«Беовульф» Магия древнеанглийского языка. Том 1

boldly hastened, biding never

answer at all: the ocean floods

closed o’er the hero. Long while of the day

fled ere he felt the floor of the sea.

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain

sword-hungry held these hundred winters,

greedy and grim, that some guest from above,

some man, was raiding her monster-realm.

She grasped out for him with grisly claws,

and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not

his body hale; the breastplate hindered,

as she strove to shatter the sark of war,

the linked harness, with loathsome hand.

Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,

the lord of rings to the lair she haunted

whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,

weapon to wield against wondrous monsters

that sore beset him; sea-beasts many

tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,

and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked

he was now in some hall, he knew not which,

where water never could work him harm,

nor through the roof could reach him ever

fangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,

beams of a blaze that brightly shone.

Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,

mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke

he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.

Then sang on her head that seemly blade

its war-song wild. But the warrior found

the light-of-battle was loath to bite,

to harm the heart: its hard edge failed

the noble at need, yet had known of old

strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,

doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this,

for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.

Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,

heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;

flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,

the angry earl; on earth it lay

steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,

hand-gripe of might. So man shall do

whenever in war he weens to earn him

lasting fame, nor fears for his life!

Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,

the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother.

Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,

his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.

Swift on her part she paid him back

with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.

Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,

fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.

On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,

broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,

the sole-born son. – On his shoulder lay

braided breast-mail, barring death,

withstanding entrance of edge or blade.

Life would have ended for Ecgtheow’s son,

under wide earth for that earl of Geats,

had his armor of war not aided him,

battle-net hard, and holy God

wielded the victory, wisest Maker.

The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;

and easily rose the earl erect.

«Mid the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,

old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,

warriors’ heirloom, weapon unmatched,

– save only «twas more than other men

to bandy-of-battle could bear at all —

as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.

Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings’ chieftain,

bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,

reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote

that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,

her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through

that fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank.

Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.

Then blazed forth light. «Twas bright within

as when from the sky there shines unclouded

heaven’s candle. The hall he scanned.

By the wall then went he; his weapon raised

high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,

angry and eager. That edge was not useless

to the warrior now. He wished with speed

Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many,

for the war he waged on Western-Danes

oftener far than an only time,

when of Hrothgar’s hearth-companions

he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,

fifteen men of the folk of Danes,

and as many others outward bore,

his horrible prey. Well paid for that

the wrathful prince! For now prone he saw

Grendel stretched there, spent with war,

spoiled of life, so scathed had left him

Heorot’s battle. The body sprang far

when after death it endured the blow,

sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.

Soon, then, saw the sage companions

who waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,

that the tossing waters turbid grew,

blood-stained the mere. Old men together,

hoary-haired, of the hero spake;

the warrior would not, they weened, again,

proud of conquest, come to seek

their mighty master. To many it seemed

the wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.

The ninth hour came. The noble Scyldings

left the headland; homeward went

the gold-friend of men. But the guests sat on,

stared at the surges, sick in heart,

and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord

again to see. Now that sword began,

from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,

war-blade, to wane: «twas a wondrous thing

that all of it melted as ice is wont

when frosty fetters the Father loosens,

unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all

seasons and times: the true God he!

Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats

precious things, though a plenty he saw,

save only the head and that hilt withal

blazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,

burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,

so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.

Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat

downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.

The clashing waters were cleansed now,

waste of waves, where the wandering fiend

her life-days left and this lapsing world.

Swam then to strand the sailors’-refuge,

sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,

of burden brave he bore with him.

Went then to greet him, and God they thanked,

the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,

that safe and sound they could see him again.

Soon from the hardy one helmet and armor

deftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,

water «neath welkin, with war-blood stained.

Forth they fared by the footpaths thence,

merry at heart the highways measured,

well-known roads. Courageous men

carried the head from the cliff by the sea,

an arduous task for all the band,

the firm in fight, since four were needed

on the shaft-of-slaughter strenuously

to bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head.

So presently to the palace there

foemen fearless, fourteen Geats,

marching came. Their master-of-clan

mighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.

Strode then within the sovran thane

fearless in fight, of fame renowned,

hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.

