nesushchego menya, kogda ya skachu ot tebya: ot togo mesta, gde nahodish'sya ty, zachem mne toropit'sya? Poka ya ne budu vozvrashchat'sya, v speshke net nuzhdy. O, kakoe opravdanie najdet togda moe bednoe zhivotnoe, kogda _i_ krajnyaya bystrota _mne_ pokazhetsya medlennoj? Togda by ya daval shpory, hotya by ehal verhom na vetre, v okrylennoj skorosti ya ne priznaval by dvizheniya; togda nikakaya loshad' ne pospela by za moim zhelaniem; [poetomu] zhelanie, sostoyashchee iz sovershennoj lyubvi, s rzhaniem _neslos' by_ - ne vyalaya plot'! - v ognennoj skachke. No lyubov', radi lyubvi, tak opravdaet moego odra: raz po puti ot tebya on namerenno medlil, _po puti_ k tebe ya pomchus' _vpered_ i ostavlyu ego idti. {* V podlinnike - stilisticheskaya figura: "slow offence", bukval'no: "medlitel'naya provinnost'".} Prostit moya lyubov' bez promedlen'ya Nerastoropnost' moego konya, On s kazhdym shagom mchit menya k zabven'yu, No put' obratnyj - schast'e dlya menya. Kakoe bednyj kon' moj izvinen'e Najdet mne, esli dazhe skorost' ya Ne chuvstvuyu i shporyu v isstuplen'i Boka, kak veter, bystrogo konya. Skakun s moeyu strast'yu ne sravnitsya, CHto sotkana iz chuvstvennoj lyubvi, Ona bystrej konya lyubogo mchitsya - Konya, ogon' zhelanij, ne kori. No esli on tak medlenno idet, YA speshus' i pomchus' - ved' strast' ne zhdet. Perevod A. Kazakovoj Takoe u lyubvi est' opravdan'e Nikchemnomu konyage moemu: Kogda ot druga proch', dorogoj dal'nej, YA edu, toropit'sya ni k chemu. A stanu vozvrashchat'sya - byt' v otvete Emu pred neterpeniem moim. Togda, hotya by mchalsya on kak veter, Vse mne kazalos' by, chto my stoim. Togda moe zhelan'e nas obgonit; Ono podobno bystromu ognyu, S nim nikakie ne sravnyatsya koni - No svoego ya vse zhe izvinyu: Kol' ot tebya on plelsya ele-ele, Puskaj bredet, a sam pomchus' ya k celi. Perevod A. SHarakshane 52 So am I as the rich whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not ev'ry hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special blest, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope. YA - kak bogach, chej blagoslovennyj klyuch mozhet privesti ego k zavetnomu zapertomu sokrovishchu, kotoroe on ne stanet sozercat' kazhdyj chas, chtoby ne prituplyalas' ostrota redkostnogo udovol'stviya. Poetomu _i_ prazdniki tak torzhestvenny i tak isklyuchitel'ny, poskol'ku, nastupaya redko, oni v dolgom godu raspredeleny skupo, kak cennye kamni ili krupnye bril'yanty v ozherel'e. Tak i vremya, kotoroe hranit tebya podobno moemu sunduku {*} ili chulanu, skryvayushchemu plat'e, chtoby sdelat' kakoj-to osobyj moment osobenno schastlivym, snova otkryv zatochennyj predmet gordosti. Blagosloven ty, ch'i dostoinstva dayut svobodu: kogda _oni mne_ dostupny - torzhestvovat', kogda ya ih lishen - nadeyat'sya. {* V podlinnike, vozmozhno, igra na slove "chest", kotoroe mozhet oznachat' i "sunduk", i "grud'".