Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Шекспир Уильям

Язык Шекспира сильно отличается от современного английского языка, и потому он достаточно труден для англоязычных читателей и зрителей сегодняшнего дня, хотя англичане и читают шекспировские пьесы в школе. Величанский, в отличие от большинства наших знаменитых переводчиков XX века, например, Пастернака, старался сохранить этот ускользающий «исторический» аромат подлинника, вводя в свой текст архаизмы и литературные конструкции, не характерные для разговорного языка. В этом, быть может, одна из важнейших, сразу бросающихся в глаза сторон его «личного искажения подлинника». Но такова была его поэтическая воля.

Будем надеяться, что знакомство с этим новым, пусть и незаконченным, переводом «Ричарда III» поможет нашим читателям открыть новые сокровенные тайны неисчерпаемого таланта Шекспира.

Act I

Scene 1

^{Enter Richard Duke of Glouster, solus.}

Richard

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruis`ed arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front, And now, instead of mounting barb`ed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I that am not shaped for sportive tricks Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass, I that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph, I that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them, Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determin`ed to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other. And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that ’G’ Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul, here Clarence comes.

^{Enter Clarence and Brakenbury, guarded.}

Brother, good day. What means this arm`ed guard That waits upon your grace?

Clarence

His majesty, Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Richard

Upon what cause?

Clarence

Because my name is George.

Richard

Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours. He should for that commit your godfathers. Oh, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new christened in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?

Clarence

Yea, Richard, when I know, but I protest As yet I do not. But as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams, And from the cross-row plucks the letter ’G’. And says a wizard told him that by ’G’ His issue disinherited should be. And for my name of George begins with ’G’, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Hath moved his highness to commit me now.

Richard

Why, this it is when men are ruled by women. ’Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower. My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, ’tis she That tempts him to this harsh extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is delivered? We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clarence

By heaven, I think there is no man secure But the queen’s kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard you not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was for her delivery?

Richard

Humbly complaining to her deity Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. I’ll tell you what, I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery. The jealous, o’er-worn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

Brakenbury

I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with your brother.

Richard

Even so. And please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say. We speak no treason, man. We say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous. We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue, And that the queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks. How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?

Brakenbury

With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Richard

Naught to do with Mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her (excepting one) Were best to do it secretly alone.

Brakenbury

What one, my lord?

Richard

Her husband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me?

Brakenbury

I do beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

Clarence

We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Richard

We are the queen’s abjects and must obey. Brother, farewell. I will unto the king, And whatsoe’er you will employ me in, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine.