Читать книгу The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке - Михаил Лермонтов, Михаил Юрьевич Лермонтов, M. Y. Lermontov - Страница 19

The Demon
An Eastern Legend
Part II

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I

«Ah, father, father, leave your threat's

Scold not your daughter yet again.

For see these tears! I'm weeping yet

You know full well since when

The suitors come to seek my hand

From all the corners of the land…

As though in Georgia only one

Young maid there were they'd have as bride…

But I–I can be wife to none!..

Oh, father, father, do not chide,

You see yourself – a poison slow

Envenoms all my waking thought

The evil one won't let me go

By overwhelming dreams distraught

I fade and perish utterly!

Have pity, let your foolish girl

Seek refuge in a monastery

There, if I can but take the veil

The saviour will take care of me

And I shall tell Him all my woe.

The world, I know it all too well,

Holds nothing for me: let a cell

In twilit shadow shelter me…

As in a grave – precociously…»


II

And so Tamara's family

To a far convent brought their child,

And there in all humility

In hair-shirt rough the maiden mild

Enrobed her youthful breast.

Yet in this harsh, monastic garb

Her troubled heart found no more rest

From dreams forbidden and debarred

Than clad in velvet or brocade.

Before the altar at the hour,

Of shining candles, solemn prayer,

Through the sweet chanting of the choir

Familiar speech would reach her ear

And there, beneath the cupola,

A well-known figure would appear

To glide by as the incense rose…

Soundless, he leaves no trace, but goes

Gleaming before her like a star

Calling and beckoning afar

But whither? Ah, that no one knows.


III

The holy convent was secluded

In a cool glen between two hills

By poplars and acacias ringed…

And, when the night sank weary-winged

To rest in the ravine, the grills

Of the young sister's cell would gleam

Out through their foliage fitfully.

Without, beneath the almond tree

In whose thin shade dark crosses brooded

Like silent watchers on the graves,

The merry birds made sweet conclaves

Of melody. The spring-cold streams

Leapt down from rock to rock, and sang,

Then merged beneath the overhang

To foam away in rapid rushes

Beneath the frosty-flowering bushes…


IV

Way to the north there was a view,

A glimpse of mountains. At day's dawning,

When curling mists of smoky blue

Rose from the hollows of the hills,

And from his minaret the priest,

His face towards the brightening East,

Called all his flock to prayer at morning,

Then, too, the trembling resonance

Of chapel bells awoke the cloister;

The solemn hour did but enhance

The stillness of the place, the calm…

Tamara at this hour came forth

Bearing a pitcher on one arm

And, treading where the mists grew lighter

Down the steep hillside stepped for water.

The snowy summits to the North

Showed violet against the sky

And flung a cloak of rosier dye

About their shoulders in the evening;

And there between them, upheaving

His head between the clouds, their Tsar,

Kazbek, in robes of silver weaving,

Towered up towards the polar star.


V

Yet, full of tainted thoughts, her mind

Is shuttered to such pure delights,

And all her heart is filled with night

The whole world shadowed and unkind.

And morning ray and evening dark

Serve only to ignite the spark

Of further torment in her soul.

And, as the sweet, nocturnal cool

Over the thirsty earth came seeping,

Almost demented, she would fall

Before the sacred icon weeping;

And in the silence of the night

Her heavy sobbing would affright

The traveller upon his course;

«A mountain spirit», he'd surmise

«Bound in some cavern moaning lies!»

And hustle on his weary horse…


VI

So, filled with longing and unease,

Tamara would sit long and gaze

Engrossed in lonely meditation

All day, and sigh with expectation

Beside her window, staring out…

That he would come she had no doubt,

Why else then were her dreams so clear?

Why else then used he to appear

With eyes so infinitely sad

And speech so marvellously tender?

For many days on end she had

Been strangely moved – she knew not why…

She called the good saints to defend her

But in her heart she called on him;

And always, when the day grew dim,

Weary with staring she would lie

Down on her bed and try to sleep:

The pillow burnt her flaming cheek

Fear stifled her, she gasped for breath,

Then, from her pallet she would leap

With heaving shoulders, fevered breast

Trembling, a mist before her sight,

Her arms outstretched to clasp the night,

The kisses melting on her lips…


VII

The Georgian hills were scarcely veiled

In the transparent dusk of evening

Before the Demon downward sailed

Through the grey twilight wreathing

For long and long, though powerfully

The convent seemed to draw him, he

Could not make up his mind to break

That hallowed peace… One moment more

And he was ready to forsake

His cruel intent. Beyond the door

He paced beneath the circling wall

Absorbed in thought. The shadowy leaves

Shook at his steps without a breeze

He raised his eyes: a quivering light

Throbbed from her window through the night.

So, she was waiting – and awake!

