No zerkalo pokazhet mne, kak est', Poblekshee ot vozrasta chelo, CHtob mog ya vozrazhenie prochest', Uznat', chto sebyalyub'e - eto zlo. Tebya hvalil ya, a ne oblik svoj, Sebya tvoej spasaya krasotoj. Perevod V. Nikolaeva 63 Against my love shall be as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn; When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travelled on to age's steepy night, And all those beauties whereof now he's king Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring: For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in them still green. Protiv _togo vremeni, kogda_ moj vozlyublennyj stanet takim, kak ya sejchas - razbitym i potrepannym gubitel'noj rukoj Vremeni, - kogda chasy istoshchat ego krov' i pokroyut ego lob liniyami i morshchinami; kogda ego yunoe utro poedet po krutoj _doroge k_ nochi starosti i vse te krasoty, korolem kotoryh on yavlyaetsya sejchas, budut ischezat' ili _uzhe_ ischeznut s glaz, pohishchaya sokrovishche ego vesny, - dlya takogo vremeni ya sejchas stroyu ukrepleniya protiv zhestokogo nozha gubitel'noj starosti, chtoby on ne vyrezal iz pamyati krasotu moego vozlyublennogo, hotya _etot nozh unichtozhit_ ego zhizn'. Ego krasota budet vidna v etih chernyh strokah, - oni budut zhit', i on v nih _prebudet_ cvetushchim. YA sohranyu v vekah moyu lyubov'; Kogda goda bezzhalostnoj rukoyu Izrezhut lob, a v staryh zhilah krov' Poholodeet; utro molodoe Nezhdanno perejdet v gluhuyu noch', A prelest' molodogo korolya Sojdet na net, ujdet ot vzorov proch', Vesnoj tvoya ne zacvetet zemlya; K tem vremenam gotovlyus' ya sejchas Bezzhalostnomu Vremeni nazlo, Ne vyrezat' iz pamyati u nas Vsego, chto bylo milo i svetlo. V strokah stihov ot Vremeni tayu Lyubov', krasu i molodost' tvoyu. Perevod A. Kuznecova Dlya toj pory, kogda lyubimyj budet, Kak ya, potrepan Vremeni rukoj, I gody v zhilah krov' ego ostudyat, Lob ischertiv, i po trope krutoj Ego mladoe utro k nochi s®edet, I prelestyami, chto emu dany, Kak korolyu - strana, on stanet beden, Vse rasteryav sokrovishcha vesny, Dlya toj pory ya oboronu stroyu, - Hot' ot kosy smertel'noj ne ujdesh', - Ne dam emu, s takoyu krasotoyu, Iz pamyati propast', popav pod nozh. V strokah chernil'nyh yavitsya zhivushchim On v polnoj krasote, vsegda cvetushchim. Perevod A. SHarakshane 64 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down rased, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate: That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. Kogda ya vizhu, kak obezobrazheno besposhchadnoj rukoj Vremeni to, chto bylo bogatstvom i gordost'yu izzhitogo i pohoronennogo veka; kogda ya vizhu poroj, chto srovneny s zemlej velichestvennye bashni i vechnaya bronza vo vlasti smertel'noj stihii _razrusheniya_; kogda ya vizhu, kak golodnyj okean nastupaet na carstvo sushi, a tverdaya pochva oderzhivaet pobedu nad vodami, uvelichivaya izobilie za schet poter' i poteri za schet izobiliya; kogda ya vizhu takie peremeny v sostoyanii ili to, kak vysshee sostoyanie prihodit k krahu, - vse eto razrushenie uchit menya dumat': takoe Vremya pridet i zaberet moyu lyubov'. |ta mysl' podobna smerti, s nej ostaetsya tol'ko rydat' o