Михаил Лермонтов «Бородино» на английском языке
Стихотворение Михаила Юрьевича Лермонтова «Бородино» на русском языке и в трёх переводах на английский язык.
Бородино
— Скажи-ка, дядя, ведь не даром
Москва, спаленная пожаром,
Французу отдана?
Ведь были ж схватки боевые,
Да, говорят, еще какие!
Недаром помнит вся Россия
Про день Бородина!
— Да, были люди в наше время,
Не то, что нынешнее племя:
Богатыри — не вы!
Плохая им досталась доля:
Немногие вернулись с поля…
Не будь на то господня воля,
Не отдали б Москвы!
Мы долго молча отступали,
Досадно было, боя ждали,
Ворчали старики:
«Что ж мы? на зимние квартиры?
Не смеют, что ли, командиры
Чужие изорвать мундиры
О русские штыки?»
И вот нашли большое поле:
Есть разгуляться где на воле!
Построили редут.
У наших ушки на макушке!
Чуть утро осветило пушки
И леса синие верхушки —
Французы тут как тут.
Забил заряд я в пушку туго
И думал: угощу я друга!
Постой-ка, брат мусью!
Что тут хитрить, пожалуй к бою;
Уж мы пойдем ломить стеною,
Уж постоим мы головою
За родину свою!
Два дня мы были в перестрелке.
Что толку в этакой безделке?
Мы ждали третий день.
Повсюду стали слышны речи:
«Пора добраться до картечи!»
И вот на поле грозной сечи
Ночная пала тень.
Прилег вздремнуть я у лафета,
И слышно было до рассвета,
Как ликовал француз.
Но тих был наш бивак открытый:
Кто кивер чистил весь избитый,
Кто штык точил, ворча сердито,
Кусая длинный ус.
И только небо засветилось,
Все шумно вдруг зашевелилось,
Сверкнул за строем строй.
Полковник наш рожден был хватом:
Слуга царю, отец солдатам…
Да, жаль его: сражен булатом,
Он спит в земле сырой.
И молвил он, сверкнув очами:
«Ребята! не Москва ль за нами?
Умремте же под Москвой,
Как наши братья умирали!»
И умереть мы обещали,
И клятву верности сдержали
Мы в Бородинский бой.
Ну ж был денек! Сквозь дым летучий
Французы двинулись, как тучи,
И всё на наш редут.
Уланы с пестрыми значками,
Драгуны с конскими хвостами,
Все промелькнули перед нами,
Все побывали тут.
Вам не видать таких сражений!..
Носились знамена, как тени,
В дыму огонь блестел,
Звучал булат, картечь визжала,
Рука бойцов колоть устала,
И ядрам пролетать мешала
Гора кровавых тел.
Изведал враг в тот день немало,
Что значит русский бой удалый,
Наш рукопашный бой!..
Земля тряслась — как наши груди,
Смешались в кучу кони, люди,
И залпы тысячи орудий
Слились в протяжный вой…
Вот смерклось. Были все готовы
Заутра бой затеять новый
И до конца стоять…
Вот затрещали барабаны —
И отступили бусурманы.
Тогда считать мы стали раны,
Товарищей считать.
Да, были люди в наше время,
Могучее, лихое племя:
Богатыри — не вы.
Плохая им досталась доля:
Немногие вернулись с поля.
Когда б на то не божья воля,
Не отдали б Москвы!
1837
Михаил Юрьевич Лермонтов (1814-1941)
Borodino
«But tell me, uncle, why our men
Let Moscow burn, yet fought again
To drive the French away?
I hear it was a dreadful fight,
A bitter war, by day and night;
That’s why we celebrate the might
Of Borodino today.»-
Yes, men were heroes in the past,
Not men like you, but on the last
The bravest in the field!
Their fate was hard, they bravely died,
And few came home by war untried.
We yielded Moscow, yet satisfied
It was God’s will to yield.
Then long we suffered in retreat,
All keen the enemy to meet.
We muttered angry threats:
Why winter quarters? Why not reel
Them back at once? Or do we feel
We dare not let them have the steel
Of Russian bayonets?
We found at last a stretch of land
With plenty room to make a stand!
We built a strong redoubt.
We listened in the dark around,
Alert for every stir and sound;
Before the stars went out, we found
The french were thick about.
I had my cannon loaded tight.
I said: I’ll get you in this fight,
My friend Mo’sieu! I say
No good for you to lurk and stall!