} V rukah blagoslovennyj klyuch derzha, Bogach ne stanet k zlatu toropit'sya. Tak ya, svoej lyubov'yu dorozha, Ne pozvolyayu chuvstvu pritupit'sya; Ne chasty prazdniki, i kazhdyj raz Moya dusha vozlikovat' gotova, Tak v ozherel'e redkostnyj almaz - Prichina voshishcheniya lyudskogo. Skupoe Vremya pryachet vse v sunduk, Razlukoj on zovetsya - lyudi rady Laskat' ego prikosnoven'em ruk. O, kak velikolepny v nem naryady! Nadezhdoj vstrech ya v dni razluk bogat, A v mig svidan'ya - radost'yu ob®yat! Perevod I. Fradkina Kak bogachu, i mne dostupno schast'e Sokrovishche svoe obozrevat', No ya larec ne otkryvayu chasto, CHtob ostrotu blazhenstva ne teryat'. Sred' budnej prazdnik - redkoe yavlen'e, Poetomu tak yarko torzhestvo; I v ozherel'e luchshie kamen'ya CHered imeyut mezh kamnej ego. Ty Vremenem hranim, - ubor bogatyj Tak v sunduke soderzhat pod zamkom; No blizok mig! - naznachit Vremya datu I schast'e yavit v obraze tvoem. Blazhenstvo probuzhdaesh' ty - pri vstreche, Nadezhdu na nego - kogda daleche. Perevod S. SHestakova 53 What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend, Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend? Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new; Speak of the spring and foison of the year The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart. CHto eto za substanciya, iz kotoroj ty sozdan, esli milliony chuzhih tenej u tebya v usluzhenii, - ved' u kazhdogo _sozdaniya_ tol'ko odna ten', a ty, odin, mozhesh' dat' lyubuyu ten'? {*} Opishi Adonisa, i etot _slovesnyj_ portret okazhetsya plohim podrazhaniem tebe; primeni vse iskusstvo _izobrazheniya_ krasoty k _licu_ [shcheke] Eleny, i _poluchitsya, chto_ snova napisan ty, v grecheskih odeyaniyah. Zagovori o vesne i pore urozhaya v godu, _i_ odna pokazhetsya ten'yu tvoej krasoty, a drugaya predstanet tvoej shchedrost'yu, - v lyuboj blagoslovennoj forme my uznaem tebya. Vo vsyakoj vneshnej krasote est' tvoya dolya, no ty, kak nikto, _obladaesh'_, i nikto _ne obladaet_, kak ty, postoyanstvom serdca. {* "Substanciya" (substance) i "ten'" (shadow, shade) - terminy, zaimstvovannye iz filosofskogo ucheniya, voshodyashchego k ideyam Platona o tom, chto besplotnaya sushchnost' veshchej, a takzhe krasoty yavlyaetsya osnovoj vsego, "substanciej", a real'nye predmety tol'ko otrazheniya ("teni") etoj substancii.} V chem sut' tvoya, materiya, sostav, CH'i teni lyubyat nad toboj kruzhit'? My na dve teni ne imeem prav, A ty gotov hot' sotnyu odolzhit'. Adonisa prilezhno opishi - I budet gruboj kopiej tvoej, I pust' cherty Eleny horoshi, Ty sovershennyj obraz nashih dnej. Vesna i zhatva ukrashayut god, Vesna, kak ty, prekrasna i chista, A zhatva - eto ten' tvoih shchedrot, I vsyudu ty, gde svet i krasota. Kak luchshij oblik mira, ty prigozh, No vernost'yu na mir ty ne pohozh. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo V chem sut' tvoya i kem zhe sozdana Nesmetnost' neobychnyh otrazhenij? Za kazhdym ostaetsya lish' odna, Ne million emu podobnyh tenej. Izobrazim Adonisa, i vot - On zhalok po sravneniyu s toboj, V Elene prelest' drevnosti zhivet, V tebe iskusstvo bleshchet noviznoj. Rascvet vesny i urozhajnyj god V tvoih tenyah, prekrasnoe sozdan'e, V tvoih tenyah potok tvoih shchedrot My vidim vmeste s milym ochertan'em. Ty dlya dostoinstv vneshnih obrazec, A serdce - ideal dlya vseh serdec. Perevod A. Kuznecova 54 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth. O, naskol'ko