El Joven

Chesney Wold is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls in corners of comfortless rooms, bright damask does penance in brown holland, carving and gilding puts on mortification, and the Dedlock ancestors retire from the light of day again.

Around and around the house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep.

Howls the shrill wind round Chesney Wold; the sharp rain beats, the windows rattle, and the chimneys growl. Mists hide in the avenues, veil the points of view, and move in funeral-wise across the rising grounds.

On all the house there is a cold, blank smell like the smell of a little church, though something dryer, suggesting that the dead and buried Dedlocks walk there in the long nights and leave the flavour of their graves behind them.

Pero la casa de la ciudad, que rara vez está en la misma sintonía que Chesney Wold al mismo tiempo, regocijándose rara vez cuando este se regocija o guardando luto cuando este guarda luto, salvo cuando un Dedlock muere, la casa de la ciudad resplandece despierta. Tan cálida y brillante como tanta suntuosidad puede ser, delicadamente impregnada de agradables aromas sin rastro de invierno como pueden lograrlo las flores de invernadero, suave y silenciosa de modo que solo el tic-tac de los relojes y el crepitar crujiente de los fuegos perturban la quietud en las