tom, chto imeesh', no boish'sya poteryat'. Kogda ya vizhu, kak smetaet Vremya Vse to, chemu prishla pora istlet', Kak bashni valit v prah stoletij bremya I gnev svergaet monumentov med'. Kogda ya vizhu, kak vstupayut v spor Golodnyj okean i berega, Utratam tyagostnym naperekor Trofei zabiraya u vraga, Kogda ya vizhu strannyj hod veshchej, Neizlechimo portyashchij stranu, Vse govorit, chto i lyubvi moej Ne sdobrovat' u Vremeni v plenu. Mysl' eta - smert', i bol'no povtoryat', CHto ya vladeyu, chtoby poteryat'. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo Kogda sedogo vremeni svirepost' Krushit pompeznost' gorduyu epoh, I v pyl' drobit nezyblemuyu krepost', I med' lituyu odevaet v moh; Kogda u sushi okean golodnyj Pribrezh'e pozhiraet kazhdyj chas, A tverd' zemnaya u stihii vodnoj Beret svoe i grabit pro zapas; Kogda vetshayut strany-ispoliny I gosudarstv kolebletsya oplot, Mne govoryat upavshie ruiny - Prohodit vse. Tak i lyubov' projdet. A s nej i zhizn'. Smert' vybirat' ne mozhet I to ub'et, chto nam vsego dorozhe. Perevod V. Savina 65 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? O fearful meditation! Where, alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold this swift foot back, Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. Raz bronzu, i kamen', i zemlyu, i beskrajnee more - _vse_ peresilivaet priskorbnaya brennost', kak zhe protiv etoj stihii _vystupat'_ [sudit'sya] krasote, ch'i pozicii ne sil'nee, chem u cvetka? O kak medovomu dyhaniyu leta ustoyat' protiv unichtozhayushchej osady sokrushitel'nyh dnej, kogda nepristupnye skaly ne tak krepki i stal'nye vorota ne tak prochny, chtoby izbezhat' razrusheniya Vremenem? O pugayushchaya mysl'! Uvy, gde _zhe_ luchshij dragocennyj kamen' Vremeni ukroetsya ot sunduka Vremeni? {*} Ili - kakaya sil'naya ruka mozhet uderzhat' ego (_Vremeni_) bystrye nogi, ili - kto mozhet zapretit' emu porchu krasoty? O, nikto, esli tol'ko ne sovershitsya to chudo, chto v moih chernilah moya lyubov' budet vechno yarko siyat'. {* Smysl metafory "sunduk vremeni" (Time's chest) ne vpolne yasen; vozmozhno, imeetsya v vidu, chto Vremya v konechnom itoge vseh pryachet, kak v sunduk, v nebytie i zabvenie; s drugoj storony, vozmozhno, eto prosto evfemizm, oznachayushchij "grob".} No tshchetno more, susha, kamen', med' Gordyatsya moshch'yu - im naznachen srok. Kak krasote togda ne umeret', Kogda ona nezhnee, chem cvetok? Kak tronut' smert' bessiliem cvetka, Kakoj najti ot vremeni zaslon, Kogda krushat bezzhalostno veka I stal' mechej, i gordyj stroj kolonn? O, krik dushi! Gde krasotu ukryt'? Kto strelki otodvinet na chasah I vremeni prikazhet otstupit', CHtob cvet vremen ne obratilsya v prah? Uvy, nikto. No yarche vseh svetil Ty zasiyaesh' iz moih chernil. Perevod B. Kushnera I med', i kamen', i zemlya, i more V pechal'noj smerti obretut itog. A krasote chto delat' v etom spore - Bezvrednoj i bessil'noj, kak cvetok? Kak proderzhat'sya zolotomu letu V osade nadvigayushchihsya dnej? Ved' dazhe skal nesokrushimyh netu, A Vremya - stali kovanoj prochnej. Mne strashno. Znachit, Vremya poteryalo Svoj nerazmennyj slitok zolotoj. Kto Vremeni velit nachat' snachala? Kto