«Беовульф» Магия древнеанглийского языка. Том 1

force of the foe. Fain, too, were I

hadst thou but seen himself, what time

the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall!

Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe

on his bed of death to bind him down,

that he in the hent of this hand of mine

should breathe his last: but he broke away.

Him I might not – the Maker willed not —

hinder from flight, and firm enough hold

the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he,

the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however,

he left behind him his hand in pledge,

arm and shoulder; nor aught of help

could the cursed one thus procure at all.

None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,

sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him

tightly grasped in gripe of anguish,

in baleful bonds, where bide he must,

evil outlaw, such awful doom

as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.»

More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf

in boastful speech of his battle-deeds,

since athelings all, through the earl’s great prowess,

beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing,

foeman’s fingers, – the forepart of each

of the sturdy nails to steel was likest, —

heathen’s «hand-spear,» hostile warrior’s

claw uncanny. «Twas clear, they said,

that him no blade of the brave could touch,

how keen soever, or cut away

that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.

THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now

for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng

of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,

the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings

that were wove on the wall, and wonders many

to delight each mortal that looks upon them.

Though braced within by iron bands,

that building bright was broken sorely;

rent were its hinges; the roof alone

held safe and sound, when, seared with crime,

the fiendish foe his flight essayed,

of life despairing. – No light thing that,

the flight for safety, – essay it who will!

Forced of fate, he shall find his way

to the refuge ready for race of man,

for soul-possessors, and sons of earth;

and there his body on bed of death

shall rest after revel. Arrived was the hour

when to hall proceeded Healfdene’s son:

the king himself would sit to banquet.

Ne’er heard I of host in haughtier throng

more graciously gathered round giver-of-rings!

Bowed then to bench those bearers-of-glory,

fain of the feasting. Featly received

many a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,

kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,

Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot now

was filled with friends; the folk of Scyldings

ne’er yet had tried the traitor’s deed.

To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene

a gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,

broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;

and a splendid sword was seen of many

borne to the brave one. Beowulf took

cup in hall: for such costly gifts

he suffered no shame in that soldier throng.

For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,

with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,

on the ale-bench honoring others thus!

O’er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,

wound with wires, kept ward o’er the head,

lest the relict-of-files should fierce invade,

sharp in the strife, when that shielded hero

should go to grapple against his foes.

Then the earls’-defence on the floor bade lead

coursers eight, with carven head-gear,

adown the hall: one horse was decked

with a saddle all shining and set in jewels;

«twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,

when to play of swords the son of Healfdene

was fain to fare. Ne’er failed his valor

in the crush of combat when corpses fell.

To Beowulf over them both then gave

the refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,

o’er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them.

Manfully thus the mighty prince,

hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid

with steeds and treasures contemned by none

who is willing to say the sooth aright.

AND the lord of earls, to each that came

with Beowulf over the briny ways,

an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,

precious gift; and the price bade pay

in gold for him whom Grendel erst

murdered, – and fain of them more had killed,

had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,

and the man’s brave mood. The Maker then

ruled human kind, as here and now.

Therefore is insight always best,

and forethought of mind. How much awaits him

of lief and of loath, who long time here,

through days of warfare this world endures!

Then song and music mingled sounds

in the presence of Healfdene’s head-of-armies

and harping was heard with the hero-lay

as Hrothgar’s singer the hall-joy woke

along the mead-seats, making his song

of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.

Healfdene’s hero, Hnaef the Scylding,

was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.

Hildeburh needed not hold in value

her enemies’ honor! Innocent both

were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,

bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,

stricken by spears; «twas a sorrowful woman!

None doubted why the daughter of Hoc

bewailed her doom when dawning came,

and under the sky she saw them lying,

kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned

of the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too,

Finn’s own liegemen, and few were left;

in the parleying-place he could ply no longer

weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,

and rescue his remnant by right of arms

from the prince’s thane. A pact he offered:

another dwelling the Danes should have,

hall and high-seat, and half the power

should fall to them in Frisian land;

and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald’s son

day by day the Danes should honor,

the folk of Hengest favor with rings,

even as truly, with treasure and jewels,

with fretted gold, as his Frisian kin

he meant to honor in ale-hall there.