krasivee kazhetsya krasota blagodarya etomu dragocennomu ukrasheniyu - dobrodeteli [vernosti]! {*} Roza prekrasna na vid, no my schitaem ee eshche bolee prekrasnoj iz-za sladostnogo aromata, kotoryj v nej zhivet. U cvetov shipovnika {**} gustaya okraska, ne ustupayushchaya koloritu aromatnyh roz; oni _rastut_ [visyat] na takih zhe shipah i trepeshchut tak zhe igrivo, kogda dyhanie leta raskryvaet ih spryatannye butony; odnako ih vneshnost' sushchestvuet tol'ko dlya nih, oni zhivut ne znaya vnimaniya i uvyadayut v bezvestnosti - umirayut, _prozhiv_ sami dlya sebya. Ne to sladostnye rozy: iz ih sladostnoj smerti delayutsya sladchajshie aromaty. Tak ot tebya, prekrasnyj i milyj yunosha, kogda eto _vneshnee ocharovanie_ projdet {***}, v stihah ostanetsya essenciya tvoej dobrodeteli. {* Po povodu sushchestvitel'nogo "truth" sm. primechanie 2 k perevodu soneta 14. ** Zdes' slovosochetanie "canker bloom" (shipovnik), veroyatno, upotrebleno s igroj na znacheniyah slova "canker" (porcha, cherv'). *** Po mneniyu kommentatorov, v etom meste originala "vade" yavlyaetsya variantom napisaniya glagola "fade"; krome togo, vozmozhna svyaz' s latinskim "vadere" (uhodit').} Kak vozrastaet sila krasoty, Kogda v nej pravda yasno govorit! I pust' nam zren'e raduyut cvety, No luchshee v nih zapah, a ne vid. SHipovnik rozam, kazhetsya, srodni. V ego butonah vse ottenki cveta, I v svoj chered kolyshutsya oni, Kogda raskroet ih dyhan'e leta. No vsya ih krasota, uvy, obman, Ih lepestki besslavno obletyat, A svezhim rozam luchshij zhrebij dan: Ih smert' rozhdaet tonkij aromat. Tak pravdu dragocennuyu tvoyu, Kak zapah roz, v stihi ya perel'yu. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo Naskol'ko zhe prelestnej krasota, Kogda ej vernost' sluzhit ukrashen'em! Prekrasny rozy, no prekrasnej ta, Gde aromat sosedstvuet s cveten'em. Hotya u roz, iz®edennyh vnutri, I cvet, i stebli, i shipy vse te zhe, I tanec lepestkov u nih igriv, Edva poveet leto vetrom svezhim. No dobrodetel' ih - odno pritvorstvo, I vse oni v zabvenii umrut. Drugim zhe znat' zabven'e ne pridetsya - V duhi ih sladkij zapah perel'yut. Kogda tvoej krasy promchatsya sroki, Vsya vernost' perel'etsya v eti stroki. Perevod V. Nikolaeva 55 Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this pow'rful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the Judgement that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. Ni mramor, ni pozolochennye monumenty gosudarej ne perezhivut etih moguchih stihov, no ty v nih budesh' siyat' yarche, chem zapushchennyj kamen', zagryaznennyj neryashlivym vremenem. Kogda opustoshitel'naya vojna oprokinet statui i raspri unichtozhat _do osnovaniya_ trud kamenshchikov, ni mech Marsa _ne pogubit_, ni bystryj ogon' vojny ne sozhzhet zhivuyu zapis' pamyati o tebe. Vopreki smerti i bespamyatnoj vrazhde ty pojdesh' vpered; hvala tebe vsegda najdet mesto v glazah vsego potomstva, kotoroe izzhivet etot mir do rokovogo konca. Tak, do Strashnogo suda, kogda ty sam vosstanesh', zhivi v etih _stihah_ i prebud' v glazah vlyublennyh. Iz mramora i zolota nadgrob'ya Zemnyh knyazej moj stih