KNIGA PERVAYA Smert' nad Evropoj navisla; viden'ya i tuchi na Franciyu pali - Slavnye tuchi! Nichtozhnyj korol' zametalsya na mechenom smert'yu Lozhe, okutan mogil'nym tumanom; oslabla desnica; i holod, Pryanuv iz plech po kostyam, vlilsya v skipetr, chrezmerno tyazhelyj dlya smertnoj Dlani - bessil'noj otnyne terzat' i krovavit' cvetushchie gory. Gory bol'nye! Stenayut v otvet korolevskoj toske vertogrady. Tucha vo vzore ego. Nekker, vstan'! Nastupilo zloveshchee utro. Pyat' tysyach let my prospali. YA vstal, no dusha prebyvaet vo dreme; Vizhu v okne, kak sedymi staruhami stali francuzskie gory. ZHalkij, za Nekkera derzhitsya, vhodit Korol' v zal Bol'shogo Soveta. Gory tenistye gromom, lesa tihim grayan'em stonut vo strahe. Tucha prorocheskih izoblichenij navisla nad kryshej dvorcovoj. Sorok muzhej, zatochennyh pechal'yu v temnicu dushi korolevskoj, Kak praotcy nashi - v sumerkah vechnyh, obstali bol'nogo vladyku, Franciyu perekrichat' obrechenno pytayas', vozzvavshuyu k tuche. Ibo plebei uzhe sobralis' v Zale Nacij. Strana sodrognulas'! Nebo francuzskoe nedoumenno drozhit vkrug rasteryannyh. Temen' Pervovremen potryasaet Parizh, sotryasaet Bastilii steny; Strazh i Pravitel' vo mgle nablyudayut, strashas', narastayushchij uzhas; Tysyacha vernyh soldat dyshit tuchej krovavoj Poryadka i Vlasti; CHernoj pechal'yu CHumlennyj zaryskal, kak lev, po chudovishchnym tyur'mam, Ryk ego slyshen i v Luvre, ne gasnet pod vetrom sudilishcha fakel; Moshchnye myshcy trudya, on petlyaet, ognem opalyaet Zakony, Harkaet chernoyu krov'yu zavetov, krovavoj chumoyu ohvachen, Silyas' porvat' vse tesnej i bol'nej ego telo shchemyashchie cepi, Polupridushennym volkom, k zhil'cam Semi Bashen vzyvaya, hripit on. V Bashne po imeni Uzhas byl uznik za ruki, i nogi, i sheyu S kamnem povenchan cepyami; Zmij v dushu zapolz i zapryatalsya v serdce, Sveta strashas', kak v rasshcheline skal'noj, - prorochestvo stalo Proroku Vechnym proklyat'em. A v Bashne po imeni T'ma byl odet kandalami (Zven'ya kovalis' vse mel'che, ved' plot' ustupala zhelezu - i zhalo Goluyu kost') korolevich ZHeleznaya Maska - Lev Vechnyj v nevole. V Bashne po imeni Zverstvo skelet, otyagchennyj cepyami, prostersya, Dozhelta vygryzen Vechnym CHervem za otkaz opravdat' prestuplen'ya. V Bashne po imeni Cerkov' nevinnosti mstili, kotoraya skverne Ne pokorilas': nozhom presekla rastlevayushchij natisk prelata, - Nyne, kak hishchnye pticy, terzali ej telo Sem' Pytok Geenny. V Bashne po imeni Pravoporyadok v noru s detskij grob vtisnut starec. Vsya zarosla, kak lianami melkoe more, sedoj borodoyu Kamera, gde v hlad nochnoj i v dnevnuyu zharu sliz' davnishnego straha Schityval on so steny v pis'menah pautiny - sosed skorpionov, Zmej i chervej, ravnodushno vdyhavshih muchen'em zagazhennyj vozduh: On po veleniyu sovesti s kafedry v grade Parizhe pomerkshim Dusham veshchal chudesa. Zatochen byl silach, palachom osleplennyj, V Bashne po imeni Rok - otsekli emu ruki i nogi, skovali Cep'yu, nispushchennoj sverhu, seredku, - i tol'ko providcheskoj siloj On oshchushchal, chto otchayan'e - ryadom, otchayan'e polzaet vechno, Kak chelovek - na loktyah i kolenyah... A byl - favorit favorita. Nu, a v sed'moj, samoj merzostnoj, Bashne, kotoraya nazvana Bozh'ej, Plot' o zheleza sodrav, god za godom metalsya po krugu bezumec, Tshchetno k Svobode vzyvaya - na tom on uma i lishilsya, - i gluho Volny Bezum'ya i Haosa bilis' o bereg dushi; byl vinoven On v oskorblen'e velichestva, pamyatnom v Luvre i slyshnom v Versale. Drognuli steny temnic, i iz treshchin poslyshalis' probnye klichi. Smolkli. Poslyshalsya smeh. Smolk i on. Nachal svet polyhat' vozle bashen. Ibo plebei uzhe sobralis' v Zale Nacij: goryuchie iskry S fakela solnca v pustynyu nesut krasoty zhivotvornoe plamya, V gorod myatushchijsya. Otbleski lovyat mladency i plakat' konchayut Na materinskoj, s Zemlej samoj shozhej, grudi. I povsyudu v Parizhe Prezhnie stony stihayut. Ved' mysl' o Sobran'e neschastnym dovleet, CHtoby izgnat' proch' iz dum, s ulic proch' rokovye koshmary Bylogo. No pod