The moon illuminates the eaves,
And skims the crests of waves at night…
The chilly hands of the marquise
Are fragrant, delicate and light.
“O Prince! — she curtsies and exhales, —
“In quadrille, you’re the vis-à-vis,” —
The mask conceals her turning pale
From burning love and ecstasy.
The entryway’s obscured by sloping
Poplar trees and hops that fell.
“Baghdad and Constantinople,
I will win for you, ma belle.”
“You are smiling so rarely,
That I’m frightened in advance!”
The cold pavilion is shady.
“Well then! Maybe, let us dance?”
They walk off and lanterns flicker
On the elm and maple trunks.
Clad in emerald, ladies bicker,
Betting gaily with the monks.
With azaleas, Pierrot,
Smirks and starts a friendly chat:
“Prince! Are you the one who broke
The feather on marquise’s hat?”
Луна освещает карнизы,
Блуждает по гребням реки…
Холодные руки маркизы
Так ароматны-легки.
«О принц! — улыбаясь, присела, —
В кадрили вы наш vis-à-vis»1, —
И томно под маской бледнела
От жгучих предчувствий любви.
Вход скрыл серебрящий тополь
И низко спадающий хмель.
«Багдад или Константинополь
Я вам завоюю, ma belle!»2
«Как вы улыбаетесь редко,
Вас страшно, маркиза, обнять!»
Темно и прохладно в беседке.
«Ну что же! пойдем танцевать?»
Выходят. На вязах, на кленах
Цветные дрожат фонари,
Две дамы в одеждах зеленых
С монахами держат пари.
И бледный, с букетом азалий,
Их смехом встречает Пьеро:
«Мой принц! О, не вы ли сломали
На шляпе маркизы перо?»
____
1. Визави (фр.)
2. Моя красавица! (фр.)
«Blizzard with a darkness covers / All the sky and wheels in whirls, / As a beast it hardly groans, / As a baby – cries in turn, / Or is rustling with a thatch old / On the roof without mind, / Or is knocking door and window / As a traveller, late to come. Our decrepit hut old / Is...»
«Blizzard covers skies with dark mist / swirling snowy whirlwinds; / either howls like a wild beast / or reminds the cry of kids; / cracks by rotten thatch with anger / on the old roof in a fuss, / or as a belated stranger / knocks at window to us. This old hut sank into sadness / an...»
«The storm covers skies in darkness, / Spinning snowy whirlwinds tight, / Now it wails like a beast wildest, / Now it cries like a week child, / Now suddenly it rustles / The old roof’s dry thatching mass, / Now, a traveller, late and gusty, / It knocks at our window’s glass. Our h...»
«Three apples. They’re beloved of tradition, / Three symbols of rebellion here on earth, / In ancient garden, knowing new fruition, / They burn beneath dreams’ gusting trembles’ birth. O you, primeval woman’s fatal apple! / You tore the light of Eden from her eyes, / Upon us sheddi...»