perezhivet, I budesh' ty blistat' vse toj zhe nov'yu, Kogda davno pobleknet mramor tot. Kogda vojna ih statui razrushit I oprokinet kamni stariny, Tvoyu zhivuyu pamyat' ne narushat Ni Marsa mech i ni ogon' vojny. Ne bojsya zhe ni smerti, ni zabven'ya - Ty budesh' slaven dazhe i v glazah Poslednego zemnogo pokolen'ya, Kotoroe iznosit mir vo prah. Vplot' do Suda, chto zhizn' tebe vernet, V moih stihah puskaj tvoj duh zhivet. Perevod V. Nikolaeva Nadgrobij carskih mramornaya stat' Ne dolgovechnej strof, s ih nezhnoj siloj. Zdes' budet yarche obraz tvoj siyat', CHem v zapylennom kamne nad mogiloj. Vojna povalit statui, kak smerch, Na kamne kamnya ne ostavit smuta, No ne pogubyat ni ogon', ni mech Stiha zhivogo - pamyati sosuda. Ni smerti, ni bespamyatnoj vrazhde Tebe ne stat' predelom. Budet lira Tebe hvalu rozhdat' v serdcah vezde, Vo vsem potomstve, do skonchan'ya mira. Tak, do Suda, chto ozhivit tvoj prah, Prebud' v stihah i v lyubyashchih glazah! Perevod A. SHarakshane 56 Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but today by feeding is allayed, Tomorrow sharp'ned in his former might. So, love, be thou: although today thou fill Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, Tomorrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness: Let this sad int'rim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view; As call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summers welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. Sladostnaya lyubov', vozobnovi svoyu silu, pust' ne govoryat, chto ty ne tak ostra, kak appetit, kotoryj, _hotya_ lish' segodnya utolen edoj, zavtra usilivaetsya do prezhnej ostroty. Bud' takoj i ty, lyubov': hotya segodnya ty nasyshchaesh' svoi golodnye glaza do togo, chto oni slipayutsya ot sytosti, zavtra smotri _ostrym vzglyadom_ snova, ne ubivaj duha lyubvi postoyannoj vyalost'yu. Pust' etot pechal'nyj period _presyshcheniya_ budet kak okean, razdelyayushchij berega, na kotorye novoobruchennye prihodyat kazhdyj den', chtoby kogda oni uvidyat vozvrashchenie lyubvi, tem schastlivee bylo zrelishche; ili nazovi eto zimoj, kotoraya, buduchi polna goresti, delaet leto blagoslovennym, vtrojne zhelannym, redkostnym. O duh lyubvi, vospryan'! Pust' appetit, Ne prituplyayas', vnov' ko mne vernetsya: Ved' kak by ni byl ya segodnya syt, Vovsyu nazavtra golod razov'etsya. Bud' ty takim zhe! Nynche pust' tvoi Glaza slipayutsya ot presyshchen'ya, No zavtra zapylaj, moj duh lyubvi, Tupoe odolej ocepenen'e! Podobnyj zhar dvum obruchennym dan: CHrez okean drug k drugu tyanut ruki - Ih razluchil pritihshij okean, Veshchaya vstrechu i konec razluki. Razluka slovno stuzha, chto zimoj Gotovitsya utroit' letnij znoj. Perevod I. Fradkina Lyubov', okrepni! Razve v nas silen Odin lish' appetit, chto vechno s nami, - CHto, hot' segodnya pishchej utolen, Uzh zavtra glozhet ostrymi zubami? Takoj zhe bud', lyubov': nasytish' glad Ochej svoih segodnya do dremoty, No zavtra snova alchet pust' tvoj vzglyad, CHtob ne lishilas' duha svoego ty. Pust' budet pereryv, kak shir' morej Mezh beregov, kuda vlyublennyh dvoe Prihodyat kazhdyj den', chtob tem ostrej, Vernuvshis', bylo schast'e molodoe. Il' kak zima, - ona surova k nam, Zato vtrojne my rady letnim dnyam. Perevod A. SHarakshane 57 Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu. Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave stay and think of nought Save where you are how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. Buduchi tvoim slugoj [rabom], chto mne delat', kak ne prisluzhivat' _tebe_ v chasy i momenty tvoego zhelaniya? Vremya ne imeet dlya menya cennosti, mne ne na chto ego tratit', i net _dlya menya_ nikakoj sluzhby, poka ty _ee_ ne trebuesh'. YA ne smeyu ni setovat' na beskonechno tyanushchiesya chasy, kogda ya, moj gospodin, ozhidayu tebya [sledya za chasami], ni dumat' o gorechi tosklivoj razluki, kogda ty otoslal slugu proch'. Ne smeyu ya i voproshat', v svoih revnivyh myslyah, gde ty mozhesh' byt', ili gadat' o tvoih zanyatiyah, no, kak pechal'nyj rab, _mogu tol'ko_ zhdat', ne dumaya ni o chem, krome kak o tom, kakimi schastlivymi ty delaesh' teh, _kto s toboj_. Lyubov' tak glupa, chto v tvoej prihoti, chto by ty ni delal, ne vidit nichego durnogo. Vsem slugam polagaetsya vsechasno Hozyainu bezmolvno ugozhdat'. YA povinuyus' iskrenne i strastno: Ty dlya menya i vlast', i blagodat'. YA ne hochu roptat' il' zhit' bespechno. Dni bez tebya - kak nenavistnyj plen. No ne skazhi "Proshchaj!" mne besserdechno, Ne otluchaj menya, moj suveren. Ne smeyu ya, ot revnosti sgoraya, Sprosit', v kakoj brodil ty storone. Po-rabski ya molchu, podozrevaya, CHto schast'e darish' ty ne tol'ko mne. Lyubov' glupa, kol' dumaet v nevole, CHto ty ne smozhesh' prichinit' ej boli. Perevod V. Rozova CHto delat' mne, rabu, kak ne sluzhit', Ne zhdat' gospodskoj voli iz®yavlen'ya? Na chto mne vremya - dlya chego mne zhit', Poka toboj ne vyzvan iz zabven'ya? YA ne ropshchu, kol' chas za chasom bitym Tomit'sya na postu uzhe nevmoch'; Ne smeyu gor'koj chuvstvovat' obidy, Kogda slugu ty otsylaesh' proch'. I v revnosti gadat' ya ne mogu, Gde ty i s kem, kakie ryadom lica. ZHdu, zhalkij rab, i mysli net v mozgu Inoj, kak ob udele teh schastlivcev. Lyubov' glupa, ona ne myslit zla, Kakimi b ni byli tvoi dela. Perevod A. SHarakshane 58 That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your time of pleasure, Or at your hand th'account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leasure. O let me suffer (being at your beck) Th'imprisoned absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong That you yourself may priviledge your time To what you will; to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. Da izbavit bog {*}, sdelavshij menya tvoim rabom, chtoby ya v myslyah sledil za momentami tvoih razvlechenij ili zhelal poluchit' iz tvoih ruk otchet o _provedennyh_ chasah, buduchi tvoim slugoj, obyazannym dozhidat'sya, kogda u tebya budet dosug _dlya menya_. O, pust' ya budu, ozhidaya, chto ty pomanish', terpet' eto tyuremnoe zaklyuchenie - razluku po tvoej prihoti {**}, i pust' terpenie, poslushnoe stradaniyu, snosit lyuboj otkaz, ne obvinyaya tebya v obide. Bud' gde pozhelaesh'; tvoi privilegii tak veliki, chto ty mozhesh' svobodno otdavat' svoe vremya chemu zahochesh', _i_ tebe prinadlezhit pravo proshchat' sebya za sobstvennye pregresheniya. Mne ostaetsya zhdat', hotya takoe ozhidanie - ad, ne osuzhdaya tvoi razvlecheniya, bud' oni durny ili horoshi. {* Kupidon. ** V podlinnike - stilisticheskaya figura: "imprisoned absence of your liberty", bukval'no: "zaklyuchennaya v tyur'mu razluka tvoej voli".