tyazheloj zavesoj skryt Luvr: i kovarnyj Korol', i klevrety; Drevnie strahi vlastitelej vhodyat syuda, i tolpyatsya, i plachut. V chas, kogda gromom trevozhit groby, Korolej vsej zemli lihoradit. K tuche vozzvala strana - alchet voli, - i cepi trojnye nispali. K tuche vozzvala strana - alchet voli, - t'ma drevnyaya brodit po Luvru, Slovno vo dni razorenij, proigrannyh bitv i pozora, tolpyatsya ZHirnye teni, otchayan'em smytye dyuny, vokrug gosudarya; Strah otpechatan zhelezom na licah, otdavleny mramorom ruki, V plameni krasnogo gneva i v nedoumenii tyazhkom bezmolvny. Vspyhnul Korol', no, kak chernye tuchi, tolpoj priblizhennye vstali, T'moyu okutav svetilo, no bryznul ogon' vencenosnogo serdca. Molvil Korol': "|to pyat' tysyach let potaennogo straha vernulis' Razom, chtob peretryasti nashe Nebo i razvoroshit' pogreben'ya. Slyshu, skvoz' tyazhkie tuchi neschastiya, drevnih monarhov prizyvy. Vizhu, oni podnimayutsya v savanah, svita vstaet vsled za nimi. Stonut: begi ot beschinstva zhivushchih! vse uzniki vyrvalis' nashi. V zemlyu zarojsya! Zapryach'sya v skelet! Zaberis' v zapechatannyj cherep! My poistleli. Nas net. My ne znachimsya v spiskah zhivushchih. Speshi k nam V kamni i korni derev zatait'sya. Ved' uzniki vyrvalis' nyne. K nam pospeshi, k nam vo prah - gnev, bolezn', i bezum'e, i burya minuyut!" Molvil, i smolk, i chelo pochernelo zabotoj, nasupilis' brovi, - A za oknom, na holmah, on uzrel, zagorelos', kak fakely, vojsko Protiv prisyagi, ogon' pobezhal ot soldata k soldatu, - i nebom, Tugo natyanutym, grud' ego stala; on sel; seli drevnie pery. Starshij iz nih, Dyuk Burgundskij, podnyalsya togda odesnuyu vladyki, Krasen licom, kak vino iz ego vertograda; pahnulo vojnoyu Iz ego krasnyh odezhd, on vozdel svoyu strashnuyu krasnuyu ruku, Strashnuyu krov' vozveshchaya, i, kak vertograd nad snopami pshenicy, Volya krovavaya Dyuka navisla nad blednym bessil'nym Sovetom, - Kuchka detej, tuchka svetlaya slezy lila v plamen' mantii krasnoj, - Rech' ego, slovno purpurnaya Osen' na pole pshenicy, upala. "Stanet li, - molvil on, - mramornyj Neba chertog glinobitnoj zemlyankoj, Gruboj skam'eyu - Zemlya? ZHatvu v shest' tysyach let soberut li muzhlany? V silah li Nekker, zhenevskij prostak, svoim zhalkim serpom zamahnut'sya Na plodorodnuyu Franciyu i dinasticheskij purpur, svyazuya Carstva zemnye v snopy, drevnij Rycarstva les vyrubaya pod koren', Radost' srazhen'ya - vragu, vlast' - sud'be, mech i skipetr otdavaya sozvezd'yam, Veru i pravo ognyu predavaya, vekami ispytannyj razum V glubi zemli horonya i lyudej ostavlyaya nagimi na skalah Vechnosti, gde Vechnyj Lev i Orel nenasytno terzayut dobychu? CHto zhe vy sdelali, pery, chtob slezy i veshchie sny obmanuli, CHtoby protivu zemli ne vosstal ee vechnyj posev sornym cvetom? CHto zhe predprinyali v chas, kogda gorod myatezhnyj uzhe okruzhili Zvezdnye duhi? Vash drevnij voinstvennyj klich probudil li Evropu? Koni zarzhali l' pri vozglasah trub? Potyanulis' k oruzhiyu l' ruki? V nebe parizhskom kruzhatsya orly, ozhidaya pobednogo znaka, - Tak nazovi im dobychu, Korol', - ukazhi na Versal' Lafajetu!" Smolk, plameneya v molchan'e. Krovavym tumanom podernutyj Nekker (Kriki i bran' za oknom,) promolchal, no kak grom nad grobami molchan'e. Molcha lezhali luga, molcha stoyali vetra, i dvoe molchashchih - Pahar' i zhenshchina v slabosti - trup ego slov obmyvali lyubov'yu, Deti glyadeli v mogilu - tak Nekker molchal, tak lico pryatal v tuchu. Vstal, opirayas' na gory, Korol' i vzglyanul na velikoe vojsko, V nebe zatmivshee krov'yu sverkan'e zakata, i molvil Burgundcu: "Istinnyj Lev ese ti! Ty odin uteshen'e v velikoj kruchine, Ibo francuzskaya znat' uzh ne verit v menya, pis'mena Valtasara V serdce moem prochitav. Nekker, proch'! Ty - lovec, stavshij nyne dobychej. Ne dlya glumlen'ya nad nami sozvali my SHtaty. Ne na porugan'e Rozdali nashi dary. Slyshu: tochat mechi, slyshu: ladyat mushkety, Vizhu: glaza nalivayutsya krov'yu reshimosti v gradah i vesyah, Drevnih chudes nad stranoj opechaleny vzory, rydayut povsyudu Deti