Leopoldo Alas (1852-1901)
Alas, who often wrote under the pseudonym of “Clarin,” was born at Zamora. Studying first for the law, he went to Madrid, where he worked as journalist and literary critic. He was for some time a professor of Political Economy, and later of Law. His chief contributions to Spanish literature are novels and tales. Adios, Carder a! unlike his longer works, is a quiet and sentimental story, consistently charming and thoroughly Spanish.
The present version is translated by Walter Brooks, in the volume Retold in English, copyright, 1905, by Brentano`s, by whose permission it is here used.
Adios, Cordera!
Same three—Rosa, Pinin, and “La
The meadow “Somonte” was a triangular patch of velvety green spread out like a carpet at the foot of the hill. Its lower angle extended as far as the railway track from Oviedo to Gijon, and a telegraph post standing like a flag-pole in the corner of the field represented to Rosa and Pinin the world without; a world unknown, mysterious, and forever to be dreaded and ignored.
Pinin, after seriously considering the subject as he watched from day to day this tranquil and inoffensive post, finally came to the conclusion that it was trying its best to be simply a dried tree, nothing more, and to give the impression that its glass cups were some strange fruit, so he gained sufficient confidence to climb up almost to the wires. He never went as far as the cups, for they reminded him too strongly of some of the sacred vessels in the church, and he was able to shake off a feeling of awe only when he had slid down again and planted his feet safely on the green sod.
Rosa, less audacious, but more enamored of the unknown, contented herself with sitting beneath the telegraph post for hours at a time and listening to the wind as it drew a weird metallic song from the wires and mingled it with sighs from the heart of the pine.
At times these vibrations seemed to be music, and then again to Rosa they were whispers traveling along the wires from an unknown to an unknown. She had no curiosity to learn what people on opposite sides of the world were saying to one another. It mattered naught to her; she only listened to the sound with its melody and mystery.
Read More about Customized tour Bulgaria