} I v myslyah bog, nadevshij mne okovy, Mne zapretil v dosug vtorgat'sya tvoj I trebovat' otcheta v nem surovo - Vassal ya, zhdu, vsegda ya pod rukoj. V okovah, ya - okovy, - ponimayu, Zovi - primchat'sya ya ne preminu, Gotov ya zhdat', upreki prinimayu I nikogda tebya ne upreknu. Gde hochesh' bud'. Ty obladaesh' pravom Raspisyvat' scheta svoih minut I sud vershit' svoim delam nepravym, I ne yavlyat'sya v etot strogij sud. Tvoih zabav, bud' horoshi il' plohi, Ne osuzhdayu, sderzhivaya vzdohi. Perevod S. Stepanova Bog, sdelavshij menya tvoim rabom, Da upaset, chtob ya tvoim dosugam Uchet vesti pytalsya il' umom V nih pronikat', - ya tvoj vassal k uslugam! Pust' budu ya, stradaya, zhdat' tebya, Kak uznik ozhidaet vysshej voli, Privychno unizheniya terpya, Tebya v svoej ne uprekaya boli. Gde hochesh' bud' i trat' na vse lady CHasy svoi - vol'ny tvoi reshen'ya. CHto hochesh' delaj - mozhesh' tol'ko ty Sebe prostit' svoi zhe pregreshen'ya. YA budu zhdat', hot' ozhidan'e - ad, Tebya prostiv zaranee stokrat. Perevod A. SHarakshane 59 If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss The second burthen of a former child! O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame: Whether we are mended, or whe'er better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O sure I am the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise. Esli v _mire_ net nichego novogo, a to, chto est', bylo prezhde {*}, to kak obmanyvaetsya nash um, kotoryj, v tvorcheskih mukah, zabluzhdayas', daet vtoroe rozhdenie uzhe byvshemu rebenku! O, esli by arhivy, oziraya proshloe hot' za pyat'sot vitkov solnca, pokazali mne tvoj obraz v kakoj-nibud' drevnej knige, _napisannoj_ s teh por, kak vpervye mysl' byla vyrazhena v pis'menah, chtoby ya mog uvidet', chto drevnij mir smog skazat' ob etom chude - tvoem slozhenii: my li usovershenstvovalis', oni li _byli_ luchshe, ili zhe krugooborot _vsego sushchego_ nichego ne menyaet. O, ya uveren, chto umy prezhnih dnej voznosili voshishchennuyu hvalu hudshim predmetam. {* V sonete otrazilis' idushchie ot Knigi Ekklesiasta i antichnyh filosofov predstavleniya o ciklicheskih izmeneniyah vsego v prirode, privodyashchih k beskonechnym povtoreniyam, bez kakogo-libo razvitiya.} Obmanut razum mira noviznoj, Votshche stremyas' rodit' nepovtorimost', Vse, chto sluchilos' nekogda so mnoj, V inyh sobyt'yah obretaet zrimost'. YA siloj mysli v glub' vekov pronik, Ih mudrost' nam v soznan'e perelita, Tam obraz tvoj v odnu iz drevnih knig Voshel s izobreten'em alfavita. No vremennaya sheluha zemli Tesna ej, kak iznoshennoe plat'e, Tvoi cherty stolet'ya pronesli CHerez inoe zhizni vospriyat'e. Ne veryu ya, chto proshlogo umy Lyubili tak zhe sil'no, kak i my! Perevod L. Gavrilovoj Kol' mir lish' povtorenie vremen I nichego net novogo, vse