i zhenshchiny, smerchi somnenij royatsya, pechal' ogneveet, V rycaryah - robost'. Molchi i proshchaj! Smerchi stihnut, kak drevle stihali!" S tem on umolk, plameneya, - na Nekkera krasnye tuchi naplyli. Placha, Starik pospeshil udalit'sya v toske po rodimoj ZHeneve. Detskij i zhenskij zvuchal emu vsled plach unylyj vdol' ulic parizhskih. No v Zale Nacij mgnovenno proznali ob etom pozornom izgnan'e. Vse zh ne umerilsya gnev blagorodnyh, a tuchej vskipel grozovoyu. Gromche zhe vseh vozopil, proklinaya Parizh, ego Arhiepiskop. V sernom dymu on predstal, v klokotan'e ognej i v krovavoj odezhde. "Slyshish', Lyudovik, ugrozy Nebes! Tak ispej, poka est' eshche vremya, Mudrosti nashej! YA spal v bashne zlatoj, no deyaniya zlobnye cherni Tuchej navisli nad snom - ya prosnulsya - menya razbudilo viden'e: Holodnorukoe, dryahloe, snega belee, tryasyas' i mercaya, Taya tumanom promozglym i slezy ronyaya na chahlye shcheki, Prizraki mel'che u nog ego v savanah kroshechnyh roem mel'kali, Arfu derzhali v molchan'e odni, i mahali kadilom drugie; Tret'i lezhali mertvy, miriady chetvertyh vdali golosili. Vzorom okinuv siyu verenicu pozora, rek starshij iz duhov Golosom rezche i tishe kuznechika: "Plach moj vnimayut v abbatstvah, Ibo Gospod', pochitavshijsya vstar', stal otnyne lampadoj bez masla, Ibo proklyat'e gremit nad stranoyu, kotoruyu plemya bezbozhnyh Nynche terzaet, kak hishchniki, vzory tupya, i trudyas', i otvergnuv Svyatost' zakonov moih, yazykom zabyvaya zvuchan'e molitvy, Splyunuv Osannu iz ust. Dveri Haosa tresnuli, t'my nepodobnyh Vyrvalis' vihrem ognya - i svyashchennye groby pozorno razversty, Znat' omertvela, i Cerkov' padet vsled za neyu, i stanet pustynya: CHernoyu - mitra, i mertvoj - korona, a skipetr i carstvennyj posoh S grudoj kostej gosudarevyh vkupe istleyut v chas unichtozhen'ya; Zvon kolokol'nyj, i golos subboty, i penie angel'skih sonmov Dnem - p'yanoj pesnej rasputnic, a noch'yu - nevinnosti voplyami stanet; Vyronyat plug, i padut v borozdu - nechestny, neprostimy, neblagi, Mytar' razvratnyj zamenit vo hrame zhreca; tot, kto proklyat, - svyatogo; Nishchij i Car' lyagut ryadom, i chervi, ih glozha, spletutsya v ob®yat'e!" Tak molvil prizrak - i grom sotryasal moyu kel'yu. No tuchej pokoya Son snizoshel na menya. A s utra ya uzrel porugan'e derzhavy I, sodrogayas', poshel k gosudaryu s otecheskim Neba sovetom. Slushaj menya, o Korol', i veli svoim marshalam - v delo! Gospodne Slushaj reshen'e: speshi sokrushit' v ih poslednem pribezhishche SHtaty, Daj soldatne ovladet' etim gradom myatezhnym, gde krov'yu dvoryanstva Nogi reshili omyt', rastoptav emu grud' i chelo; pust' poglotit |tih bezumcev Bastiliya, Miropomazannik, vechnoyu t'moyu!" Molvil i sel - i holodnaya drozh' ohvatila vel'mozh, i ochnulis' Monstry bezvestnyh mirov, ozhidaya, kogda ih spasut i okliknut; Vstal dyuk Omon, ch'ya dusha, kak kometa, ne vedaya celi, ni srokov, V mire nosilas' haosorozhdennoj, nesya porugan'e i gibel', - Kak iz mogily vosstav, on predstal v etot mig pred krovavym Sovetom: "Brosheny armiej, predany naciej, mecheny skoroyu smert'yu, Slushajte, pery, i slushaj, prelat, i vnemli, o Korol'! Iz mogily Vyrvalsya prizrak Navarrca, razbuzhen abbatom Sijesom iz SHtatov. Tam, gde prohodit, spesha vo dvorec, vse nemeyut i chuvstvuyut uzhas, Znaya o tom, dlya chego on mogilu pokinul do Sudnogo chasa. Besyatsya koni, trepeshchut geroi, dvorcovaya strazha bezhala!" Tut podnyalsya samyj sil'nyj i smelyj iz otpryskov krovi Burbonskoj, Gercog Bretanskij i gercog Burgonskij, mechom potryasaya otcovskim, Plamennosushchij i gromom gotovyj, kak chernaya tucha, vzorvat'sya: "Genrih! kak plamya otvest' ot glavy gosudarya? Kak plamenem vyzhech' Korni vosstan'ya? Veli - i vozglavlyu ya voinstvo predubezhden'ya, Daby dvoryanskogo gneva ogon' polyhal nad stranoyu velikoj, Daby nikto ne posmel polozhit' blagorodnye vyi pod lemeh". Dyuk Orleanskij vozdvigsya, kak gornye kryazhi, moguch i gromaden, Glyadya na Arhiepiskopa - tot stal belee svinca, - popytalsya Vstat', da ne smog, zakrichal - vyshlo