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"Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales": True; Moscow; 1988

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"The Canterbury Tales" by the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer (1340? - 1400) is one of the first literary monuments in a single common English language. The book clearly showed the remarkable qualities of Chaucer's humanism: optimistic life-affirmation, interest in a particular person, a sense of social justice, nationality and democracy. The Canterbury Tales is a framed collection of short stories. Based on the pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Thomas Becket in Canterbury, Chaucer painted a broad canvas of the English reality of that era.

Geoffrey Chaucer

The Canterbury Tales

General prologue

This is where the Canterbury Tales book begins

When April rains heavily

He loosened the earth, blown up by sprouts,

And, quench the March thirst,

From root to green stem

The veins swelled with that spring force,

That in every grove she dissolved the buds,

And the young sun is on its way

The whole Aries sign managed to get around, 1

And, not for a moment in the night without falling asleep,

Flocks of birds chimed incessantly,

So the call of spring disturbed their hearts, -

Then from all over the native country

Pilgrims of countless strings

Bow to the relics of overseas again

We strived earnestly; but attracted many

Thomas Becket, 2 saint who helped them

In trouble or healed an old ailment,

He himself accepted death as an innocent martyr.

I happened to turn around at that time

To the Tabard tavern 3 in Sowerk, on your way

Performing in Canterbury on a vow;

Here I accidentally met this

Company. There were twenty-nine of them.

Common goal on the way connected

their friendship; they are an example to all of us -

Went to bow to the righteous relics.

There are a lot of stables, rooms in Tabarda,

And it has never been crowded.

As soon as the plentiful supper departed,

As I have already found with many

Acquaintances in common or made friends

And the way agreed to separate them.

And so, while my modest story

Has not yet tired the ears and eyes,

I think it would be appropriate

Tell you everything that I know

About my companions: what is their appearance,

And the title, and what who is famous for

Or why remains in oblivion;

Let the Knight open my list.

That knight was a worthy man. 4

Ever since the first time he left the raid,

He did not shame the knightly family;

He loved honor, courtesy and freedom;

He was diligent and zealous vassal.

And rarely has anyone been to so many places.

Baptized and even infidels

They recognized his prowess in battle.

He took Alexandria with the king,

At order feasts he sat

At the top of the table, was a guest in Prussian castles,

He went to Lithuania, went to Russians,

And few people - God is a witness -

Of the knights, he could boast of that.

He took Aljesir in Andalusia 6

And Algiers is protected from the infidels.

He was under Layas and Satalia

And he helped fight Bellmaria. 7

More than once he endured adversity and grief

During difficult landings in the Great Sea, 8

He was in fifteen big fights;

Instilling fear into the hearts of the pagans,

He went to Tremissen three times

To fight with the wrong one - he won three times.

He helped the Syrian Christians

To fight back against the Ottoman rapists,

And he deserved honor everywhere.

Although he was noble, yet he was smart,

And in his manner he is soft, like a girl;

And throughout life (there is something to marvel at)

He did not defile his mouth with scolding -

Like a true knight, he kept modesty.

What can I say about his outfit?

The horse was good, but he himself is not smart;

Shabby chain mail was his camisole,

Broken, patched, stained all over the hem.

He, returning from a long trip,

Immediately he went to the relics with all the people.

His father took his son with him everywhere.

Squire 9 was a cheerful, amorous youth

Twenty years old, curly and ruddy.

Although he was young, he saw death and wounds:

Tall and slender, dexterous, strong, bold,

More than once he went to a foreign border;

In Flanders, Artois and Picardy 10

He, despite his young years,

He was a squire and fought there,

What favors beloved sought.

By the efforts of skillful ladies' hands

His outfit was embroidered like a meadow,

And all sparkled with marvelous colors,

Emblems, overseas animals.

All day he played the flute and sang,

He knew how to put together songs,

Fight on spears, dance deftly.

He was bright, fresh, like a spring leaf.

There was a camisole at the waist, and knee-deep

The sleeves hung. 11 He galloped boldly

And pranced, showing off, every now and then.

All night, languishing, he did not close his eyes

And slept less than the nightingale in May.

He was a pleasant, polite neighbor:

I cut roast for my father at dinner.

The knight did not take with him extra servants,

As in campaigns, he rode a friend himself.

With him Yeoman was 12, - in a caftan with a hood;

Behind the sash, like the outfit, green

Sticking out a bunch of long, sharp arrows,

Whose feathers did the yeoman know how to keep -

And the arrow of nimble hands obeyed.

With him was his big mighty bow, 13

Polished like new.

There was a thick-set yeoman, shaven-headed,

Cold wind, scorched by the sun,

Forest hunting he knew the law.

A lush bracer tightened the wrist,

And on the road from military gear

There was a sword and a shield and a dagger on the side;

On the neck barely shimmered with silver,

Green bandage hidden from view,

The worn face of Saint Christopher. fourteen

A turium horn hung on a sling -

Was a forester, must have been that shooter.

Among them was also the Abbess -

Guardian of noble novices and headmistress. fifteen

Softened the coldness of the monastic rank

The smile of timid mother Eglantina.

In her mouth the most terrible blasphemy

It sounded like this: "I swear by the holy Elua." sixteen

And, listening to the neighboring conversation,

She sang Liturgy in her nose;

And fluent French, 17

Like they teach in Stratford, not funny

Parisian hasty talk.

She kept herself dignified at the table:

Do not choke on strong liquor,

Just a little dip in the gravy, 18

He will not wipe them on his sleeve or collar.

Not a speck around her device.

She wiped her lips so often

That there was no trace of fat on the goblet.

Waiting your turn with dignity

I chose a piece without greed.

It was a pleasure to sit next to her -

She was so polite and so kind.

Having mastered the temper of the courtiers and manners,

She didn't lose her temper either.

And sought to arouse respect,

Showing mercy to sinners.

She was so compassionate, compassionate,

I was even afraid to hurt the mouse

And for the forest animals prayed to the sky.

Fed with meat, milk and bread

Your favorite little dogs.

And all no-no - the abbess will cry:

That doggie was slain, that one was nailed -

Not all dogs were loved by the abbess.

Artfully woven bedspread

A high, clean forehead fitted her.

Chiseled nose, friendly lips

And in the frame of scarlet tiny teeth,

Eyes are transparent, gray as glass, -

Everything about her pleased and attracted.

Her cloak was well tailored, short,

And on the hand a coral rosary

Bloomed green malachite.

There was a golden shield on the clasp

With a crown over a big "A"

With the motto: "Amor vincit omnia". nineteen

There was a blueberry with her for a favor

And three Chaplains; at leisure

They were having an important dispute with the Monk.

The monk was a monastic auditor.

Passionate rider, he loved to hunt

And pilgrimage - just not work.

And although such monks are reproached,

But he would be an excellent abbot:

The whole district knew his stable,

His bridle jangled with buckles,

Like the bells of that chapel

The income from which he spent as his own.

He would not give a broken half

For a life without ladies, without a kennel, without a revel.

Cheerful disposition, he could not stand

Monastic languishing prison,

Statute of Mauritius and Benedict 20

And all sorts of prescripts and edicts.

But in fact, the monk is right,

And this harsh charter is outdated:

He forbids hunting for something

And teaches us too cool:

A monk without a cell is a fish without water.

And I don't see much of a problem in that.

After all, a monk is not a hermit crab,

That on the back carries its chapel.

He won't give an oyster for all that nonsense

Who preaches the prior.

Why pore among books or in the garden,

Why emaciate in defiance of nature?

Works, fasting, hardships, prayers -

What are they for, if there is love and battles?

Let Augustine take care of salvation,

And the brethren will leave sins.

Our monk was a dashing fighter, a hunter.

He kept two hundred greyhounds in the kennel:

There is no meaning in life without dog bullying.

He loved the swan with sour sauce. 21

His cloak was lined with the best squirrel.

Richly embroidered and well sewn.

He clasp, as befits the dandies,

Decorated with a gold "love bow". 22

The tonsure shone like a mirror ball,

His cheeks hung down, and his figure

All swollen; nimble eyes

They swelled up, and tears flowed from them.

Around his beefy body

Sweat, like a cloud, hung.

The abbot himself envied him -

So representative was our prelate.

And he himself is plump, ruddy,

And boots from the best morocco,

And a bay horse, artsy in appearance.

A nimble Carmelite rode next to him. 23

He was the 24th brother of the assembler - an important person.

With such insinuating flattery who would

Could you get so much from your brother in a mug?

He managed to break through many girls

In marriage, the path, dowry endowed;

The strongest was the pillar of the monastery.

He was friends with the Franklins 25 he was around,

I rubbed myself into freeloaders, then into others

To many of the honorable wives of the city;

Was granted the right to scapegoat

No less, he said, than a priest

After all, that absolution was sealed by the pope.

With pleasure the monk confessed,

Willingly forgive sins.

His penance was light,

If the sinner's hand was not stingy.

After all, generous offerings to the church -

A sign that all sins are atoned for,

And, accepting the gifts of repentance,

He would swear that the sinner is pure and right.

“Others, they say, will not squeeze out tears

And they will not force the tongue to repent,

At least they secretly languished in their hearts

And they recognized the sins of filth.

So, to avoid weeping and fasting,

Give more generously - and the soul is pure.

He's in the hood for his girlfriends

He kept packs of pins, threads, lace.

He was amorous, talkative and carefree.

He knew how to sing and strum on the company.

No one sang those songs more cheerfully.

He was plump in body, whiter than lilies.

And yet, there was a strong man, a fair fighter,

Loved the feasts ceremonial front.

merry innkeepers and maids

And broken, plump kept women.

Messing around with various lousy poor people?

They aren't worth a bit.

Lots of worries, but little income

And the monk's temper did not fit

Hang out with the poor and the poor

And not with merchants but with the rich.

If a person could be useful to him,

He was helpful, kind and gracious,

At the mercy of the release he took,

He did not let others near his herds.

Although he paid a lot to the treasury for a patent,

But he covered the expenses.

So sweetly did he sing "In principio"

A widow barefoot like her hand

Gave away the last half

Even if she and her family were starving.

He, like a puppy, frolicked around her:

Such, but he would not have achieved his goal!

In the courts of love he willingly judged,

And this brother passed sentences

As if he were some kind of cardinal.

He flaunted his cassock -

Not worn out monastic row,

And the best cloth, and a cape

Around it is firm, like a bell, sticking out.

He lisped a little to make it sound

English speech is sweeter to the ears.

He sang to the harp like a nightingale

Squinting tenderly, and the rays

From his eyes sparkled that in the night

Frosty star. His name was Hubert.

The merchant rode with him, akimbo,

Having put on a lot of motley goodness.

He wore a Flanders beaver hat

And strappy boots

Yes, a beard. He talked about

How to get, how to save income.

He demanded that the waters be guarded 27

En route from Middleburg to Orwell. 28

He knew how to calculate the course of the ecu

And notably profited from the exchange

And he got rich, and then he went bankrupt,

But he hid his debts from everyone.

The merchant willingly gave money at interest, 29

But so skillfully led his calculations,

Which was respected by all.

I don't really know what his name is.

Having interrupted hard work on logic, 30

An Oxford student trudged along with us.

Hardly a poorer beggar could be found:

Not a horse under him, but a plucked jackdaw,

And the student himself was sorry -

He was so shabby, miserable,

Thin, exhausted by a bad road.

He did not manage to get a parish,

No clerical service. endure

Need and hunger accustomed steadfastly.

He put the log at the head of the bed. 31

He is more pleased to have twenty books, 32

Than an expensive dress, a lute, food.

He despised the bliss of perishable treasures,

But Aristotle - a storehouse of valuable thoughts -

I couldn't add a penny,

And the clerk begged them sinful soul, 33

All friends and spent on learning

And fervently prayed for salvation

Those whose generosity was indebted.

He was passionately attached to science.

But philosophy didn't help

And she didn't give me an ounce of gold.

He didn't say too much

And the lofty syllable of wisdom loved -

Short, quick, sincere, truthful;

He was full of the harvest from this fat field.

And, preferring to live as a poor man,

I wanted to learn and teach others.

There was an important, stiff Lawyer with them. 34

He, like a skillful, subtle casuist,

On the porch 35 was very respected

And often we make detours. 36

He had a patent for his rights.

And rumors spread about him in the courts.

He protected the inheritance from the treasury,

He kept the estate in the hands of the family.

Clients with a "mantle" flocked to him; 37

His wealth increased rapidly.

I have not seen the light of such a money-grubber,

And yet they did not hear bad things about him.

After all, no matter how many bribes the guilty person gives -

He was able to justify any payment.

A zealous worker, before the whole world,

Not so much was him, how much he knew how to be known to him.

He knew the laws since William 38

And bypassed - by trick or directly -

Any of them but were undeniable

His decisions. He wore patterned

Home camisole with embroidered belt.

Maybe stop talking about him.

Franklin was talking to him jokingly.

He did not know from birth what spleen means.

Could he frown at life -

Was in that worthy son of Epicurus, 39

Who said that only he is happy

Who, enjoying, lives happily.

Whiter than a daisy beard

She was cold. And not water

Wine washed gray hair in the morning,

When he dipped bread in a bowl for breakfast.

Franklin was a hospitable host,

Saint Julian 40 was known as compassionate:

His tables are always set for everyone,

And the chefs and wines are famous.

Is it hot, or is there snowdrifts -

He kept a special table for all weathers.

He had an excellent garden in his pond

And a lot of capons and chickens in the poultry house.

And woe to the cook, if the sauce is fresh,

And the butler, if the table is a bit cramped.

In sessions 41 franklin kept a lord

In parliament he defended proudly

I didn’t let go of my rights, I didn’t let go of resentment,

He represented the county more than once in the House. 42

He stood out in an expensive outfit:

On a white belt hung side by side

A rich knife and an embroidered purse,

And in it is an overseas silk scarf.

He was sheriff 43 and collected penalties,

Well, in a word, the vassal was exemplary.

Dyer, Carpenter, Hatter and Weaver,

The upholsterer with them - they did not start jumping,

But with importance, with the consciousness of wealth,

In the clothes of a magnificent guild brotherhood

Mighty, praying all the time to God,

They kept apart all the way.

Solid cloth, rimmed knives -

Not copper, but silver. Who is equal

Wealth, wisdom to such men

Council and respected foremen,

Accustomed to work, contentment, chole?

They do not sit in vain at the Guildhall 44

They hoped - the guarantee was income.

Merit, honesty, age and honor.

And the wives helped their husbands,

So that they only call them "Madame",

They would give a more visible place in the church

And they would allow the train to be worn longer. 45

They brought the cook with them,

So that he cooks chickens for them, beth-buoys,

And baked them in ruddy sauce

With cinnamon puddings or with marjoram.

He knew how to cook, stew, fry, bake;

He knew how to kindle a fire properly; 46

He made the stew well;

El London 47 immediately recognized.

But a dashing disease nestled in him -

A large ulcer on his leg festered.

It's a pity, he made delicious dishes.

There was a Skipper there from the western county. 48

On a skinny nag, as best he could, on horseback

He sat; and to the knees on it

Hung, stained with road clay,

Caftan spacious rough canvas;

He has a dagger on a string under his arm

I kept it with me just in case.

He was truly a fine fellow

And he captured a lot of valuable cargo.

Only if he gets a merchant on the way,

So you can't bring wine from Bordeaux 49.

He was compliant with his conscience

And, not making a righteous man out of himself,

All the prisoners, as soon as the battle ended,

Instantly escorted home on the board. fifty

Already in the spring he was covered with a tan.

He undertook to trade in any commodity

And, in his craft, a great master,

Knew all currents, any lighthouse

I could distinguish both a shallow and a cliff.

Haven't taken it off the course yet

Ebb it; he firmly ruled the harbor

And he composed the lotion for himself.

He sailed the ship without maps and without measurements.

From Gotland to Cape Finistera, 51

All the stones knew the Breton coasts,

All entrances of Spanish bays and ports;

Many storms met him along the way

And the faded beard was ruffled;

From Hull to Cartagena itself 52

Everyone knew the captain of the Madelena.

We also had a Doctor of Medicine with us.

With him in the medical profession, not a single one

The London doctor could not compete;

Besides, he was a skilled astrologer;

He, only when the star was at its zenith,

treated the sick; and tying all the threads

His fate that the horoscope gives,

He predicted the outcome of illnesses, -

Recovery or death terms.

He perfectly knew the origins of diseases:

Hot or cold, wet or dry

Sick disposition, 53 and hence the disease.

As soon as he determined the disease,

He immediately prescribed medicine

A friend of a pharmacist this recipe

Instantly turned into pills and potion.

They've been doing this for a long time

And with the help of mutual profit.

He was rich in learning and knowledge.

He knew Aesculapius and Hippocrates,

Dioscorides, Celsus, Gilbertina,

He knew Rufus, Averroys, Constantine,

Damaskin, Gali and Galien.

He knew Avicenna, also Gatisden. 54

He was prudent, moderate in everything,

Be true to your diet once and for all:

Nutritious but light diet.

He was not very good at writing.

Wore crimson and blue

And he was wearing a silk cloak.

And yet, he spent reluctantly,

From the days of the plague, 55 saved a tight bag;

And gold is a healing medicine 56 -

He must have kept it as a medical supply.

And the Bat weaver chatted with him,

Sitting famously on the pacer;

But swagger does not hide sin -

She was fairly deaf.

There was a great craftswoman in weaving -

It is time for the weavers of Ghent to marvel. 57

She liked to do charity, but to the temple

Squeeze before her one of the ladies,

Instantly forgot, in furious pride,

About kindness and kindness.

I could hang scarves on my head,

Getting ready for mass, ten at once,

And all of silk or linen;

She wore red stockings

And slippers of soft morocco.

The face of a brisk, handsome and blush,

She was an enviable wife

And survived five husbands,

Crowds of girl friends, not counting

(A flock of them entwined around her.)

To Boulogne and Bari, to Cologne, to Santiago, to Rome

And three times to the holy city - Jerusalem -

Went to bow to the holy relics,

To be comforted from grief there.

She wore a clean headscarf;

Big hat shaped like a basket

It was parade, like the whole outfit.

The travel cloak was tight around her butt.

She wore spurs on her shoes,

Loved jokes, laughter and conversations

And knew all the bait and deceit

And reliable medicines for love.

The priest rode with us parochial, 58

He was kind, poor, exhausted by need.

His wealth is thoughts and deeds,

Directed against lies and evil.

He was a smart and learned man

Worldly struggle, hardened by knowledge.

He taught the gospel to the parishioners

And he lived a righteous, simple life.

He was good-natured, meek and diligent

And with a pure soul, serene.

He reluctantly cursed

The one who forgot the tithe

Contribute to the temple and to the affairs of the parish.

But he himself from a meager income

I was ready to give to the poor,

Even if I had to go hungry.

He was temperate in food, unpretentious,

In adversity, he is firm and long-suffering.

Let the storm, hail, any bad weather

Rampant, he's in the far edge of the parish

He walks to the poor farm,

When a sick or suffering person calls.

His life was an example to the flock:

Before the sermon, things were going on in it.

After all, if rust touched gold,

How can you keep the iron clean?

Why broadcast the words of the evangelist,

If the shepherd is lousy, and the sheep of the flock are clean?

He did not keep the parish on the dues,

Could not sheep, stagnant in vice,

Rent a money-grubber ass,

And to escape to the London temple:

There to sing memorial services, serve prayers,

Coming to get yourself a guild, bread.

He stayed with his flock

So that the wolf does not break into the sheepfold to her.

There was a good shepherd, not a hired priest;

Pious, affectionate and modest,

He did not despise sinful parishioners

And taught them instruction

Not hard, haughty, empty,

A meek, understandable, simple.

A good example sent them to the sky

And he did not give them a stone instead of bread.

But since the inveterate sinner was cunning,

He rebuked him to his eyes and boldly

He imposed penance on the lords.

I didn't know a better priest.

He did not expect honors with a reward

And he did not boast of an incorruptible conscience;

He is the word of God and holy deeds

He taught, but before he followed them himself.

Plowman rode with him - he was his brother. 59

Patience, diligence is rich,

For a century he took manure into the field

There are many carts; heat or frost

He was not afraid, he was modest and quiet

And obeyed the commandments of the saints,

Be it at least profit, at least loss,

I was glad to feed my neighbor to the full,

The widow undertook to plow the land:

He tried to help his neighbor.

And he carried the tithe with labor or payment,

Although he was not rich.

His pants were patched all around.

On a frozen mare he rode. 60

And Melnik rode with them - a bright-eyed fellow,

Bony, knotty and seasoned.

In fistfights he won all

And he always received a prize - a ram -. 61

He was strong and stocky, shoulder

He could drop the shutter, break into the house.

Just cheer up - and, furious, like a beast,

He could knock any door off its hinges.

With a shovel his beard grew

And red, that fox fur, was.

And on the nose, from the very middle,

A tuft of stubble has grown on the wart

The same color as in the ears of a pig;

Blackened nostrils, like polynyas;

Breathing, the chest was forced to swell,

And the mouth, like the mouth of the stove, opened.

He is a womanizer, a joker was also a warrior,

A blasphemer, a swindler, a furious reveler.

He was known as a desperate liar and thief:

He knew how to pour litter into a bag of flour

And take a triple charge for grinding.

But an honest miller - where to find him?

He took on the road a sword and a shield for defense;

The cloak was white with a blue hood.

He played the bagpipes loudly,

When he left the city in the morning.

Was next to him, lucky in everything,

Judicial Metochion Economy. 62

He was famous in all the bazaars:

Does he take it in cash or on credit?

He will always count the tags so deftly, 63

That he will skim the cream and take his own.

Is this not a sign of the goodness of the Lord,

That this ignoramus was more pleasing to God

Scientists of those whom he patronized

And at whose expense did you stuff your pocket?

In his courtyard thirty clerks lived,

And although there were lawyers among them,

And there were even a dozen of them

Heads worthy of protecting prosperity

The most famous nobleman in the whole country,

Who would have lived his life without debts

Under their tutelage insinuating, silent

(If only he was not completely crazy) -

Could the economy of any fool,

Though they have learned to fool people.

The puny one rode beside the Majordomo. 64

He shaved his cheeks, and his hair around

They lay in a brace, the forehead was trimmed,

Like a priest, only a little lower.

He was yellow, and dry, and wrinkled, like relics,

And the legs are long, like sticks, skinny.

So he knew how to count the sheep, akram

And so clean up your barn or bin,

That the collectors all remained with the nose.

He could solve the most difficult questions:

What weather to expect? And in the rain or in the heat

What kind of harvest is possible from the earth?

Owner's cattle, cowsheds and sheepfolds,

Stables, poultry house, vegetable garden, pigsties

They were under the command of the majordomo.

Villanov 65 hundreds served with him.

He never got into trouble.

Is it a shepherd, a headman, a servant, a laborer -

He saw through everyone, any tricks

Could figure it out, all lazy and drones

He was feared more than the evil plague:

For arrears do not escape prison,

He will take all the property in payment,

In his report, the holes will be plugged up.

He planted a garden and surrounded his yard,

In a magnificent estate he lived as a master.

He was richer than his milord.

And how could it be otherwise?

He knew how to steal, he knew how to profit,

To the owner touchingly flatter,

And he lent the lord money to the lord.

For which he immediately received gifts.

However, he was a zealous worker

And in his youth, an excellent carpenter.

He took the horse by the hand and a frisky move,

The horse is gray in apples, and the nickname is "Scott". 66

There lived in Norfolk a venerable major-domo,

Under Boldswell, if you've heard of him.

Though the sword was rusty, but, as befits a Tanu, 67

He wore it; blue cassock,

Like a cassock, picked up, bent in the saddle

And to the end in the tail we pulled.

The Church Court was the Bailiff with us. 68

Like an old Bacchus, full of bodies,

He was blackheaded, his eyes were like slits.

And a roll of fat on the crimson withers.

Dissolute and pugnacious, like a sparrow,

He scared the red face of children.

And he was all in a scab, all was mangy;

And from his beard, from his shaggy mane

No mercury, no lye, no borax, no sulfur

Would not burn out a raid of gray dirt,

Wouldn't hide the garlic burp

And they would not have brought a bump out from under their nose.

He poured wine on garlic and onions

And drunken bass rumbled like thunder.

Drunk, he roared in his pride,

What is explained in de Latin.

Are there only three or two Latin phrases

In his blunt stuck head

From the formulas of those that for many years in a row

In court, they kept repeating and repeating in his presence

(So ​​the name Walter repeats smartly

Owner-trained jay).

But ask him and, apart from dope,

You will hear one thing: "Questio quid juris?" 69

He was a gambler and a reveler,

Dashing earner, impudent bully.

For a quart of ale he would have allowed

Fornicate a swindler, even if he sinned

Recklessly, with a simpleton he is a skin

He ripped it off so that his mouth would not gape foolishly.

Finding a friend to your liking,

He taught church law:

How to neglect excommunication

Kohl in your wallet do not think to hide

Your money. “Everyone understands.

That no one will get heaven for free.

And you yourself in vain, friend, do not torture yourself.

Hidden from the vicar 70 paradise key

In your purse." He was wrong about this:

No matter how deluded one is,

But at least someone on the right path will direct

Vicar's staff or "Significavit". 71

He knew the youth throughout the diocese 72

And it has been useful to sinners more than once:

He gave them advice when they were in trouble.

He wore a wreath on his forehead

Huge, as if from a beer signboard. 73

There was no shield in his hands - a rye loaf.

With him the Seller was papal indulgences,

He has long been devoted to the bailiff slavishly.

To be better accepted

He took a patent from the Ronceval brotherhood. 74

Now, with the goods returning from Rome,

He, tormented by a tender passion for the bailiff,

Everyone sang: “How sweet it is for the two of us!” -

With his goaty, liquid tenor,

And his friend echoed with a mighty bass,

Linen hair lifeless strands

They lay flat on their shoulders, and behind

Pigtails seemed hood

Out of panache he hid long ago

And he rode quite simple-haired,

That hat covered baldness, dispelling braids

According to the new fashion - oncoming show.

The Savior Not Made by Hands was sewn into the crown.

He is an indulgence box, piping hot,

From Rome I brought a shilling for a pair.

His eyes shone like those of a hare.

There was no vegetation on the body,

And her cheeks are smooth yellow like soap.

It seemed he was a gelding or a mare,

And even though there seems to be nothing to brag about -

About this he himself bleated like a sheep.

But as for the holy cause -

I didn’t know my opponents, I’ll say boldly.

He was such a master, such was his grip!

In his bag he kept a wonderful board

The Blessed Virgin and a piece of canvas

From the shroud of glorious death.

There was also a cross in colored glass stones,

There was also a pig's thigh in the bag, 75

With their help, deceiver and impudent,

In three days he collected more money,

Than a village shepherd for six months

Could scrape together from a hungry parish;

And if we give him his due,

He knew how to sing from the pulpit, to teach.

He knew how to speak to the poor people,

When walking through the church with a mug or with a dish.

He knew that preaching, teaching

It is not difficult to persuade the people to offer offerings.

And on the pulpit, sparing no effort,

Now that I've told you briefly,

Not following proper order

About their outfit, and title, and reason

The fact that we mixed up out of order,

Get spacious and comfortable

In the tavern, near the old bell tower, -

It's time to say how the time was spent

We this evening, as we went on our way

And what leisure on the road filled.

So that they don’t reproach me for mischief,

I ask you not to blame me

For exactly what I remember

All speeches are free and jokes.

I'm not doing this for fun.

After all, I know that, undertaking to tell

Someone else's story, do not release

Not a word of what you remember

Whether those words are lengthy or immodest,

Otherwise, you will pervert everything by falsehood,

You will immediately turn the reality into a fiction,

And give your brother no mercy at the same time:

Tell about all the actions in a row.

The Savior showed us the right path:

He directly denounced, and there is no filth in that.

Who doubts, let him read

As Plato said about this:

He commanded the word to action to be a brother.

Kohl failed in this rich gathering,

Where to know and the mob, and gentlemen and servants,

I will pay tribute to everyone according to merit, -

Well, apparently, it was beyond the power, Mind, skill, then, was not enough.

Our innkeeper, welcoming them warmly,

He sat down for supper, and to warm them,

Prepared food and good wine

I put it on the table and it flowed

All evening for a cheerful conversation,

A playful song, a friendly argument.

The owner of our 76 - valiant posture

The butler of Windsor would not be equal to him -

He was stately, polite and in every business

A dexterous, cheerful and eloquent. Glittered

His eyes and speech were bold.

And just now we are all from the table

Managed to get up and pay for dinner,

As he said, laughing, that at least you don't need

Our toast is in return, but he will give advice,

Who helped from many troubles,

First of all, from boredom: “You always,

Honorable friends and gentlemen, -

So he said, - I am heartily glad to see:

So fun and so carefree

I haven't heard the conversation for a long time,

And whole year my house did not accept

Such cheerful and simple guests,

Joy I don't want in the tail

Weave and share your favors -

I want to give you one idea.

You go to Canterbury to the relics,

And the goodness of God will be rewarded to you.

But I see that - on vacation or on the road -

You will not be stiff and strict:

You will invigorate your spirit with a story,

Whom can cheerfulness hurt?

If a poor traveler rides with a lean mug,

This is bad, even harmful.

But you, friends, listening to me,

In the evenings, getting off the horse,

Fresh and cheerful and not tired

You will stay - longing is gone.

So agree! If it doesn't succeed

My plan, let the thunder from heaven be heard

And let the ashes of the father rise from the coffin,

Let the earth immediately devour me.”

Not long we were repairing this time,

And everyone agreed to listen to him.

“Friends,” he said, “take my advice,

Well, you don’t blaspheme me very zealously,

Although he may be uncomplicated,

I think everyone would be happy

On the way to amuse the neighbors with a fairy tale,

Either to remember the true story, or to glorify valor.

Let each pick up two stories,

And two others in addition will store,

To tell them to us on the way back.

Who is best useful with pleasant

Connect - we will treat him,

When, having given praise to the relics of the saints,

Let's get back to me. To a shared account

We'll arrange a feast. I'm in my turn

To share my joy with yours

Willingly ready to judge

Which one of you deserves the reward?

I don't need payment. Who doesn't recognize

Decisions of mine, expenses of that one

Let him take over all the trips.

If you obey my command

Do you agree, so say right away,

And by morning I'll be on my way."

We were glad about the whole undertaking

Trust him, swore an oath,

We won't take a step without him.

He was also required to be a judge.

And provide your spacious house,

To treat the winner in it,

And determine the fee yourself.

Having decided it without objection,

Again we drank and, postponing

In the morning fees, went to bed.

And in the morning, it began to dawn a little,

The owner got up, and, giving a couple,

He knocked us into a flock by crowing.

In a crowd, on horseback, with a bagpipe instead of a flag,

We trudged a little faster than walking.

But the owner held the horse back.

“Friends,” he cried, “listen to me:

When matins agree with vespers,

To those of you who keep their word true,

It's time to start and serve as an example

And evade - then I will take action.

And let me not drink ale and wine,

If he does not pay for everything in full!

Let's draw lots, who will fall

Tell him, let him start first.

Honorable knight, you are the first to pull;

Mother of the abbess, cast a rosary of pearls;

You, mister student, it's time to forget

Shyness and stop cramming.

Here, to me, let everyone draw lots.

And, apparently, it was destined in heaven

Or is it decided by our judge,

But only we are all together, at the same time

The fate of a reasonable met the decision,

So that the knight is fiction or adventure

By lot, he immediately told the first.

When the knight saw that lot,

He submitted to the decision of fate

And he agreed to tell us the story:

“If fate tells me,” he said, “to begin,

Help me, holy mother.

Let's not interrupt, friends, the road.

Stay close, I'm getting little by little

I will tell you sometimes."

We set off, and here is his story

Slowly began and humbly,

With gaiety and respectable importance.

The son of a London wine merchant who supplied goods to the court, Geoffrey Chaucer (13407–1400) in early childhood he becomes a court page, and then, through his belonging to John of Gaunt's entourage, he becomes involved in the ups and downs of his fate, either receiving lucrative positions, performing diplomatic missions in Italy, Flanders, Spain, France, or falling into disfavor and finding himself not at affairs.

Chaucer was brought up in court culture, which is now acquiring a taste for luxury, for a greater elegance of manners and mores. For the queen and court ladies, overseas fabrics are brought, for the king - a velvet vest, which is embroidered by his special order with peacocks. But this is no longer a French, but an English court, which, having changed the language, does not want to give up reading its favorite books. The Romance of the Rose, translated from French by Chaucer at the very beginning of the 1370s, opens the English-language tradition of courtly poetry. However, almost even earlier he wrote the "Book of the Duchess", sustained in the same manner courtly allegorism. With it he responded to the death of his mistress, the first wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. The medieval style and genre did not leave his poetry in the future: the poems "Bird Parliament" and "House of Glory" date back to the turn of the 1370s-1380s, i.e. by the time after his visit to Italy in 1373 and 1378.

However, after Italy, the prevailing trend in Chaucer's work gradually changes: the style of medieval French courtship gives way to new Renaissance trends coming from Italy, and above all the influence of Boccaccio. Chaucer followed him in 1384-1386. works on the collection "Legends of Glorious Women", including Medea, Lucretia, Dido, Cleopatra. Despite the deviations that many of them made from the straight path of virtue, Chaucer praises these women, thereby rejecting the medieval idea of ​​a woman as a sinful vessel. Then he wrote a novel in verse "Troilus and Chryseida", which follows the ancient plot developed by Boccaccio, and already moves from Chaucer further to Shakespeare ("Troilus and Cressida").

The first phase of Chaucer's work was French painting, the second passed under Italian influence, and the third was actually English. With "Canterbury Tales", on which Chaucer begins work about 1385, continuing it until his death, with this collection, albeit remaining unfinished, begins new English literature.

If the biographical legend suggests Chaucer's meeting with Petrarch, then even legendary information is not available regarding his personal acquaintance with Boccaccio. However, Chaucer knew the works of Boccaccio well, clearly imitated him, retelling his stories, including in the Canterbury Tales, but not from the Decameron (the exception is the short story about Griselda, which Chaucer knew from the Latin transcription of Petrarch). However, both books storybook, revealing the similarity of understanding of narrative tasks and the common desire for both writers to a single plan of the book. It remains to be assumed that such The short story collection was an objective need of artistic consciousness, re-assimilating the richness of cultural memory with a colloquial word.

In the Canterbury Tales, as in the Decameron, the narrators do not remain outside the boundaries of the plot, they are in our field of vision, they are book characters. However, unlike the Decameron and his own early works, Chaucer here changes the character of the audience: the place of narration is not a Florentine villa or an English royal court, but big road, leading from London to Canterbury, where crowds of pilgrims rush every spring. There is one of the main national shrines - the relics of Thomas (Thomas) Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who in 1170 died right in the cathedral from assassin knights sent by King Henry II.

On the way to Canterbury, almost at the exit from London, stands the Tabard tavern. 29 pilgrims met in it, and with the innkeeper Harry Bailey who joined them, they become 30. The innkeeper gives advice: to pass the time, let each amuse the companions with two stories on the way there, and "in addition, save two others, / To tell them to us on the way reverse". The general plan of the collection, therefore, assumed 120 short stories, but in reality Chaucer managed to write (including unfinished) less than 30. Even if not completed, the plan of the book is striking in its integrity and consistency of execution. motley crowd people of different classes, accidentally come together, represents the whole of English society. We usually don't know their names. We know only the class or professional affiliation of the narrators: a knight, a lawyer, a skipper, a majordomo, a carpenter, a student, a weaver from Bath, a cook, a monk, a merchant, a squire, a bailiff of a church court. Boccaccio's short stories did not reflect (or almost did not reflect) the characters of the narrators, because there were no characters yet. In Chaucer, the characters exchange short stories as remarks in a general conversation, showing themselves, defending their position.

The first presentation of the participants in the conversation is made in the "General Prologue" - it is given to the whole book. Inside it, each short story is preceded by its own prologue, which evaluates what is told, and sometimes even the one who tells. Harry Bailey, who has taken over the leadership of the pilgrims' society, is not shy about characterizations in the style of rude playfulness. In the "General Prologue" the characteristics were given by the author - Chaucer, who, by the way, also mingled with the crowd of pilgrims and is not watching what is happening with an outsider's eye, but from the very thick of things. It's a sign of his position feature of his narrative subtlety, which the 19th century the poet and critic Matthew Arnold put it this way:

"If we ask ourselves what is the great superiority of Chaucer's poetry over the romance of chivalry, we will find that it arises from a broad, free, unprejudiced, clear and at the same time good view of human life, completely unusual for courtly poets. In contrast to their helplessness, Chaucer has the power to survey the entire world from a central, truly human point of view.

It is said exactly, but in order for what was conceived to become a reality, Chaucer had to create a new way of artistic vision, different from, say, a genre in which it is quite in the spirit of medieval tradition his remarkable contemporary William Langland wrote his poem - "The Vision of Peter Plowman". Langland also made an attempt to take a single look at the entire life field, stretching between the Tower of Truth and the Dungeon of Evil. Between these moral poles an allegory of human existence is played out. Langland's strength lies in the everyday persuasiveness with which he dares to present abstract concepts, embodying them in everyday scenes and recognizable life types. However, there is no second, allegorical plan behind Chaucer's everyday painting. His knight is not the embodiment of Valor, like the miller is not the embodiment of Intemperance or any of the other seven deadly sins that Langland illustrates.

Allegorical poet by the very nature of his genre sees clearly correlating the objective, earthly with moral ideas, recognizing them embodied in man. Chaucer thinks otherwise: he watching and compares. He correlates a person not with the idea of ​​vice or virtue, but with another person, in their relationship trying to establish the moral dignity of each. The narrative style of the early Renaissance is in this sense akin to Renaissance metaphorism. Novella not coincidentally simultaneous sonnet both genres are busy establishing links, similarities, mutual reflections in which earthly world unfolds in unparalleled detail. Genre vision in both cases, of course, is different, but equally unusually sharp: the sonnet word prefers beauty, the short story prefers colorfulness and everyday diversity.

Neither allegory nor the old epic implied such a focus on the visible, the material, the concrete. In their tradition, Langland remained his poem, Chaucer broke with it. He chose as his genre short story with her colloquial intonation and everyday details; he found a suitable verse for her - paired iambic pentameter, light, breaking up into couplets (known as heroic couplet) each of which seems to be specially created to become a casual speech formula, an aphorism. A style of detailed description, sharp and precise characteristics of what he saw is born, which manifests itself immediately, in the "General Prologue", when we first meet the pilgrims:

And the Bat weaver chatted with him,

Sitting famously on the pacer;

But swagger does not hide sin -

She was fairly deaf.

There was a great craftswoman in weaving -

It is time for the weavers of Ghent to marvel.

She liked to do charity, but to the temple

One of the ladies squeeze in front of her, -

Instantly forgot in furious pride,

About kindness and kindness.

She could hang a scarf on her head

Going to mass, about ten pounds,

And all of silk or linen.

She wore red stockings

And slippers of soft morocco.

The face of the striker is handsome and blush,

She was an enviable wife

And survived five husbands,

Crowds of girl friends, not counting

(A flock of them entwined around her.)

Per. I. Koshkin and O. Rumer

All the details here are significant, speaking about a person and the world in which he lives. The weaver came from Bath, one of the centers of the English cloth industry, which is on the rise and competes with the cities of Flanders, including Ghent. Chaucer examined everything, saw everything, not missing either the color of the stockings or the morocco from which the shoes were made, making a reliable impression and about moral character his heroine. However, ironically, he does not rush to conclusions, especially with condemnation, which, however, does not mean that he or his characters are indifferent to the moral side of life. Not at all: let's not forget the purpose for which they travel - they make a pilgrimage. They are looking for cleansing from the sins accumulated over the winter. In their everyday life, they can pursue different goals and achieve them not in the most moral ways. However, each of them would be sincerely horrified if he were denied the opportunity to repent, for each of them would like to believe that his path is the path to God, even if he often stumbles along this path.