zapretit torgovlyu krasotoj? Nikto. I vot na chernye chernila Moya lyubov' ves' belyj svet smenila. Perevod V. Orla 66 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry: As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these, from these would I he gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. Ustav ot vsego etogo, ya vzyvayu k smerti, - _ustav_ videt' dostoinstvo ot rodu nishchim, i zhalkoe nichtozhestvo, naryazhennoe v roskosh', i chistejshuyu veru, ot kotoroj zlobno otreklis', i pozolochennye pochesti, pozorno vozdavaemye ne po zaslugam, i devstvennuyu dobrodetel', kotoruyu grubo prostituiruyut, i istinnoe sovershenstvo, nepravedno opozorennoe, i silu, kotoruyu shatkoe pravlenie sdelalo nemoshchnoj, i iskusstvo, kotoromu vlast' svyazala yazyk, i blazh', s uchenym vidom rukovodyashchuyu znaniem, i bezyskusnuyu chestnost', kotoruyu prozvali glupost'yu, i poraboshchennoe dobro v usluzhenii u glavenstvuyushchego zla, - ustav ot vsego etogo, ya by ot etogo ushel, no _menya ostanavlivaet_, chto, umerev, ya ostavlyu svoyu lyubov' v odinochestve. Izmotan vsem, gotov prosit' konca - Ujti ot obezdolennyh zaslug, Ot nishchenskoj veselosti slepca, Ot very, slishkom pravednoj dlya muk, Ot mnimoj chesti, alchushchej nagrad, Ot sovershenstv, oslavlennyh vezde, Ot chistoty, soglasnoj na razvrat, Ot sil, u vlastnoj nemoshchi v uzde, Ot mysli, v unizhenii nemoj, Ot masterstva, sudimogo glupcom, Ot pravdy, chto zovetsya prostotoj, Ot dobroty, smirennoj pered zlom, - Izmotan vsem, i smert' menya manit, I lish' lyubov' utraty ne prostit. Perevod I. Asterman Zovu ya smert'. Tak videt' ya ustal Zaslugi v rubishche na sklone let, Nichtozhestv, podnyatyh na p'edestal, I vernosti narushennyj obet, I chest', chto kak stydlivaya raba, I devstvennost', chto v zhertvu prinesli, I mudrost' u pozornogo stolba, I moshch', kotoroj nuzhny kostyli, I muzu, u kotoroj klyap vo rtu, I um, chto glupost' cep'yu oplela, I pravdu, chto slyvet za prostotu, I plennoe dobro v zastenkah zla. Ustal... I v zemlyu leg by ne skorbya, No kak, moj drug, ostavlyu zdes' tebya? Perevod A. Vasil'chikova Dushoj ustav, ya plachu o konchine. Net sily videt' muki nishchety, I pustotu v likuyushchej lichine, I sovershenstvo - zhertvoj klevety, I devstvennost', chto prodana razvratu, I prostotu, chto prevratilas' v sram, I very povsemestnuyu utratu, I neumestnoj slavy fimiam, I glupost', pouchayushchuyu vechno, I vlast', ostanovivshuyu pero, I moshch' v plenu u merzkogo uvech'ya, I zlom poraboshchennoe dobro. Dushoj ustav, usnul by ya sovsem, No kak tebya ostavit' s etim vsem? Perevod B. Kushnera Izmuchen vsem, "Pridi zhe, smert'!" - krichu: YA vizhu chest', chto nishchej rozhdena, I pustotu, odetuyu v parchu, I veru, chto davno oskvernena, I styd, i neumestnost' vozvyshen'ya, I devstvennost', chto vtyanuta v razvrat, I sovershenstvo v polnom unizhen'e, I silu, chto bolezni tyagotyat, I Muzu, chej vlastyami skovan rot, I glupost', chto kak mentor - remeslu, I pravdu, chto naivnost'yu slyvet, I plennoe dobro na sluzhbe zlu. Izmuchen vsem, ushel by ot vsego, No kak tebya ostavit' odnogo? Perevod V. Nikolaeva YA smert' zovu. YA do smerti