sipom, slova prevratilis' v shipen'e, Drognul - i drognula zala, - i zamer, - i zagovoril Orleanec: "Mudrye pery, vladyki ognya, ne zadut', a razdut' ego dolzhno! Snov i videnij ne bojtes' - nochnye pechali prohodyat s rassvetom! Burya l' polnochnaya - zvezdam ugroza? Muzhlany li - plameni znati? Telo l' bol'no, kogda vse ego chleny zdorovy? Unyn'yu li vremya, Esli zhelaniya zhguchie oburevayut? Dushe li tomit'sya, - Serdce kotoroj i mozg v dve reki ravnomerno struyatsya po Rayu, - Lish' ottogo, chto konechnosti, grud', golova i prichinnoe mesto Ognennym schast'em ob®yaty? Tak mozhet li stat' ugnetennym dvoryanstvo, Esli svoboden narod? Il' vosplachet Gospod', esli schastlivy lyudi? Ili prezreem my vzor Mirabo i reshitel'nyj vid Lafajeta, Plechi Tarzhe, i osanku Baji, i Klermona otchayannyj golos, Ne postupivshis' velich'em? CHto, krome kak plamya, otradno petarde? Net, o Bezdushnyj! Sperva labirintom projdi beskonechnym chuzhogo Mozga, potom uzh prorochestvuj. V gordoe plamya, holodnyj zatvornik, Serdca chuzhogo vojdi, - ne sgori, - a potom uzh tolkuj o zakonah. Esli ne smozhesh' - otrin' svoj zavet i nachni privykat' postepenno Dumat' o nih, kak o ravnyh, - o brat'yah tvoih, a ne chlenah telesnyh, Vlasti soznan'ya pokornyh. I prezhde vsego nauchis' ih ne ranit'". S mesta podnyalsya Korol'; mech v zlatye nozhny vozvratil Orleanec. Znat' kolyhalas', kak tucha nad kryazhem, kogda porasseetsya burya. "Vyslushat' nuzhno poslanca tolpy. Svezhest' myslej nam budet kak ladan!" V nishe pustoj vstal Omon i potryas svoim posohom kosti slonovoj; Zlost' i prezren'e vilis' vkrug nego, slovno tuchi vkrug gor, zastilaya Vechnymi snegami dushu. I Genrih, istorgnuv iz serdca plamen'ya, Gnevno hlestnul ispolinskih nebesnyh konej i pokinul sobran'e. V zalu abbat de Sijes podnyalsya po dvorcovym stupenyam - i srazu, Kak vsled za gromom i molniej golos gnevlivyj gryadet Iegovy, Blednyj Omona ogon' pretvoril v sataninskoe plamya svyashchennik; Slovno otec, uveshchayushchij vzdornogo syna, sgubivshego nivu, On obratilsya k Prestolu i drevnim goram, uprezhdaya brozhen'e. "Nebo Otchizny, vnemli glasu teh, kto vzyvaet s holmov i iz dolov, Zastlany tuchami sily. Vnemli poselyanam, vnemli gorozhanam. Grady i vesi vosstali, daby unichtozhit' i grady, i vesi. Pahar' pri zvukah rozhka zarydal, ibo v pen'e nebesnoj fanfary - Smert' krotkoj Francii; mat' svoe chado rastit dlya ubijstvennoj bojni. Zryu, nebesa zapechatany kamnem i solnce na strashnoj orbite, Zryu zagashennoj lunu i pomerkshimi vechnye zvezdy nad mirom, V koem likuyut besschetnye duhi na sernistyh neba oblomkah, Osvobozhdennye, chernye, v temnom nevezhestve nesokrushimy, Obozhestvlyaya ubijstvo, plodyas' ot vozmezd'ya, dysha vozhdelen'em, V zverskom oblich'e il' v oblike mnogo strashnej - v chelovecheskoj persti, Tak do teh por, poka utro Pokoya i Mira, Zari i Rassveta, Mirnoe utro ne snidet, i tuchi ne sginut, i Glas ne razdastsya Vseobnimayushchij - i chelovek iz peshchery u Nochi ne vyrvet CHleny svoi zatenennye, okom i serdcem prostranstvo pronzaya, - Tshchetno! Ni Solnca! Ni zvezd!.. I k soldatu vosplachut francuzskie doly: "Mech i mushket uroni, pobratajsya s krest'yaninom krotkim!" I, placha, Snimut dvoryane s Otchizny krovavuyu mantiyu zverstva i straha, I pritesnen'ya venec, i botforty prezren'ya, - i poyas razvyazhut Alyj na tele Zemli. I togda iz gromovyya tuchi Svyashchennik, Zemlyu laskaya, polya obnimaya, kasayas' naperstviem pluga, Molvit, vosplakav: "Snimayu s vas, chada, proklyat'e i blagoslovlyayu. Nyne vash trud izo t'my izoshel, i nad plugom net tuchi nebesnoj, Ibo bluzhdavshie v chashchah i vyvshie v proklyatyh bogom pustynyah, Vechno bezumnye v rabstve i v doblesti plenniki predubezhdenij Nyne poyut v derevnyah, i smeyutsya v polyah, i gulyayut s podruzhkoj; Ran'she dikarskaya, stala ih strast', svetom znan'ya luchas', blagorodnoj; Molot, rezec i soha, karandash, i bumaga, i zvonkaya flejta Nyne zvuchat nevozbranno povsyudu i chestnogo paharya uchat I pastuha - dvuh spasennyh ot tuchi voennoj, chumy