Illustration:‘Winter’ by Édouard Bisson (French, 1856-1939)
My Translation:
***
How merrily the snowflakes brightened
Your—grey, my—sable fur,
How at the Christmas fair excited
We looked for ribbons—best of all.
How rosy-pink and very savoury
I ate too many waffles—six!
How every ginger horse delighted me—
In honour of Your noble deeds.
How vendors traded garments—full like sails—
They sold the cheapest shreds and swore,
How at the Moscow ladies, young and strange,
The country women gaped in awe.
How in the evening, when the crowds had left,
We entered the cathedral, bored,
How on the Virgin Mary's face bereft
Your gaze fell like a solemn sword.
How gloomy was her countenance and gentle
The love in her exhausted eyes,
Locked in the icon case with chubby angels
From the Elizabethan times.
How You let go of my hand tenderly
And whispered: "Oh, I want her so!"
How you have placed a candle carefully
In candelabrum - yellow, tall…
—O, with an opal ring mysterious
Your Hand! —O, all my wretched plight—
How I have promised You, my dearest,
To steal this masterpiece tonight!
How to the inn of this grand monastery
—The rumbling bells and setting sun—
Blessed like two baptized girls with honesty
Like a battalion, we have come.
How I have told You—to remain as beauteous—
With age—and always spilled the salt,
How for three times—You were so furious—
In cards, my King of Hearts had won.
How You have squeezed my hair in sweet reproach,
Caressing every single curl—
How cold was Your enamel flower brooch
Which made my lips tremble and burn.
How I, against Your slender fingers.
Have brushed my tired, sleepy head,
How You have teased me like an infant,
How You have loved me just like that…
(December 1914)
Это стихотворение посвящено фильму “Портрет Девушки в Огне”. Изысканную цифровую иллюстрацию для сонета создала моя дорогая подруга, талантливая юная художница Василиса Семилетова. Вы можете увидеть её шедевры здесь: https://vk.com/elopeople, и не стесняйтесь следить за её Instagram!
Любимую пишу я краской нежной
На тёплом и сияющем холсте.
Передо мной - до кости белоснежной
Обнажена душа в живом огне…
"Вы видите меня - кого я вижу?" -
Воспламеняет тишину вопрос.
"Воспоминанья сожалений выше:
Портрет в уборе золотом готов!"
Проходят годы - сердце замирает,
Её улыбку вспомнив невзначай;
Я обернулась, словно признавая,
Что навсегда мы говорим "Прощай!"
Увы, не встретив взгляд желанных глаз,
Я видела её в последний раз.