Pact of peace they plighted further

on both sides firmly. Finn to Hengest

with oath, upon honor, openly promised

that woful remnant, with wise-men’s aid,

nobly to govern, so none of the guests

by word or work should warp the treaty,

or with malice of mind bemoan themselves

as forced to follow their fee-giver’s slayer,

lordless men, as their lot ordained.

Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman’s taunt,

that murderous hatred to mind recall,

then edge of the sword must seal his doom.

Oaths were given, and ancient gold

heaped from hoard. – The hardy Scylding,

battle-thane best, on his balefire lay.

All on the pyre were plain to see

the gory sark, the gilded swine-crest,

boar of hard iron, and athelings many

slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.

It was Hildeburh’s hest, at Hnaef’s own pyre

the bairn of her body on brands to lay,

his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,

at his uncle’s side. In sorrowful dirges

bewept them the woman: great wailing ascended.

Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,

roared o’er the hillock: heads all were melted,

gashes burst, and blood gushed out

from bites of the body. Balefire devoured,

greediest spirit, those spared not by war

out of either folk: their flower was gone.

Then hastened those heroes their home to see,

friendless, to find the Frisian land,

houses and high burg. Hengest still

through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,

holding pact, yet of home he minded,

though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive

over the waters, now waves rolled fierce

lashed by the winds, or winter locked them

in icy fetters. Then fared another

year to men’s dwellings, as yet they do,

the sunbright skies, that their season ever

duly await. Far off winter was driven;

fair lay earth’s breast; and fain was the rover,

the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered

on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,

and how to hasten the hot encounter

where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.

So he escaped not the common doom,

when Hun with «Lafing,» the light-of-battle,

best of blades, his bosom pierced:

its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.

On fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,

on himself at home, the horrid sword-death;

for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attack

had sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed,

mourning their woes. Finn’s wavering spirit

bode not in breast. The burg was reddened

with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,

king amid clansmen; the queen was taken.

To their ship the Scylding warriors bore

all the chattels the chieftain owned,

whatever they found in Finn’s domain

of gems and jewels. The gentle wife

o’er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,

led to her land. The lay was finished,

the gleeman’s song. Then glad rose the revel;

bench-joy brightened. Bearers draw

from their «wonder-vats» wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,

under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit,

uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,

kindred in amity. Unferth the spokesman

at the Scylding lord’s feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,

his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him

unsure at the sword-play. The Scylding queen spoke:

«Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,

breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,

gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speak

such words of mildness as man should use.

Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful,

or near or far, which now thou hast.

Men say to me, as son thou wishest

yon hero to hold. Thy Heorot purged,

jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,

with many a largess; and leave to thy kin

folk and realm when forth thou goest

to greet thy doom. For gracious I deem

my Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule

nobly our youths, if thou yield up first,

prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.

I ween with good he will well requite

offspring of ours, when all he minds

that for him we did in his helpless days

of gift and grace to gain him honor!»

Then she turned to the seat where her sons were placed,

Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes’ bairns,

young men together: the Geat, too, sat there,

Beowulf brave, the brothers between.

A cup she gave him, with kindly greeting

and winsome words. Of wounden gold,

she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,

corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest

that ever I knew the earth around.

Ne’er heard I so mighty, «neath heaven’s dome,

a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama bore

to his bright-built burg the Brisings’ necklace,

jewel and gem casket. – Jealousy fled he,

Eormenric’s hate: chose help eternal.

Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,

on the last of his raids this ring bore with him,

under his banner the booty defending,

the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o’erwhelmed him

what time, in his daring, dangers he sought,

feud with Frisians. Fairest of gems

he bore with him over the beaker-of-waves,

sovran strong: under shield he died.

Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,

gear of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;

weaker warriors won the spoil,

after gripe of battle, from Geatland’s lord,

and held the death-field. Din rose in hall.

Wealhtheow spake amid warriors, and said:—

«This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,

Beowulf lov’d, these battle-weeds wear,

a royal treasure, and richly thrive!

Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here

counsel in kindness: requital be mine.

Hast done such deeds, that for days to come

thou art famed among folk both far and near,

so wide as washeth the wave of Ocean

his windy walls. Through the ways of life

prosper, O prince! I pray for thee

rich possessions. To son of mine

be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!

Here every earl to the other is true,

mild of mood, to the master loyal!

Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,

liegemen are revelling: list and obey!»

Went then to her place. – That was proudest of feasts;

flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,

destiny dire, and the doom to be seen

by many an earl when eve should come,

and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,

royal, to rest. The room was guarded

by an army of earls, as erst was done.

They bared the bench-boards; abroad they spread

beds and bolsters. – One beer-carouser

in danger of doom lay down in the hall. —

At their heads they set their shields of war,

bucklers bright; on the bench were there

over each atheling, easy to see,

the high battle-helmet, the haughty spear,

the corselet of rings. «Twas their custom so

ever to be for battle prepared,

at home, or harrying, which it were,

even as oft as evil threatened

their sovran king. – They were clansmen good.

THEN sank they to sleep. With sorrow one bought

his rest of the evening, – as ofttime had happened

when Grendel guarded that golden hall,

evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,

slaughter for sins. «Twas seen and told

how an avenger survived the fiend,

as was learned afar. The livelong time

after that grim fight, Grendel’s mother,

monster of women, mourned her woe.

She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters,

cold sea-courses, since Cain cut down

with edge of the sword his only brother,

his father’s offspring: outlawed he fled,

marked with murder, from men’s delights

warded the wilds. – There woke from him

such fate-sent ghosts as Grendel, who,

war-wolf horrid, at Heorot found

a warrior watching and waiting the fray,

with whom the grisly one grappled amain.

But the man remembered his mighty power,

the glorious gift that God had sent him,

in his Maker’s mercy put his trust

for comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,

felled the fiend, who fled abject,

reft of joy, to the realms of death,

mankind’s foe. And his mother now,

gloomy and grim, would go that quest

of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.

To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danes

slept in the hall. Too soon came back

old ills of the earls, when in she burst,

the mother of Grendel. Less grim, though, that terror,

e’en as terror of woman in war is less,

might of maid, than of men in arms

when, hammer-forged, the falchion hard,

sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,

crested, with keen blade carves amain.

Then was in hall the hard-edge drawn,

the swords on the settles, and shields a-many

firm held in hand: nor helmet minded

nor harness of mail, whom that horror seized.

Haste was hers; she would hie afar

and save her life when the liegemen saw her.

Yet a single atheling up she seized

fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.

He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,

of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,

whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,

in battle brave. – Nor was Beowulf there;

another house had been held apart,

after giving of gold, for the Geat renowned. —

Uproar filled Heorot; the hand all had viewed,

blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was returned,

dole in the dwellings: «twas dire exchange

where Dane and Geat were doomed to give

the lives of loved ones. Long-tried king,

the hoary hero, at heart was sad

when he knew his noble no more lived,

and dead indeed was his dearest thane.

To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste,

dauntless victor. As daylight broke,

along with his earls the atheling lord,

with his clansmen, came where the king abode

waiting to see if the Wielder-of-All

would turn this tale of trouble and woe.

Strode o’er floor the famed-in-strife,

with his hand-companions, – the hall resounded, —

wishing to greet the wise old king,

Ingwines’ lord; he asked if the night

had passed in peace to the prince’s mind.

HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings:—

«Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed

to Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,

of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,

my sage adviser and stay in council,

shoulder-comrade in stress of fight

when warriors clashed and we warded our heads,

hewed the helm-boars; hero famed

should be every earl as Aeschere was!

But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him

of wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,

proud of the prey, her path she took,

fain of her fill. The feud she avenged

that yesternight, unyieldingly,

Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, —

seeing how long these liegemen mine

he ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,

in arms he fell. Now another comes,

keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,

faring far in feud of blood

so that many a thane shall think, who e’er

sorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,

this is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies low

that once was willing each wish to please.