Through the soft silence all about

The chingar[6] thrummed harmoniously

And over them a song rang out

A song that poured mellifluousty

Like tears that fall in measure slow,

A song so tender that at times

It seemed as though in loftier climbs

It had been made for earth below.

Some angel, maybe, had descended

To seek a being he'd once befriended

To bring him secret consolation,

To ease his pain, past bliss recall.

Love's anguish and love's exaltation

Now held the Demon fast in thrall

For the first time; he would have flown

But his great wings were turned to stone!

A miracle! His eyes are dim

And down his cheek there rolls one tear…

Now, to this day, the stones still bear

The fiery traces of its falling…

A tear of flame, a trace appalling,

But not a human tear!


VIII

And so he came, prepared to give

His heart in love, his soul to light.

He thought the time had come to live

A new life on this longed-for night.

As though at a first assignation

The proud soul felt a strange, shy thrill,

A shuddering, timid expectation:

It was a sign that boded ill!

He entered, looked around. Before him

The lovely sinner's Guardian stood,

Heaven's messenger, bright cherubim,

With smiling lips and brow of flame.

So, the fell enemy forestalling,

The brilliant spirit of the Good

Had gathered her beneath his wing.

The Demon looked for tender greeting —

But light divine upon him beating

And stern rebuke upon him came:


IX

«Spirit of idleness and sin,

At this dark hour who called you? say!

You have no servants here within

These sacred walls, nor to this day

Has breath of evil visited

This charge of mine, to you forbid…

Who called you?» – Subtly in reply

The Demon smiled but in him woke

The ancient hate of hell. His eye

Flashed fiery-jealous as he spoke

Upon the messenger divine:

«Leave her!» he said. «For she is mine!

Too late you came, good guardian – see

You are no judge of such as we

For her proud heart belongs to me.

No charge is she of powers above

Here I am lord, and here I love!» —

Sad-eyed, the angel bent his glance

Upon the evil spirit's prey

Then slowly flapped his great wings once

And through the ether soared away.


X

Tamara

     Who are you? You are perilous

Say – are you come from heaven or hell?

What do you want?


The Demon

     What loveliness!


Tamara

But speak, who are you? You must tell.


The Demon

     I am he to whom you barkened

In the stillness of the night,

He whose thought your mind has darkened,

He whose sadness you have felt,

Whose image haunts your waking sight,

Whose name the end of hope has spelt

To every soul with whom I treat.

I am he no man may love,

A scourge to all my mortal slaves,

The ill in nature. Enemy

To Heaven and all the powers above.

Lord of knowledge, liberty.

And, as you see, I'm at your feet.

Moved beyond all that I have known

I would speak softly in your ears

Quiet prayers of love. Tell of my pain,

My first on earth, and my first tears.

Ah hear me out, for pity's sake!

One word from you would quite restore me.

Robed in the love of your pure heart

I might again resume my part

In the angelic ranks and take

An aspect new and a new glory.

Ah, hear me, hear me I implore you,

I am your slave and I adore you!

No sooner did I see you than

I felt a sudden, veiled revulsion

For immortality and power;

And I was drawn by strange compulsion

To envy the frail joys of man;

Life without you became a torment

To be apart from you – a horror.

A living ray of warmth, a portent

Of fair renewal touched my heart

And set the cold blood coursing. Sorrow

Beneath the scar stirred like a serpent

Awakening an ancient pain.

For, tell me, without you what gain

Is there in my infinity?

Endless dominion, majesty?

Loud, empty words – a spacious fane

Devoid of all divinity!


Tamara

     Leave me, false spirit of deceit

Be silent, for I will not trust

The Enemy. Ah God… some sweet

Insistent poison saps resolve —

I cannot say the prayer I must —

Your words are fire and I dissolve

And melt in them. I cannot see…

But say: how came you to love me?


The Demon

     How, lovely one? – I do not know,

My life is wondrous full and new,

The crown of thorns I proudly cast

With my own hands from off my brow.

All that I have been shattered lies:

My heaven and hell are in your eyes.

I love you with a passion vast.

You cannot love as I love you,

With all the ecstasy and power

Of deathless thought and dreams sublime.

Since the beginning of all time

Your image on the eternal air

Has gone before me – till this hour.

My soul has long been troubled by

The sweet sounds of the name you bear;

And in my days of blessedness

You were my only lack. If only

You could but understand the lonely

Embittered boredom of existence

When, century on century,

Alone in suffering and joy

In evil meeting no resistance,

For good receiving no reward,

Enclosed in self, by self most bored,

A never-ending war to wage

Past hope to triumph or destroy

Past hope of making peace again!

To pity where I would desire.

To know all things from age to age,

Seek hatred's all-consuming fire

And nought to find but cool disdain!

For since God's curse upon me came

All natural ardours have grown cold.


6

Chingar – a guitar. – Ed.

The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке

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