ustal - Ot gordosti, idushchej v prizhivalki, Ot pustoty, zanyavshej p'edestal, Ot vymuchennoj very iz-pod palki, Ot srama ordenov i galunov, Ot zhenshchin teh, chto smolodu propali, Ot sily pod pyatoyu boltunov, Ot mudrogo velichiya v opale, Ot vdohnoveniya ispodtishka, Ot prostoty, v kotoroj netu proka, Ot znaniya v rukah u duraka, Ot dobroty v podruchnyh u poroka... YA tak ustal.. No esli smert' primu, Kuda tebe devat'sya odnomu? Perevod V. Orla YA smert' zovu, mne v tyagost' etot svet, Gde maetsya dostoinstvo v nuzhde, I gde nichtozhestvo zhivet bez bed, I chistoj very ne syskat' nigde, I pochesti dayutsya bez zaslug, I chest' devich'yu treplyut na torgah, I sovershenstvu strashen podlyj sluh, I chahnet moshch' u nemoshchi v rukah, I vlast' iskusstvu zaperla usta, I blazh' v upravu znanie vzyala, I iskrennost' zovetsya "prostota", I pod pyatoj dobro zhivet u zla, - Ustal ya i bezhal by ot vsego, No kak ya broshu druga svoego? Perevod A. SHarakshane 67 Ah wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve, And lace itself with his society? Why should false painting imitate his cheek, And steal dead seeming of his living hue? Why should poor beauty indirectly seek Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins, For she hath no exchequer now but his, And proud of many, lives upon his gains? O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, In days long since, before these last so bad. O pochemu zhe on dolzhen zhit' _v odno vremya_ s porokom i svoim prisutstviem skrashivat' nechestivost', chtoby greh blagodarya emu poluchil preimushchestvo i prochno svyazal sebya s ego obshchestvom? Pochemu fal'shivaya kraska dolzhna podrazhat' ego shcheke i krast' mertvoe podobie u ego zhivogo cveta _lica_? Pochemu dolzhna ubogaya krasota obmannym putem dobyvat' podobiya roz, poskol'ku ego roza istinna? {*} Pochemu on dolzhen zhit' sejchas, kogda Priroda obankrotilas', obnishchav krov'yu, sposobnoj napolnit' kraskoj zhivye veny, tak kak u nee ne ostalos' drugoj kazny, krome ego _krasoty_, i, gordyas' mnogimi _svoimi tvoreniyami_, ona zhivet tol'ko za ego schet? O, ona hranit ego, chtoby pokazat', kakim bogatstvom ona obladala v dni davno proshedshie, do etih poslednih, takih plohih. {* S uchetom filosofskoj frazeologii (sm. primechanie k perevodu soneta 53), stroki 7-8 mozhno istolkovat' takim obrazom: "Pochemu poddel'naya krasota dolzhna imet' vozmozhnost' imitirovat' ego krasotu, kotoraya yavlyaetsya voploshchennym idealom?"} Zachem on ot zarazy ne bezhit I terpit lozh', caryashchuyu vokrug? Ved' greh ego povsyudu storozhit I l'net k nemu, kak samyj luchshij drug. Zachem pod cvet ego rumyanyh shchek Speshit nepravda kraski podgonyat', Iskat' dlya krasoty krivyh dorog I ten'yu rozy rozu zamenyat'? Zachem on nuzhen v nashi vremena, Kogda koncov Priroda ne svedet? Zatem, chto on teper' - ee kazna. Gordyas' drugimi, im ona zhivet. Ona zapoluchila etot klad Ne v dni poter', a mnogo let nazad. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo Zachem soboj mir gryaznyj ukrashaya, Okazyvaet on beschest'yu chest', Porochnost' milostivo priglashaya S Dobrom i Krasotoyu ryadom sest'? Zachem fal'sh' pribegaet k lozhnoj kraske, Rumyanec pohishchaya s yunyh shchek? Zachem potrebny bednym rozam maski? Zachem ego krasu berut na srok? Zatem, chto obankrotilas' Priroda - Ne ta segodnya, chto byla vchera: Kazna pusta, bylogo net dohoda I zhit' dolzhna za schet ego dobra. Hranit Priroda prezhnej moshchi sled, Kotoroj u nee segodnya net. Perevod I. Fradkina 68 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head; Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: In him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, itself and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; And him as for a map doth Nature store, To show false Art what beauty was of yore. Takim obrazom, ego _lico_ [shcheka] - obrazec minuvshih dnej, kogda krasota zhila i umirala, kak teper' - cvety, do togo, kak eti nezakonnye simvoly krasoty stali nosit'sya lyud'mi i posmeli poselit'sya na zhivom lbu; do togo, kak zolotistye lokony mertvyh - dostoyanie mogil - stali otstrigat'sya, chtoby poluchit' druguyu zhizn' na drugoj golove, prezhde chem mertvaya shevelyura krasoty stala ukrashat' drugogo. V nem vidny eti blagoslovennye starye vremena - _krasota_ bez priukrashivanij, podlinnaya i istinnaya, kogda ne tvorili sebe leto iz chuzhogo cveteniya, ne ograblyali starogo, chtoby dat' svoej krasote novyj naryad. I Priroda ego hranit kak obrazec, chtoby pokazat' fal'shivomu Iskusstvu, kakoj krasota byla prezhde. I potomu on - obraz prezhnih dnej, Kogda svobodno krasota zhila, Poka pozor iskusstvennyh zatej Eshche nam ne nadelal stol'ko zla, Kogda s umershih zoloto volos Eshche ne vozvrashchala nam zemlya, CHtob mertvyj lokon snova sluzhbu nes, Vladelicu zhivuyu veselya. V nem viden otsvet teh vremen svyatyh, Kogda vo vsem hranili chistotu I dlya zaemnyh prelestej svoih Ne grabili chuzhuyu krasotu. Na nem Priroda hochet nas uchit', Kak pravdu ot poddelki otlichit'. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo Ego lico est' pamyat' o bylom: V tu poru, kak cvetok, zhila v prirode Krasa, a ne blestela nad chelom, Kak dnes' - ee vnebrachnye otrod'ya: V te dni vlasy zlatye mertveca ZHivym ne otdavali, sostrigaya Dlya uvenchan'ya novogo lica, CHtob smert'yu ukrashalas' zhizn' drugaya. V nem ozhil vek antichnosti svyatoj, Tot mir, chto byl kogda-to prost i celen: Cvela vesna svoeyu krasotoj, Ni u kogo ne pohishchaya zelen'. Sej obrazec Priroda sohranila - I fal'sh' iskusstva s krasotoj sravnila. Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo 69 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend, Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, In other accents do this praise confound By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. They look into the beauty of thy mind, And that in guess they measure by thy deeds; Then, churls, their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. Ta chast' tebya, kotoraya vidna glazam mira, ne lishena nichego, chto mogla by pozhelat' sokrovennaya mysl'; vse yazyki, vyraziteli dushi, otdayut tebe v etom dolzhnoe, govorya goluyu pravdu, i dazhe vragi _tebya_ hvalyat. Tvoya vneshnost', takim obrazom, uvenchana vneshnej hvaloj, no te zhe yazyki, kotorye vozdayut tebe