narrative


  • Original title: Xingu and Other Stories

  • Author: Edith Wharton

  • Date of publication: 1916

  • Literary genre: Narrative, fiction

  • Languages: English > Spanish

  • Format: Word

  • Synopsis:

    “Xingu” is a witty account of the Hillbridge Lunch Club, a gathering of “indomitable huntresses of erudition”—hypocrites and snobs, with the single exception of a newcomer, Mrs. Roby—who entertain a famous woman author. Her indifference to the “topics” advanced for discussion ends only when Mrs. Roby refers familiarly to “Xingu,” an esoteric subject that she and the other members then pretend to know thoroughly. The ladies of the Lunch Club discover the Xingu to be a Brazilian river, and, crestfallen and indignant, expel Mrs. Roby. “Coming Home,” a story of the World War, is concerned with a young Frenchwoman who gives herself to a German officer to save her fiancé's home and family from destruction. The fiancé takes revenge by murdering the German, now a wounded prisoner, who is entrusted to his care. “Autres Temps …” is a poignant tale of a woman's personal tragedy, contrasting the attitudes toward divorce of two generations of New York society. “Kerfol” and “The Triumph of Night” are subtle delineations of ghosts, mystery, and terror. “Bunner Sisters,” a novelette, tells of the lives of two commonplace spinsters who operate a small shop near Stuyvesant Square, in 19th-century New York City.

    (Text by Oxford Reference).

  • O.T.

    What had the club been absorbed in? Mrs. Ballinger, with a vague purpose of gaining time, repeated slowly: “We’ve been so intensely absorbed in—”

    Mrs. Roby put down her liqueur glass and drew near the group with a smile.

    “In Xingu?” she gently prompted.

    [...]

    “Xingu, of course!” exclaimed the latter with her accustomed promptness, while Miss Van Vluyck and Laura Glyde seemed to be plumbing the depths of memory.

    […]

    “Xingu—” she said, as if seeking in her turn to gain time.

    Mrs. Roby continued to press her. “Knowing how engrossing the subject is, you will understand how it happens that the club has let everything else go to the wall for the moment. Since we took up Xingu I might almost say—were it not for your books—that nothing else seems to us worth remembering.”

    […]

    Osric Dane’s stern features were darkened rather than lit up by an uneasy smile. “I am glad to hear that you make one exception,” she gave out between narrowed lips.

    “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Roby said prettily; “but as you have shown us that—so very naturally! —you don’t care to talk of your own things, we really can’t let you off from telling us exactly what you think about Xingu; especially,” she added, with a still more persuasive smile, “as some people say that one of your last books was saturated with it.”

    It was an it, then—the assurance sped like fire through the parched minds of the other members. In their eagerness to gain the least little clue to Xingu they almost forgot the joy of assisting at the discomfiture of Mrs. Dane.

    […]

    There was a portentous pause, a silence so big with incalculable dangers that the members with one accord checked the words on their lips, like soldiers dropping their arms to watch a single combat between their leaders. Then Mrs. Dane gave expression to their inmost dread by saying sharply: “Ah—you say the Xingu, do you?”

    Mrs. Roby smiled undauntedly. “It is a shade pedantic, isn’t it? Personally, I always drop the article; but I don’t know how the other members feel about it.”

  • T.T.

    ¿Qué era aquello que había tenido tan embelesados a los miembros del club? La señora Ballinger, con su vago empeño por ganar tiempo, repitió pausadamente:

    —Hemos estado tan sumamente embelesados por…

    La señora Roby dejó la copa de licor en la mesa y se aproximó al resto con una sonrisa.

    —¿Xingú? —dijo educadamente a modo de ayuda.

    […]

    —¡Naturalmente, Xingú! —exclamó la última con su habitual rapidez mientras la señorita Van Vluyck y Laura Glyde parecían estar excavando en las profundidades de su memoria.

    […]

    —Xingú —afirmó, como si pretendiera con ello ganar tiempo.

    La señora Roby continuó avasallándola.

    —Teniendo en cuenta lo seductor que es este asunto, comprenderá usted que el club haya dejado de lado todo lo demás temporalmente. Desde que emprendimos Xingú se podría decir que, a excepción de sus libros, no merece la pena abordar ninguna otra cuestión.

    […]

    Los rasgos severos de Osric Dane, en vez de afinarse, se acentuaron al esbozar una sonrisa tensa.

    —Me complace saber que hacen ustedes una excepción —dijo a regañadientes.

    —¡Ah, ni que decirlo tiene! —dijo la señora Roby con gracia—. Pero como nos ha demostrado usted que, naturalmente, no le importa hablar de sus propios asuntos, de ninguna manera podemos permitirle que se guarde su opinión sobre Xingú. Especialmente —añadió con una sonrisa más convincente si cabe—, ya que algunos aseguran que uno de sus últimos libros estaba empapado de ello.

    Entonces, se trataba de una cosa. Esa certeza se propagó como la pólvora por las mentes sedientas del resto de mujeres. Tal era su desesperación por obtener aunque fuera una pista sobre Xingú, que casi se les olvida el deleite de apreciar el sofoco de la señora Dane.

    […]

    Entonces, hubo una pausa ominosa, un silencio tan inmenso y colmado de riesgos incalculables que el resto de mujeres, al unísono, se quedaron calladas, como soldados que deponen las armas ante un duelo entre sus líderes. Entonces, la señora Dane dejó ver su miedo más recóndito al decir con brusquedad:

    —Ah, se refiere al Xingú, ¿verdad?

    La señora Roby esbozó una sonrisa impertérrita.

    —Resulta un poco pedante, ¿no cree? Yo, personalmente, procuro omitir el artículo, pero no sé qué opinan el resto de miembros al respecto.