Читать книгу The Complete Poems of C.P. Cavafy - Daniel Mendelsohn, Daniel Mendelsohn - Страница 58

The palace is in tears, the king’s in tears,

King Herod inconsolably laments,

the entire country is in tears for Aristobulus

who so needlessly, accidentally drowned

playing in the water with his friends.

And also when they hear the news elsewhere,

when it gets as far as Syria,

even many of the Greeks will be distressed:

the poets and the sculptors all will mourn,

for the renown of Aristobulus had reached them,

and any vision of theirs of what a youth could be

never matched the beauty of this boy.

What statue of a god could Antioch boast

that was the like of this boy of Israel?

The Throne Princess laments and weeps:

his mother, the greatest of the Jewesses.

Alexandra laments and weeps over the calamity.—

But when she finds herself alone her anguish alters.

She groans; she seethes; she swears; she calls down curses.

How they made a fool of her! How they gulled her!

How, in the end, they had got their way!

They’ve laid the house of the Hasmoneans in ruins.

How did he manage it, that criminal of a king;

that charlatan, that miscreant, that scoundrel?

How did he manage it? What a diabolical plan,

for Mariamne not to have noticed a thing.

Had Mariamne noticed, or suspected,

she’d have found a way to save her little brother;

she’s queen after all, she could have managed something.

How they’ll gloat now, how they’ll exult in secret,

those spiteful women, Cypros and Salome;

those vile trollops, Cypros and Salome.—

And to be powerless, to be compelled

to pretend as though she believed their lies;

to be unable to go to the people,

to go outside and cry out to the Jews,

to tell, to tell how the murder had been done.

[1916; 1918]