The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке

XVI

And softly as a strange delusionThe voice fell silent, sound on sound.The maid sprang up and gazed around,An inexpressible confusionWithin her breast; – sorrow nor fearNor ecstasy could now compareWith this great upsurge of emotion.The soul from its fast fetters brokeAnd burning fire coursed through her veinsIt seemed as though the voice still spokeUnknown and wonderful – and thenThe sleep she craved came down to blessHer weary eyes with heaviness;But now he troubled even her thoughtWith dreams prophetic and unsought:A stranger, mist-enshrouded, stoodBeside her bed and spoke no wordBut, glimmering with unearthly beauty,He looked at her with quiet devotionAnd sadly, as it were in pity.But this was not her guardian angel,No visitant from realms divine:About his head no radiant haloUpon the shadowy curls did shineNor was it some tormented spriteSome vicious spirit of hell – ah no!Neither of darkness nor of light!..More like the gentle afterglowAs evening deepens into night!..

Part II

I

«Ah, father, father, leave your threat'sScold not your daughter yet again.For see these tears! I'm weeping yetYou know full well since whenThe suitors come to seek my handFrom all the corners of the land…As though in Georgia only oneYoung 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 slowEnvenoms all my waking thoughtThe evil one won't let me goBy overwhelming dreams distraughtI fade and perish utterly!Have pity, let your foolish girlSeek refuge in a monasteryThere, if I can but take the veilThe saviour will take care of meAnd I shall tell Him all my woe.The world, I know it all too well,Holds nothing for me: let a cellIn twilit shadow shelter me…As in a grave – precociously…»

II

And so Tamara's familyTo a far convent brought their child,And there in all humilityIn hair-shirt rough the maiden mildEnrobed her youthful breast.Yet in this harsh, monastic garbHer troubled heart found no more restFrom dreams forbidden and debarredThan clad in velvet or brocade.Before the altar at the hour,Of shining candles, solemn prayer,Through the sweet chanting of the choirFamiliar speech would reach her earAnd there, beneath the cupola,A well-known figure would appearTo glide by as the incense rose…Soundless, he leaves no trace, but goesGleaming before her like a starCalling and beckoning afarBut whither? Ah, that no one knows.

III

The holy convent was secludedIn a cool glen between two hillsBy poplars and acacias ringed…And, when the night sank weary-wingedTo rest in the ravine, the grillsOf the young sister's cell would gleamOut through their foliage fitfully.Without, beneath the almond treeIn whose thin shade dark crosses broodedLike silent watchers on the graves,The merry birds made sweet conclavesOf melody. The spring-cold streamsLeapt down from rock to rock, and sang,Then merged beneath the overhangTo foam away in rapid rushesBeneath 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 blueRose 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 resonanceOf chapel bells awoke the cloister;The solemn hour did but enhanceThe stillness of the place, the calm…Tamara at this hour came forthBearing a pitcher on one armAnd, treading where the mists grew lighterDown the steep hillside stepped for water.The snowy summits to the NorthShowed violet against the skyAnd flung a cloak of rosier dyeAbout their shoulders in the evening;And there between them, upheavingHis 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 mindIs shuttered to such pure delights,And all her heart is filled with nightThe whole world shadowed and unkind.And morning ray and evening darkServe only to ignite the sparkOf further torment in her soul.And, as the sweet, nocturnal coolOver the thirsty earth came seeping,Almost demented, she would fallBefore the sacred icon weeping;And in the silence of the nightHer heavy sobbing would affrightThe 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 gazeEngrossed in lonely meditationAll day, and sigh with expectationBeside 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 appearWith eyes so infinitely sadAnd speech so marvellously tender?For many days on end she hadBeen strangely moved – she knew not why…She called the good saints to defend herBut in her heart she called on him;And always, when the day grew dim,Weary with staring she would lieDown on her bed and try to sleep:The pillow burnt her flaming cheekFear stifled her, she gasped for breath,Then, from her pallet she would leapWith heaving shoulders, fevered breastTrembling, a mist before her sight,Her arms outstretched to clasp the night,The kisses melting on her lips………

