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PUSHKIN The Gypsies (4)
Ещё одно... одно лобзанье...
Пора: мой муж ревнив и зол.
Одно... но доле!.. на прощанье.
Прощай, покамест не пришёл.
Скажи — когда ж опять свиданье?
Сегодня, как зайдёт луна,
Обманет! не придёт она!
Вот он! беги!.. Приду, мой милый.
Алеко спит. В его уме
Могила на краю дороги
Пора, мой милый.
Нет, нет, постой, дождемся дня.
Как ты робко любишь.
Ты меня погубишь.
Если без меня
Куда вы! не спешите оба;
Вам хорошо и здесь у гроба.
Мой друг, беги, беги...
Куда, красавец молодой?
Вонзает в него нож.
Алеко, ты убьёшь его!
Нет, полно, не боюсь тебя! —
Умри ж и ты!
Восток, денницей озарённый,
Тогда старик, приближась, рек:
Сказал — и шумною толпою
Волшебной силой песнопенья
В стране, где долго, долго брани
Но счастья нет и между вами,
THE GYPSIES (cont.)
Just one more kiss, just one.
It's time. My husband's a jealous fiend.
Just one... but longer... as a goodbye.
Goodbye. Before he comes.
When shall we next meet. Tell me.
Tonight. When the moon sets, there,
Behind the mound beside the tomb.
She'll deceive me! She will not come!
He's here! I'll be back, my love. But you must run!
Aleko sleeps and in his mind
A darkling dream plays tricks on him.
With a shout he wakes, only to find
In the gloom his hand is searching jealously;
But his timid hand as it reaches out
Clutches cold blankets in its grasp ----
His beloved is absent, she has gone.
Trembling he rises and listens intently
And all is silent around --- terror seizes him
And cold and fever in turn invade him.
He rises and hastily leaves the tent
And wanders around the wagons grimly.
All is still, the open fields are silent,
It is dark, behind the mist the cold moon hides,
Scarcely the starlight on the fields abides,
And a scarcely visible trace is seen
Of footsteps through dew to the burial mound:
Impatiently he follows them where they gleam,
An ominous trace on the dewy ground.
A grave mound lies beside the road
And in the distance arises its whitened shape.
Aleko burdened with a gruesome load
Of forebodings drags there his reluctant feet.
His lips are trembling, his knees shake too,
He goes on... and suddenly... or is it a dream,
Two shadowy figures are suddenly seen
And a whispering he hears from the neighbouring tomb,
The desecrated mound which is near in the gloom.
It's time -
One moment wait -
It's time my dearest.
No, stay, stay. We'll wait till dawn.
It's already late.
How timid you are in love.
You will destroy me.
If my husband should wake
And I'm not there?
I am awake.
Where are you going? Do not run, both stay.
Beside the grave is a fitting place.
My darling, run, run away, quick!
Ah, handsome lad, where are you running to?
Plunges a knife into him.
I am dying...
Aleko, you have killed him.
Look, blood is spattered all over you.
What have you done?
Now breathe in his love.
No, no, enough. You do not scare me.
And all your threats I despise utterly.
I curse your murderous hand and eye.
Then you too must die!
Then loving I die.
The eastern sky with the dawn glows bright.
On the fateful tombstone behind the hills
Aleko presents a fearsome sight
Sitting all bloodied with the knife in his hand
In front of him two corpses lie.
The murderer's face is grim and ghastly.
The gypsies in a timid band
Surround him in silence agitatedly.
They dig a grave in the earth nearby
And the women in grieving procession come
To kiss the eyes of the bodies there.
The old man sits aside, all alone
And gazes on the dead ones where they lie.
In the stupor of grief he is struck dumb.
The corpses are lifted and then they carry
The young couple over to where they shall tarry
In the cold earth's bosom for evermore.
Aleko sat and watched all from afar
And when the last clod of earth had closed
The grave, then he slumped and leaning over
He silently fell on the grassy floor.
Then the old man approached and said to him:
"Leave us, you proud, disdainful man!
We are savage, and we do not have laws,
But we do not torture, and we do not kill.
We have no need of blood or groans
But to live with a murderer we have no wish.
Your lot was not cast to be born with the free,
And freedom you wish for only selfishly.
Your voice forever would be ghastly to us,
We are gentle and our natures are kind,
You are brazen and evil, and you must leave us.
Farewell, and peace live in your mind".
So he spoke, and then in a noisy throng
The nomad camp of the gypsies rose
And left the valley of their dreadful stay.
Their wagons in the distance faded away
And vanished; there was one alone
With a wretched carpet covered over
Which stood in the fateful steppe unmoving.
So at times, before the winter's coming,
When the morning air is heavy with mist
A flock of belated cranes takes flight
From the fields, shouting with cries of delight,
And heads for the south where the earth is kissed
By the sun. But one remains mournfully,
Its wounded wing hanging down to the ground,
For the hunter's bullet his body has found.
The night descends: in the darkened car
Nobody rises to kindle a fire,
And nobody under the canvas awning
Was blessed by sleep till the next day's dawning.
By the magic powers of inspired song,
In the darkened corridors of my mind,
Some visions arise and linger on
Now of happy, and now of a mournful kind.
In that region where loud and long the roar
Resounded terribly of frenzied war;
Where Russian might imperial
Defined the boundaries of Stambul,
And where our old, two-headed eagle
Takes pride still in its glories regal,
I met within the steppe's expanse,
Along the boundaries of old camps,
The peaceful wagons of the gypsies,
The children of freedom beneath the skies.
Often among their idle throng
In vasty wastes I wandered long,
Or shared their simple food of bread
And beside their campfire made my bed.
On their slow journeys I loved to hear
The songs they sang, their joyous round,
And tender Mariula's name would appear,
In my mind, an oft repeated sound.
But happiness even there is absent
Among you, poor children of Nature's breast,
And even beneath a wretched tent
Wild, torturing dreams will ruin your rest.
And under your nomadic shelters' shades
In the wilderness, calamity is unceasing,
And everywhere fateful passion invades,
And from one's fate there is no releasing.
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