We’ll stand against you like a wall,
And fight again, and give our all
To bring your kind to bay!
Two days in skirmishes went by.
But all the same we grumbled why
Lose time in trifling plays.
Our men kept saying left and right
It’s time to buckle down and fight
It out! — The shadows of the night
Came down an field ablaze.
I dozed awhile , the guns beside,
And heard the French proclaim in pride
Their hoped-for victory.
Our camp lay still: I heard men fret
About a battered cap, or whet
A blade, or file a bayonet,
While grumbling angrily.
But when the morning came again,
Our camp awoke with marching men,
Their rattling guns ahead.
Our officer was bold and brave,
A loyal fellow. Yes, he gave
His life for all of us. His grave,
Among the nameless dead.
He called to us, with flashing eyes:
‘For Moscow, for the fight! Arise!
For Moscow we shall die
Like all the rest in battle slain!’
We’ll fight and die, we cried again!
And there, upon that bloody plain,
We kept our pledge to die.
O what a day! The Frenchmen came,
A solid mass, like clouds aflame,
Straight for our redoubt.
Their lancers rode with pennons bright;
Dragoons came on in all their might
Against our walls, and in the fight
They scattered in a rout.
Such wars, my lad, you’ll never know!
Like shadows, banners rose, sank low,
And rose on rampart walls.
In hiss of fire, we fought until
Our hand became too weak to kill.
The dead and wounded lie a hill
Choked the flight of balls.
That day the French found out aright
The way our Russian lads will fight
And stand up in a war.
The earth shook lound as every breast;
Horses and men together pressed;
The fire of guns was like a vast
And never-ending roar.
Then darkness came. Each man was true
To fight at break of day anew,
All steadfast to the end.
‘Twas then the roll of drums began.
The French fell back. We tended then
Our many wounds, and every man
Recalled a fallen friend
Yes, men were heroes in the past,
All daring fellows to the last
In deeds upon the field!
THeir fate was hard, they bravely died,
And few came home by war untried.
We yielded Moscow, yet satisfied
It was God’s will to yield.
Mikhail Yurevich Lermontov
Translated by Eugene M. Kayden (1886–1977)
Borodino
– Hey tell, old man, had we a cause
When Moscow, razed by fire, once was
Given up to Frenchman’s blow?
Old-timers talk about some frays,
And they remember well those days!
With cause all Russia fashions lays
About Borodino!
– Yea, were there men when I was young,
Whose songs your tribe is not to ‘ve sung:
They’d fight, – you ‘re none as good!
An evil lot have they been drawn:
Few left the grounds to which they had gone…
Had it not been God’s will alone,
Old Moscow should have stood!
Retreating this day and the next,
We wonder’d when ‘s our battle, vext;
The veterans talk’d upset:
«What then? we ‘re off to winter dorms?
Go the commanders by new norms;
Daren’t they rip foreign uniforms
On Russian bayonet?»
And then we had come upon a plain:
Here ‘s room to fight with might and main!
There built we a redoubt.
Our troops are curt on high alert!
Soon as sun’s beams on cannon spurt,
And on the bluish wood-tops squirt –
The Frenchmen march right out.
I drove the shell in tight: well isn’t
It meet our guest receive a present!
Hold off, my friend Moosue!
Who needs these games, why not begin;
Those left alive will wall you in,
If this be what it takes to win
Our motherland from you!
Two-days’-worth pass’d in trading shots.
Why give of that too many thoughts?
We waited third day on.
Words started then to fly to the ear:
«‘Tis time we use the grape-shot, hear!»
And now the field of carnage sheer
The pall of night does don.
Then I dozed off beside our gun,
And not until the dawn, was done
The revel of the French.
But quiet was our open camp:
His shako with a brush one ‘d scamp,
Cross-hearted, would another tramp,
His sharpen’d bayonet clench.
And once the sky lit from its border –
Formations, gleaming, pass’d in order,
With shouts all took its berth.
Our colonel’s mettle did you feel:
Czar’s servant, soldiers’ father real…
Yea, ’tis a pity: slain by steel,
Now sleeps he in black earth.
And eyes aflame, he spoke his mind:
«Hey lads! is Moscow not behind?
By Moscow then we die
As have our brethren died before!»
And that we’ll die we all then swore,
And th’ oath of loyalty ne’er tore
Neath Borodinian sky.
Some day it was! Through flying smoke
Set out in swarms many a French bloke,
And e’er for our redoubt.