And next by the hair into hall was borne

Grendel’s head, where the henchmen were drinking,

an awe to clan and queen alike,

a monster of marvel: the men looked on.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

«Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,

Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee,

sign of glory; thou seest it here.

Not lightly did I with my life escape!

In war under water this work I essayed

with endless effort; and even so

my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.

Not a whit could I with Hrunting do

in work of war, though the weapon is good;

yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me

to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,

old, gigantic, – how oft He guides

the friendless wight! – and I fought with that brand,

felling in fight, since fate was with me,

the house’s wardens. That war-sword then

all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,

battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back

from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds

death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.

And this is my hest, that in Heorot now

safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,

and every thane of all thy folk

both old and young; no evil fear,

Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,

aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!»

Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,

hoary hero, in hand was laid,

giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it

after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,

wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid

of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,

murder-marked, and his mother as well.

Now it passed into power of the people’s king,

best of all that the oceans bound

who have scattered their gold o’er Scandia’s isle.

Hrothgar spake – the hilt he viewed,

heirloom old, where was etched the rise

of that far-off fight when the floods o’erwhelmed,

raging waves, the race of giants

(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged

from God Eternal: whence guerdon due

in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.

So on the guard of shining gold

in runic staves it was rightly said

for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,

best of blades, in bygone days,

and the hilt well wound. – The wise-one spake,

son of Healfdene; silent were all:—

«Lo, so may he say who sooth and right

follows «mid folk, of far times mindful,

a land-warden old, that this earl belongs

to the better breed! So, borne aloft,

thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,

far and wide o’er folksteads many. Firmly thou shalt all maintain,

mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of mine will I assure thee,

as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay in future,

in far-off years, to folk of thine,

to the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus

to offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,

nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,

for doom of death to the Danishmen.

He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,

companions at board! So he passed alone,

chieftain haughty, from human cheer.

Though him the Maker with might endowed,

delights of power, and uplifted high

above all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,

his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he

to Danes as was due; he endured all joyless

strain of struggle and stress of woe,

long feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!

Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,

wise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems

how to sons of men Almighty God

in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,

estate, high station: He swayeth all things.

Whiles He letteth right lustily fare

the heart of the hero of high-born race, —

in seat ancestral assigns him bliss,

his folk’s sure fortress in fee to hold,

puts in his power great parts of the earth,

empire so ample, that end of it

this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.

So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him

illness or age; no evil cares

shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens

from ever an enemy: all the world

wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,

till all within him obstinate pride

waxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,

the spirit’s sentry; sleep is too fast

which masters his might, and the murderer nears,

stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!

«UNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed

by sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails

from foul behest of the hellish fiend.

Him seems too little what long he possessed.

Greedy and grim, no golden rings

he gives for his pride; the promised future

forgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,

Wonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.

Yet in the end it ever comes

that the frame of the body fragile yields,

fated falls; and there follows another

who joyously the jewels divides,

the royal riches, nor recks of his forebear.

Ban, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,

best of men, and the better part choose,

profit eternal; and temper thy pride,

warrior famous! The flower of thy might

lasts now a while: but erelong it shall be

that sickness or sword thy strength shall minish,

or fang of fire, or flooding billow,

or bite of blade, or brandished spear,

or odious age; or the eyes’ clear beam

wax dull and darken: Death even thee

in haste shall o’erwhelm, thou hero of war!

So the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,

wielded «neath welkin, and warded them bravely

from mighty-ones many o’er middle-earth,

from spear and sword, till it seemed for me

no foe could be found under fold of the sky.

Lo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure

came grief for joy when Grendel began

to harry my home, the hellish foe;

for those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered

heart-sorrow heavy. Heaven be thanked,

Lord Eternal, for life extended

that I on this head all hewn and bloody,

after long evil, with eyes may gaze!

– Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet,

warrior worthy! A wealth of treasure

at dawn of day, be dealt between us!»

Glad was the Geats’ lord, going betimes

to seek his seat, as the Sage commanded.

Afresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,

for the band of the hall, was a banquet dight

nobly anew. The Night-Helm darkened

dusk o’er the drinkers. The doughty ones rose:

for the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,

aged Scylding; and eager the Geat,

shield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.