The novel explores the forms of life and at the same time the traditional forms of literature about life. Researchers have repeatedly paid attention to the fact that Chaucer's short stories follow a variety of genre paths: fable, chivalric romance, saint's biography, miracle, fable, sermon. The novella becomes a story about existing ways of telling, those. understanding reality, and it is precisely these methods that she rethinks, parodies. Nothing is rejected, but exists on the rights of one of the narrative points of view - on the rights of the point of view of a character who chooses for himself one or another of the existing genres. At the same time, the short story itself expresses the author's point of view, thereby summing up, keeping both the story and the narrator in its field of vision. Narrators disagree, conflict. The miller, raging drunk, confuses the order and bursts in with his obscene fable about the old carpenter, his young wife and her ardent admirers. This story stung the majordomo, who had once been a carpenter in his youth, and he responded with a no less acute case about a miller carried out by schoolchildren.

Who better than a Batian weaver knows a lot about marital affairs, and her story opens a cycle of four short stories about marriage. One of the knights of the Round Table, as punishment for the offense he inflicted on the girl, will either answer the queen's question or die. The question is: "What does a woman prefer over everything?" He was given a year to think. He wanders, despairs, but then he met a "nondescript, nasty old woman" who says that she will teach him the right answer if he promises to fulfill her first wish. There is no way out, he agrees. The prompted answer turns out to be correct: "... power is dearest to a woman / Above her husband ..." The knight is saved, but from the fire he falls into the frying pan, since the only and unshakable desire of the "nasty" old woman is to have him as her husband. violate given word the knight cannot and, groaning, goes to the marriage bed, but here a miracle of transformation awaits him: for loyalty to the word he is rewarded with a wife who turned out to be young, beautiful, rich and so reasonable that the knight has no choice but to obey her will.

Among the lessons presented to the knight there is this: "He is noble, in whom there is nobility, / And nobleness without him is ugliness." This is said in response to his reproaches that he, a noble knight, will have to marry a woman of low birth. And if the radical feminist position of the Batian weaver in matters of marriage is disputed by subsequent narrators (for example, a student following Boccaccio who tells about the virtuous Griselda, or a merchant), then this humanistic wisdom does not separate, but brings them together. It crowns a plot that, at least formally, belongs to chivalric literature. It is not the only one in the collection where the courtly tradition, mastered by the novelistic word, becomes part of the national culture. Chaucer's collection opens with the novella of the knight, paying homage to the chivalric novel as the most common and popular narrative form that preceded it. However, the "General Prologue" itself has a beginning reminiscent of courtesy with its spring beginning: nature awakens, people awaken and go on a pilgrimage.

Whan that April with his showres soote

The droughte of March hath perced to the root...

(When April rains heavily

He loosened the earth, blown up by sprouts ...)

Famous lines, for they begin poetry in modern English. However, not yet quite modern: on Middle English requiring effort from the modern reader, and even translation. The words are mostly already familiar, but their spelling and pronunciation was different, archaic: whan - when, soote – sweet, hat – has, perced – pierced. The language, which seems archaic today, but for the first readers, is probably bold to the point of surprise, striking with neologisms and the ability to say anything at ease. With his stories, Chaucer moved from the court chambers to the tavern, which forced him to update his narrative style, but this does not mean that he adopted the style familiar to the tavern. He approached the listeners, but he assumed in them the ability to approach his level, to make a cultural breakthrough.

He helps them in this, allowing the most different people find out in their stories their experience, their point of view. Researchers discuss why Chaucer's short stories are so unequal: rather helpless, boring next to brilliant ones. It is assumed that Chaucer mastered the skill of recreating characters to such an extent that, when narrating, he reincarnates, at least in part, in the person to whom he entrusted the word, proceeds from his capabilities. Of course, the possibilities of each do not remain without proper evaluation. Harry Bailey is a rather strict judge, at least he does not tolerate boredom. Many get it from him, but others are not silent. The knight pleaded, exhausted under the burden of the tragic biographies with which the monk would regale them. Chaucer himself, with his courtly story about Sir Topas, was not allowed to complete the short story:

"I swear on the cross, that's enough! No strength! -

Ears withered from such chatter.

Stupid I have never heard nonsense.

And ts people must be mad,

Who likes these dogs."

It remains not entirely clear why Harry Bailey became so enraged: either from the descriptive lengths preceding the exploits themselves, or from the style in which Chaucer narrates his hero somewhat parodically, resorting here (in digression from the heroic couplet of most short stories) to doggerels - a multi-layered line, common in humorous poetry. In any case, the impression remains that the chivalric stories themselves have not lost interest, and the story of the knight who took the floor first, in contrast to Chaucer's parodic narration, was a success:

When the knight finished his story,

Both young and old among us

Approved all his invention

For nobility and skill.

Apparently a history of rivalry cousins, the princes of Thebes, Palamon and Arsita, by the hand of the beautiful Emilia, which is a fluent arrangement of Boccaccio's Tezeid, and similar courtly plots for Chaucer himself no longer had the charm that they acquired in the eyes of a less sophisticated audience of pilgrims. The high poetic tradition descended into the sphere of mass taste, where it existed for a long time, already at the end of the Renaissance, having managed to drive Dop Quixote crazy.

Chaucer is attentive to other people's tastes, to someone else's word as M would say. M. Bakhtin; without this quality, he would not have become one of the creators of a new narrative genre, already completely open colloquial diversity. Chaucer does not adhere to the spirit of the Middle Ages authoritative word, indisputable and unique under any circumstances. His morality and wisdom are situational, even if they are based on the authority of faith, since they sound from human lips, are mediated speech word. For example, in the knight's story, one of his rival friends, Arsita, dies, and Palamon gets Emilia, but how can one move from grief to new joy? The wise man Aegeus appears and teaches:

"What is this world but a valley of darkness,

Where, like wanderers, do we wander?

For rest, death is given to us by God.

He talked about this a lot,

All in order to enlighten people,

Make them feel better soon.

The medieval Christian picture of the world is rather boldly offered not as an absolute truth, but only as necessary and useful in this moment comfort. In Chaucer's transmission, traditional opinions, plots, and even genres sound completely different, because they are complicated by new speech material that modifies traditional characters and stable relationships.

Once upon a time, in the years of his youth, Chaucer translated into English the courtly Romance of the Rose. Among the short stories in the collection "Canterbury Tales" there is an arrangement reminiscent of another medieval novel - about the Fox. This is not a courtly, but a satirical animal epic. His episode is the story of the chaplain about the failed kidnapping of Chanticlar's rooster by the insidious Fox. Taken by itself, this episode could be considered a scene in the spirit of fabliau, suggesting a moral conclusion. Formally, it is - an instruction against flatterers. However, in the course of events, considerations were sounded much deeper and more personal. Everyone drew his own conclusions, reasoned, sometimes, together with the author, embarking on the most complex speculations, for example, about free will, or together with the well-read Chanticleer (who had a warning about danger in a dream), recalling prophetic dreams from ancient authors.

Loaded with humanistic erudition, the fablio's plot only superficially retains the need for a final moral, naive and flat compared to what has already been heard. Increasingly, what becomes narratively important is not the direct path to instruction, but deviations from this path. The story actually begins with them, when, before introducing Chanticlar, the narrator sets out in detail the life circumstances of his mistress, a poor widow - a household coloring of the plot. Then, in the most unexpected way, life is replaced by the colors of humanistic education, it is not known (and it doesn’t matter) how they decorated this poultry yard. The plot does not require special motivations in its conditionality, only its justification has changed: before the plot was an occasion to tell an edifying story, now it has become an occasion show the person talking.

General prologue
This is where the Canterbury Tales book begins

When April rains heavily
He loosened the earth, blown up by sprouts,
And, quench the March thirst,
From root to green stem
The veins swelled with that spring force,
That in every grove she dissolved the buds,
And the young sun is on its way
The whole Aries managed to get around the sign,
And, not for a moment in the night without falling asleep,
Flocks of birds chimed incessantly,
So the call of spring alarmed their hearts, -
Then from all over the native country
Pilgrims of countless strings
Bow to the relics of overseas again
We strived earnestly; but attracted many
Thomas Becket, the saint who helped them
In trouble or healed an old ailment,
He himself accepted death as an innocent martyr.

I happened to turn around at that time
To the tavern "Tabard", in Sowark, your way
Performing in Canterbury on a vow;
Here I accidentally met this
Company. There were twenty-nine of them.
Common goal on the way connected
their friendship; they are an example to all of us -
Went to bow to the righteous relics.
There are a lot of stables, rooms in Tabarda,
And it has never been crowded.
As soon as the plentiful supper departed,
As I have already found with many
Acquaintances in common or made friends
And the way agreed to separate them.
And so, while my modest story
Has not yet tired the ears and eyes,
I think it would be appropriate
Tell you everything that I know
About my companions: what is their appearance,
And the title, and what who is famous for
Or why remains in oblivion;
Let the Knight open my list.

That knight was a worthy man.
Ever since the first time he left the raid,
He did not shame the knightly family;
He loved honor, courtesy and freedom;
He was diligent and zealous vassal.
And rarely has anyone been to so many places.
Baptized and even infidels
They recognized his prowess in battle.
He took Alexandria with the king,
At order feasts he sat
At the top of the table, was a guest in Prussian castles,
He went to Lithuania, went to Russians,
And few people - God is a witness -
Of the knights, he could boast of that.
He took Aljesir in Andalusia
And Algiers is protected from the infidels.
He was under Layas and Satalia
And he helped fight Bellmaria.
More than once he endured adversity and grief
With difficult landings in the Great Sea,
He was in fifteen big fights;
Instilling fear into the hearts of the pagans,
He went to Tremissen three times
To fight with the wrong one - he won three times.
He helped the Syrian Christians
To fight back against the Ottoman rapists,
And he deserved honor everywhere.
Although he was noble, yet he was smart,
And in his manner he is soft, like a girl;
And throughout life (there is something to marvel at)
He did not defile his mouth with scolding -
Like a true knight, he kept modesty.
What can I say about his outfit?
The horse was good, but he himself is not smart;
Shabby chain mail was his camisole,
Broken, patched, stained all over the hem.
He, returning from a long trip,
Immediately he went to the relics with all the people.

His father took his son with him everywhere.
The squire was a cheerful, amorous youth
Twenty years old, curly and ruddy.
Although he was young, he saw death and wounds:
Tall and slender, dexterous, strong, bold,
More than once he went to a foreign border;
In Flanders, Artois and Picardy
He, despite his young years,
He was a squire and fought there,
What favors beloved sought.
By the efforts of skillful ladies' hands
His outfit was embroidered like a meadow,
And all sparkled with marvelous colors,
Emblems, overseas animals.
All day he played the flute and sang,
He knew how to put together songs,
He could read, draw, write,
Fight on spears, dance deftly.
He was bright, fresh, like a spring leaf.
There was a camisole at the waist, and knee-deep
The sleeves hung. He rode boldly
And pranced, showing off, every now and then.
All night, languishing, he did not close his eyes
And slept less than the nightingale in May.
He was a pleasant, polite neighbor:
I cut roast for my father at dinner.
The knight did not take with him extra servants,
As in campaigns, he rode himself, a friend.
Yeoman was with him, in a caftan with a hood;
Behind the sash, like the outfit, green
Sticking out a bunch of long, sharp arrows,
Whose feathers the yeoman knew how to save -
And the arrow of nimble hands obeyed.
With him was his great mighty bow,
Polished like new.
There was a thick-set yeoman, shaven-headed,
Cold wind, scorched by the sun,
Forest hunting he knew the law.
A lush bracer tightened the wrist,
And on the road from military gear
There was a sword and a shield and a dagger on the side;
On the neck barely shimmered with silver,
Green bandage hidden from view,
The worn face of Saint Christopher.
A turium horn hung on a sling -
Was a forester, must have been that shooter.

Among them was also the Abbess -
Guardian of noble novices and headmistress.
Softened the coldness of the monastic rank
The smile of timid mother Eglantina.
In her mouth the most terrible blasphemy
It sounded like this: "I swear by the holy Elua."
And, listening to the neighboring conversation,
She sang Liturgy in her nose;
And fluent French
Like they teach in Stratford, not funny
Parisian hasty talk.
She kept herself dignified at the table:
Do not choke on strong liquor,
Slightly dipping your fingers in the gravy,
He will not wipe them on his sleeve or collar.
Not a speck around her device.
She wiped her lips so often
That there was no trace of fat on the goblet.
Waiting your turn with dignity
I chose a piece without greed.
It was a pleasure to sit next to her -
She was so polite and so kind.
Having mastered the temper of the courtiers and manners,
She didn't lose her temper either.
And sought to arouse respect,
Showing mercy to sinners.
She was so compassionate, compassionate,
I was even afraid to hurt the mouse
And for the forest animals prayed to the sky.
Fed with meat, milk and bread
Your favorite little dogs.
And all no-no - the abbess will cry:
That doggie was smitten, that one was nailed -
Not all dogs were loved by the abbess.
Artfully woven bedspread
A high, clean forehead fitted her.
Chiseled nose, friendly lips
And in the frame of scarlet tiny teeth,
Eyes are transparent, gray as glass, -
Everything about her pleased and attracted.
Her cloak was well tailored, short,
And on the hand a coral rosary
Bloomed green malachite.
There was a golden shield on the clasp
With a crown over a big "A"
With the motto: "Amor vincit omnia".
There was a blueberry with her for a favor
And three Chaplains; at leisure
They were having an important dispute with the Monk.

The monk was a monastic auditor.
Passionate rider, he loved to hunt
And pilgrimage - just not work.
And although such monks are reproached,
But he would be an excellent abbot:
The whole district knew his stable,
His bridle jangled with buckles,
Like the bells of that chapel
The income from which he spent as his own.
He would not give a broken half
For a life without ladies, without a kennel, without a revel.
Cheerful disposition, he could not stand
Monastic languishing prison,
Charter of Mauritius and Benedict
And all sorts of prescripts and edicts.
But in fact, because the monk is right,
And this harsh charter is outdated:
He forbids hunting for something
And teaches us too cool:
A monk without a cell is a fish without water.
And I don't see much of a problem in that.
After all, a monk is not a hermit crab,
That on the back carries its chapel.
He won't give an oyster for all that nonsense
Who preaches the prior.
Why pore among books or in the garden,
Why emaciate in defiance of nature?
Works, fasting, deprivation, prayers -
What are they for, if there is love and battles?
Let Augustine take care of salvation,
And the brethren will leave sins.
Our monk was a dashing fighter, a hunter.
He kept two hundred greyhounds in the kennel:
There is no meaning in life without dog bullying.
He loved the swan with sour sauce.
His cloak was lined with the best squirrel.
Richly embroidered and well sewn.
He clasp, as befits the dandies,
Decorated with a gold "love bow".
The tonsure shone like a mirror ball,
His cheeks hung down, and his figure
All swollen; nimble eyes
They swelled up, and tears flowed from them.
Around his beefy body
Sweat, like a cloud, hung.
The abbot himself envied him -
So representative was our prelate.
And he himself is plump, ruddy,
And boots from the best morocco,
And a bay horse, artsy in appearance.

A nimble Carmelite rode next to him.
He was the assembler brother - an important person.
With such insinuating flattery who would
Could you get so much from your brother in a mug?
He managed to break through many girls
In marriage, the path, dowry endowed;
The strongest was the pillar of the monastery.
He was friends with the Franklins in the district,
I rubbed myself into freeloaders, then into others
To many of the honorable wives of the city;
Was granted the right to scapegoat
No less, he said, than a priest -
After all, that absolution was sealed by the pope.
With pleasure the monk confessed,
Willingly forgive sins.
His penance was light,
If the sinner's hand was not stingy.
After all, generous offerings to the church -
A sign that all sins are atoned for,
And, accepting the gifts of repentance,
He would swear that the sinner is pure and right.
“Others, they say, will not squeeze out tears
And they will not force the tongue to repent,
At least they secretly languished in their hearts
And they recognized the sins of filth.
So, to avoid weeping and fasting,
Give more generously - and the soul is pure.
He's in the hood for his girlfriends
He kept packs of pins, threads, lace.
He was amorous, talkative and carefree.
He knew how to sing and strum on the company.
No one sang those songs more cheerfully.
He was plump in body, whiter than lilies.
And yet, there was a strong man, a fair fighter,
Loved the feasts ceremonial front.
merry innkeepers and maids
And broken, plump kept women.
Messing around with various lousy poor people?
They aren't worth a bit.
Lots of worries, but little income
And the monk's temper did not fit
Hang out with the poor and the poor
And not with merchants but with the rich.
If a person could be useful to him,
He was helpful, kind and gracious,
At the mercy of the release he took,
He did not let others near his herds.
Although he paid a lot to the treasury for a patent,
But he covered the expenses.
So sweetly did he sing "In principio"
A widow barefoot like her hand
Gave away the last half
Even if she and her family were starving.
He, like a puppy, frolicked around her:
Such, but he would not have achieved his goal!
In the courts of love he willingly judged,
And this brother passed sentences
As if he were some kind of cardinal.
He flaunted his cassock -
Not worn out monastic row,
And the best cloth, and a cape
Around it is firm, like a bell, sticking out.
He lisped a little to make it sound
English speech is sweeter to the ears.
He sang to the harp like a nightingale
Squinting tenderly, and the rays
From his eyes sparkled that in the night
Frosty star. His name was Hubert.

The merchant rode with him, akimbo,
Having put on a lot of motley goodness.
He wore a Flanders beaver hat
And strappy boots
Yes, a beard. He talked about
How to get, how to save income.
He demanded that the waters be protected
En route from Middleburg to Orwell.
He knew how to calculate the course of the ecu
And notably profited from the exchange
And he got rich, and then he went bankrupt,
But he hid his debts from everyone.
The merchant willingly gave money at interest,
But so skillfully led his calculations,
Which was respected by all.
I don't really know what his name is.

Having interrupted hard work on logic,
An Oxford student trudged along with us.
Hardly a poorer beggar could be found:
Not a horse under him, but a plucked jackdaw,
And the student himself was sorry -
He was so shabby, miserable,
Thin, exhausted by a bad road.
He did not manage to get a parish,
No clerical service. endure
Need and hunger accustomed steadfastly.
He put the log at the head of the bed.
He is sweeter to have twenty books,
Than an expensive dress, a lute, food.
He despised the bliss of perishable treasures,
But Aristotle is a storehouse of valuable thoughts -
I couldn't add a penny,
And the clerk begged them, sinful soul,
All friends and spent on learning
And fervently prayed for salvation
Those whose generosity was indebted.
He was passionately attached to science.
But philosophy didn't help
And she didn't give me an ounce of gold.
He didn't say too much
And the lofty syllable of wisdom loved -
Short, quick, sincere, truthful;
He was full of the harvest from this fat field.
And, preferring to live as a poor man,
I wanted to learn and teach others.

There was an important, stiff Lawyer with them.
He, like a skillful, subtle casuist,
On the porch was very respected
And often we make detours.
He had a patent for his rights.
And rumors spread about him in the courts.
He protected the inheritance from the treasury,
He kept the estate in the hands of the family.
Clients with a "mantle" flocked to him;
His wealth increased rapidly.
I have not seen the light of such a money-grubber,
And yet they did not hear bad things about him.
After all, no matter how many bribes the guilty one gives -
He was able to justify any payment.
A zealous worker, before the whole world,
Not so much was him, how much he knew how to be known to him.
He knew the laws since the days of William
And bypassed - by trick or directly -
Any of them but were undeniable
His decisions. He wore patterned
Home camisole with embroidered belt.
Maybe stop talking about him.