to, chto tebe prichitaetsya, v drugih slovah etu hvalu oprovergayut, kogda glyadyat dal'she, chem pokazyvaet glaz. Oni smotryat na krasotu tvoej dushi i, v _svoih_ dogadkah, izmeryayut ee tvoimi postupkami; togda v svoih myslyah eti skryagi - hotya by ih glaza byli dobrymi, - k tvoemu prekrasnomu cvetku dobavlyayut zlovonie sornyakov. No pochemu tvoj zapah ne sootvetstvuet tvoemu vidu? Prichina {*} v tom, chto ty cvetesh', dostupnyj vsem. {* V originale Torpa zdes' stoyalo nesushchestvuyushchee slovo "solye", kotoroe bol'shinstvo pozdnejshih izdatelej sochli iskazhennym "soyle", chto sootvetstvuem sovremennomu "soil". Odnako interpretacii etogo slova predlagalis' raznye, v tom chisle "pochva (na kotoroj vyrastaet porok)", "pyatno (moral'noe)", "reshenie (voprosa)".} To vneshnee v tebe, chto vidit svet, Schitat' za sovershenstvo on gotov, I v etom hore nesoglasnyh net, V nem dazhe golosa tvoih vragov. Tak vneshnost' hvalyat vneshneyu hvaloj. No te zhe obozhateli kak raz Utrachivayut ves' vostorg byloj, Proniknuv glubzhe, chem sposoben glaz. Tvoej dushi kosnuvshis' lish' slegka, Zato postupki strogo razobrav, Oni divyatsya obliku cvetka, No yasno slyshat zapah sornyh trav. Otkuda on, skazat' tebe mogu: Ty s etimi lyud'mi, ty v ih krugu. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo Vo vneshnosti tvoej, chto vidit mir, Ni glaz, ni serdce ne najdut shtrihov Nesovershenstva. Ty - dlya vseh kumir, I dlya druzej tvoih, i dlya vragov. Za vneshnost' - vneshnyaya i pohvala, No s yazykov inyh uzhe ne raz Sletala zlorechivaya molva O tom, chego ne mozhet videt' glaz. No vnutr' dushi tvoej proniknul vzglyad, Za nim - drugoj, i zlye yazyki Tvoih cvetov zaglushat aromat, Sred' nih rasseyav shchedro sornyaki. Tvoe blagouhanie, uvy, Isporcheno vliyaniem molvy. Perevod A. Kuznecova 70 That thou are blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time, For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, Either not assailed, or victor being charged, Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise To tie up envy, evermore enlarged: If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. To, chto tebya poricayut, ne dolzhno schitat'sya tvoim iz®yanom, tak kak prekrasnoe vsegda bylo mishen'yu klevety; ornamentom krasoty yavlyaetsya podozrenie - vorona, letayushchaya v chistejshem vozduhe nebes. Tak chto, bud' ty horoshim, kleveta tem bolee podtverdit tvoe dostoinstvo, podvergayushcheesya soblaznam vremeni {*}, tak kak porcha lyubit samye sladostnye butony, a ty predstavlyaesh' soboj chistyj, nezapyatnannyj rascvet. Ty minoval _opasnosti_ [zasadu] yunyh dnej, ili ne podvergshis' napadeniyu, ili atakovannyj, no vyjdya pobeditelem; eto pohval'no, no etogo nedostatochno, chtoby _sderzhat'_ [svyazat'] vechno rastushchuyu zavist'. Esli by podozrenie v poroke ne brosalo ten' na tvoyu krasotu, togda ty odin vladel {**} by korolevstvami serdec. {* Temnoe mesto, vyzyvayushchee spory kommentatorov. ** Soglasno kommentatoram, "owe" zdes' sleduet chitat' kak "own" (vladet', obladat').