| EN LA IMPONENTE NAVE ... | IN THE IMPOSING NAVE ... |
| Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer | trans. Brian Cole |
|
En la imponente nave del templo bizantino, vi la gótica tumba, a la indecisa luz que temblaba en los pintados vidrios. Las manos sobre el pecho, y en las manos un libro, una mujer hermosa reposaba sobre la urna, del cincel prodigio. Del cuerpo abandonado al dulce peso hundido, cual si de blanda pluma y raso fuera, se plegaba su lecho de granito. De la postrer sonrisa, el resplandor divino guardaba el rostro, como el cielo guarda del sol que muere el rayo fugitivo. Del cabezal de piedra sentados en el filo dos ángeles el dedo sobre el labio, imponían silencio en el recinto. No parecia muerta; de los arcos macizos parecía dormir en la penumbra, y que en sueños veía el paraíso. Me acerqué de la nave al ángulo sombrío, como quien llega con callada planta junto a la cuna donde duerme un niño. Le contemplé un momento, y aquel resplandor tibio, aquel lecho de piedra que ofrecía proximo al muro otro lugar vacío, en el alma avivaron la sed de lo infinito, el ansia de esa vida de la muerte, para la que un instante son los siglos ... Cansado del combate en que luchando vivo, alguna vez recuerdo con envidia aquel rincón oscuro y escondido. De aquella muda y pálida mujer, me acuerdo y digo: "¡oh, qué amor tan callado el de la muerte! ¡Qué sueño el del sepulcro tan tranquilo!" |
In the imposing nave of that Byzantine temple I saw the Gothic tomb in the uncertain light that trembled in the stained-glass windows. Her hands were on her breast, and in her hands a book, and this most beautiful woman was lying on the urn, a miracle of carving. Sinking under the weight of her sweet abandoned body her granite bed was creased as if made of the softness of feathers and of satin. Of her last sweet smile her face preserved the divine radiance, just as the heavens preserve the fleeting rays of the dying sun. Sitting at the edge of her pillow of stone two angels with fingers on their lips enjoined silence all around. She did not seem dead; she seemed to be asleep in the shadow of the massive arches, and seeing paradise in her slumber. I approached the darkness at the corner of the nave as someone walking on quiet feet would approach the cradle where a child is asleep. I looked at her for a moment as she glowed there brightly, and at her bed of stone that offered another, empty, space by the wall, and they revived in my soul the thirst for the infinite, the yearning for that life in death for which the centuries are but a moment. Weary of the battle I fight all through my life sometimes I recall with envy that retreat so dark and hidden. I recall that pale and silent woman, and say: "What a silent love is that of death! What a peaceful sleep is that of the grave!" |
Trans. copyright © Brian Cole 2003