bylo, I um nash, mnimoj vydumkoj prel'shchen, Na to, chto rozhdeno, zrya tratit sily, - Togda pust' vzor moj, ishchushchij v vekah, Na sotni solnc obratno vozvratitsya, Pust' obraz tvoj v starinnyh pis'menah Najdu, listaya pervyh knig stranicy. Uznal by ya, kak peli v vek byloj Tvoj chudnyj lik, kakim glagolom nezhnym; CH'e luchshe: nashe ili ih stilo? Il' v samom dele mir ostalsya prezhnim? O, veryu: slaven drevnij ideal - I vse zh tebe vo vsem on ustupal! Perevod S. SHestakova 60 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time does transfix the flourish set on youth. And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Podobno tomu kak volny, napiraya, dvizhutsya k kamenistomu beregu, tak nashi minuty speshat k svoemu koncu, kazhdaya smenyaya tu, chto ej predshestvuet, - upornoj cheredoj vse stremyatsya vpered. Rozhdenie, edva poyavivshis' na svet, polzet, _kak ditya_, k zrelosti, a lish' tol'ko uvenchaetsya eyu, krivye zatmeniya opolchayutsya na ego velikolepie i Vremya, kotoroe darilo, teper' gubit svoj dar. Vremya pronzaet cvet yunosti i roet borozdy na lbu krasoty, kormitsya vsem redkostnym i podlinnym v prirode, i vse zhivet lish' dlya togo, chtoby byt' skoshennym ego kosoj. I vse zhe do gryadushchih vremen dozhivut moi stihi, voshvalyayushchie tvoyu krasotu vopreki ego zhestokoj ruke. Kak volny na skalistye ustupy Begut, tesnyas', tak chereda minut Speshit k koncu, gde kazhdaya ustupit Svoi prava drugoj, i vse ujdut. Rozhdenie, chut' svet uvidev Bozhij, Stremitsya k zrelosti, no s toj pory Nimb sovershenstva ten' krivaya glozhet, I Vremya gubit vse svoi dary: Cvetushchih let naryad isportit bresh'yu, Izborozdit chelo samoj krasy, Redchajshie plody pozhnet nebrezhno - Vse lish' pozhiva dlya ego kosy. No vopreki ruke ego zhestokoj Moj stih tebya vospel dlya slavy dolgoj! Perevod A. SHarakshane Kak volnam, nabegayushchim na breg, Tak i minutam nashim bystrotechnym Okonchit' suzhdeno svoj trudnyj beg, Poocheredno udalyayas' v vechnost'. Rodivshis' v more sveta i potom Dostignuv polnoj zrelosti, svetilo Utratit blesk v zatmenii krivom, - Pogubit Vremya to, chem odarilo. Izborozdit ono chelo krasy, Cvet yunosti ub'et sebe v ugodu, - Bezzhalostnoj ne izbezhit kosy Vse luchshee, chto sozdano prirodoj. No ne vsevlastna Vremeni ruka, V stihah moih ty budesh' zhit' veka. Perevod S. SHestakova 61 Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? O no, thy love, though much, is not so great; It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near. Po tvoej li vole tvoj obraz ne daet zakryt'sya moim tyazhelym vekam v tomitel'noj nochi? Ty li zhelaesh', chtoby moya drema obryvalas', kogda teni, pohozhie na tebya, obmanyvayut moe zrenie? Tvoj li eto duh, poslannyj toboj tak daleko ot doma podglyadyvat' za moimi delami, chtoby obnaruzhit' u menya postydnye postupki i chasy prazdnosti, _v chem sostoit_ cel' i smysl {*} tvoej revnosti? O net: tvoya lyubov', hotya i sil'na, vse zhe ne tak velika; eto moya lyubov' ne daet moim glazam zakryt'sya, moya sobstvennaya istinnaya lyubov' pobezhdaet moj otdyh, chtoby _mne_ byt' v roli strazha dlya tebya. Za toboj ya slezhu, kogda ty bodrstvuesh' v drugom meste, daleko ot menya, slishkom blizko k drugim. {* V originale -"tenure", chto, po mneniyu issledovatelej, sleduet chitat' kak "teno(u)r" (smysl, soderzhanie).