Franklin was talking to him jokingly.
He did not know from birth what spleen means.
Could he frown on life -
Was in that worthy son of Epicurus,
Who said that only he is happy
Who, enjoying, lives happily.
Whiter than a daisy beard
She was cold. And not water
Wine washed gray hair in the morning,
When he dipped bread in a bowl for breakfast.
Franklin was a hospitable host,
Saint Julian was known as compassionate:
His tables are always set for everyone,
And the chefs and wines are famous.
Is it worth the heat, or has snowdrifts piled up -
He kept a special table for all weathers.
He had an excellent garden in his pond
And a lot of capons and chickens in the poultry house.
And woe to the cook, if the sauce is fresh,
And the butler, if the table is a bit cramped.
In the sessions, Franklin kept a lord,
In parliament he defended proudly
I didn’t let go of my rights, I didn’t let go of resentment,
He represented the county more than once in the House.
He stood out in an expensive outfit:
On a white belt hung side by side
A rich knife and an embroidered purse,
And in it is an overseas silk scarf.
He was a sheriff and collected penalties,
Well, in a word, the vassal was exemplary.

Dyer, Carpenter, Hatter and Weaver,
The upholsterer with them - they did not start jumping,
But with importance, with the consciousness of wealth,
In the clothes of a magnificent guild brotherhood
Mighty, praying all the time to God,
They kept apart all the way.
Solid cloth, rimmed knives -
Not copper, but silver. Who is equal
Wealth, wisdom to such men
Council and respected foremen,
Accustomed to work, contentment, chole?
They do not sit in vain at the Guildhall
They hoped - the guarantee was income.
Merit, honesty, age and honor.
And the wives helped their husbands,
So that they only call them "Madame",
They would give a more visible place in the church
And they would allow the train to be worn longer.

They brought the cook with them,
So that he cooks chickens for them, beth-buoys,
And baked them in ruddy sauce
With cinnamon puddings or with marjoram.
He knew how to cook, stew, fry, bake;
He knew how to kindle a fire properly;
He made the stew well;
El London immediately recognized.
But a dashing disease nestled in him -
A large ulcer on his leg festered.
It's a pity, he made delicious dishes.

There was a Skipper there from the western county.
On a skinny nag, as best he could, on horseback
He sat; and to the knees on it
Hung, stained with road clay,
Caftan spacious rough canvas;
He has a dagger on a string under his arm
I kept it with me just in case.
He was truly a fine fellow
And he captured a lot of valuable cargo.
Only if he gets a merchant on the way,
So you can’t bring wine from Bordeaux.
He was compliant with his conscience
And, not making a righteous man out of himself,
All the prisoners, as soon as the battle ended,
Instantly escorted home on the board.
Already in the spring he was covered with a tan.
He undertook to trade in any commodity
And, in his craft, a great master,
Knew all currents, any lighthouse
I could distinguish both a shallow and a cliff.
Haven't taken it off the course yet
Ebb it; he firmly ruled the harbor
And he composed the lotion for himself.
He sailed the ship without maps and without measurements.
From Gotland to Cape Finistera,
All the stones knew the Breton coasts,
All entrances of Spanish bays and ports;
Many storms met him along the way
And the faded beard was ruffled;
From Hull to Cartagena
Everyone knew the captain of the Madelena.

We also had a Doctor of Medicine with us.
With him in the medical profession, not a single one
The London doctor could not compete;
Besides, he was a skilled astrologer;
He, only when the star was at its zenith,
treated the sick; and tying all the threads
His fate that the horoscope gives,
He predicted the outcome of illnesses, -
Recovery or death terms.
He perfectly knew the origins of diseases:
Hot or cold, wet or dry
Sick disposition, and hence the disease.
As soon as he determined the disease,
He immediately prescribed medicine
A friend of a pharmacist this recipe
Instantly turned into pills and potion.
They've been doing this for a long time
And with the help of mutual profit.
He was rich in learning and knowledge.
He knew Aesculapius and Hippocrates,
Dioscorides, Celsus, Gilbertina,
He knew Rufus, Averroys, Constantine,
Damaskin, Gali and Galien.
He knew Avicenna, also Gatisden.
He was prudent, moderate in everything,
Be true to your diet once and for all:
Nutritious but light diet.
He was not very good at writing.
Wore crimson and blue
And he was wearing a silk cloak.
And yet, he spent reluctantly,
From the days of the plague, I saved a tight bag;
And gold is a healing medicine -
He must have kept it as a medical supply.

And the Bat weaver chatted with him,
Sitting famously on the pacer;
But swagger does not hide sin -
She was fairly deaf.
There was a great craftswoman in weaving -
It is time for the weavers of Ghent to marvel.
She liked to do charity, but to the temple
Squeeze before her one of the ladies,
Instantly forgot, in furious pride,
About kindness and kindness.
I could hang scarves on my head,
Getting ready for mass, ten at once,
And all of silk or linen;
She wore red stockings
And slippers of soft morocco.
The face of a brisk, handsome and blush,
She was an enviable wife
And survived five husbands,
Crowds of girl friends, not counting
(A flock of them entwined around her.)
To Boulogne and Bari, to Cologne, to Santiago, to Rome
And three times to the holy city - Jerusalem -
Went to bow to the holy relics,
To be comforted from grief there.
She wore a clean headscarf;
Big hat shaped like a basket
It was parade, like the whole outfit.
The travel cloak was tight around her butt.
She wore spurs on her shoes,
Loved jokes, laughter and conversations
And knew all the bait and deceit
And reliable medicines for love.
The priest rode the parish with us,
He was kind, poor, exhausted by need.
His wealth is thoughts and deeds,
Directed against lies and evil.
He was a smart and learned man
Worldly struggle, hardened by knowledge.
He taught the gospel to the parishioners
And he lived a righteous, simple life.
He was good-natured, meek and diligent
And with a pure soul, serene.
He reluctantly cursed
The one who forgot the tithe
Contribute to the temple and to the affairs of the parish.
But he himself from a meager income
I was ready to give to the poor,
Even if I had to go hungry.
He was temperate in food, unpretentious,
In adversity, he is firm and long-suffering.
Let the storm, hail, any bad weather
Rampant, he's in the far edge of the parish
He walks to the poor farm,
When a sick or suffering person calls.
His life was an example to the flock:
Before the sermon, things were going on in it.
After all, if rust touched gold,
How can you keep the iron clean?
Why broadcast the words of the evangelist,
If the shepherd is lousy, and the sheep of the flock are clean?
He did not keep the parish on the dues,
Could not sheep, stagnant in vice,
To hand over the ass to the money-grubber,
And to escape to the London temple:
There to sing memorial services, serve prayers,
Coming to get yourself a guild, bread.
He stayed with his flock
So that the wolf does not break into the sheepfold to her.
There was a good shepherd, not a hired priest;
Pious, affectionate and modest,
He did not despise sinful parishioners
And taught them instruction
Not hard, haughty, empty,
A meek, understandable, simple.
A good example sent them to the sky
And he did not give them a stone instead of bread.
But since the inveterate sinner was cunning,
He rebuked him to his eyes and boldly
He imposed penance on the lords.
I didn't know a better priest.
He did not expect honors with a reward
And he did not boast of an incorruptible conscience;
He is the word of God and holy deeds
He taught, but before he followed them himself.

Plowman rode with him - he was his brother.
Patience, diligence is rich,
For a century he took manure into the field
There are many carts; heat or frost
He was not afraid, he was modest and quiet
And obeyed the commandments of the saints,
Be it at least profit, at least loss,
I was glad to feed my neighbor to the full,
The widow undertook to plow the land:
He tried to help his neighbor.
And he carried the tithe with labor or payment,
Although he was not rich.
His pants were patched all around.
On a frozen mare he rode.

And Melnik rode with them - a bright-eyed fellow,
Bony, knotty and seasoned.
In fistfights he won all
And he always received a prize - a ram -.
He was strong and stocky, shoulder
He could drop the shutter, break into the house.
Just cheer up - and, furious, like a beast,
He could knock any door off its hinges.
With a shovel his beard grew
And red, that fox fur, was.
And on the nose, from the very middle,
A tuft of stubble has grown on the wart
The same color as in the ears of a pig;
Blackened nostrils, like polynyas;
Breathing, the chest was forced to swell,
And the mouth, like the mouth of the stove, opened.
He is a womanizer, a joker was also a warrior,
A blasphemer, a swindler, a furious reveler.
He was known as a desperate liar and thief:
He knew how to pour litter into a bag of flour
And take a triple charge for grinding.
But an honest miller - where to find him?
He took on the road a sword and a shield for defense;
The cloak was white with a blue hood.
He played the bagpipes loudly,
When he left the city in the morning.

Was next to him, lucky in everything,
Judicial Metochion Economy.
He was famous in all the bazaars:
He takes cash or on credit -
He will always count the tags so deftly,
That he will skim the cream and take his own.
Is this not a sign of the goodness of the Lord,
That this ignoramus was more pleasing to God
Scientists of those whom he patronized
And at whose expense did you stuff your pocket?
In his courtyard thirty clerks lived,
And although there were lawyers among them,
And there were even a dozen of them
Heads worthy of protecting prosperity
The most famous nobleman in the whole country,
Who would have lived his life without debts
Under their tutelage insinuating, silent
(If only he was not completely crazy), -
Could the economy of any fool,
Though they have learned to fool people.

The puny one rode beside the Majordomo.
He shaved his cheeks, and his hair around
They lay in a brace, the forehead was trimmed,
Like a priest, only a little lower.
He was yellow, and dry, and wrinkled, like relics,
And the legs are long, like sticks, skinny.
So he knew how to count the sheep, akram
And so clean up your barn or bin,
That the collectors all remained with the nose.
He could solve the most difficult questions:
What weather to expect? And in the rain or in the heat
What kind of harvest is possible from the earth?
Owner's cattle, cowsheds and sheepfolds,
Stables, poultry house, vegetable garden, pigsties
They were under the command of the majordomo.
Hundreds of Villanov served with him.
He never got into trouble.
Is it a shepherd, a headman, a servant, a laborer -
He saw through everyone, any tricks
Could figure it out, all lazy and drones
He was feared more than the evil plague:
For arrears do not escape prison,
He will take all the property in payment,
In his report, the holes will be plugged up.
He planted a garden and surrounded his yard,
In a magnificent estate he lived as a master.
He was richer than his milord.
And how could it be otherwise?
He knew how to steal, he knew how to profit,
To the owner touchingly flatter,
And he lent the lord money to the lord.
For which he immediately received gifts.
However, he was a zealous worker
And in his youth, an excellent carpenter.
He took the horse by the hand and a frisky move,
The horse is gray in apples, and the nickname is "Scott".
There lived in Norfolk a venerable major-domo,
Under Boldswell, if you've heard of him.
Though the sword was rusty, but, as befits a tan,
He wore it; blue cassock,
Like a cassock, picked up, bent in the saddle
And to the end in the tail we pulled.

The Church Court was the Bailiff with us.
Like an old Bacchus, full of bodies,
He was blackheaded, his eyes were like slits.
And a roll of fat on the crimson withers.
Dissolute and pugnacious, like a sparrow,
He scared the red face of children.
And he was all in a scab, all was mangy;
And from his beard, from his shaggy mane
No mercury, no lye, no borax, no sulfur
Would not burn out a raid of gray dirt,
Wouldn't hide the garlic burp
And they would not have brought a bump out from under their nose.
He poured wine on garlic and onions
And drunken bass rumbled like thunder.
Drunk, he roared in his pride,
What is explained in Latin.
Are there only three or two Latin phrases
In his blunt stuck head
From the formulas of those that for many years in a row
In court, they kept repeating and repeating in his presence
(So ​​the name Walter repeats smartly
Owner-trained jay).
But ask him and, apart from dope,
You will hear one thing: "Questio quid juris?"
He was a gambler and a reveler,
Dashing earner, impudent bully.
For a quart of ale he would have allowed
Fornicate a swindler, even if he sinned
Recklessly, with a simpleton he is a skin
He ripped it off so that his mouth would not gape foolishly.
Finding a friend to your liking,
He taught church law:
How to neglect excommunication
Kohl in your wallet do not think to hide
Your money. “Everyone understands.
That no one will get heaven for free.
And you yourself in vain, friend, do not torture yourself.
The key is hidden from the vicar's paradise
In your purse." He was wrong about this:
No matter how deluded one is,
But at least someone on the right path will direct
Vicar's staff or "Significavit".
He knew the youth in all he diocese
And it has been useful to sinners more than once:
He gave them advice when they were in trouble.
He wore a wreath on his forehead
Huge, as if from a beer signboard.
There was no shield in his hands - a rye loaf.

With him the Seller was papal indulgences,
He has long been devoted to the bailiff slavishly.
To be better accepted
He took a patent from the Ronceval brotherhood.
Now, with the goods returning from Rome,
He, tormented by a tender passion for the bailiff,
Everyone sang: “How sweet it is for the two of us!” -
With his goaty, liquid tenor,
And his friend echoed with a mighty bass,
A loud voice could argue with a trumpet voice.
Linen hair lifeless strands
They lay flat on their shoulders, and behind
Pigtails seemed hood
Out of panache he hid long ago
And he rode quite simple-haired,
That hat covered baldness, dispelling braids
According to the new fashion - oncoming show.
The Savior Not Made by Hands was sewn into the crown.
He is an indulgence box, piping hot,
From Rome I brought a shilling for a pair.
His eyes shone like those of a hare.
There was no vegetation on the body,
And her cheeks are smooth yellow like soap.
It seemed he was a gelding or a mare,
And even if there is nothing to brag about here -
About this he himself bleated like a sheep.
But as for the holy cause -
I didn’t know my opponents, I’ll say boldly.
He was such a master, such was his grip!
In his bag he kept a wonderful board
The Blessed Virgin and a piece of canvas
From the shroud of glorious death.
There was also a cross in colored glass stones,
There was also a pig's thigh in the bag,
With their help, deceiver and impudent,
In three days he collected more money,
Than a village shepherd for six months
Could scrape together from a hungry parish;
And, if we pay tribute to him, -
He knew how to sing from the pulpit, to teach.
He knew how to speak to the poor people,
When walking through the church with a mug or with a dish.
He knew that preaching, teaching
It is not difficult to persuade the people to offer offerings.
And on the pulpit, sparing no effort,
He yelled at the top of his voice.

Now that I've told you briefly,
Not following proper order
About their outfit, and title, and reason
The fact that we mixed up out of order,
Get spacious and comfortable
In the tavern, near the old bell tower, -
It's time to say how the time was spent
We this evening, as we went on our way
And what leisure on the road filled.
So that they don’t reproach me for mischief,
I ask you not to blame me
For exactly what I remember
All speeches are free and jokes.
I'm not doing this for fun.
After all, I know that, undertaking to tell
Someone else's story, do not release
Not a word of what you remember
Whether those words are lengthy or immodest,
Otherwise, you will pervert everything by falsehood,
You will immediately turn the reality into a fiction,
And give your brother no mercy at the same time:
Tell about all the actions in a row.
The Savior showed us the right path:
He directly denounced, and there is no filth in that.
Who doubts, let him read
As Plato said about this:
He commanded the word to action to be a brother.
Kohl failed in this rich gathering,
Where to know and the mob, and gentlemen and servants,
I will pay tribute to everyone according to merit, -
Well, apparently, it was beyond the power, Mind, skill, then, was not enough.

Our innkeeper, welcoming them warmly,
He sat down for supper, and to warm them,
Prepared food and good wine
I put it on the table and it flowed
All evening for a cheerful conversation,
A playful song, a friendly argument.
Our master - a valiant posture
The butler of Windsor would not be equal to him -
He was stately, polite and in every business
A dexterous, cheerful and eloquent. Glittered
His eyes and speech were bold.
And just now we are all from the table
Managed to get up and pay for dinner,
As he said, laughing, that at least you don't need
Our toast is in return, but he will give advice,
Who helped from many troubles,
First of all, from boredom: “You always,
Honorable friends and gentlemen, -
So he said, - I am heartily glad to see:
So fun and so carefree
I haven't heard the conversation for a long time,
And for a whole year my house did not accept
Such cheerful and simple guests,
Joy I don't want in the tail
Weave and share your favors -
I want to give you one idea.
You go to Canterbury to the relics,
And the goodness of God will be rewarded to you.
But I see that - on vacation or on the road -
You will not be stiff and strict:
You will invigorate your spirit with a story,
Whom can cheerfulness hurt?
If a poor traveler rides with a lean mug,
This is bad, even harmful.
But you, friends, listening to me,
In the evenings, getting off the horse,
Fresh and cheerful and not tired
You will stay - longing is gone.
So agree! If it doesn't succeed
My plan, let the thunder from heaven be heard
And let the ashes of the father rise from the coffin,
Let the earth immediately devour me.”
Not long we were repairing this time,
And everyone agreed to listen to him.
“Friends,” he said, “take my advice,
Well, you don’t blaspheme me very zealously,
Although he may be uncomplicated,
I think everyone would be happy
On the way to amuse the neighbors with a fairy tale,
Either to remember the true story, or to glorify valor.
Let each pick up two stories,
And two others in addition will store,
To tell them to us on the way back.
Who is best useful with pleasant
Connect - we will treat him,
When, having given praise to the relics of the saints,
Let's get back to me. To a shared account
We'll arrange a feast. I'm in my turn
To share my joy with yours
Willingly ready to judge
Which one of you deserves the reward?
I don't need payment. Who doesn't recognize
Decisions of mine, expenses of that one
Let him take over all the trips.
If you obey my command
Do you agree, so say right away,
And by morning I'll be on my way."
We were glad about the whole undertaking
Trust him, swore an oath,
We won't take a step without him.
He was also required to be a judge.
And provide your spacious house,
To treat the winner in it,
And determine the fee yourself.
Having decided it without objection,
Again we drank and, postponing
In the morning fees, went to bed.
And in the morning, it began to dawn a little,
The owner got up, and, giving a couple,
He knocked us into a flock by crowing.
In a crowd, on horseback, with a bagpipe instead of a flag,
We trudged a little faster than walking.
But the owner held the horse back.
“Friends,” he cried, “listen to me:
When matins agree with vespers,
To those of you who keep their word true,
It's time to start and serve as an example
And evade - then I will take action.
And let me not drink ale and wine,
If he does not pay for everything in full!
Let's draw lots, who will fall
Tell him, let him start first.
Honorable knight, you are the first to pull;
Mother of the abbess, cast a rosary of pearls;
You, mister student, it's time to forget
Shyness and stop cramming.
Here, to me, let everyone draw lots.
And, apparently, it was destined in heaven
Or is it decided by our judge,
But only we are all together, at the same time
The fate of a reasonable met the decision,
So that the knight is fiction or adventure
By lot, he immediately told the first.
When the knight saw that lot,
He submitted to the decision of fate
And he agreed to tell us the story:
“If fate tells me,” he said, “to begin,
Help me, holy mother.
Let's not interrupt, friends, the road.
Stay close, I'm getting little by little
I will tell you sometimes."
We set off, and here is his story
Slowly began and humbly,
With gaiety and respectable importance.