i razboya, Strahov nochnyh, udusheniya, goloda, holoda, lzhi i dosady, Zveryu i ptice nochnoj vechno svojstvennyh - i otletevshih otnyne Vihrem chumnym ot zhilishcha lyudej. I zemlya na schastlivoj orbite Mirnye nacii prosit k blazhenstvu prizvat', kak ih predkov, u Neba". Vsled za svyashchennikom Utro samo vozzovet: "Da rasseyutsya tuchi! Tuchi, chrevatye gromom vojny i pozharom ubijstv i nasilij! Da ne ostanetsya dole vo Francii ni odnogo ratoborca!" Konchil - i veter razdora po Zale pronessya, i tuchi sgustilis'; Byli vel'mozhi, kak gory, kak gornye chashchi, tryasomye vihrem; I, nezametno v shatan'e derev, v treske such'ev, ros shepot v doline Ili zhe shoroh - kak budto sryvalis' v travu vinogradnye grozd'ya, Ili zhe golos - natruzhennyj krik zemlepashca, ne vozglas vostorga. Tuche, chrevatoj ognem, upodobilsya Luvr, zastruilas' po drevnim Mramoram alaya krov'; Dyuk Burgundskij dozhdalsya monarshego slova: "Vidish' tot zamok nad rvom, chto vnushaet Parizhu opasku? Skomanduj |toj gromade: "Bastiliya pala! Soshel zamok prizrachnyj s mesta, Tronulsya v put', cherez reku shagnul, otoshel ot Parizha na desyat' Mil'. Tvoj chered, nepristupnaya YUzhnaya krepost'. Naprav'sya k Versalyu, Hmuro vzglyani v te sady!" I kol' vypolnit eto ona, my raspustim Armiyu nashu, chto dyshit vojnoj, a kol' net -my vnushim Assamblee: Armiya strahov i tyur'my muchenij sut' cepi strane vozroptavshej". Slovno zvezda, vozveshchaya rassvet poterpevshim korablekrushen'e, Molcha napravilsya gorestnyj vestnik pred Nacional'nym sobran'em S gorestnoj vest'yu predstat'. Molcha slushali. Molcha, no gromkie gromy Gromche i gromche gremeli. Oblomki kolonn, prah vremen - tak molchali. Slovno iz drevnih ruin, k nim vozzval Mirabo - gromy stihli mgnovenno, Hlopan'e kryl bylo vkrug ego krika: "Uslyshat' hotim Lafajeta!". Steny otkliknulis' ehom: "Uslyshat' hotim Lafajeta!". I v plamya, - Molnienosno, kak pulya, chto vzvizgnula v znak ob®yavleniya boya, - S mesta sorvavshis', "Pora!" zakrichal Lafajet. I Sobran'e V tuchah zastylo bezmolvno, kolchan, polnyj molnij, nad gradami zhizni. Gradami zhizni i ratyami shvatki, gde deti ih shli drug na druga; Golosovali, shepchas', - vihr' u nog, - golosa podschitali v molchan'e, I otkazali vojne, i CHuma krasnokrylaya v nebo metnulas'. Molcha pred nimi stoyal Lafajet, ozhidaya ishoda ih tyazhby, - I prikazali vojskam otojti za chertu v desyat' mil' ot Parizha. Staroe solnce, sadyas' za goroj, ozarilo luchom Lafajeta, No v glubochajshej teni bylo vojsko: s vostochnyh holmov naplyvala I prostiralas' nad gorodom, armiej, Luvrom gigantskaya tucha. Plameni svetloyu dolej stoyal on nad plameni temnoyu dolej; Tam besnovalis' ryady deputatov i zhdali reshen'ya soldaty, Placha, chumnoj verenicej struilis' viden'ya priverzhencev very - Golye dushi, iz chernyh abbatstv vyryvayas' besstydno na bozhij Svet, gde krovavaya tucha Vol'tera, i groznye skaly ZHan-ZHaka Mir zatenyali, oni razbivalis', kak volny, o vystupy vojska. Nebo zardelos' ognem, i zemlya sernym dymom sokrylas' ot vzora, Ibo vosstal Lafajet, no v molchan'e po-prezhnemu, a oficery Bilis' v nego, razbivayas', kak volny o Francii mysy v godinu Bitvy s Britaniej, krovi i vzora krest'yanskoj slezy cherez more. Ibo nad nim vosparyal, plameneya, Vol'ter, a nad vojskom - ZHan-ZHaka Belaya tucha plyla, i, razbuzheny, vojnorozhdennye zverstva L'nuli ko gromu rechej, vdohnovlennyh svobodoj i mysl'yu o mertvyh: "Kol' poreshili vy v Nacional'nom sobran'e vojskam udalit'sya, Tak i postupim. No zhdem ot Sobran'ya i Nacii novyh prikazov!" Stronulos' vojsko zheleznoe s ognennym gromom i grohotom s mesta; ZHdali signal'noj truby oficery, vskochili v sedlo vestovye; Bliz barabanshchikov vernyh stoyali, skorbya, kapitany pehoty; Podan byl znak, i doros do nebes, i otpravilos' vojsko v dorogu. CHernye vsadniki - tuchi, chrevatye gromom, - i pestroj pehoty Dvinulis' tolpy - pri zvukah truby i fanfary, pod boj barabannyj. Topot i grohot, fanfary i truby kachnuli dvorcovye steny. Blednyj i zhalkij, Korol' vossedal v okruzhen'e