The lancers in their motley guise,
Dragoons with horse-tails with loud cries –
They all would flash before our eyes,
They all were near about.
You ‘re never to behold such fights!..
The banners would fly by like sprites,
In smoke would glimmer fire,
The blade would sound, the grape would shriek,
The fighters’ hand to thrust grow weak,
And muzzles have no space to seek
O’er bloody heaps e’er higher.
The foe that day had many ways
To feel what daring combat weighs,
Our Russian hand-to-hand!..
As did our chests – earth’s hollows trembled;
The steeds, the men all disassembled,
And cannon volleys’ sound resembled
A moaning o’er the land…
Dusk fell. We all were ready to
Next morrow start the fight anew
And stand till none were left…
Of drums we heard far off the rattle: –
The pagans left the field of battle.
To count then we began the sad toll
Of wounds and comrades reft.
Yea, were there men when I was young,
Bold tribe of whom shall songs be sung:
They’d fight, – you ‘re none as good.
An evil lot have they been drawn:
Few left the grounds to which they had gone.
Were ‘t not the will of God alone,
Old Moscow would have stood!
Mikhail Lermontov
Translated by Peter Solovioff
Borodino
Tell, uncle, it was not a boon
By fire Moscow burnt so soon
Enjoyed by Frenchmen tall?
Fierce fights… or wasn’t there any?
There were, great battles, there were many,
For reason Russians, kids and granny,
This glorious day recall!
Once was a folk that you could face
So much unlike the present race
Top gun — you’re not so good!
Bad fate they had on their shields
Just few made their way from fields
But for God’s will, unless He dealed,
Old Moscow would have stood!
For long in silence we withdrew
Annoyed, awaiting battles true,
Vets grumbling off their beds:
«For winter quarters who does care?
Do not our top commanders dare
To rip unwelcome strangers’ wear
With Russian bayonets?»
And here was found a true big field:
To go wild, to move unsealed!
Redoubts were built and more.
Alerted we pricked up our ears!
Had scarcely morn dropped light on spears,
Wood dark-blue tops. Somebody nears…
A Frenchmen squad’s next door.
A tight fill fits in (in the end),
It strikes me: ‘Let us treat the friend!’
My dear sir, hold on!
Now no more tricks, standby to call,
We’ll beat them like a wave, a wall,
Defending with the heart and soul
Our land from now and on!
Two days we fired back and forth.
Such misaffair, or even worse?
The third day was at hand.
All over following was heard:
«It is good time to reach case-shot!»
Soon over fields of battles hot
The night shade was to land.
I took a nap at a gun-house,
And I could hear till sunlight roused,
The Frenchmen nearby cheered.
But silent our camping was
One cleaned the carpet beaten, tossed,
One ground stabbers, grumbling, cross,
Displeased with his long beard.
Once did the sky shine with the light,
With noise all moved, first left, then right,
Lines, one by one, are fed,
Our colonel had a hot-shot skin:
He fathered soldiers, served the king,
We pity him: blade-struck when ringed,
In earth he found his bed.
He said to us with sparkling eyes:
«Aback is Moscow, is it, guys?
Let’s die as brothers died,
Protecting it, our country’s heart,
To die for it we promised but
We kept this oath, played deadly part
In Borodin’s fierce fight!
It was a day! Through smoke all over
The Frenchmen cloud-like hang over,
And all at our redoubt.
The uhlans squad their brothers hailed
The dragoons riders all horse-tailed
Along us everybody trailed,
Were here all who could.
You’ll hardly see this kind of battles!
When banners sail, the air rattles,
The smoke was mixed with flame,
The case-shot squealed, blades gave a sound,
Exhaust a pricking hand has bound.
And flesh-and-blood dead bodies mount
Disrupted gunners’ game.
The enemy that day learnt much,
What means the Russian fight as such,
Our hand-to-hand bold fight!…
The ground shivered, breathing leaped,
The horses, men were mixed and heaped.
The lead of scores of cannons beeped,
Emerged in howling flight…
Twilight descended. All were ready
For dawn refight advancing steady
To last till death us mutes…
Here drums-performed march hits the ear,
But basurmans no longer near.
It was good time to make wounds clear,
To fallen give salutes.
Then was a folk that you could face,
The mighty, daring, hot-shot race:
Top gun — you’re not so good!
Bad fate they had on their shields
Just few made their way from fields
But for God’s will, unless He dealed,
Old Moscow would have stood!
Mikhail Lermontov
Translated by Dmitry Bek-Lemeshev
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