Here is the end of the prologue in the book and the beginning of the first story, namely the story of the Knight

Knight's Tale
Here begins the knight's tale

Legends of bygone days
We are told that once Theseus
Athens unilaterally ruled,
That he glorified himself with victories,
Which has not been equal before,
And subjugated to his mighty will
There are many large and rich countries.
He also conquered the glorious female camp,
What was once called Scythia,
I married a brave queen,
Beautiful Hippolyta, and with her sister
Emily took her home.
To the music and joyful clicks
The great duke moved to Athens;
Shared with him the triumph of victory
All the host shining him.
When I could waste time without counting,
I would tell you all the details
How Theseus defeated the Amazons
With deceit and courage,
How did the main battle play out?
Which led riders to defeat,
How Hippolytine City was besieged
Athenian brave army and taken,
As their wedding was celebrated in the temple,
Decorated with lights and flowers.
But I'll leave that aside:
I need to follow the plow for a long time,
And he is drawn by lean oxen;
You tell me a lot remains,
I don't want to disturb others
Have time to present your own story.
Let's see which one of us is waiting for dinner!
So, I will continue the interrupted story.
When the hero I mentioned
Stood almost under the city wall
In the blinding brilliance of triumph and glory,
He saw that in front of him was an outpost
Suddenly a row of ladies dressed in mourning rose,
Bowing their heads at his feet.
Everyone, on their knees, to a couple of couples,
Sobbed so desperately and vehemently,
What can be said: no one in the world
I have never heard more woeful cries than these.
Sobbing and cursing your fate,
They grabbed the horse by the bridle.
“What does it mean in this festive moment, -
Theseus asked, "your frenzied cry?"
Is it out of envy to poison
Do you want glory in my victory?
Has anyone hurt you?
Tell me and I will repay him.
Why are you wearing a black dress?
Here is the eldest in this unfortunate crowd,
Issuing a death-like groan,
Which everyone would be amazed,
Said, "Sir, it's your right
By victory you have gained both honor and glory,
And we can't envy you;
But to our woeful plea
And have mercy on our miserable share,
Even a drop of compassion from the cup
Let your bounty fall on us,
After all, each of us leads his own kind
From princely or royal blood, -
Meanwhile, in the dust we drag our widow's age,
Insidious fate, alas, is relentless:
He crushes everyone with his evil wheel.
Oh lord, we are waiting for you with troops
For a whole week in this temple
Goddess of Mercy. Help us,
Reveal yourself as an all-powerful ruler.
I can't hold back my sobs,
She was the wife of Vladyka Kapanei,
Who fell in Thebes at the accursed hour.
Curse be upon us too
Sobbing now in front of you.
Husbands we lost during the battle,
When the city of Thebes was besieged.
Now, woe to us! - old man Creon,
What now reigns within Thebes,
Full of anger and unjust
Tyranny for the sake of and from the thirst for evil,
To dishonor dead bodies
Thebans who fell in that fierce battle,
He ordered to lay down a big hill from the corpses,
And he won't allow anything.
For someone to be burned or buried:
He doomed all dogs with a vile order.
And with these words ladies at once
All fell on their faces, uttering a lamentable groan:
“Oh, have pity on us, inconsolable wives,
So that our sorrow enters your chest.
Then the noble duke instantly stepped off the saddle,
Grieving for their misfortune and shame.
He thought his heart would break with grief,
Learning about what happened to be demolished
Recently lived in glory and honor.
He embraced the Thebes,
Began to quietly comfort as much as possible
And in that he gave them a solemn word,
With all its might so severely
Creon will take revenge on the tormentor,
That in Greece the people will speak
About what Theseus did to Creon,
Worthy of execution by any laws.
And at the same time, without any hesitation,
He, disbanding his banner, rushed off on his way -
To the stronghold of Thebes at the head of the squad.
He did not enter and did not enter Athens,
Didn't rest half a day
All night on the campaign did not get off the horse,
Queen Hippolyta at that time
With the beauty Emilia, her sister,
Sent to Athens to live in honor and in the hall,
And he rushed to the battlefield.
With a spear and a shield, crimson scarlet,
God Mars shone on a white banner,
Along the folds of the banner everywhere its brilliance is sowing,
And nearby fluttered the flag of Theseus,
All woven with gold: it is stuffed there, look,
The Minotaur that he slew in Crete.
Thus rode the duke, glorious son of victories,
And with him the chivalry is a brilliant color,
Until at Thebes he stood in the meadow,
Where I decided to give battle to the enemy.
But I will reduce the volume.
He is Creon, who was king in Thebes,
In an open battle struck heroically,
Sowed fear and flight in the Theban army
And with an attack the city conquered them,
Having broken the strong walls and rampart.
He returned the ashes to the unfortunate widows
Their spouses, defeated in battles,
To, according to the rite of the ancients, to burn the corpses.
But the speech would be too long
About mournful crying, about cries without number,
About the grief of the ladies, while the bodies were burned,
About the honors that in his grace
This valiant conqueror, Theseus,
At parting, he gave those widows ...
I don't want to be known as verbose.
The victorious leader Theseus, slaying
In the battle of Creon, he became the lord of Thebes.
He spent the night in an open field,
And the edge before him humbled his will.
To rob the bodies of all those killed,
To take off their clothes and armor,
Tati worked zealously and regularly
On the morning of that glorious victory
And now they found in the midst of a pile of lifeless
Covered with more than one bloody wound
Two young knights lying side by side
In armor similar, with an expensive salary,
Of whom one was called Arsita,
The other Palamon was famous.
Death has not completely mastered them,
And immediately there are heralds in their armor
They recognized the august two gentlemen,
Leading from the lord of Thebes his kind -
Two sons from royal sisters.
The brothers were taken to Theseus in a tent,
Tearing from under a pile of dead bodies.
And he immediately ordered them to be sent
In Athens, spend a century in captivity
(He refused to take a ransom for them).
The great leader, having given such an order,
With all the army I hurried home,
Having crowned the forehead with a victorious laurel,
And there with glory and among fun
Lived until death. (What to tell us share?)
But in a cramped tower in fear and captivity
Palamon languished with Arsita-brother...
Do not redeem them with either silver or gold ...
So day after day goes on and year after year,
When one day in May before sunrise
Emilia, whose image was sweeter,
Than on the stalk the green color of the lily,
Fresher than may early flowers
(Lanity with roses would you compare:
I don't know which aley)
Submissive to the habit of youthful days,
Dressed, getting up before the light in the east:
I don’t like couch potatoes.
May worries all tender hearts,
From their sleep wakes them up and shouts: “Get up
And faithfully serve me, parting with laziness.
Emilia full of zeal
Greet May, looking at the ray of dawn,
Appeared fresh in the morning dress.
Golden curls, woven into a braid,
They hung a good yard down the back.
She is in the garden, a light rose a little,
Wandered among the blossoming trees.
Breaking the color, then pink, then white,
Skillfully wove a wreath for the head
And she sang like an unearthly angel.
Big tower with thick walls
The chief dungeon in that stronghold
(Where the knights languished in captivity now,
Of which there was and will be a tale),
It just towered over this garden,
Where merrily Emilia wandered.
The light of day shone over the sea,
And poor prisoner Palamon at the same time,
As daily, with the permission of the guards,
Walked through the upper chamber of the dungeon,
Glorious city, seeing through the loopholes
And a garden, where under the greenery of the branches
In all its glory and freshness
Emily walked along the paths.
So sad Palamon in front of the window
His prison paces back and forth
And he talks sadly to himself.
Why was I born? - he says in burning grief.
And it turned out like this - is it fate or chance? -
That through the cast bars on the window,
Similar to logs in thickness,
He suddenly saw Emily in the garden.
"Oh!" - he shouted, swaying on the go,
As if pierced by a cruel arrow.
Awakened by the exclamation of Arsit
I asked him: “What hurts you?
Your face is covered with deadly pallor!
How? Are you crying? Who insulted you?
Carry it in humility, loving gentlemen,
Excruciating oppression of captivity: after all, he
Fortune itself, apparently, is destined for us;
Is Saturn hostile
Or other stars in the most unfortunate confluence
He was sent down, - such, no matter how you fight,
There was a view of heaven when we were born.
So, be patient: here is my brief advice.
Then Palamon said this in response:
"My dear brother, leave such an opinion,
You have been led astray.
No, it was not the prison that uttered this groan:
Through my eyes I was struck in my heart
To the depths, and in this is my death.
Yes, the beauty of the lady, that, as I see,
He walks back and forth in the garden, -
Cause of my tears and all my troubles.
Is it a goddess or a mortal wife?
She seems to me to be Venus herself.
And, in a passion without knowing the measure,
He, falling on his face, exclaimed: “O Venus,
Kohl you appeared in that heliport
Before me, a despicable creature,
Help us get out of jail.
But if by the command of fate we
To death here doomed to adversity,
Then have mercy at least on our kind,
Overthrown at the whim of the villain.
Meanwhile, Arsita, surveying the alleys,
Where the lady wandered back and forth,
Her wondrous beauty in turn
He was no less wounded and captured,
Or maybe stronger than Palamon,
And with a pitiful sigh, he says:
“Alas, I am killed by marvelous charm
Beauty walking in the garden!
And if I do not beg for consolation
Face to contemplate her though at times,
Death awaits me - I will not hide from you.
When my brother heard these words,
He said with an evil glance:
"Are you saying it must be for fun?"
And he answered: “I’m not in the mood for jokes, right:
God is my witness, I didn't lie to you."
Then Palamon, furrowing his brow, said:
“You will not gain much honor in that,
That you will become a scoundrel before me.
I am your brother by blood and vow.
We confirmed this with a strong oath, -
We swore that if we were not tortured
And death itself will never separate us,
In matters of love you will not be my enemy,
My dear brother, like nothing else,
You will support me in everything, loving,
As in everything, I will support you.
So you swore, and so I swore too.
It is not for us to renounce the oath.
You, no doubt, my adviser and friend,
But, like a traitor, you suddenly dreamed
About the one whom I serve, having fallen in love,
And I will serve as long as I live.
No, evil Arsita, that must not happen!
I first fell in love with mine
confidante and votive brother
With all my heart I entrusted this secret.
And you, who are bound by a knight's oath,
You must help me as much as you can.
Or you are a traitor, there is no doubt about that.
To this, Arsita proudly answered:
“Oh no, the traitor here is not me, but you;
You changed, I will say without slander.
To her, par amour, I was the first to kindle.
Where have you been? You didn't know then
Call her wife or goddess!
After all, you have reverence before the shrine,
And here is love for a living being.
And I call this love as a witness
I'm blooded and named brother.
Let you be the first - is it really sacred?
You know, the ancient sage asked:
"Who will give the law to loving hearts?"
Love itself is the law; she is stronger
I swear that everything is right earthly people.
Any right and any decree
Before love, there is nothing for us.
In addition to the will, a person is in love;
Under fear of death, he still serves
Is it a widow, a girl, a husband's wife ...
But there is no hope for you or me
In life, the mercy of a lady to find.
You know yourself: we are locked up;
We are doomed to live in this prison
No redemption until the end of days.
So two dogs argued over a large bone,
We fought all day, but it was all in vain:
A kite suddenly appeared, at the brawlers
He pulled off a bone under his nose and was like that.
In the royal chambers, the rule is:
Every man for himself, leave others alone!
Love if you want. I love her
And I will continue to be faithful to her. That's all,
We here in prison must suffer severely.
So let everyone wait for the dictates of fate!
Friends argued in their hearts for a long time.
But I can't drag out the story.
Let's get back to the point. Happened times
(I'll tell the story in the shortest way),
That the noble duke, the glorious Perita
(Who was a great friend of Theseus
from infancy to childhood)
Arrived in Athens to, as always,
With a friend to spend leisure time, -
Dearest of all to him was this friend;
And he loved him with the same fervor,
And even (according to the old books),
When one has tasted the cold of death,
Another to look for him went down to hell.
There is no desire to talk about that.
That Perita with Arsita for many years
He was bound in Thebes by the friendship of the saint.
And, at the pleas and requests of Peritoy,
Theseus Arcite allowed free
Get out of jail anywhere
Without ransom, with one condition,
The story about which follows the sim.
Theseus and Arcita are clear among themselves
An agreement was made,
What if someone caught Arsita
In Theseus, even for a moment,
Or by day, or by night, or at any time,
That captured hero, by agreement,
He will lose his head under the sword,
And there is no salvation for him at all.
So he said goodbye and hurries home ...
Hey, watch out, answer with your head!
What kind of torment does Arsita endure!
He feels the hand of cold death in his heart.
He cries, groans, sobs pitifully,
He secretly contemplates committing suicide.
“Why,” he thinks, “was I born?
Now my prison is even tighter.
I will never leave her.
I'm not in purgatory, I'm already in hell.
Recognized me on Mount Perita:
I have Theseus in the tower locked
To remain in chains, on constipation!
There life would flow in joy, not in sorrow.
Just the look of the one I serve
(Even if I never deserve mercy)
I would have been completely delighted.”
“My dear brother,” he says, “Palamon!
Victory - ah! - left behind you!
You are sitting in prison, exacted by fate ...
In prison? Oh no! Or rather, in paradise.
Fate throws your seed for happiness.
You see her, I'm so far away;
And since you're with her and so changeable rock
(After all, you are a knight, brave and daring),
Maybe what you were waiting for
Someday fate will send you.
And I am an exile, and the path to bliss
I am without hope cut off forever.
Earth, fire, and air, and water,
And the creatures that are made of them
They will not satisfy my terrible torments.
I will die, tormented by longing.
Farewell, life, and joy, and peace!
Alas, in vain from people so much
We hear slanders against fate and God,
That favor us with the best blessings,
Than we can sometimes come up with ourselves.
Another wealth will beg, - it’s
Illness calls or the killer's knife.
And he left, having prayed, the prison,
But the servant is killed in his house.
We are guarded by troubles every step.
We do not know what blessings we are asking for.
We are all like one who is drunk with wine.
The drunkard knows - there is, they say, somewhere a house,
Just don't know how to get home
And the path is slippery under a drunken foot.
This is how we wander in this vale:
We are eagerly looking for a way to a happy share,
But we stray endlessly, as if it were a sin,
Everyone is like that, and I myself am the worst of all.
Didn't I imagine and amuse myself with a dream,
What, as soon as I get out of that dungeon,
And joy and delight await me.
And now I am deprived of the best consolation.
Emilia! I can't see you!
There is no escape, my hour of death has come.
Meanwhile, poor Palamon,
Upon learning that he was separated from Arsita,
So wept that the walls of the bastion
Shaking from lamentations and groans
And the shackles that he carried on his feet,
Wet with salty bitter tears.
He exclaimed: “Arsita, brother, woe!
You will pluck the fruit, God knows, in our dispute!
Now you walk freely in Thebes
And you grieve a little about my grief.
With your intelligence and courage, I remember
You can gather an army and relatives
And this whole region will be ruined by war.
By agreement, or by cunning,
You marry that beautiful lady
For which here I will come out with tears,
After all, if all possibilities are taken into account, -
Ever since you got your freedom
You are the sovereign, the opponent is too strong,
And I will die in this grave cell,
Howling and howling until the end of days
From all the hardships and torments of my prison.
In addition, love is a fatal torment
Sorrow and grief doubles.
Then wild jealousy flared up in him,
Penetrated into the heart, burned the chest with fire.
And our prisoner became like a joyless one
Dried up on axle boxes or cold on ashes.
He said: "Goddess, evil idol,
That you bind the world with an eternal word
And on a slab of hard diamond
Forever you write laws and decrees,
We are all subject to your crown -
A crowd of sheep huddled in a paddock.
After all, they beat a person like horned cattle,
They put them in prisons, towers, casemates;
He endures pain, unhappiness and anxiety,
And often undeservedly, by God.
Tell me, where is the wisdom of providence,
When innocence suffers in vain torment?
After all, a person suffers the more
What should according to their religion
In the name of the god of passion to overcome,
And the cattle does what the flesh desires.
Cattle will die - and he has no worries,
And punishment awaits a man,
Although he endured evil and sorrow in his life.
Indeed, such is his fate.
Let the theologian answer this,
One thing I know: the world is full of torment.
Alas, I see a thief and a vile snake,
Who brought out many righteous people,
Walks freely and lives beautifully,
And I - in prison languishing all the time,
We drive Juno mad, jealous,
Almost bled Thebes
(Although the walls and parapets were strong),
I also suffer from Venus,
Fearing Arsita and jealous of him.
But here I will interrupt the speech about Palamon,
I will leave him in prison and in captivity
And I will start the story about Arsita again.
Summer passes, the nights lengthen,
Suffer twice as hard and cruelly
And a prisoner and a lover, and, she-she,
I do not know whose lot is heavier.
In short: poor Palamon
Imprisoned for life,
To languish in it until the end of days;
Arsita is expelled from this power,
And never again on pain of death
He cannot see his beloved.
To whom now - lovers, decide! -
Harder? Palamon il Arsite?
After all, this lady sees day after day,
But he himself is hidden in his prison,
And he walks everywhere without difficulty,
But the lady will never see.
Judge for yourself: you know better
I'm going back to my story.
Arsita in Thebes lived and lamented,
He said: "Alas!" - and often lost his senses:
He is forever separated from his lady.
I will briefly tell you about this flour,
What was not and will not be so killed
Longing for no one - since the light stands.
Eating, drinking and sleeping do not come to mind,
And he became thin and dried up, like a rod.
Eyes sunken, looks like a dead man,
Like cold ashes, pale, yellow in face.
He, like a hermit, is forever alone,
All night crying, complaining about rock,
And just hear a song or a string ringing,
He cries uncontrollably and for a long time.
So the spirit fell in him and at the same time the nature
So changed that to know him
By voice and speech it is impossible,
And the view reveals immutably
Not the disease that the god Eros gives,
And the mania that will give birth
Black bile juice in the head bowl,
Seat of crazy fantasy.
Well, in a word, everything turned upside down
In Arsit, the sick admirer, -
Appearance, manner and become ...
What should I talk about all day?
The poor thing endured for a year or two
All this torment, sorrow and restlessness,
As it is said, within the walls of the native Thebes.
Once he lay, soundly asleep;
Mercury, the winged god, over the bed
Appeared suddenly, calling him to fun.
Magic wand raised in his hand,
And from under the hat, the hair shines.
This is how he is dressed (Arsita has a dream),
As in the hour when Argus was put to sleep.
And God said: "Sign your feet to Athens:
The end of your trouble awaits you there."
At these words Arsita got up from his sleep.
“Indeed, no matter how strong the torment is, -
He said, - I will immediately rush to Athens,
I will not be held back by the fear of a dashing death.
I will see the one whom, lovingly, I serve.
And I will lay my head at her feet.
Having said this, he took a mirror in his hands
And he sees that all the paint has fallen off his face,
That his face became unrecognizable.
Then a thought arose in his mind,
What if nature changed like that
From the evil disease that tormented him,
Then he, calling himself a commoner,
I could walk unrecognized in Athens
And a lady to amuse your gaze day after day.
Without hesitation, he changed his dress
And dressed up as a modest poor man,
With only one squire that I already knew
With his deeds all without exception,
Dressed, like him, in a simple dress,
Entered Athens on a straight road
And, having appeared in the ducal chamber,
There offered services at the gate
For all kinds of handicrafts.
So that my story does not bother you,
I will say right away: he got under the start
To Emilia's butler herself.
Cunningly before he learned by the side
About everyone who served the beloved lady,
In addition, he was powerful and young for years,
He was strong in bone, full of strength.
He chopped firewood, brought water,
He did everything, in a word, whatever he was told.
So he served two years in a row
And now he was assigned as a page to the chambers
Aemilia, calling himself Philostratus.
None of all people of this rank
So he was not honored, and even half.
So was Arsita's courteous conversation,
That the news of him spread all over the yard:
Everyone said that for goodness
Theseus should raise him in the rank
And on such a way to put it,
Where valor can he shine.
So the glory of Philostratus flourished,
Praise his speech and all his deeds,
That by grace Theseus exacted him
And made a squire in his chamber,
Giving gold so that he lives, prospering,
In addition, vassals from their native land
From year to year they brought him good.
But he spent so modestly and cunningly,
What did not surprise people was his income.
So he lived in Athens for the third year
In days of war, in times of peace too,
To Theseus, he was dearer than all the others.
I will leave him in such honor,
To talk about Palamon story.
In a terrible, gloomy tower is enclosed,
Palamon suffers for seven long years,
Deprived of hope, sick of love.
Who is aggravated by the evil torment double?
That - Palamon: pain from love thoughts
His mind almost clouded;
In addition, he is a prisoner, under the yoke of adversity
A groaning age, not just a year.
Oh, who could sing in English verse
About those torments? Not me, God knows!
So, I will quickly tell the story ...
Once, on the third of May in the seventh year
(As the books of old days tell us,
That this tale is conveyed more fully)
So did auspicious rock
(What is destined will come to pass in due time)
That Palamon, in the middle of the midnight darkness,
Released from prison by friends
He fled from the city with all his strength;
So he got the jailer drunk,
In wine, in addition to spices, investing
Sleeping herbs and opium from Thebes,
As for the morning, not feeling anything,
He slept soundly, no matter how they shook him.
He ran, not hearing his feet under him.
The night is short and the day is not far,
And you need to find shelter.
Here in the grove, aside from the path,
Palamon enters with a timid step.
To tell you briefly, he was going to
All day hiding in the grove somehow,
And at night continue on your way again
To the city of Thebes and there to ask for your kind
March against Theseus.
He was determined to die honestly in battle
Or take your Emilia as a wife.
Here is his thought, it is easy to understand ...