Him wander-weary, warrior-guest

from far, a hall-thane heralded forth,

who by custom courtly cared for all

needs of a thane as in those old days

warrior-wanderers wont to have.

So slumbered the stout-heart. Stately the hall

rose gabled and gilt where the guest slept on

till a raven black the rapture-of-heaven

blithe-heart boded. Bright came flying

shine after shadow. The swordsmen hastened,

athelings all were eager homeward

forth to fare; and far from thence

the great-hearted guest would guide his keel.

Bade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought

to the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,

excellent iron, and uttered his thanks for it,

quoth that he counted it keen in battle,

«war-friend» winsome: with words he slandered not

edge of the blade: «twas a big-hearted man!

Now eager for parting and armed at point

warriors waited, while went to his host

that Darling of Danes. The doughty atheling

to high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

«Lo, we seafarers say our will,

far-come men, that we fain would seek

Hygelac now. We here have found

hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well.

If ever on earth I am able to win me

more of thy love, O lord of men,

aught anew, than I now have done,

for work of war I am willing still!

If it come to me ever across the seas

that neighbor foemen annoy and fright thee, —

as they that hate thee erewhile have used, —

thousands then of thanes I shall bring,

heroes to help thee. Of Hygelac I know,

ward of his folk, that, though few his years,

the lord of the Geats will give me aid

by word and by work, that well I may serve thee,

wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph

and lending thee might when thou lackest men.

If thy Hrethric should come to court of Geats,

a sovran’s son, he will surely there

find his friends. A far-off land

each man should visit who vaunts him brave.»

Him then answering, Hrothgar spake:—

«These words of thine the wisest God

sent to thy soul! No sager counsel

from so young in years e’er yet have I heard.

Thou art strong of main and in mind art wary,

art wise in words! I ween indeed

if ever it hap that Hrethel’s heir

by spear be seized, by sword-grim battle,

by illness or iron, thine elder and lord,

people’s leader, – and life be thine, —

no seemlier man will the Sea-Geats find

at all to choose for their chief and king,

for hoard-guard of heroes, if hold thou wilt

thy kinsman’s kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me

the longer the better, Beowulf loved!

Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples,

sons of the Geat and Spear-Dane folk,

shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife,

such as once they waged, from war refrain.

Long as I rule this realm so wide,

let our hoards be common, let heroes with gold

each other greet o’er the gannet’s-bath,

and the ringed-prow bear o’er rolling waves

tokens of love. I trow my landfolk

towards friend and foe are firmly joined,

and honor they keep in the olden way.»

To him in the hall, then, Healfdene’s son

gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls

bade him fare with the gifts to his folk beloved,

hale to his home, and in haste return.

Then kissed the king of kin renowned,

Scyldings’ chieftain, that choicest thane,

and fell on his neck. Fast flowed the tears

of the hoary-headed. Heavy with winters,

he had chances twain, but he clung to this, —

that each should look on the other again,

and hear him in hall. Was this hero so dear to him.

his breast’s wild billows he banned in vain;

safe in his soul a secret longing,

locked in his mind, for that loved man

burned in his blood. Then Beowulf strode,

glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o’er,

warrior blithe. The wave-roamer bode

riding at anchor, its owner awaiting.

As they hastened onward, Hrothgar’s gift

they lauded at length. – «Twas a lord unpeered,

every way blameless, till age had broken

it spareth no mortal – his splendid might.

Came now to ocean the ever-courageous

hardy henchmen, their harness bearing,

woven war-sarks. The warden marked,

trusty as ever, the earl’s return.

From the height of the hill no hostile words

reached the guests as he rode to greet them;

but «Welcome!» he called to that Weder clan

as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on.

Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure

and armor their roomy and ring-dight ship

was heavily laden: high its mast

rose over Hrothgar’s hoarded gems.

A sword to the boat-guard Beowulf gave,

mounted with gold; on the mead-bench since

he was better esteemed, that blade possessing,

heirloom old. – Their ocean-keel boarding,

they drove through the deep, and Daneland left.

A sea-cloth was set, a sail with ropes,

firm to the mast; the flood-timbers moaned;

nor did wind over billows that wave-swimmer blow

across from her course. The craft sped on,

foam-necked it floated forth o’er the waves,

keel firm-bound over briny currents,

till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs,

home-known headlands. High the boat,

stirred by winds, on the strand updrove.