ispugannyh perov, Serdce ne bilos', i krov' ne struilas', i t'ma opechatala veki CHernoj pechat'yu; predsmertnoj isparinoj telo i chleny pokrylis'; Pery vokrug gromozdilis', kak mertvye gory, kak mertvye chashchi, Ili kak mertvye reki. Tritony, i zhaby, i zmei vozilis' Vozle derzhavnyh kolen i skvoz' pal'cy derzhavnoj nogi podpolzali, Blizhe k derzhavnoj gadyuke, zabravshejsya v mantiyu, daby ottuda S kamennym vzorom shipet', potryasaya francuzskie chashchi; nastalo Vseotvoren'e Vsemirnogo Dna i vosstan'e arhangelov spyashchih; Vstal ispolinskij mertvec i razdul nado vsemi ih blednoe plamya. ZHar ego szheg steny Luvra, rastayala mertvaya krov', zastruilas'. V gneve ochnulsya Korol' i dremotnye pery, uzrev zapusten'e: Luvr bez edinoj dushi, i Parizh bez soldat i v glubokom molchan'e, Ibo shum s vojskom propal, i Senat v tishine dozhidalsya rassveta. Perevod V. L. Toporova AMERICA A PROPHECY PRELUDIUM The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Ore, When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode: His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron. Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless Female stood; A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night, When pestilence is shot from heaven-no other arms she need! Invulnerable tho' naked, save where clouds roll round her loins Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night; For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise, But dumb till that dread day when Ore ussay'd his fierce embrace. 'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy Youth, 'Thy father stern, abhorr'd, Rivets my tenfold chains, while still on high my spirit soars; Sometimes an eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a lion Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a whale, I lash The raging fathomless abyss; anon a serpent folding Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds; For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face - In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight. Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy, The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire; Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb; It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile, As when a black cloud shows its lightnings to the silent deep. Soon as she saw the Terrible Boy, then burst the virgin cry:- 'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go: Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa, And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death. On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep. I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love, In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru; I see a Whale in the South Sea, drinking my soul away. O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent. This is Eternal Death, and this the torment long foretold!' The stern Bard ceas'd, asham'd of his own song; enrag'd he swung His harp aloft sounding, then dash'd its shining frame against A ruin'd pillar in glittering fragments; silent he turn'd away, And wander'd down the vales of Kent in sick & dream lamentings. AMERIKA PROROCHESTVO PRELYUDIYA Vidit Urtony dshcher' tenistaya Orka v krovi. Nosit emu edu chetyrnadcat' plamennyh solnc. Kormit ona ego: v zheleznom kuvshine pit'e, V chashe zheleznoj yastva; kosy carevny temny; Plamenem poln kolchan - v ruke u nee, pod rukoj - Luk okayannoj nochi, strely smertel'ny - i vse! Bol'shego ej ne nado! Neuyazvima ona, Hot' i nagaya, - tuchi lastyatsya k chreslam eya; T'moyu stoit bezmolvnoj, zvuka ne vedal yazyk; Probil postydnyj chas - zhazhdet ob®yatiya Ork! "Temnaya Deva, - rek vlasatyj, - otec tvoj skoval Cepi velikie telu - no duh moj parit V nebe orlom svobodnym, ryskaet yarostnym l'vom V gornyh ushchel'yah, mchitsya moshchnym kitom v glubinu. Volnami vshlestnut, zmiem v'yus' ya k Urtone v chertog, CHleny tvoi nagie laskoj derzayu obvit' V myslyah! Kanadskih pustyn' plennik, ya