Шарль Бодлер (Charles Baudelaire) (1821-1867)
французский поэт, критик, эссеист и переводчик

• Список стихотворений поэта

Перевод стихотворения
«Les Litanies de Satan»
на английский язык.

Litany to Satan

O grandest of the Angels, and most wise,
O fallen God, fate-driven from the skies,
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

O first of exiles who endurest wrong,
Yet growest, in thy hatred, still more strong,
Satan, at last take pity on our pain!

O subterranean King, omniscient,
Healer of man’s immortal discontent,
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

To lepers and to outcasts thou dost show
That Passion is the Paradise below.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou by thy mistress Death hast given to man
Hope, the imperishable courtesan.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou givest to the Guilty their calm mien
Which damns the crowd around the guillotine
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou knowest the corners of the jealous Earth
Where God has hidden jewels of great worth.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou dost discover by mysterious signs
Where sleep the buried people of the mines.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou stretchest forth a saving hand to keep
Such men as roam upon the roofs in sleep.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thy power can make the halting Drunkard’s feet
Avoid the peril of the surging street.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou, to console our helplessness, didst plot
The cunning use of powder and of shot.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thy awful name is written as with pitch
On the unrelenting foreheads of the rich.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

In strange and hidden places thou dost move
Where women cry for torture in their love.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Father of those whom God’s tempestuous ire
Has flung from Paradise with sword and fire,
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

              Prayer

Satan, to thee be praise upon the Height
Where thou wast king of old, and in the night
Of Hell, where thou dost dream on silently.
Grant that one day beneath the Knowledge-tree,
When it shoots forth to grace thy royal brow,
My soul may sit, that cries upon thee now.

The Litanies of Satan

O thou, of all the Angels loveliest and most learned,
To whom no praise is chanted and no incense burned,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O Prince of exile, god betrayed by foulest wrong,
Thou that in vain art vanquished, rising up more strong,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O thou who knowest all, each weak and shameful thing,
Kind minister to man in anguish, mighty king,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou that dost teach the leper, the pariah we despise,
To love like other men, and taste sweet Paradise,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O thou, that in the womb of Death, thy fecund mate,
Engenderest Hope, with her sweet eyes and her mad gait,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou who upon the scaffold dost give that calm and proud
Demeanor to the felon, which condemns the crowd,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou that hast seen in darkness and canst bring to light
The gems a jealous God has hidden from our sight,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou to whom all the secret arsenals are known
Where iron, where gold and silver, slumber, locked in stone,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou whose broad hand dost hide the precipice from him
Who, barefoot, in his sleep, walks on the building's rim,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O thou who makest supple between the horses' feet
The old bones of the drunkard fallen in the street,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou who best taught the frail and over-burdened mind
How easily saltpeter and sulphur are combined,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Thou that hast burned thy brand beyond all help secure,
Into the rich man's brow, who tramples on the poor,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O thou, who makest gentle the eyes and hearts of whores
With kindness for the wretched, homage for rags and sores,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

Staff of the exile, lamp of the inventor, last
Priest of the man about whose neck the rope is passed,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

O thou, adopted father of those fatherless
Whom God from Eden thrust in terror and nakedness,

Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!

                    Prayer

Glory and praise to thee, Satan, in the most high,
Where thou didst reign; and in deep hell's obscurity,
Where, manacled, thou broodest long! O silent power,
Grant that my soul be near to thee in thy great hour,
When, like a living Temple, victorious bough on bough,
Shall rise the Tree of Knowledge, whose roots are in thy brow!

Les Litanies de Satan

Ô toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges,
Dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Ô Prince de l’exil, à qui l’on a fait tort,
Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
Guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, même aux lépreux, aux parias maudits,
Enseignes par l’amour le goût du Paradis,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Ô toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
Engendras l’Espérance, — une folle charmante !

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d’un échafaud,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi dont l’œil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux
Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi dont la large main cache les précipices
Au somnambule errant au bord des édifices,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, magiquement, assouplis les vieux os
De l’ivrogne attardé foulé par les chevaux,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui, pour consoler l’homme frêle qui souffre,
Nous appris à mêler le salpêtre et le soufre,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui poses ta marque, ô complice subtil,
Sur le front du Crésus impitoyable et vil,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Toi qui mets dans les yeux et dans le cœur des filles
Le culte de la plaie et l’amour des guenilles,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Bâton des exilés, lampe des inventeurs,
Confesseur des pendus et des conspirateurs,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

Père adoptif de ceux qu’en sa noire colère
Du paradis terrestre a chassés Dieu le Père,

Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

PRIÈRE

Gloire et louage à toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs
Du Ciel, où tu régnas, et dans les profondeurs
De l’Enfer, où, vaincu, tu rêves en silence !
Fais que mon âme un jour, sous l’Arbre de Science,
Près de toi se repose, à l’heure où sur ton front
Comme un Temple nouveau ses rameaux s’épandront !

Последние стихотворения