'never mind about his genius, Mr.
Pesca. We don't want genius in this country, unless it is accompanied by
respectability—and then we are very glad to have it, very glad indeed. Can your
friend produce testimonials—letters that speak to his character?' I wave my
hand negligently. 'Letters?' I say. 'Ha! my-soul-bless-my-soul! I should think
so, indeed! Volumes of letters and portfolios of testimonials, if you like!'
'One or two will do,' says this man of phlegm and money. 'Let him send them to
me, with his name and address. And—stop, stop, Mr. Pesca—before you go to your
friend, you had better take a note.' 'Bank-note!' I say, indignantly. 'No
bank-note, if you please, till my brave Englishman has earned it first.'
'Bank-note!' says Papa, in a great surprise, 'who talked of bank-note? I mean a
note of the terms—a memorandum of what he is expected to do. Go on with your
lesson, Mr. Pesca, and I will give you the necessary extract from my friend's
letter.' Down sits the man of merchandise and money to his pen, ink, and paper;
and down I go once again into the Hell of Dante, with my three young Misses
after me. In ten minutes' time the note is written, and the boots of Papa are
creaking themselves away in the passage outside. From that moment, on my faith,
and soul, and honour, I know nothing more! The glorious thought that I have
caught my opportunity at last, and that my grateful service for my dearest
friend in the world is as good as done already, flies up into my head and makes
me drunk. How I pull my young Misses and myself out of our Infernal Region
again, how my other business is done afterwards, how my little bit of dinner
slides itself down my throat, I know no more than a man in the moon. Enough for
me, that here I am, with the mighty merchant's note in my hand, as large as
life, as hot as fire, and as happy as a king! Ha! ha! ha!
right-right-right-all-right!" Here the Professor waved the memorandum of
terms over his head, and ended his long and voluble narrative with his shrill
Italian parody on an English cheer."… (Paragraphs from The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins)
Para saber
Dante
(1265 - 1321) fue un poeta italiano de la alta edad media. Su Divina Comedia es considerada una obra
maestra de la literatura mundial.
La
Divina Comedia es una visión de la vida después de la
muerte. Está dividido en tres partes: Inferno, Purgatorio y Paradiso. Representa
el viaje del alma hacia Dios.
Vocabulario
What the deuce?
What has
happened? (Deuce is an old word for devil) What the deuce? Who are you?
El autor
Entre 1838 y 1840 Wilkie Collins asistió a una escuela en Higbury, donde fue
atormentado por un chico que lo forzaba a contarle una historia antes de
permitirle ir a dormir:
"It was
this brute who first awakened in me, his poor little victim, a power of which
but for him I might never have been aware...When I left school I continued
story telling for my own pleasure"…
Un evento clave en su carrera sería la presentación,
en 1851, de Charles Dickens por el pintor Augustus Egg. Se convirtieron en
amigos para toda la vida y colaboradores.
Collins también escribió sobre las clases sociales,
los problemas domésticos y las mujeres.
Artículos relacionados
The
Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins.
Recursos
The Woman in
White, to listen from Internet.
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