Land-dwellers here and liegemen mine,

who house by those parts, I have heard relate

that such a pair they have sometimes seen,

march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,

wandering spirits: one of them seemed,

so far as my folk could fairly judge,

of womankind; and one, accursed,

in man’s guise trod the misery-track

of exile, though huger than human bulk.

Grendel in days long gone they named him,

folk of the land; his father they knew not,

nor any brood that was born to him

of treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;

by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,

fenways fearful, where flows the stream

from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,

underground flood. Not far is it hence

in measure of miles that the mere expands,

and o’er it the frost-bound forest hanging,

sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.

By night is a wonder weird to see,

fire on the waters. So wise lived none

of the sons of men, to search those depths!

Nay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,

the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,

long distance driven, his dear life first

on the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge

to hide his head: «tis no happy place!

Thence the welter of waters washes up

wan to welkin when winds bestir

evil storms, and air grows dusk,

and the heavens weep. Now is help once more

with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,

place of fear, where thou findest out

that sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!

I will reward thee, for waging this fight,

with ancient treasure, as erst I did,

with winding gold, if thou winnest back.»

Beowulf F spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:

«Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better

friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.

Each of us all must his end abide

in the ways of the world; so win who may

glory ere death! When his days are told,

that is the warrior’s worthiest doom.

Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,

and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.

No harbor shall hide her – heed my promise! —

enfolding of field or forested mountain

or floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!

But thou this day endure in patience,

as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.»

Leaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,

mighty Lord, for the man’s brave words.

For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled

wave-maned steed. The sovran wise

stately rode on; his shield-armed men

followed in force. The footprints led

along the woodland, widely seen,

a path o’er the plain, where she passed, and trod

the murky moor; of men-at-arms

she bore the bravest and best one, dead,

him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.

On then went the atheling-born

o’er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,

narrow passes and unknown ways,

headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.

Foremost he fared, a few at his side

of the wiser men, the ways to scan,

till he found in a flash the forested hill

hanging over the hoary rock,

a woful wood: the waves below

were dyed in blood. The Danish men

had sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,

for many a hero, «twas hard to bear,

ill for earls, when Aeschere’s head

they found by the flood on the foreland there.

Waves were welling, the warriors saw,

hot with blood; but the horn sang oft

battle-song bold. The band sat down,

and watched on the water worm-like things,

sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,

and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness —

such as oft essay at hour of morn

on the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, —

and sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,

swollen and savage that song to hear,

that war-horn’s blast. The warden of Geats,

with bolt from bow, then balked of life,

of wave-work, one monster, amid its heart

went the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed

less doughty in swimming whom death had seized.

Swift on the billows, with boar-spears well

hooked and barbed, it was hard beset,

done to death and dragged on the headland,

wave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed

the grisly guest. Then girt him Beowulf

in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.

His breastplate broad and bright of hues,

woven by hand, should the waters try;

well could it ward the warrior’s body

that battle should break on his breast in vain

nor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.

And the helmet white that his head protected

was destined to dare the deeps of the flood,

through wave-whirl win: «twas wound with chains,

decked with gold, as in days of yore

the weapon-smith worked it wondrously,

with swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,

brandished in battle, could bite that helm.

Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps

which Hrothgar’s orator offered at need:

«Hrunting» they named the hilted sword,

of old-time heirlooms easily first;

iron was its edge, all etched with poison,

with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight

in hero’s hand who held it ever,

on paths of peril prepared to go

to folkstead of foes. Not first time this

it was destined to do a daring task.

For he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf

sturdy and strong, that speech he had made,

drunk with wine, now this weapon he lent

to a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst not

under welter of waters wager his life

as loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,

honor of earls. With the other not so,

who girded him now for the grim encounter.

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

«Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene

gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,

sovran wise, what once was said:

if in thy cause it came that I

should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide

to me, though fallen, in father’s place!

Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,

my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;

and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,

Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!

Geatland’s king may ken by the gold,

Hrethel’s son see, when he stares at the treasure,

that I got me a friend for goodness famed,

and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.

And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,

earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,

hard of edge: with Hrunting I

seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.»

After these words the Weder-Geat lord