} To, chto tebya porochat, ne porok. Spokojno ne zhivetsya krasote, I podozrenie - ee venok, Vorona v samoj chistoj vysote. Usiliyami dolgoj klevety Ty tol'ko podnimaesh'sya v cene. CHerv' zapolzaet v luchshie cvety, A pyaten ne najdesh' v tvoej vesne. Ty izbezhal zasady yunyh dnej, Podsteregavshij sam popal v bedu, Hotya hvala nevinnosti tvoej Na zavist' ne nabrosila uzdu. Gluhoj namek tebya ogovoril, Ne to by vse serdca ty pokoril. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo To, chto i ty podvergsya klevete, - Ne tvoj porok, - krasy izvechnyj zhrebij, I podozren'ya ten' na krasote - Ornament, voron chernyj v yasnom nebe. Ty vsem horosh. Lish' podtverdit navet, CHto ty dushoyu chist i neporochen; CHerv' nailuchshij vybiraet cvet, No tvoj cvetok ne znaet chervotochin. Vse iskushen'ya molodosti ty Il' pobedil, il' oboshel iskusno; I vse zhe pravdoj ne zavyazhesh' rty Zavistnikam i lzhi tysyacheustoj. Kogda b ne ten' na like, ty by mog Odin vladet' serdcami - car' i bog. Perevod S. SHestakova 71 No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vildest worms to dwell; Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. Or if (I say) you look upon this verse, When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, Do not as much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. Kogda ya umru, oplakivaj menya ne dol'she, chem budesh' slyshat' ugryumyj kolokol, opoveshchayushchij mir, chto ya bezhal iz etogo nizkogo [podlogo, merzkogo] mira, chtoby poselit'sya s nizhajshimi chervyami. Dazhe esli prochitaesh' etu stroku, ne vspominaj ruki, kotoraya ee napisala, ibo ya lyublyu tebya tak, chto hotel by byt' zabytym toboyu _i_ v sokrovennyh myslyah, esli mysli obo mne prichinyat tebe stradanie. Ili esli, govoryu ya, ty vzglyanesh' na eti stihi, kogda, vozmozhno, ya _uzhe_ smeshayus' s glinoj, ty dazhe moego bednogo imeni ne povtoryaj, no pust' tvoya lyubov' pogibnet s moej zhizn'yu, chtoby vsevedushchij mir ne zametil tvoego placha i ne osmeyal tebya iz-za menya, kogda menya ne budet. Nedolgo plach' po mne, pust' slez ischeznet sled, Lish' kolokol vdali prob'et tosklivyj, CHto ya ostavil etot nizkij svet, Spustivshis' nizhe - v chernyj mir chervivyj. I nad strokoj zaplakat' ne speshi V soznanii moej neschastnoj doli - YA tak lyubil, chto dlya tvoej dushi YA ne zhelal by dazhe etoj boli. I esli ty uvidish' etot stih, Kogda moj prah smeshaetsya s zemleyu, Ne prizyvaj togda imen moih - Puskaj lyubov' tvoya umret so mnoyu. CHtob etot mir, uslyshav golos tvoj, Ne osmeyal nas za tvoej spinoj. Perevod B. Kushnera Kogda umru ya, ty skorbi ne dolee, CHem budet vozveshchat' unylyj zvon, CHto ya bezhal iz nizkoj sej yudoli I v nizshij mir chervej pereselen. I ruku, chto pisala eti strochki, Ne vspominaj. YA tak tebya lyublyu, CHto predpochtu zabven'e bez otsrochki, CHem pamyat'yu pokoj tvoj otravlyu. Perechitav sonet moj v chas dosuga, Kogda menya poglotit prah zemnoj, Ne povtoryaj pustoe imya druga - Puskaj tvoya lyubov' umret so mnoj, CHtob, slysha vzdoh tvoj obo mne poslednij, Premudryj mir tebya ne ranil spletnej. Perevod A. SHarakshane 72 O lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me that you should love, After my death (dear love) forget me quite; For you in me can nothing worthy prove, Unless you would devise