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Миналият петък, 14 септември, КХХ проведе четвъртата си среща в гостоприемния АНЦС. Бяхме само седмина възрастни и две деца, на 3 и 11 години, които изобщо не изглеждаха отегчени от темите, върху които възрастните бяхме съсредоточили вниманието си, т. е., краткото въведение на Ерик (Ерик Де Сена) към Енеида на Вергилий, последвано от прочит на края на епичната творба на великия поет.

Очевидно повлиян от зефира на древността, аз (Валентин Кръстев), реших да прочета две стихотворения от Уилям Мередит, съответстващи на епохата – „Две маски, изкопани в България” и „Орфей”, последвани от още две от наши дни.

По-долу е публикуван английският превод на откъса, прочетен от Ерик, който не е версията, на която се насладиха ушите и душите ни, но не е по-лош, доколкото мога да преценя.

Last Friday, September 14, the FFC had its fourth meeting at the hospitable ARCS. Only seven of us, grown up flying folks attended, and two children, a three and an eleven years old one, who did not seem at all to be bored by the themes the adults had focused their attention on, that is, Eric’s (Eric De Sena) short introduction to Virgil’s Aeneid, followed by his reading the end of the great poet’s epic work.

Seemingly influenced by the zephyr of antiquity, I (Valentin Krustev), chose to read a couple of William Meredith’s poems corresponding to the epoch, namely Two Masks Unearthed in Bulgaria and Orpheus, followed by a couple more of the present day.

This is the English translation of the excerpt Eric read, which is not the version he delighted our ears and minds with, but is not worse, as far as I can say:

Luca Giordano (1632-1705), Enea vince Turno

And as, when heavy sleep has clos'd the sight,
The sickly fancy labors in the night;
We seem to run; and, destitute of force,
Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course:
In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry;
The nerves, unbrac'd, their usual strength deny;
And on the tongue the falt'ring accents die:
So Turnus far'd; whatever means he tried,
All force of arms and points of art employ'd,
The Fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavor void.
A thousand various thoughts his soul confound;
He star'd about, nor aid nor issue found;
His own men stop the pass, and his own walls surround.
Once more he pauses, and looks out again,
And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain.
Trembling he views the thund'ring chief advance,
And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:
Amaz'd he cow'rs beneath his conqu'ring foe,
Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.
Astonish'd while he stands, and fix'd with fear,
Aim'd at his shield he sees th' impending spear.
The hero measur'd first, with narrow view,
The destin'd mark; and, rising as he threw,
With its full swing the fatal weapon flew.
Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,
Or stones from batt'ring-engines break the walls:
Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong,
The lance drove on, and bore the death along.
Naught could his sev'nfold shield the prince avail,
Nor aught, beneath his arms, the coat of mail:
It pierc'd thro' all, and with a grisly wound
Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground.
With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.
Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid,
With eyes cast upward, and with arms display'd,
And, recreant, thus to the proud victor pray'd:
"I know my death deserv'd, nor hope to live:
Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think, O think, if mercy may be shown-
Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son-
Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;
And for Anchises' sake old Daunus save!
Or, if thy vow'd revenge pursue my death,
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;
Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife:
Against a yielded man, 't is mean ignoble strife."
In deep suspense the Trojan seem'd to stand,
And, just prepar'd to strike, repress'd his hand.
He roll'd his eyes, and ev'ry moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt;
When, casting down a casual glance, he spied
The golden belt that glitter'd on his side,
The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly cries
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)
"Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,
Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?
To his sad soul a grateful off'ring go!
'T is Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow."
He rais'd his arm aloft, and, at the word,
Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword.
The streaming blood distain'd his arms around,
And the disdainful soul came rushing thro' the wound.
Source: http://www.online-literature.com/virgil/aeneid/

Here is the original for those who read Latin:

"Ac velut in somnis, oculos ubi languida pressit
nocte quies, nequiquam avidos extendere cursus

910 velle videmur et in mediis conatibus aegri
succidimus, non lingua valet, non corpore notae
sufficiunt vires, nec vox aut verba sequuntur:
sic Turno, quacumque viam virtute petivit,
successum dea dira negat. Tum pectore sensus
915 vertuntur varii. Rutulos aspectat et urbem
cunctaturque metu letumque instare tremescit;
nec quo se eripiat, nec qua vi tendat in hostem,
nec currus usquam videt aurigamve sororem.
Cunctanti telum Aeneas fatale coruscat,
920 sortitus fortunam oculis, et corpore toto
eminus intorquet. Murali concita numquam
tormento sic saxa fremunt, nec fulmine tanti
dissultant crepitus. Volat atri turbinis instar
exitium dirum hasta ferens orasque recludit
925 loricae et clipei extremos septemplicis orbes.
Per medium stridens transit femur. Incidit ictus
ingens ad terram duplicato poplite Turnus.
Consurgunt gemitu Rutuli, totusque remugit
mons circum, et vocem late nemora alta remittunt
930 Ille humilis supplexque oculos, dextramque precantem
protendens, “Equidem merui nec deprecor,” inquit:
“utere sorte tua. Miseri te siqua parentis
tangere cura potest, oro (fuit et tibi talis
Anchises genitor), Dauni miserere senectae
935 et me seu corpus spoliatum lumine mavis
redde meis. Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas
Ausonii videre; tua est Lavinia coniunx:
ulterius ne tende odiis.” Stetit acer in armis
Aeneas, volvens oculos, dextramque repressit;
940 et iam iamque magis cunctantem flectere sermo
coeperat, infelix umero cum apparuit alto
balteus et notis fulserunt cingula bullis
Pallantis pueri, victum quem volnere Turnus
straverat atque umeris inimicum insigne gerebat.
945 Ille, oculis postquam saevi monimenta doloris
exuviasque hausit, furiis accensus et ira
terribilis, “Tune hinc spoliis indute meorum
eripiare mihi? Pallas te hoc volnere, Pallas
immolat et poenam scelerato ex sanguine sumit,”
950 hoc dicens ferrum adverso sub pectore condit
fervidus. Ast illi solvuntur frigore membra
vitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras".

Vergil. Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil.

J. B. Greenough. Boston. Ginn & Co. 1900.