But the sledge-hammer breaks up stones already,
and with a ringing pavement soon
the salvaged city will be covered
4 as with an armor of forged steel.
However, in this moist Odessa
there is another grave deficiency,
of — what would you think? Water.
8 Grievous exertions are required....
So what? This is not a great sorrow!
Particularly since wine is
imported free of duty.
12 But then the Southern sun, but then the sea...
What more, friends, could you want?
Blest climes!
Time was, no sooner did the sunrise gun
roar from the ship
than, down the steep shore running,
4 I would be on my way toward the sea.
Then, sitting with a glowing pipe,
enlivened by the briny wave,
like in his paradise a Moslem, coffee
8 with Oriental grounds I quaff.
I go out for a stroll. Already the benevolent
Casino's open: the clatter of cups
resounds there; on the balcony
12 the marker, half asleep, emerges
with a broom in his hands, and at the porch
two merchants have converged already.
Anon the square grows freaked [with people].
All is alive now; here and there
they run, on business or not busy;
4 however, more on businesses.
The child of Calculation and of Venture,
the merchant goes to glance at ensigns,
to find out — are the skies
8 sending to him known sails?
What new wares have
entered today in quarantine?
Have the casks of expected wines arrived?
12> And how's the plague, and where the conflagrations,
and is not there some famine, war,
or novelty of a like kind?
But we, fellows without a sorrow,
among the careful merchants,
expected only oysters
4 from Tsargrad's shores.
What news of oysters? They have come. O glee!
Off flies gluttonous juventy
to swallow from their sea shells
8 the plump, live cloisterers,
slightly asperged with lemon.
Noise, arguments; light wine
onto the table from the cellars
12 by complaisant Automne[2] is brought.
The hours fly by, and the grim bill
meantime invisibly augments.
But the blue evening grows already darker.
Time to the opera we sped:
there 'tis the ravishing Rossini,
4 darling of Europe, Orpheus.
To severe criticism not harking, he
is ever selfsame, ever new;
he pours out melodies, they effervesce,
8 they flow, they burn
like youthful kisses, all
in mollitude, in flames of love,
like the stream and the golden spurtles of Ay
12 starting to fizz; but, gentlemen,
is it permitted to compare
do-re-mi-sol to wine?
And does that sum up the enchantments there?
And what about the explorative lorgnette?
And the assignments in the wings?
4 The prima donna? The ballet?
And the loge where, in beauty shining,
a trader's young wife, vain
and languorous,
8 is by a crowd of thralls surrounded?
She lists and does not list
the cavatina, the entreaties,
the banter blent halfwise with flattery,
12 while in a corner naps behind her
her husband; wakes up to cry “Fuora!”; yawns,
and snores again.
There thunders the finale. The house empties;
with noise the outfall hastes;
the crowd onto the square
4 runs by the gleam of lamps and stars.
The sons of fortunate Ausonia hum
a playful tune
involuntarily retained —
8 while we roar the recitative.
But it is late. Sleeps quietly
Odessa; and breathless and warm
is the mute night. The moon has risen,
12 a veil, diaphanously light,
enfolds the sky. All's silent;
only the Black Sea sounds.
And so I lived then in Odessa.
вернуться
Или на вельмож, которые забыли, что бедный поэт может иметь столь же благородное происхождение, как и они (см. коммент. к «Путешествию Онегина», XXXII).