But I will return to Arsita again ...
Arsit did not know how close care is,
Until Fortune got into the snare.
Here is the lark, the nimble herald of the day,
He meets the dawn, ringing with trills.
And so beautifully God rises to heaven,
That the whole east rejoices, seeing Phoebus,
And dries with the flame of its beauty
Silver drops between the branches.
As I said, meanwhile Arsita,
That the first squire was a court retinue,
Woke up; a bright day attracts him;
He wants May to show honor.
And, remembering his beloved lady,
He jumped on a steed, which, like a flame,
Was frisky, and rode on the ant
A mile or two away from the yard.
To the oak forest of that, about which the story was,
By chance he went just
So that if there is a willow, there is honeysuckle,
Of these, weave a garland in honor of your beloved.
He greeted the sun with a living song:
“O bright May with flowers and foliage!
Hello, beautiful, fresh May!
Give me fresh leaves for a garland!
With a cheerful soul, he got off his horse
And quickly went deeper into the forest.
Wandering more often, he came to the path,
Where poor Palamon hid timidly
From human eyes, hiding in thick bushes:
The fear of innocent death was strong in him.
He could not know everything about Arsita,
And if I knew, I didn’t believe it - God sees.
But listen to the old saying:
The field has eyes, the forest has ears.
Sometimes it's good to take care of yourself.
There are many unexpected encounters.
That his friend is not far from there
And he hears everything, Arsite is unaware:
Quietly he sits in the willow bushes.
When Arsita walked for a long time
And he sang the rondelle in a cheerful way,
He suddenly fell silent, filled with dreams.
Sometimes a lover behaves wonderfully:
It climbs trees, then thorns,
Now up, then down, like a bucket on a well,
Like Friday - then heavy rain, then a bucket
Truly changeable without measure,
Venus always troubles the hearts of people:
Like Friday, her favorite day,
Changes in an instant by revealing his own.
Yes, she has seven Fridays a week.
As soon as the Arsites' songs rang out,
He sat down on the ground, letting out a long groan.
“Why,” he said, “was I born into the world?
How long from all the cruelties of Juno
Will the city of Thebes have no defenses?
Alas! Already defeated, shamed
Your royal family, O Cadmus and Amphion!
Yes, Cadmus! Alas, he was the first to build
Theban city, erected a rampart around the city
And the first took the royal crown.
I am his grandson, heir by law.
Natural offspring of the tribe of kings, -
Who am I now? Slave at the door
Deadly cruel enemy.
Like a poor squire, I serve like a servant.
Evil Juno tells me bitterness:
I hide my nickname everywhere.
I was Arsita in those times, -
Now I am Philostratus: I am worthless.
Alas, Juno! Fierce Mars, alas!
You have destroyed all our seed.
That left me and poor Palamon.
His Theseus in prison torments hard.
And so that my death is inevitable
Betray, love pierced with an arrow burning
Me heart. Ah, I'm wounded through and through.
My death awaits me.
Alas, I am smitten with your eyes,
Emilia! And my death is yours.
Everything, everything that previously occupied the soul,
Truly, I do not appreciate
If only I could please you."
Feeling down, he lay there for a long time.
When I came to my senses, I heard the sound of footsteps:
That Palamon, who suddenly felt
Like a cold sword penetrated his chest,
Trembling with anger, threw away his hiding place;
As soon as he understood his brother's speech,
How, maddened, pale as chalk,
He rose from behind the thick branches:
"Arsita is vile! Sneaky bastard!
You are caught. You love my lady
Because of which I suffer.
You are my blood, you are my named brother, -
I have already reproached you for that a hundred times, -
You entangled Duke Theseus with lies,
I took someone else's name without blushing,
Either I die myself, or I kill you.
Do you love my Emilia?
One I love, and no one else.
I am Palamon, your deadly enemy.
Though miraculously I got rid of the fetters
And even though I don't have a weapon with me,
I'm not afraid of you! You will die
Or you will give up dreams about Emilia.
So choose. You won't leave, villain."
Arsita in her terrible fury,
Having recognized and heard this speech,
Fierce as a lion, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
“I swear,” he said, “by God Almighty!
Don't be obsessed with passionate madness
And be you here with your weapons,
From the grove you would not have left alive,
And here he would die by my hand.
I renounce all chains
By which our union was forged.
Oh no, fool, love knows no bonds!
I love her in spite of you
But since you're a knight, not a thief
And decided to get the lady in battle,
That tomorrow - I give my word in that -
Secretly from everyone, I will be in this place,
How chivalrous is my proper honor.
And I'll bring you the best harness,
And for myself, I'll take worse.
I will give you food and drink for the night
And for the night I will bring linen,
And if you get a lady with a fight
And I will be killed by you in the forest,
She is yours, if there are no other obstacles.
“I agree,” Palamon replied.
And parted, giving each other a word
Come together in the oak forest of the same tomorrow again.
O Cupid, whose merciless arrows!
O kingdom where division is not recognized!
No wonder they say: in love and power
No one will willingly give up the part,
Arsita knew this with Palamon.
Arsita rushes to the city at a fast pace.
And in the morning, in the hour before dawn,
He secretly stored two military harnesses,
Enough to fight in a fair fight
On the field, resolve your strife.
He, riding a horse secretly from everyone,
In front of him carries a double armor,
And soon he is at the agreed place.
Arsita and Palamon met in the forest.
All the color was gone from their faces in an instant,
Like that Thracian catcher
What guards the gorge with a spear
And waiting for a meeting with a bear or a lion;
He hears the beast rushing through the thicket,
Breaks branches and crushes leaves,
And he thinks: “Here is a terrible adversary,
One of us won't go back
In the gorge here I will plant a dart in it,
If I miss, he will kill me."
So both turned pale with fright,
When they saw each other in the forest.
Not saying "good day" or "be healthy"
Immediately without further ado
One dresses the other in armor,
Helpfully, like a brother.
They spear each other zealously
They rush to strike, and the battle lasts amazingly.
Would you say that young Palamon
In battle, like a lion, ferocious and furious.
Arsita, like a tiger, is cruel and fierce;
Like wild boars they beat each other
Covered in white foam from anger.
Both are already in blood up to their ankles.
But I will leave them in battle now
And I will tell a story about Theseus.
Fate is the unchanging ruler,
That the will of providence in the universe
He creates, as God will award us in advance,
And though the whole world swear that it will not be so, -
No, no, no, fate is so strong
That one day she will suddenly send us
Something that will not happen again in a hundred years.
In truth, everything that our spirit strives for -
To love or revenge, to peace or war, -
All this is ruled by the Eye above.
The mighty Theseus will give us an example of this:
He is drawn to the hunt by a passionate desire;
So varnished in May by a hardened deer,
That the leader, rising from the dawn every day,
Already dressed and ready to leave
With catchers, a horn and a pack of dogs.
So sweet is animal fishing for him;
All passion and joy lies in the fact that oneself
To knock down a deer with a blow of a powerful hand;
As with Mars, he is committed to Diana.
It was a clear day, as I told you
And here is Theseus, cheerful, full of energy,
With Emilia, with the beautiful Hippolyta,
Dressed in green, and with a retinue
On catching animal left in the morning.
He is to the grove, not far from the yard,
Where was the deer, as they said to Theseus,
Dear neighbor rushes with his retinue
And goes straight to the clearing,
Where is that deer accustomed to seek shelter;
There - through the stream and further to the woods ...
The duke wishes to jump lightly
With the help that is under his command,
But, having caught up with that little forest,
He looked into the sun - and behold
Arsitu with Palamon finds.
Like two bulls, rage in hand-to-hand
Opponents, swords sparkle terribly.
And it seems: their battle is so fierce and fierce,
What will knock down the oak their weakest blow.
But who they are - Theseus is unaware.
Spurring his horse, he is in one leap
Before the enraged couple appeared
And, drawing his sword, he shouted menacingly: “Stop!
On pain of death stop now!
I swear by Mars: if any of you
Hit again - lose his head.
Now tell me who you are.
Why are you fighting here, according to your insolence,
Without marshals, heralds and judges,
As if entering the tournament courtier?
And Palamon answered meekly:
“O sovereign, I will say without long words:
We must both lose our heads.
We are two prisoners here, two poor people,
For whom life is unbearable and hard.
As from the seigneur and the judge, no need
We have shelter and mercy from you:
Kill me first out of mercy
But don't feel sorry for him later.
Though his name is hidden from you,
But he is your worst enemy, he is Arsita,
Banished by you on pain of death.
He deserved death dashing.
He once came to your gates
And falsely took the name of Philostratus;
For many years he deceived you
And now he has become the main shield-bearer.
Know that he is secretly in love with Emilia.
But since my dying moan is close,
I will repent of everything to you frankly.
I am Palamon, your lifelong prisoner,
I parted arbitrarily with the dungeon.
I am your mortal enemy and to the fair-faced
Emilia has long had a passion.
At her feet I am ready to fall dead.
I await judgment and death without fear,
But you subject him to the same execution:
We both deserve death, no doubt."
The worthy duke answered at once,
Having said this: “The task here is simple.
Recognition of your own lips
You have been condemned. This is remembering
I will release you from severe torture.
But I swear to you by Mars that a scaffold awaits you.
From tender compassion and fear
Weeping Queen Hippolyta,
And Emilia and her retinue cry with her.
It seemed to be extremely difficult for them,
That without guilt befell this evil
Two young men of a sovereign family,
And only love is the cause of their adversity.
Noticing the wounds that gaped wildly,
Everyone screamed from young to old:
"Oh, for the sake of the ladies, don't be implacable,"
And fell on their knees before him,
Ready to fall at his feet.
But at last Theseus relented himself.
(In lofty souls, pity is a frequent visitor)
Although at first anger raged in him,
But after he surveyed in a single moment
Their transgressions, as well as their cause,
Though the anger condemned him both,
But the mind instantly forgave them both.
He knew that every person is not averse
To the best of my ability to help myself in love,
And also longs to get out of captivity.
Besides, Theseus could not look without pain.
On the ladies who sobbed in hopeless grief.
Having made a decision in a noble heart,
He thought: “Shame on that lord,
What pity does not know for the unfortunate
And equally, like a formidable lion,
Growls at those who cry, shy,
And on the stubborn soul of the villain,
Who does evil without blushing.
Yes, every ruler is foolish,
Which measures by one arshin
Pride and humility of people.
When Theseus departed from anger,
He looked at everything with a bright eye again
And loudly said to everyone this word:
"O god of love! oh benedicite!
What power do you carry in your right hand!
There are no obstacles that you could not break,
Truly you are a miraculous god!
After all, you can at your whim
How do you want to change people's hearts.
Here is Palamon with Arcita in front of us,
That, saying goodbye to the prison walls,
Could live in Thebes among all the blessings
And they knew that I was their mortal enemy
And that I have the power to kill them,
And yet this passion
She brought them both here to die.
Is it not a marvelous madness that carried them away,
With which only the lover is infected?
Take a look at them from all angles:
Nice view, isn't it? Everything is in the blood
So they were rewarded by their lord, the god of love.
Here is their worthy pay for their service,
And both think that they are rich in mind,
Serving love is hotter and more combative.
The funniest thing is that the one for whose eyes
And all this foolishness began
I'm not at all grateful for it.
And knows no more about their strife,
Than that cuckoo or hare in the field.
But in life we ​​want to experience everything,
Not in youth, so in old age we fool.
I confess that many years ago
To serve love, and I myself have been glad.
And I know how evil love hurts us
And how cruelly the human race is a tyrant.
And, being myself more than once in those snares,
I forgive you both
Because of hot tears like a queen
So is Emilia, the fair maiden.
And now you swear to me
Do no more harm to my country.
Don't attack night or day
But I always be friends in everything,
I forgive you everything irrevocably.
Then the brothers swore to him willingly,
Asking for forgiveness and vassal rights.
And he said, granting forgiveness:
“Your family is high and the treasury is great,
You fall in love with the queen or princess,
Both of you are worthy of such a marriage,
When the time is right And yet
(I'm talking to you about my sister,
Giving rise to jealousy and pre),
You know what, argue even to the grave,
Both cannot marry her at the same time,
But only one, and, right or wrong,
Another will leave without salty slurping.
She will hardly take two husbands,
No matter how angry or jealous you are.
And so I give you a lesson
So that all of you know in the shortest possible time,
That fate judged. Hear the agreement
Which I want to resolve your dispute.
I declare my final will to you,
So that I do not hear more objections
(Whether you like it or not).
From here you will both go freely,
Without oppression, ransom or tribute.
And in a year (not later and not earlier)
Take a hundred armored knights
In all the armor needed for the tournament,
To end this dispute forever with a fight.
And I vouch for the honor of you both
And in that I give you a knightly word,
What, if one overpowers the other here, -
To say otherwise, if you or he
With a squad he will take the enemy in full,
Kill him or drive him over the boundary, -
I will reward him with Emilia,
Since he is so generously endowed with fate.
Here I will arrange a list for you.
How true it is that God is my judge,
So I will be your impassive judge.
And then the dispute will only be completed,
If someone falls or will be taken in full.
Say "yes" if this is my order
To your heart. Now that's enough for you:
That's it, and your issue is settled."
Who brightened up here? Palamon.
And who jumped from happiness? Arsita.
All faces were filled with joy
For two rivals when Theseus
He blessed them with his grace.
Everyone, without distinction of rank and gender,
In gratitude, hearts fell down,
The Thebans are many times and especially.
And with hope in a happy soul
They said goodbye and went back
In your fortified and ancient city.
Perhaps people will blame me,
Kohl Tezeeva's generosity, I'm here
I won't remember. He strove with all his heart
To make this fight royally magnificent,
And there was no such tournament,
I can say from the creation of the world.
Around a mile there was a wall -
All stone and surrounded by a moat.
Amphitheater of many steps
He was sixty spans high.
Who sat on one step,
It didn't stop anyone else from seeing.
A gate of marble led to the east,
The same - to the west, on the other side.
And not to be found anywhere, to be honest,
So much treasure in such a small place.
The whole region was searched both along and in breadth;
Who was a geometer, who knew numbers,
Who was the creator of paintings or statues -
Theseus gave them all board and wages.
In an effort to build the arena, as it should.
To make sacrifices and rituals,
He commanded at the gates of the east in honor
Venus, deity of love, herald
Chapel and altar, and to the god of battle
In the west for sacrifice and for prayer
Another altar he richly decorated,
Demanding a whole pile of gold;
And from the north on the wall tower
From a block of white-foamed alabaster
With purple coral in half
Diana pure precious temple
Erected by Theseus, as soon as a king to match.
But I forgot to describe to you
The beauty of carvings, and frescoes, and sculptures,
The appearance and meaning of those figures
What marvelously decorated each temple.
In the Venus goddess on the walls
You would see pitiful faces:
Broken Dream, and cold Sigh, and Screams,
Holy tears, mournful cry of Tosca
And tongues of fiery Desires,
That the servants of love are scorched to death,
And the oaths are those that seal their union.
Here is Power and Charm, Flattery and Boasting,
And troublesomeness here and prodigality,
Unrestrained Luxury and Wealth,
Hope, Passion, Insolence and Pleasure,
And Jealousy in a heliant wreath,
With a cuckoo sitting on the hand,
Feasts and Songs, Dances and Dresses,
Smiles, Lust - in a word, all delights
Loves that I can't count
Everything is written in a row on the wall;
There are more than I can convey:
All of Kieferon, perhaps, without exception
(Where Venus' main throne is erected)
The paintings on the wall show
And her garden in all its joy.
Not forgotten here: the goalkeeper-Idleness,
Narcissus, the handsome man of those past times,
Passionate Solomon,
All the exploits of Hercules himself,
Medea and Circe magic,
Fierce Thurn, so brave in the battlefield
Rich Croesus, languishing in captivity, -
Everything teaches us that mind and mountains are good,
Beauty and cunning, strength and courage
They cannot share the throne with Venus.
Venus rules the world without obstacles.
All these people are bogged down in her networks.
"Alas, alas!" they say over and over again.
Two or three examples say enough
But I would score a thousand in a row.
There is a statue of Venus, all sparkling,
A naked woman swam in the vast sea;
The sea covered her up to her loins
A wave of green, clear as glass.
In her right hand is a golden lute,
A flock of doves flies overhead,
And on curls, showing a pleasant look,
Lies fragrant wreath of roses.
Before her stands little Cupid,
He wears two wings on his back,
In addition, he is blind (as everyone often matures),
In the hand is a bow for bright sharp arrows.
Why shouldn't I tell you
About the painting that adorned the temple,
What did the duke doom to Mars?
It was painted up and down.
Like the bowels of a terrible hall,
Greater Goddess of the Furious God
In the Thracian region, cold, icy,
Where, as you know, Mars is the main house.
There was an oak forest on one wall,
Where all the trees are old and clumsy
Where stumps are sharp, terrible in appearance,
From where the beast and man are running.
There was a silent rumble and knocking through the forest,
As if a storm breaks every branch.
And under the hill, pressed against the sloping wall,
There was a temple where Mars the Armored was honored,
All cast from blued steel;
And the long entrance was a terrible sight.
There was heard such a wild howl and roar,
That the gates were trembling to the core.
Only from the north, light streamed through the door:
There was no window, every trace,
Where could the light reach the eye,
And the door was made of eternal diamond
Upholstered firmly along, and in breadth, and at random
iron; and so that the building does not shake,
A pillar of every marvelous chamber,
Glittering with steel, with a barrel was in girth.
There I saw a terrible face of betrayal,
All Intrigues and Anger are crimson red,
Like hot coals in fires,
Pocket Tatba and pale Fear,
With a knife under his coat, a nimble flatterer,
And the barn is burning, all black with smoke,
And vile murder on the bed
Open battle, wounds, blood on the body,
Discord with menace and with bloody steel...
The whole temple was full of wailing and sorrow.
I saw a suicide there:
living blood flowing through the hair
And the nail sticks high between the hair;
There, the jaws of cold Death are wide open;
In the middle of the temple there stands Nedoli throne,
Whose face is darkened by sad sorrow;
There I heard Madness wild laughter,
Dashing Swearing, Complaints and Shouts;
There, a mangled corpse lies in the bushes;
There is a darkness of those who were slain by a dagger to dust;
The tyrant raised the prey there on a shield;
There is a hail, which is hidden to the foundation;
There the burned fleet dances among the swells;
The hunter wheezes in the paws of bears;
A boar devours a baby in a womb;
The cook is scalded, in whose hands is a ladle.
Mars did not forget in anger about anyone:
The driver is crushed by his own cart,
It lies on the ground under the wheel.
The minions of Mars are there - in large numbers:
There is a gunsmith, an archer and a farrier,
That in the forge for swords prepares steel.
And above all - Victory in the bastion
He sits with great honor on the throne;
A sharp sword over her head
Hanging on a thin thread.
How did Anthony fall, how did Nero the great,
How Julius fell, portrayed the faces.
They didn't exist back then.
But their fate is visible in advance there,
Like the Mars threat. Those figures
Everything was reflected exactly, as from nature.
Indeed, in the higher spheres, Fates were inscribed,
Who will die of love, and who will die of steel.
Enough of these examples. Eat a lot
They are in old books, you can't count them all.
On the chariot - Mars' formidable face;
He is all in arms, his eyes are insane, wild.
And two stars above him are burning, sparkling,
One is Puella, Rubeus is the other:
They are given names in the books.
So the formidable god of war was written:
The blood-eyed wolf lay at his feet
And ate human flesh.
Everything is drawn strictly with a thin brush
With respect to the glory of the warrior-god.
Now the temple of Diana the Virgin
I will describe it to you as briefly as possible.
Like walls from floor to top
Painted various paintings
Forest hunting virgin net.
I saw poor Calisto there
Under the weight of Diana's wrath
She became a bear from a virgin,
And after that - the North Star
(That's how I understood it all)
And her son was turned into a luminary.
There Danu turned passion into a tree
(It is not the deity Diana that is thought here,
And the daughter of Penea, nicknamed Dana).
Here is Actaeon, turned into a deer
For seeing Diana naked.
There are his dogs (so I saw with my own eyes),
Without recognizing, they tore to shreds.
And in the distance the picture is visible there,
Where Atalanta chases the boar
And Meleager, and many others,
For which Diana struck them.
And I have seen more than one miracle
Which I won't tell you about.
Goddess, sitting on a deer,
At the feet of her puppies she kept a flock,
And under the feet full moon
Has risen and should soon turn pale.
Though the green cloak on Diana is cheerful,
And a bow in hand, and a cloud of arrows in a quiver,
But the gaze of the goddess of the valley is turned,
Where Pluto rules in the dark realm.
Before her lay a woman, groaning:
She was tormented by a labor pain,
And so the poor woman called out to Lucina:
“Oh help! You are the strongest of all, goddess!”
The creator of these paintings was a master,
I spent more than one florin on paints.
They built an arena, and Theseus,
With a great expense for his treasury
He raised both the stadium and the temple,
Satisfied with the case was in all respects.
But wait to hear about Theseus:
I will return to Palamon and Arsita.
The day of return is approaching,
So that, having appeared with hundreds, both brothers,
As I said, they resolved their dispute.
And now to Athens, remembering the agreement,
Opponents lead a hundred fighters:
Everything is in arms, and everyone is ready for battle.
Anyone could swear.
That from the time the world was created, forever
(Since it was a matter of valor)
At sea or on land did not gather
So many heroes in such a small place:
Anyone who was committed to military honor
And who wanted to glorify himself in the world,
Asked to be a participant in the tournament.
And glad was he who was chosen at that hour:
Happen even tomorrow it's all with us,
Either in England, or in another country, -
As you know, any paladin
What loves par amour and is full of strength,
I would love to join this fight.
Every knight is happy to fight for a lady:
Such a tournament is a joy from joys.
Equally lucky is Palamon:
Soldiers are coming towards him from all sides.
One came on a dashing horse,
In a combat caftan or in armor;
Another in a double cuirass hurries into battle,
Holding either a round or a Prussian shield;
Proud of the third greave beauty;
With an ax or a steel club:
All that is new, the old man knew.
So everyone was, as I said at first,
Armed to your liking.
Look: here is Palamon with Lycurgus.
Lycurgus, whom the Thracian people honor, -
Warlike face, black beard,
His orbits burn in the forehead of his eyes,
Crimson-yellow flames are flooded.
He looks, a formidable vulture is more terrible.
From under the thick combed eyebrows.
He is large in body, strong and tall,
Superbly long-armed, broad in the shoulders.
He, according to the custom of his land,
Stood on the chariot that was being carried
Oxen four, all whiter than chalk.
Instead of a camisole over the armor hung
Bearskin, blacker than coals,
Burning like gold, yellow claws.
His hair falls down his back;
Like a crow's wing, they are black.
The crown is heavy, as thick as a hand,
On the hair burns, all golden,
Diamonds, rubies shining,
Around the chariot - a flock of white hounds,
Bychkov in height, twenty pieces - no less,
To set them on a lion or a deer.
On the dogs that everything is in a tight muzzle,
Golden collar with rings around.
Vassals a hundred king leads with him
Fierce, ardent, equipped for battle.
I rode with Arsita (books say)
Indian king Emetrios in the capital city.
A bay horse, all in blued steel,
Covered with gold-embroidered blanket.
The king himself is like the god of armies Mars.
The coat of arms is the purest silk of Tarsus,
On it - pearls are white, large, sloping.
The saddle is richly upholstered in gold.
And from his shoulders hangs an epancha,
Burning in rubies, scarlet like a candle,
And hair, all curled in rings,
Shine in the sun like gold;
The eyes are lemon yellow, the nose is high,
Rounded lips, fresh flush of cheeks.
Slightly freckles dazzle his face,
Like a row of black and saffron stains.
The gaze, like that of a ferocious lion, burns;
You will give the king twenty-five years in appearance.
Already in his beard hair is thickening,
Like a trumpet rumble, a voice rumbles,
Laurel wreath around his head
Captivates with fresh green foliage.
And on the right hand he holds for fishing
Eagle lily-white manual.
One hundred knights serve as retinue to the lord;
All - in armor, but with the head uncovered.
All could boast of splendor:
For earls, dukes and kings
Agreed to defend love and honor
And raise chivalry to the heights.
Hand lions and leopards here and there
Many run after the king.
So the whole synclite of sovereign masters
On Sunday I met at the gate
And at dawn he enters this city.
Worthy duke and hero Theseus,
Bringing them all into your capital city of Athens
And having planted each according to his rank,
He treated everyone and did not spare the hassle,
To honor everyone worthy.
And there was a general opinion of the guests,
That the world did not know the owner of the generous.
About music, about service in the halls,
About all the gifts for big and small,
About the splendor of the Tezeevs in chorus,
About how they sat at the table,
What lady eclipsed everyone with beauty
Or singing, dancing, or talking
About the heat of love is most sensitive of all,
And how many falcon milestones,
And how many dogs lay under the table, -
I won't say a word to you about that.
I'm in a hurry to get to the point
And I ask for your attention.
Under Sunday night Palamon
Heard an early lark ringing;
Though it was still an hour or two before dawn,
But the lark sang, and our hero
With reverence in the heart, cheerful spirit,
For pilgrimage leaving the cod,
Went to the goddess that reigns in Cythera,
To put it differently, to the blessed Venus.
In the hour dedicated to her, the hero went
To the arena where her throne stood
And, in sorrow of the heart, kneeling,
He poured out a stream of humble prayers:
"The beauty of beauty, the mistress of all countries,
Jupiter's daughter, whose husband is Vulcan!
You make the peaks of Kieferon happy!
Oh, for the old tenderness to Adon,
Look at my bitter cry with pity,
Bow your ears to a humble request.
Alas! I can't find the right words
To describe my trouble to you.
Ah, my heart does not betray my torments,
I am so confused that words are lacking.
Blessed one, have pity on me!
You know the evil sorrow of my soul.
Weigh everything wisely and help, goddess!
I swear to you that I am ready from now on
Serve with all my might
And with virginity in the eternal struggle to live,
I swear to you, but help me first.
I took the gun not to show off
And I do not ask for a victory for tomorrow,
No honors, no glory-fidgets,
That oscillates up and down like a wave, -
I want to own Emilia alone,
Until his death, only serving her.
Show me the way to her, O lady!
I don't care how we finish Prue:
They me or I will overcome them,
I would only squeeze the maiden in the grip of my arms!
After all, no matter how powerful Mars, the leader of the army,
But in the sky you own greater strength:
If you want, I'll take possession of my dear,
For a century I will honor your temple for victory;
Wherever I go and go
I can't remember you.
But if you favor the enemy,
I pray that tomorrow I will load the spear
Arsita in my poor heart.
I don't care if I fall dead
Once down the aisle she will go with Arsita.
Do not reject my prayer
Give me Emilia, oh god!"
Palamon finished his prayer,
And after that, he sacrificed to the goddess
Brought, pitifully performing rituals,
Which I don't need to talk about.
And suddenly ... the statue of the goddess swayed
And she gave a sign that by virtue of grace
His voice was heard this time.
Although the sign delayed the hour of bliss,
But he knew: the deity listened to the prayer,
And joyfully he returned to himself.
Unequal three hours passed there
Since he went to the Venus temple.
Then the sun rose, and Emilia got up
And she gathered her maidens with her on the road.
Maidens march to the temple of Diana,
Carrying a fire lit for the goddess
And different smoking and cover
To offer sacrificial gifts,
And honey in the horns - and everything you need
According to the rules of the ancient rite.
The luxuriously decorated temple is smoking…
Pious Emilia is there
In running water, the body bathed ...
Not daring to betray the secret of the ritual,
I will only briefly report on it.
Although everyone here is waiting for the details;
There is no harm in them for the well-meaning,
But restraint is better sometimes.
Shiny hair combing the stream,
Oak green wreath
She put them on, and then
Two flames lit over the altar
And performed all the rites in that form,
As described by Statius in the Thebaid.
Full of infinite humility,
She said to Diana:
"Oh you, goddess of the greenery of the forest,
You see the sea, the firmament and the circle of the earth,
With Pluto you rule in the dark depths.
All thoughts, all desires in me
You have known for a long time, goddess of maidens!
Do not let me know your revenge and anger,
Which, goddess, Actaeon
You punished evil at the time of it.
I want to complete the virgin circle of the earth,
Not to be anyone's kind or wife:
In your retinue (you know well)
I love to make a fun hunt;
I am attracted to wander in the thicket of the forest,
And not to bear children in the womb,
And I'm not looking for closeness to a man.
After all, you are strong, so help me now
In the name of your three-faced essence!
Here is Palamon, which is full of great love,
And here is Arsita, who withered loving.
Give them mercy, I beg you,
Find peace and friendship again
Turn their hearts away from me.
The restlessness of torment and the ardor of passions,
Their desire and heat, like smoke, dissipate
Or turn them to another object.
But if there is no favor in you
And objectionable fate will force me
Take one of them, let it be
The one who wants me hot.
Look, goddess of purity: stream
Combustible tears run from my cheeks!
You are pure, you are the guard that keeps us!
You save my honor and save!
Serving you, let me finish the virgin days.
Two lights shone on the altar,
While the maiden prayed at dawn,
And suddenly saw her confused eye
Miraculous sign: one fire went out
And revived again; then the other of the two
It trembled and suddenly went out completely.
But, fading away, hissed at first,
Like wet firewood in the hearth,
And from the ends of the logs again and again,
Drop by drop, blood seeped out.
Emilia was seized with such formidable fear,
That, almost crazy, all in tears
She looked at the wonderful sign
And so lost in fear
What a terrible cry announced the temple.
And suddenly Diana appeared there:
She appeared as a hunter with a bow
And she said: “Do not indulge in torment!
Among the gods of heaven decided
Written and sworn:
You are one of those given in inheritance,
Who endured evil and torment for you.
Which of the two, I can't tell.
Now goodbye. I'm leaving from here.
The lights that you lit up for me in the temple,
They will tell you before you leave.
What is prepared for you from now on.
With these words in the quiver of the goddess
From afar, arrows made a loud ringing and knocking ...
And then she suddenly disappeared from my eyes.
Emilia, dashing in confusion,
She exclaimed: “Alas, what good is that?
I entrust myself to your protection;
In everything I am now subject to Diana.
Then she went to her house
And now I will continue my story.
In the next hour that is dedicated to Mars,
Arsita came to God to bow,
To the ferocious, to bring, as it should,
Gifts to him according to the father's rite,
And with a heavy heart to Mars, the god of battle.
The pious sent up prayers:
“O powerful god, that among the icy countries
Thracian and exalted and crowned,
In any region, in any earthly power
You know the war that leads to glory
On a whim, giving success in battle!
Accept my humble sacrifice.
And if I, though a young warrior,
Worthy to serve your greatness
And be listed as your ascetic,
Do not be inexorable to my longing.
Oh, remember the torment, remember those lights
What burned you with desire in those days,
When you enjoyed Venus,
In the color of fresh, light beauty
Your embrace given into captivity.
After all, then you yourself knew the evil fate,
When, having found with his wife, Vulcan
I caught you in a snare, like in a trap.
In the name of these torments of your soul
Have pity on me in my great suffering.
You know: I'm young and unintelligent
And, I remember, I am more wounded by love,
than all living beings in the world.
The one for whom I endure these torments,
And there is no grief, I drown or swim.
I know that in vain I will call on her,
Until I get it by force in the field.
I know it depends on your will
Will I get my love.
So help me fight tomorrow
The fire that burned you, remembering
And the fire in which I burn here.
Oh, give me control over the enemy tomorrow.
Mine will be labor, yours be glory.
I will honor your main temple more strongly,
Than temples are all; to please you everywhere
Always shining in your skill, -
I will hang at your altar
Your banner and all the weapons of the squad,
And never until the day I die
The light will not go out before you.
And I will make a vow to myself:
And the beard and curls that hitherto
Forever resentment did not endure
From razors and scissors, I'll give you
I will be your servant to the grave myself.
Hear your servant's prayer
My fate is now in your hands."
The speech of the mighty Arsita fell silent.
Here are the rings that were driven into the door,
And the doors themselves rattled suddenly.
For a moment Arsita was frightened.
The fires that he kindled on the altar,
Radiance illuminated the whole chamber,
And a sweet fragrance flowed there.
Arsita raised his hand and, incense
Throwing into the fire, all the rites circle
Done to the very end. And suddenly
The chain mail idol rattled, and muffled
Through the hum, like a whisper, came to the ear;
"Victory" - and Arsita paid tribute
Vladyka Sich for the joyful news.
Full of hope, with a joyful soul
Arsita flew to his quarters,
Like a bird that rejoices in the light of the sun.
But there was such a discord in heaven,
So they fought for their wards
Venus, god of the passions of the heart,
And the formidable Mars, the armor-bearing god,
That Jupiter himself could not appease them.
But here is Saturn, the cold, pale king,
That I knew a lot of what happened in the old days,
Skill and experience is strong,
Found an outcome for the disputing parties.
No wonder old age, they say, is stronger,
Than youth, with its mature wisdom:
The young man is always outwitted by the old man.
Saturn to quiet the noise and scream
(Although the world was disgusting to his nature),
Found a good remedy against the storm.
"O my daughter," he said to Venus,
My run, revolving in a vast sphere,
More powerful than the weak human mind thinks:
I sink the ships in the sea wave,
I dry the prisoner in the dark cell,
I hang by the neck and soul.
They serve me strife, rough reprisal,
Sedition, murmuring, secret poison;
I avenge, execute, shed blood mercilessly,
When I enter the constellation Leo.
I am the destroyer of royal chambers;
Blink, and the corpses of the carpenters lie
Under a tower or a broken wall.
I buried Samson under a pillar.
I am the lord of cold ailments,
Dark betrayals, intrigues under the deck,
I send a plague with an evil eye.
So don't cry! I will take all measures
And your zealot Palamon will be,
As you said, the virgin was awarded.
Although the second fighter is protected by Mars,
But peace will come at last
Though the tempers of the two of you are so different,
That not a day goes by without quarrels and disputes,
But I, your grandfather, am ready to help you,
I will fulfill your desire, daughter.
Now I will leave the supreme gods,
And Mars, and the goddess of the torments of love,
And I will state - as far as possible, without embellishment -
The end of what I started talking about.
The great holiday rustled through the hail,
In addition, the month of May gave consolation
To the hearts of people, and here is the hour after the hour
There were games and dances on Monday,
And there everyone served Venus zealously.
But since it was still due early
Get up in the morning to see the formidable battle,
Everyone retired for the night.
And in the morning, as soon as the day flashed,
From horses and harness a loud rumble
Rumbled through all the yards in a row,
Many cavalcades rushed to the palace
From noble persons on agile horses.
There are many harnesses sparkling - light, black,
Worked luxuriously and richly,
Steel, embroidered, forged from gold.
Shine a shield, chain mail, a magnificent banner,
With a gold notch helmet, camisole, saddlecloth.
On the horses are smart nobles.
Here is a military man (a shield bearer is with him too)
Drives a nail into a spear or cleans a shield,
He ties up the helmet, fastens the spear,
Everyone has a job, everyone forgot about laziness:
Gnawing a golden horse's bridle, covered in soap;
Agile Weaponsmith
With a saw, with a hammer, he ripened everywhere;
All citizens and yeomen on foot
They bring down the crowd, and each with a staff.
Horns, timpani, trumpets and horns,
Whose bloody cry so invigorates the regiments.
The palace is filled to overflowing with people;
Three here, ten there, guessing at once.
Who will emerge victorious from the battle.
One says one thing, the other another
One black-bearded knight is sweet,
The curly-haired young man captivated others:
He, they say, is fierce and strong will fight back:
He has an ax at twenty pounds.
The crowd roared loudly and wondered
In the meantime, the sun has already risen,
And the great Theseus himself woke up
Under this dialect, music and clicks.
But he did not part with the rich palace,
While rivals to his chambers
Not carried out with great honor.
Here sits at the window Theseus the hero,
Like a god on a throne, magnificently dressed up;
Below is the people gathered a little light
Give honor to your Lord
And listen to what he has to say.
The herald from the platform proclaimed: "Silence!"
And everyone calmed down at once in anticipation.
When the crowd stopped screaming,
He announced the desire of the lord:
“Our sovereign, according to sovereign wisdom
Decided what would be a glorious waste of blood
To cut here with such a habit,
With what fighters enter the mortal bay.
And now, so as not to let them die in the field,
He changes his former will.
Under fear death penalty pa tournament
Let no one take slings, axes,
No crossbow, bow or knife;
Let the piercing small sword
None of them is worn on the side;
Opponents only once at full gallop
With a sharpened spear, meet both
And, defending themselves, fight on foot.
Let the vanquished be taken in full,
But not killed, but assigned to milestones
And by mutual agreement
He stays there until the end of the argument.
But if your leader (this or that)
He himself will be taken, or he will knock down the enemy,
The field will be closed immediately.
God help you! Forward! Fight hard.
The weapon is a long sword and a club with it.
Start the battle at the will of the sovereign.
Then the voice of the people reached the heavens,
Everyone shouted joyfully at the same moment:
“Blessed is our good governor:
He does not want the extermination of the race.
The play of strings and trumpets proclaims to all,
That it's time to hurry to the lists.
The wide streets pass by a number;
The city is hung with luxurious brocade.
Majestically rides the duke himself,
And two Thebans side by side;
Following him with his sister Hippolyta,
And behind - the rest of the retinue:
All two by position and rank.
And so they hurry through Athens
And they arrive at the arena on time:
The luminary has not yet left the east.
Theseus sat high, magnificent,
His wife and her sister
And with the ladies they all sat down at the gatherings.
And the benches are full of people.
From the sunset gate under the protection of Mars
The hundred that came with Arsita enters.
He performs under a scarlet banner.
And at the same moment from the east Palamon
Enters the circle with a bold face and look -
Venus paladin under a white banner.
Though search the whole world and along and at random,
You wouldn't be able to find
Other squads, so similar to each other
I would admit, I think, any connoisseur,
That all qualities were equal in them:
And valor, and age, and ranks -
All were chosen the way they should be.
They were all built immediately in two rows
And they read the names to know by honor
And without deceit, that there are exactly two hundred of them.
They closed the circle, and the cry went along the line:
"Do your duty, young heroes!"
Heralds no longer go back and forth,
The trumpet rumbles, and the horn calls to battle.
Here in the western squad and in the eastern
The shafts are stuck into the stops firmly,
A sharp thorn stuck into the horse's side,
Here you can see who is a fighter and who is a rider.
A spear breaks on a thick shield.
The fighter feels the edge under his chest.
Debris hits twenty feet high...
Behold, silver is brighter, swords have risen,
Shishak is crushed and embroidered into pieces,
Blood runs menacingly in a red stream.
Here the bone is broken with a heavy mace,
And there the knight burst into the thick of the battle.
A hefty horse stumbled as it galloped.
He flies under the feet of others like a ball,
And this one goes to the enemy with a shaft.
Here the horse collapsed to the ground with its rider.
One is pierced through and taken in full
And, unfortunate, assigned to milestones,
To wait for the end, as the rules say;
taken by the other side.
The battle was interrupted by the lord more than once
For relaxation and thirst quenching.
Thebans both on this day often
We met there, smashing each other aptly;
They threw each other off their horses onto the field.
There is no such tigress in the Galad valley
(Though take away her tiger cub),
What fierceness would be equal to Arsita,
Whose heart was inflamed with jealous anger.
There is hardly a lion in Belmaria,
What, hungry or furious with dogs,
So thirsty for blood, like Palamon
Arsitu ardently yearned to kill the enemy.
Strikes fell on evil helmets,
A stream of scarlet blood flowed from the fighters.
But there is a limit to everything in the end.
The sun has not set yet,
How King Emetrios flew with an arrow
On Palamon, who fought with Arsita, -
And the blade plunged deep into the body.
In an instant, twenty Palamon was captured
And taken away by force for milestones.
Lycurgus hurries to his rescue,
A mighty king, but immediately brought down to the ground.
Emetrio himself, although he was known for a strong man,
From the horse flies to the length of the sword:
That knocked him down to the captivity of Palamon.
But all in vain: the hero is taken to full.
His courage did not help him here;
He must carry the captivity: after all, strength holds,
And also the initial agreement ...
Sad Palamon suffers hard!
He is no longer able to continue the argument ...
As soon as Theseus glanced at the field,
The squads that fought among themselves,
He called out, “Hey! Enough! The fight is over!
I am impartial, my judgment is just.
Emilia Arcita, prince of Thebes,
will receive; he honestly won the fight.
Then such enthusiasm arose in the crowd,
So the wide circle of the arena hummed,
It looked like the walls were about to crumble.
And what is the mistress of love Venus
Will he say it? In sorrow without measure,
She is now sobbing so from evil,
That even the circus filled with tears.
“I am ashamed, there is no doubt about that!”
“Daughter, calm down,” Saturn answered her. -
Mars won, and his fighter is happy,
But you, I swear, will master it in the end.
Here the heralds raised the trumpets
And music, purely solemn,
Praise was paid to the glorious Arsita ...
But be quiet and listen:
That's what suddenly happened there then.
Arsita the fierce untied his helmet
And on a horse to show his face to everyone,
It jumps straight across the arena,
Looking up to Emily's box.
She also answers with a gentle look
(After all, the good will of the ladies
Always follows happiness on the heels)
She clings to him with her soul and look ...
Suddenly a fury, cast out by hell,
From the ground came from Pluto
By the machinations of Saturn. Accelerated horse
He shied away and collapsed on the sand.
Arsita could not change his mind,
When suddenly he was thrown to the ground with his head,
Here he lies a little alive on the sand:
His chest was smashed with the bow of a saddle.
Blood rushed to the face, and Arsita became
Crow feathers, black coals.
From the arena with sorrowful weeping soon
They carry him to Theseus' chambers.
To remove from the body, I had to cut the armor;
He is laid on a soft bed -
He is still alive and well in memory.
He calls his Emilia all the time.
Theseus with his retinue and all the guests
Went back immediately
With great splendor to your capital city.
Although the trouble happened, as if it were a sin,
But he did not want to sadden everyone;
In addition, everyone believed that the groom
Heal from his terrible wounds.
Even then their hearts gladden,
That none of them were killed there.
All are wounded; one is hard
The point passed through the chest bone.
From other wounds, broken arms and legs
To whom the balm, to whom the sorcerer helped.
They drink potions, tinctures and sage.
After all, who does not value his life,
And the noble duke repays them all
As far as possible and help and honor.
Theseus drank all that night
In the circle of princes who came to him,
And, besides the games of the military and the tournament,
Nothing disturbed the peace between them,
Nothing gave rise to burning resentment:
Fall off a horse - it's just a case,
And the case - to the milestones to retire from the field,
When they grab twenty or more
You are alone, and you have no help,
And hold you by the arms and legs
And they beat your horse with a stick,
Chasing him away from the arena into the convoy;
For a knight there is no shame in that;
Nobody will call him a coward.
So Theseus ordered to shout at the hail,
So that everyone forgets envy and annoyance,
What distinguished both sides
And, like sisters, they are equal in valor.
When he gave gifts to the ranks,
There were games and feasts for three full days.
He escorted the kings out of the gate
On the day of the journey for the greatest honor.
And everyone returned on straight roads,
It sounded only: "Good journey" and "With God."
Now you will allow me to fight