sohnu, plenen, Vlastny li cepi Duh moj strasti lishit'? CHut' pridesh', ZHadno revu, krovavym vzorom tebya poznayu - Tshchetno! Ty, v tuchah skryta, lozha bezhish' moego". Molcha, kak strast' bezum'ya, grozno, kak revnost' mirov, Dikie plechi cepi sbrosili - podlinna moshch'! CHudnye chresla roznyal, k lonu, likuya, pripal - Radostno lono, pyshet zharom, i tuchi ushli - Ognennyj vzor ego prozheg ih molchashchuyu glub'. Devstvennyj krik otvetil yarostnoj strasti samca: "Znayu tebya, nashla tebya, nikogda ne ujdu! Detishche bozh'e, zhilec Afriki vechno nochnoj, Pal ty, daruya mne zhizn' v temnoj yudoli smertej! YArost' ya chuyu, zlost', Ameriki shvatku i ston, Gorest' kornej, scepivshih ruki v podzemnoj bor'be. Vizhu ya Zmiya dnes', v Kanade on slyubit menya! V Meksike shvatit Grif! I Lev pohotlivyj - v Peru! Vizhu Kita u brega, dushu mne vyp'et do dna! O, chto za bol'! Moj moroz v plameni stayal tvoem! Bol' i pozor naveki - v borozdah molnij tvoih! Vot ona, Smert', nastala! Vot on, predskazannyj gnev!" Strogij Pevec umolknul, pesni svoej ustydyas', v beshenstve brosil on Arfu svoyu navstrechu zvukam ee - k vershinam, a zatem prelomil Plamennyj ostov ee o ruiny kolonny i, molcha nasupyas', Proch' zashagal v bol'nyh i strashnyh svoih pechalyah po Kentskomu dolu. A PROPHECY The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent: Sullen fires across the Atlantic glow to America's shore, Piercing the souls of warlike men who rise in silent night. Washington, Franklin, Paine, and Warren, Gates, Hancock, and Green Meet on the coast glowing with blood from Albion's fiery Prince. Washington spoke: 'Friends of America! look over the Atlantic sea; A bended bow is lifted in Heaven, and a heavy iron chain Descends, link by link, from Albion's cliffs across the sea, to bind Brothers and sons of America; till our faces pale and yellow, Heads depress'd, voices weak, eyes downcast, hands work-bruis'd, Feet bleeding on the sultry sands, and the furrows of the whip Descend to generations, that in future times forget.' The strong voice ceas'd; for a terrible blast swept over the heaving sea: The eastern cloud rent: on his cliffs stood Albion's wrathful Prince, A dragon form, clashing his scales: at midnight he arose, And flam'd red meteors round the land of Albion beneath; His voice, his locks, his awful shoulders, and his glowing eyes Appear to the Americans upon the cloudy night. Solemn heave the Atlantic waves between the gloomy nations, Swelling, belching from its deeps red clouds and raging fires. Albion is sick! America faints! Enrag'd the Zenith grew. As human blood shooting its veins all round the orbed heaven, Red rose the clouds from the Atlantic in vast wheels of blood, And in the red clouds rose a Wonder o'er the Atlantic sea- Intense! naked! a Human fire, fierce glowing, as the wedge Of iron heated in the furnace; his terrible limbs were fire, With myriads of cloudy terrors, banners dark, and towers Surrounded: heat but not light went thro' the murky atmosphere. The King of England looking westward trembles at the vision. Albion's Angel stood beside the Stone of Night, and saw The Terror like a comet, or more like the planet red, That once enclos'd the terrible wandering comets in its sphere. Then, Mars, thou wast our centre, and the planets three flew round Thy crimson disk; so, ere the Sun was rent from thy red sphere, The Spectre glow'd, his horrid length staining the temple long With beams of blood; and thus a voice came forth, and shook the temple: - 'The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their stations; The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up; The bones of death, the cov'ring clay, the sinews shrunk and dry'd Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing, awakening, Spring like redeemed captives, when their bonds and bars are burst. Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field, Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bright air; Let the enchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing, Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years, Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open; And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge. They look behind at every step, and believe it is a dream, Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher morning, And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night; For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease."' In thunders ends the voice. Then Albion's Angel wrathful burnt Beside the Stone of Night; and, like the Eternal Lion's howl In famine and war, reply'd: 'Art thou not Ore, who serpent-form'd Stands at the gate of Enitharmon to devour her children? Blasphemous Demon, Antichrist, hater of Dignities, Lover of wild rebellion, and transgressor of God's Law, Why dost thou come to Angel's eyes in this terrific form?' The Terror answer'd: T am Ore, wreath'd round the accursed tree: The times are ended; shadows pass, the morning 'gins to break; The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands, What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness, That stony Law I stamp to dust; and scatter Religion abroad To the four winds as a torn book, and none shall gather the leaves; But they shall rot on desert sands, and consume in bottomless deeps, To make the deserts blossom, and the deeps shrink to their fountains, And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof; That pale religious lechery, seeking Virginity, May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty The underfil'd, tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn; For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life; Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd. Fires enwrap the earthly globe, yet Man is not consum'd; Amidst the lustful fires he walks; his feet become like brass, His knees and things like silver, and his breast and head like gold. 'Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail! America is dark'ned; and my punishing Demons, terrified, Crouch howling before their caverns deep, like skins dry'd in the wind. They cannot smite the wheat, nor quench the fatness of the earth; They cannot smite with sorrows, nor subdue the plough and spade; They cannot wall the city, nor moat round the castle of princes; They cannot bring the stubbed oak to overgrow the hills; For terrible men stand on the shores, and in their robes I see Children take shelter from the lightnings: there stands Washington, And Paine, and Warren, with their foreheads rear'd toward the East - But clouds obscure my aged sight. A vision from afar! Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Ah, vision from afar! Ah, rebel form that rent the ancient Heavens! Eternal Viper self-renew'd, rolling in clouds, I see thee in thick clouds and darkness on America's shore, Writhing in pangs of abhorred birth; red flames the crest rebellious And eyes of death; the harlot womb, oft opened in vain, Heaves in enormous circles: now the times are return'd upon thee, Devourer of thy parent, now thy unutterable torment renews. Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Ah, terrible birth! a young one bursting! Where is the weeping mouth, And where the mother's milk? Instead, those ever-hissing jaws And parched lips drop with fresh gore: now roll thou in the clouds; Thy mother lays her length outstretch'd upon the shore beneath. Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!' Thus wept the Angel voice, and as he wept the terrible blasts Of trumpets blew a loud alarm across the Atlantic deep. No trumpets answer; no reply of clarions or of fifes: Silent the Colonies remain and refuse the loud alarm. On those vast shady hills between America and Albion's shore, Now barr'd out by the Atlantic sea, call'd Atlantean hills, Because from their bright summits you may pass to the Golden World, An ancient palace, archetype of mighty Emperies, Rears its immortal pinnacles, built in the forest of God By Ariston, the King of Beauty, for his stolen bride.