The Desperanto we must learn to write. <28 апреля 1966>

ПЕРЕВОДЫ НА АНГЛИЙСКИЙ{*}

Александр Пушкин

438–439. FROM «MOZART AND SALIERI»{*}

SCENE I. A ROOM Salieri They say there is no justice on the earth. I know now there is none in Heaven. Plain as seven simple notes! I have loved the art from birth; when I was but a little child in our old church and the organ boomed sublimely, I listened and was lost — shedding delicious involuntary tears. I turned away from foolish pastimes early; found repellent all studies foreign to my music — ay, from all I turned with obstinate disdain, determined thence to dedicate myself to music, music only. The start is hard, the first steps make dull going. I surmounted the initial obstacles; I grounded firmly that craft that makes the pedestal for art; a craftsman I became: I trained my fingers to dry obedient proficiency, brought sureness to my ear. Stunning the sounds, I cut up music like a corpse; I tested the laws of harmony by mathematics. Then only, rich in learning, dared I yield to blandishments of sweet creative fancy. I dared compose — but silently, in secret, nor could I venture yet to dream of glory. How often, in my solitary cell, having toiled for days, having sat unbroken hours, forgetting food and sleep, and having tasted the rapture and the tears of inspiration, I'd burn my work and coldly watch the flame as my own melodies and meditations flared up and smoked a little and were gone. Nay, even more: when the great Gluck appeared, when he unveiled to us new marvels, deep enchanting marvels — did I not forsake all I had known, and loved so well and trusted? Did I not follow him with eager stride, obedient as one who'd lost his way and met a passerby who knew the turning? By dint of stubborn steadfast perseverance upon the endless mountainside of art I reached at last a lofty level. Fame smiled on me; and I found in others' hearts responses to the sounds I had assembled. Came happy days: in quiet I enjoyed Work and success and fame — enjoying also the works and the successes of my friends, my comrades in that art divine we served. Oh, never did I envy know. Nay, never! Not even when Piccini found a way to captivate the ears of savage Paris — not even when I heard for the first time the plangent opening strains of «Iphigenia». Is there a man alive who'll say Salieri has ever stooped to envy — played the snake that, trampled underfoot, still writhes and bites the gravel and the dust in helpless spite? Not one!.. Yet now — I needs must say it — now I am an envious man. I envy — deeply, to agony, I envy. — Tell me, Heaven! where now is justice when the holiest gift, when genius and its immortality, come not as a reward for fervent love, for abnegation, prayer and dogged labor — but lights its radiance in the head of folly, of idle wantonness? …Oh, Mozart, Mozart! Mozart enters. Mozart Aha! you saw me! I was just preparing to take you by surprise — a little joke. Salieri You here? — When did you come? Mozart
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