Читать книгу Poems of Baudelaire (Les Fleurs du Mal) - Charles Baudelaire - Страница 19
ОглавлениеThe Punishment of Pride
| When first Theology in her young prime Flourished with vigour, in that wondrous time, Of an illustrious Doctor it was said That, having forced indifferent hearts to shed Tears of emotion, moved to depths profound: And having to celestial glory found Marvellous paths, to his own self unknown, Where only purest souls had fared alone— Like a man raised too high, as in a panic, Crazed with a vertigo of pride satanic, He cried “Poor Christ, I’ve raised you to renown! But had I wished to bring you crashing down Probing your flaws, your shame would match your pride And you’d be but a foetus to deride!” Immediately he felt his wits escape, That flash of sunlight veiled itself in crêpe. All chaos through his intellect was rolled, A temple once, containing hoards of gold, By opulence and order well controlled, And topped with ceilings splendid to behold. Silence and night installed their reign in him. It seemed he was a cellar dank and dim, To which no living man could find the key; And from that day a very beast was he. And while he wandered senseless on his way, Not knowing spring from summer, night from day, Foul, dirty, useless, and with no hereafter, He served the children as a butt for laughter. |