some virtuous lie To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart: O lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me nor you: For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth. CHtoby mir ne zastavil tebya rasskazyvat', kakie vo mne byli dostoinstva, zasluzhivavshie tvoej lyubvi, posle moej smerti, lyubov' moya, zabud' menya sovsem, tak kak ty ne smozhesh' dokazat', chto vo mne bylo chto-to cennoe, esli tol'ko ne izobretesh' kakuyu-nibud' blagorodnuyu lozh', chtoby sdelat' dlya menya bol'she, chem ya zasluzhivayu, i _vozdat'_ [navesit'] bol'she hvaly mne, pokojnomu, chem skupaya pravda soobshchila by po svoej vole. O, chtoby tvoya podlinnaya lyubov' ne pokazalos' fal'shivoj ottogo, chto ty, iz lyubvi menya hvalya, govorish' nepravdu, pust' moe imya budet pohoroneno tam zhe, gde moe telo, i ne budet bol'she zhit', chtoby ne pozorit' ni tebya, ni menya, tak kak mne stydno za to, chto ya proizvozhu na svet, i tebe dolzhno byt' stydno za svoyu lyubov' k nikchemnym predmetam. CHtob mir voprosami ne donimal, Za chto pri zhizni ty menya primetil, Zabud' menya - ne stoyu ya pohval: Zabud', kak budto ne zhil ya na svete. K chemu dobroporyadochnaya Lozh', Kogda skupaya Pravda hodit ryadom? Nichem ya ne byl dlya tebya horosh: Umru - i vspominat' menya ne nado; I ne pripisyvaj ty mne zaslug, Dan' otdavaya druzhbe nashej nezhnoj, Zaroj so mnoyu moe imya, drug: Neset mne i tebe styd neizbezhnyj. Moj styd - moi nichtozhnye tvoren'ya, Tvoj styd - ko mne, nichtozhnomu, vlechen'e. Perevod I. Fradkina O, chtob ne priviral ty vsyakij raz, Za chto ko mne lyubov'yu vospylal, - Kogda umru, zabud' menya totchas, Sovsem zabud', kak budto i ne znal. Voznosit dobrodetel'naya lozh' Hvalu bogatstvam, chto tait dusha; Tak ty menya, lyubimyj, voznesesh' Do neba, protiv istiny gresha. O, chtob iz-za pristrastnyh teh rechej Tvoyu lyubov' ne zapyatnal obman, Pust' pohoronyat plot' moyu i s nej Pozor nash - imya, koim byl ya zvan. Mne stydno, chto vo vsem nichtozhen ya; I ty stydish'sya, polyubiv menya. Perevod S. SHestakova 73 That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. Vo mne ty vidish' to vremya goda, kogda zheltye list'ya - ih ili net sovsem, ili malo - visyat na tryasushchihsya ot holoda vetvyah, - ogolennyh razrushennyh horah, gde nedavno peli sladkogolosye pticy. Vo mne ty vidish' sumerki dnya, kotoryj posle zahoda solnca ugasaet na zapade; ego bystro zabiraet chernaya noch' - vtoroe "ya" Smerti, vse opechatyvayushchaya pokoem. Vo mne ty vidish' siyanie takogo ognya, kotoryj pokoitsya na zole svoej yunosti, kak na smertnom lozhe, gde on dolzhen ugasnut', pogloshchennyj tem, chto ego pitalo. Ty eto osoznaesh', i eto delaet tvoyu lyubov' sil'nee, _zastavlyaya_ lyubit' predanno to, chto ty dolzhen vskore poteryat'. Vo mne ty vidish' pasmurnuyu poru, Kogda v vetvyah drozhit zasohshij list, I razorennye lesnye hory Ne oglashaet milyj ptichij svist; Vo mne ty vidish' etot sumrak seryj, Kogda zakat na zapade ugas, I, pyad' za pyad'yu zapolnyaya sfery, Pokoem noch', kak smert', smiryaet nas; Vo mne ty vidish' tot ogon', chto glozhet Poslednie ostatki yunyh sil I ugasaet, kak na smertnom lozhe,