} Il' ty nisposylaesh' utomlen'e - Glaz ne mogu somknut' poroj nochnoj? Il' eto teni, vestniki muchen'ya, S toboj druzhny, smeyutsya nado mnoj? Il' eto duh tvoj, poslannyj toboyu, CHtob revnostno vsegda za mnoj sledit' - Zametiv pregreshenie lyuboe, V nevernosti menya izoblichit'? O net, menya ne lyubish' ty nastol'ko, CHtob moj pokoj narushit' v pozdnij chas, - To ya lyublyu! I do togo mne gor'ko, CHto vnov' ya, strazh tvoj, ne smykayu glaz. Lyubov' stoit na strazhe v tishine, Poka k drugim ty blizhe, chem ko mne. Perevod I. Fradkina Tvoej li volej mne nochami dolgo Glaz ne dayut somknut' tvoi cherty I drema obryvaetsya, lish' tol'ko V igre tenej prividish'sya mne ty? Il' eto duh tvoj priletel bez tela Sledit' za mnoyu, chtob k ishodu dnya V delah postydnyh i chasah bezdel'ya, Pitaya revnost', ulichat' menya? O net! Lyubvi tvoej by ne hvatilo, CHtob sna lishit'. Moya zhe tak sil'na, Tak velika, chto otdyh pobedila, Velev na strazhe byt', ne znaya sna. I vidit strazh tvoj neusypnym vzglyadom: Ty daleko, ne spish', i kto-to ryadom. Perevod A. SHarakshane 62 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account, And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopped with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity. Tis thee (my self) that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. Greh sebyalyubiya celikom vladeet moimi glazami i vsej moej dushoj i vsem mnoj bezrazdel'no, i ot etogo greha net isceleniya, tak gluboko on ukorenilsya v moem serdce. Mne kazhetsya, chto ni u kogo net takogo ocharovatel'nogo lica, kak u menya, takoj sovershennoj formy, takoj bol'shoj dobrodeteli, i ya sam opredelyayu sobstvennoe dostoinstvo, poskol'ku ya vseh drugih po vsem dostoinstvam prevoshozhu. No kogda moe zerkalo pokazyvaet mne menya _takim, kakov_ ya na samom dele, potaskannogo, v glubokih morshchinah {*}, zadublennogo ot vremeni, svoyu lyubov' k sebe ya ponimayu naoborot: tak lyubit' sebya bylo by chudovishchno; eto tebya - to est' sebya - ya voshvalyayu v sebe, ukrashaya svoyu starost' krasotoj tvoih dnej. {* Po mneniyu kommentatorov, "chopped" zdes' sleduet chitat' kak "chapped" (potreskavshijsya, v glubokih morshchinah).} Greh samomneniya vladeet mnoj - Umom, glazami, kazhdoj chast'yu tela, Vsej sokrovennoj serdca glubinoj, - Lyublyu sebya bezmerno i vsecelo. Mne kazhetsya, chto v mire net lica Prekrasnee, strojnej teloslozhen'ya. I net moim dostoinstvam konca - YA vseh prevoshozhu, bez isklyuchen'ya. No stoit zerkalu sorvat' pokrov I chestno otrazit' moj vid iskonnyj, Samoobman svoj vizhu, hot' darov CHuzhih ya ne hvatayu bezzakonno: YA vozrast svoj i vse, chto mne dano, Sveryayu po tebe. Ved' my - odno. Perevod O. Dudoladovoj Greh sebyalyub'ya zaslonyaet svet I napolnyaet vzor i dushu mne. Ot etogo greha lekarstva net - On zaklyuchen u serdca v glubine. Mne kazhetsya, prekrasnej net lica, I obraza milej ne nahozhu. Sebya ya uveryayu bez konca, CHto ya vo vsem drugih prevoshozhu.