General prologue

In the spring, in April, when the earth wakes up from its winter hibernation, strings of pilgrims flock from all over England to Canterbury Abbey to venerate the relics of St. Thomas Becket. One day, at the Tabard inn in Sowerk, a rather motley company of pilgrims gathered, who were united by one thing: they were all on their way to Canterbury. There were twenty-nine of them. During dinner, many of the guests managed to get acquainted and talk. The guests were of various ranks and occupations, which, however, did not prevent them from maintaining a casual conversation. Among them was the Knight, known throughout the world for his valor and glorious deeds, which he made in numerous battles, and his son, the young Squire, despite his young years, managed to earn the favor of his beloved, gaining fame for himself as a faithful squire on long trips to foreign lands, dressed in a colorful outfit. Yeoman also rode with the knight, wearing a green hooded camisole and armed with a bow with long green-feathered arrows, a good shooter, who, apparently, was a forester. With them was an abbess named Eglantine, who looked after noble novices, meek and tidy. Everyone at the table was pleased to see her clean face and sweet smile. She was talking about something with an important and fat Monk, who was the monastic auditor. A passionate hunter and a merry fellow, he was against strict, reclusive rules, he liked to go on a spree and kept greyhounds. He was wearing a luxurious cloak, and he rode a bay horse. Next to him at the table sat Carmelite, a tax collector who excelled in his art like no one else and knew how to squeeze the last penny even from a beggar, promising him eternal bliss in heaven. In a beaver hat, with a long beard, sat a wealthy Merchant, revered for his ability to save income and deftly calculate the exchange rate. Having interrupted his diligent studies, riding on a tired nag, the Student rode to Canterbury, wise with books and spending the last money on them. Next to him sat the Lawyer, unsurpassed in the knowledge of the laws and in the ability to circumvent them. His wealth and fame quickly multiplied, as did the number of wealthy clients who often turned to the Lawyer for help. Nearby, in an expensive outfit, sat a cheerful Franklin, who was an exemplary sheriff and collected fines. Franklin loved wine and good food, which made him famous in the area. The dyer, the hatter, the carpenter, the upholsterer, and the weaver, dressed in solid attire of the guild fraternity, did everything slowly, with the consciousness dignity and wealth. They brought with them the Cook, a jack-of-all-trades, to cook for them on their long journey. Skipper sat at the same table with them. He came from the western county and was dressed in a rough coat of canvas. His appearance betrayed in him an experienced sailor from the Madelena, who knew all the currents and pitfalls encountered on the ship's path. In a crimson and blue cloak, next to him sat a Doctor of Medicine, whom even London doctors could not compare with in the art of healing. He was the smartest man who never dishonored himself by inaccuracy or extravagance. The Weaver of Bath, in a traveling cloak and with a very large hat on her head, chatted with him. She was deaf, which did not prevent her from being a great weaver.

Having survived five husbands and no less number of lovers, she humbly went to the pilgrimage, was talkative and cheerful. Not far away, at a table, an old Priest sat modestly, better than whom he saw the world. He was an exemplary shepherd, he helped the poor, he was meek and merciful in dealing with the poor and ruthlessly fair to rich sinners. His brother. The plowman rode with him. He worked hard in the fields during his life and considered it the duty of a Christian to faithfully obey the commandments and help people who needed it. Opposite, on a bench, Melnik collapsed - a bright-eyed fellow, healthy as a bull, with an impressive red beard and a wart overgrown with stiff bristles on his nose. A fist fighter, a womanizer, a swindler and a reveler, he was known as a desperate liar and thief. The Economist, who was sitting next to him, was successful in all the operations he undertook, and knew how to pretty fool people. Shorn like a priest, in a blue cassock and on a horse in apples, the Majordomo rode from Norfolk to Canterbury. Knowing how to steal and seduce in time, he was richer than his master, was stingy and well versed in his business. The bailiff of the church court was all swollen with fat, and his small eyes looked at everyone extremely cunningly. No amount of acid would have etched away the veil of age-old grime from his beard, or stifled the garlic belch he poured over with wine. He knew how to be useful to sinners if they paid, and instead of a shield he carried with him a huge loaf of rye bread. Slavically devoted to him, the Pardoner rode beside him. Lifeless strands of sparse, matted hair fringed his brow, he sang and lectured in a squeaky voice from the pulpit, and carried with him a box of indulgences, the sale of which was surprisingly adroit.

Now all of the above were cheerfully sitting at a table covered with all sorts of food and reinforcing their strength. When the dinner was over and the guests began to disperse, the Tavern Master got up and, thanking the guests for the honor done, drained his glass. Then, laughing, he remarked that travelers must sometimes be bored, and suggested the following to the pilgrims: each during the long journey would have to tell a fictional or real story, and whoever told the most interesting of all would be gloriously treated on the way back. The Master offered himself as judge, warning that anyone who shied away from the story would be severely punished. The pilgrims happily agreed, for no one wanted to be bored, and everyone liked the Host, even the most gloomy ones. And so, before setting off on the road, everyone began to draw lots, to whom to tell first. The lot fell to the Knight, and the horsemen, surrounding him, prepared to listen attentively to the story.
Knight's Tale

Once upon a time, the glorious lord Theseus ruled in Athens. Having glorified himself with many victories, he finally captured Scythia, where the Amazons lived, and married their mistress Hippolyta. As he stood proudly in front of his capital, preparing to enter there to the sound of fanfare, a procession of women dressed in mourning approached him. Theseus asked them what happened, and was quite angry when he learned that they were the wives of eminent Theban warriors, whose bodies were rotting under the sun, for new ruler Thebes, Creon, who recently captured this city, does not allow them to be buried, leaving them to be torn to pieces by birds. Theseus jumped on a horse and rushed off with his army to take revenge on the cruel Creon, leaving Hippolyta and her beautiful sister Emilia in Athens. The army laid siege to Thebes, the evil Creon fell in battle, slain by Theseus, and justice was restored. Among the fallen soldiers of Theseus found two wounded knights of a noble family. Theseus ordered them to be sent to Athens and imprisoned there in a tower, not agreeing to take a ransom for them. The young men were called Arsita and Palamon. Several years have passed. Once the beautiful Emilia was walking in the garden, spread out next to the tower, where the unfortunate prisoners languished, and sang like a nightingale. At this time, Palamon looked out into the garden from the barred window of the dungeon. Suddenly he saw the beautiful Emilia and almost lost consciousness, for he realized that he was in love. Awakened by this cry, Arsita thought that his brother was ill. Palamon explained to him what his grief was, and Arsita decided to look at Emilia. Approaching the loophole, he saw her walking among the rose bushes, and felt the same as Palamon. Then a terrible strife and fight began between them. One accused the other, each considered it his indisputable right to love Emilia, and it is not known what the matter would have come to if the brothers had not remembered in time about their position. Realizing that, no matter how it all turned around, they still would never get out of prison, Arsita and Palamon decided to rely on fate.

Just at that time, the noble commander Perita, a good friend of Lord Theseus, arrived in Athens to visit. Previously, he was bound by the bonds of holy friendship with the young Arsita, and, having learned that he was languishing in the tower, Perita tearfully begged Theseus to let him go. After hesitating, Theseus finally gave his consent, but with the immutable condition that if Arsita appeared again on Athenian soil, he would answer for this with his head. The unfortunate Arsita was forced to flee to Thebes, cursing his fate and envying Palamon, who remained in prison and could at least sometimes see Emilia. He did not know that at the same time Palamon complained about him, confident that happiness went to his brother, and not to him, the poor prisoner.

So another year flew by. Once, when Arsita fell into a restless sleep, the god Mercury appeared to him and advised him not to despair, but to go and try his luck in Athens. Waking up, Arsita cast aside doubts and fears and decided to dare to enter the capital, disguised as a poor man and taking only one friend with him. The anguish of the heart so distorted his features that no one could recognize him, and he was accepted into the service of the palace, calling himself Philostratus. He was so courteous and smart that the fame of the new servant reached Theseus' ears, he brought Philostratus closer, making him his personal assistant and generously endowing him. Thus Arsita lived at court, while his brother had been languishing in the tower for the seventh year. But somehow, on the night of the third of May, friends helped him to escape, and under the cover of darkness he hid in a grove a few miles from the city. Palamon had nothing to hope for, except to go to Thebes and beg his own to gather an army and go to war against Theseus. He did not know that in the same grove, where he waited out the day, Arsita rode up, going for a walk. Palamon heard how Arsita complained about his fate, extolling Emilia, and, unable to bear it, jumped out into the clearing. Seeing each other, the brothers decided that only one could survive and have the right to the heart of the queen's sister. Then such a fight began that it seemed as if wild animals were grappling in a deadly fight.

The noise of the battle attracted the attention of the glorious Theseus, who was passing by that grove with his retinue. Seeing the bloodied knights, he recognized them as a deceiver, a servant and an escaped prisoner, and decided to punish them with death. After listening to their explanations, he had already given the order to kill the brothers, but, seeing the tears in the eyes of Hippolyta and Emilia, touched by the unfortunate love of two young men, the heart of the magnanimous monarch softened, and he ordered the knights to fight for the right to marry the beautiful Emilia here in a year, bringing with a hundred fighters each.

Ilyichev V. A., former employee of the criminal investigation department, candidate legal sciences, professor, writes about the problems of law enforcement agencies in the fight against crime. Readers know the author's work from previously published works: "Elegant Assassin", "Guillotine for the Executioner", "The Secret of the Seven Sins", "Towards Eternity", "The Adventures of the Winking Ghost", "Life and Crime", "Atonement" and many others This book publishes three new novels by the author.

"Love Undercover" is dedicated to dangerous work a secret agent embedded in an organized crime group seeking to seize power in a provincial town. In the process of completing the task, a close love relationship develops between him and the gang leader's sister. This does not prevent the undercover worker from successfully completing the assignment.

The story "An Epitaph for the Living" shows the shadow side of the activities of operational officers, who are often forced to violate moral norms in order to expose criminals. This practice leads not only to violations of the law, but also poses a danger to the detectives themselves.

In the story "In a vicious circle" a journalist writing on criminal topics gets materials that compromise important officials. The hunt begins for him. Despite the danger, the journalist does not give up and seeks to publish a revealing article.

Valery Ilyichev
Undercover Love (Compilation)

Love under cover

Chapter 1

The head of the criminal investigation department, Dyachenko, was waiting for the agent at the safe house. He was flattered that it was his informant who was entrusted with a dangerous operation on the instructions of the FSB. He was afraid of losing a valuable employee, but could not disobey the order from the capital Glaucus. Dyachenko's anxious thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Looking through the "peephole", the detective was convinced of the arrival of the agent and let him into the apartment. For decency, he asked about his personal life. But Volokhov suggested that we immediately get down to business, knowing that he would once again have to balance over the abyss. And the lieutenant colonel began to speak calmly and measuredly, as if guiding his interlocutor on a serene journey:

- Listen, Volokhov, this time you have to join the liquidation of a dangerous group in another region of the country. You go there with cover documents. In the city of Novinsk, power actually belongs to the bandit Stolyarov and his numerous relatives. They actually own the economy of the city. State officials are intimidated and dance to their tune. And the so-called Joiners began preparations to seize the leading positions at the defense plant. The FSB cannot allow this and asked for help in defeating this criminal clan.

- What's the point? Other bandits will take their place.

- You are right. The main rivals of the Stolyarovs in the city are the people of Buryak, who is supported by local law enforcement officers in the struggle for supremacy in the criminal world. It looks like they have Buryak on the hook and are more manageable. Eliminating Stolyarov and raising Buryak, they will be able to stop the penetration of crime into power.

– The overall alignment is clear. But why don't they use their informants?

- Those who are closely connected with this clan do not cooperate because of their unwillingness to lose illegal income. And the joiners do not let new people in.

- What then is the confidence based on that I will be able to infiltrate this group?

“On your amazing biography. Think for yourself: you intelligent family. As a child, he played the violin and studied as an artist, until, as a student, he thundered into the zone for selling fake diamonds. There he did not let himself be crushed, he was respected person. But for now, forget about your criminal past. You will play the role of a soft and gentle intellectual. It’s good that you didn’t make yourself tattoos in the prison zone.

- In the trade of "farmazon" they can alert the sucker. Now explain why I chose this role?

- Everything is very simple. Of this whole criminal family, Stolyarova's sister Nadezhda is the weak link. Only through it you can get close to this criminal syndicate. You must get close to her. It will not be difficult for such a handsome and eloquent man.

- But why do you think that a woman will contact me?

- Judge for yourself. Nadezhda had already rolled up to twenty-seven, and she was not yet married. She had a love story a few years ago with a well-known boxer in the city. The guy never got sick. And then he suddenly drowned on a hot day, swimming in the lake.

- Accident?

- Written off for fainting from sunstroke. But here's what's interesting. On the other side at the same time, three guys with scuba gear sank to the bottom. They were later seen surrounded by Alexei Stolyarov.

What about Hope?

- She cried, grieved, even tried to open her veins. But then she reconciled and now prefers loneliness. And no one after that incident dares to approach her.

- And you offer me, as a trainer in a circus, to stick my head into the mouth of an evil beast?

- You don't have to do shura-mura in front of everyone. A woman can be secretly intercepted while walking through boutiques or in her brother's cafe "East Wind", where she has lunch every day.

– What does she do anyway?

- Nothing. With the income of his brother, he leads an idle life. Swimming in the pool, going to the cinema, reading books. Unlike her relatives, she is a cultured person, has a higher education. You will have something to talk about with her in bed. Well, don't forget about your manhood.

- Do not doubt it. Only, it seems that she is a closed person, loves loneliness, and it will not be easy to make contact with her.

- I don't think so. Apparently, she is waiting for her prince on a white horse. Otherwise, how do you explain her regular visits to the fitness club and solarium? If a woman cares so much about her appearance, it means that she is in search of unearthly love. So, Volokhov, take the flag in your hands - and forward with a song in pursuit of the firebird.

– Good question. The carpenter is a tough person, and women, as a rule, do not allow them to do their criminal deeds. But Nadezhda has been taking care of since childhood and trusts only her. In case of arrest, he created a stash of a large amount and transferred it to his sister for safekeeping, against whom, from the point of view of the law, there are no claims.

- What does it give besides the withdrawal of money to the state?

You're right, nothing. But there, along with the loot, the Joiner keeps important documents about the illegal operations he carried out in the past. And this secret bookkeeping is of great interest to local law enforcement officers.

“Why would the Carpenter keep such dangerous documents?”

- In case of possible civil lawsuits or a report on the thieves' gangway, if excuses are needed before other criminal authorities. There is reason to believe that no one except Nadezhda knows about the location of the hiding place. And our path to the thieves' cache lies through the bed of a lonely woman.

- Solve this problem short terms unreal. Is the woman even interesting?

“Here, take a look at the photo taken by the outdoors. On the face is a so-so girl, and the figure, in my opinion, is bony. Only the eyes are large and blue. But you don't have to turn up your nose. We don't have a choice. What else interests you?

- Under what legend will I appear in the city?

- You are now Nikolai Petrov. We leave your real name so that you don’t get confused and immediately respond. Are you an artist or a musician by profession? Choose yourself. This will allow you to freely manage your time. The pretext for appearing in the city: receiving an inheritance from a distant relative. The major's lonely widow bequeathed to her nephew an old Lada and a one-room apartment. This envelope contains all the necessary documents.

- What about the owner?

She died peacefully. She has no relatives, except for her beloved nephew. You don't have to worry. Everything?

“No, I want to grab a couple of guns for safety.

- According to legend, they are completely useless to a dreamy intellectual.

- The mission is dangerous. Last year, I survived only by managing to shoot back from the killer. And now I don't want to be a meek lamb. Within the framework of my legend, I can explain that I found weapons in my aunt's house. It was left there from her military husband.

- It is logical, but I, of course, do not know about the presence of unaccounted trunks in you.

- This is clear. We have not yet agreed on the means of communication.