VII

The Georgian hills were scarcely veiledIn the transparent dusk of eveningBefore the Demon downward sailedThrough the grey twilight wreathingFor long and long, though powerfullyThe convent seemed to draw him, heCould not make up his mind to breakThat hallowed peace… One moment moreAnd he was ready to forsakeHis cruel intent. Beyond the doorHe paced beneath the circling wallAbsorbed in thought. The shadowy leavesShook at his steps without a breezeHe raised his eyes: a quivering lightThrobbed from her window through the night.So, she was waiting – and awake!Through the soft silence all aboutThe chingar[6] thrummed harmoniouslyAnd over them a song rang outA song that poured mellifluoustyLike tears that fall in measure slow,A song so tender that at timesIt seemed as though in loftier climbsIt had been made for earth below.Some angel, maybe, had descendedTo seek a being he'd once befriendedTo bring him secret consolation,To ease his pain, past bliss recall.Love's anguish and love's exaltationNow held the Demon fast in thrallFor the first time; he would have flownBut his great wings were turned to stone!A miracle! His eyes are dimAnd down his cheek there rolls one tear…Now, to this day, the stones still bearThe fiery traces of its falling…A tear of flame, a trace appalling,But not a human tear!

VIII

And so he came, prepared to giveHis heart in love, his soul to light.He thought the time had come to liveA new life on this longed-for night.As though at a first assignationThe proud soul felt a strange, shy thrill,A shuddering, timid expectation:It was a sign that boded ill!He entered, looked around. Before himThe 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 GoodHad gathered her beneath his wing.The Demon looked for tender greeting —But light divine upon him beatingAnd stern rebuke upon him came:

IX

«Spirit of idleness and sin,At this dark hour who called you? say!You have no servants here withinThese sacred walls, nor to this dayHas breath of evil visitedThis charge of mine, to you forbid…Who called you?» – Subtly in replyThe Demon smiled but in him wokeThe ancient hate of hell. His eyeFlashed fiery-jealous as he spokeUpon the messenger divine:«Leave her!» he said. «For she is mine!Too late you came, good guardian – seeYou are no judge of such as weFor her proud heart belongs to me.No charge is she of powers aboveHere I am lord, and here I love!» —Sad-eyed, the angel bent his glanceUpon the evil spirit's preyThen slowly flapped his great wings onceAnd through the ether soared away.…

X

Tamara     Who are you? You are perilousSay – are you come from heaven or hell?What do you want?The Demon     What loveliness!TamaraBut speak, who are you? You must tell.The Demon     I am he to whom you barkenedIn 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 speltTo every soul with whom I treat.I am he no man may love,A scourge to all my mortal slaves,The ill in nature. EnemyTo 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 knownI would speak softly in your earsQuiet 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 heartI might again resume my partIn the angelic ranks and takeAn 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 thanI felt a sudden, veiled revulsionFor immortality and power;And I was drawn by strange compulsionTo envy the frail joys of man;Life without you became a tormentTo be apart from you – a horror.A living ray of warmth, a portentOf fair renewal touched my heartAnd set the cold blood coursing. SorrowBeneath the scar stirred like a serpentAwakening an ancient pain.For, tell me, without you what gainIs there in my infinity?Endless dominion, majesty?Loud, empty words – a spacious faneDevoid of all divinity!Tamara     Leave me, false spirit of deceitBe silent, for I will not trustThe Enemy. Ah God… some sweetInsistent poison saps resolve —I cannot say the prayer I must —Your words are fire and I dissolveAnd 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 castWith 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 powerOf deathless thought and dreams sublime.Since the beginning of all timeYour image on the eternal airHas gone before me – till this hour.My soul has long been troubled byThe sweet sounds of the name you bear;And in my days of blessednessYou were my only lack. If onlyYou could but understand the lonelyEmbittered boredom of existenceWhen, century on century,Alone in suffering and joyIn evil meeting no resistance,For good receiving no reward,Enclosed in self, by self most bored,A never-ending war to wagePast hope to triumph or destroyPast hope of making peace again!To pity where I would desire.To know all things from age to age,Seek hatred's all-consuming fireAnd nought to find but cool disdain!For since God's curse upon me cameAll natural ardours have grown cold.

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Примечания

1

Tchatzky (Chatsky) is the main character of the comedy «Woe from Wit» by A. Griboedov. – Ed.

2

«Mtzyri» («Mtsyri») means in Georgian «a non-ordained monk», «a novice». – Ed.

3

«Song of Tzar Ivan Vassilyevitch» and «The Song of the Merchant Kalashnikov» are alternative names for «The Lay of Tsar Ivan Vassilyevich, His Young Oprichnik and the Stouthearted Merchant Kalashnikov». – Ed.

4

Zurna – a woodwind musical instrument with a double reed. – Ed.

5

Chukha (chokha) – a part of the traditional male dress of the peoples of the Caucasus. – Ed.

6

Chingar – a guitar. – Ed.