Helpful at haven the harbor-guard stood,

who long already for loved companions

by the water had waited and watched afar.

He bound to the beach the broad-bosomed ship

with anchor-bands, lest ocean-billows

that trusty timber should tear away.

Then Beowulf bade them bear the treasure,

gold and jewels; no journey far

was it thence to go to the giver of rings,

Hygelac Hrethling: at home he dwelt

by the sea-wall close, himself and clan.

Haughty that house, a hero the king,

high the hall, and Hygd right young,

wise and wary, though winters few

in those fortress walls she had found a home,

Haereth’s daughter. Nor humble her ways,

nor grudged she gifts to the Geatish men,

of precious treasure. Not Thryth’s pride showed she,

folk-queen famed, or that fell deceit.

Was none so daring that durst make bold

(save her lord alone) of the liegemen dear

that lady full in the face to look,

but forged fetters he found his lot,

bonds of death! And brief the respite;

soon as they seized him, his sword-doom was spoken,

and the burnished blade a baleful murder

proclaimed and closed. No queenly way

for woman to practise, though peerless she,

that the weaver-of-peace from warrior dear

by wrath and lying his life should reave!

But Hemming’s kinsman hindered this. —

For over their ale men also told

that of these folk-horrors fewer she wrought,

onslaughts of evil, after she went,

gold-decked bride, to the brave young prince,

atheling haughty, and Offa’s hall

o’er the fallow flood at her father’s bidding

safely sought, where since she prospered,

royal, throned, rich in goods,

fain of the fair life fate had sent her,

and leal in love to the lord of warriors.

He, of all heroes I heard of ever

from sea to sea, of the sons of earth,

most excellent seemed. Hence Offa was praised

for his fighting and feeing by far-off men,

the spear-bold warrior; wisely he ruled

over his empire. Eomer woke to him,

help of heroes, Hemming’s kinsman,

Grandson of Garmund, grim in war.

Hastened the hardy one, henchmen with him,

sandy strand of the sea to tread

and widespread ways. The world’s great candle,

sun shone from south. They strode along

with sturdy steps to the spot they knew

where the battle-king young, his burg within,

slayer of Ongentheow, shared the rings,

shelter-of-heroes. To Hygelac

Beowulf’s coming was quickly told, —

that there in the court the clansmen’s refuge,

the shield-companion sound and alive,

hale from the hero-play homeward strode.

With haste in the hall, by highest order,

room for the rovers was readily made.

By his sovran he sat, come safe from battle,

kinsman by kinsman. His kindly lord

he first had greeted in gracious form,

with manly words. The mead dispensing,

came through the high hall Haereth’s daughter,

winsome to warriors, wine-cup bore

to the hands of the heroes. Hygelac then

his comrade fairly with question plied

in the lofty hall, sore longing to know

what manner of sojourn the Sea-Geats made.

«What came of thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf,

when thy yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder

battle to seek o’er the briny sea,

combat in Heorot? Hrothgar couldst thou

aid at all, the honored chief,

in his wide-known woes? With waves of care

my sad heart seethed; I sore mistrusted

my loved one’s venture: long I begged thee

by no means to seek that slaughtering monster,

but suffer the South-Danes to settle their feud

themselves with Grendel. Now God be thanked

that safe and sound I can see thee now!»

Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow:—

««Tis known and unhidden, Hygelac Lord,

to many men, that meeting of ours,

struggle grim between Grendel and me,

which we fought on the field where full too many

sorrows he wrought for the Scylding-Victors,

evils unending. These all I avenged.

No boast can be from breed of Grendel,

any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,

from the longest-lived of the loathsome race

in fleshly fold! – But first I went

Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,

where Healfdene’s kinsman high-renowned,

soon as my purpose was plain to him,

assigned me a seat by his son and heir.

The liegemen were lusty; my life-days never

such merry men over mead in hall

have I heard under heaven! The high-born queen,

people’s peace-bringer, passed through the hall,

cheered the young clansmen, clasps of gold,

ere she sought her seat, to sundry gave.

Oft to the heroes Hrothgar’s daughter,

to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, —

she whom I heard these hall-companions