культ Меланхолии - «The Shadow of Night»
Итак, ролевой проект по Елизаветинской Англии состоялся.
но это не повод бросать тематику шестнадцатого века! :)
Вот, скажем, касаемо всё той же "Школы Ночи"...
Давно я грозился затронуть тему Меланхолии. А ведь среди молодых представителей того кружка это было модной, едва ли не культовой тематикой!
Вот, в частности, пафосная поэма одного такого представителя.
А именно, Джорджа Чапмена.
В 1594-м им была создана «Тень Ночи» = «The Shadow of Night», отрывки из которой мы приводим.
Часть первая называется: «Гимн Ночи»...
«Hymnus in Noctem»
GREAT goddess, to whose throne in Cynthian fires,
This earthly altar endless fumes expires ;
Therefore, in fumes of sighs and fires of grief,
To fearful chances thou send'st bold relief,
Happy, thrice happy type, and nurse of death,
Who, breathless, feeds on nothing but our breath,
In whom must virtue and her issue live.
Or die for ever ; now let humour give
Seas to mine eyes, that I may quickly weep
The shipwrack of the world : or let soft sleep
(Binding my senses) loose my working soul.
That in her highest pitch she may control
The court of skill, compact of mystery
Wanting but franchisement and memory
To reach all secrets : then in blissful trance.
Raise her, dear night,to that perseverance.
That in my torture, she all Earth's may sing.
And force to tremble in her trumpeting
Heaven's crystal'' temples ; in her powers implant
Skill of my griefs,and she can nothing want.
[...]
A step-dame Night of mind about us clings,
Who broods beneath her hell-obscuring wings,
Worlds of confusion, where the soul defamed.
The body had been better never framed,
Beneath thy soft and peaceful covert then
(Most sacred mother both of gods and men),
Treasures unknown, and more unprized did dwell ;
[...]
Her trusty shadows succour men dismay'd,
Whom Day's deceitful malice hath betray'd :
From the silk vapours of her ivory port,
Sweet Protean dreams she sends of every sort :
Some taking forms of princes, to persuade
Of men deject, we are their equals made,
Some clad in habit of deceased friends,
For whom we mourn'd, and now have wish'd amends ;
And some (dear favour) lady-like attired,
With pride of beauty's full meridian fired :
Who pity our contempts, revive our hearts;
For wisest ladies love the inward parts.
If these be dreams, even so are all things
That walk this round by heavenly sentinels :
But from Night's port of horn she greets our eyes
With graver dreams inspired with prophecies.
Which oft presage to us succeeding chances,
We proving that awake, they show in trances.
If these seem likewise vain, or nothing are,
Vain things, or nothing come to virtue's share ;
For nothing more than dreams with us she finds :
Then since all pleasures vanish like the winds,
And that most serious actions not respecting
The second light, are worth but the neglecting,
Since day, or light, in any quality,
For earthly uses do but serve the eye ;
And since the eye's most quick and dangerous use,
Enflames the heart, and learns the soul abuse,
Since mournings are preferr'd to banquettings,
And they reach heaven, bred under sorrow's wings ;
Since Night brings terror to our frailties still,
And shameless Day, doth marble us in ill.
All you possess'd with inclepressed spirits,
Endued with nimble, and aspiring wits,
Come consecrate with me, to sacred Night
Your whole endeavours, and detest the light...
Sweet Peace's richest crown is made of stars,
Most certain guides of honour'd mariners,
No pen can anything eternal write,
That is not steep'd in humour of the Night.
'Hence beasts, and birds to caves and bushes then,
And welcome Night, ye noblest heirs of men,
Hence Phebus to thy glassy strumpet's bed,
And never more let Themis' daughters spread
The golden harness on thy rosy horse,
But in close thickets run thy oblique course.
See now ascends, the glorious bride of brides,
Nuptials, and triumphs, glittering 'by her sides,
Juno and Hymen do her train adorn,
Ten thousand torches round about them borne :
Dumb silence mounted on the Cyprian star,
With becks rebukes the winds before his car,
Where she advanced ; beats down with cloudy mace,
The feeble light to black Saturnius' palace :
Behind her, with a brace of silver hinds,
In ivory chariot, swifter than the winds,
Great Hyperion's horned daughter drawn.
Enchantresstlike deck'd in disparent lawn,
Circled with charms and incantations,
That ride huge spirits, and outrageous passions :
Music, and mood, she loves, but love she hates
(As curious ladies do, their public cates) ,
This train, with meteors, comets, lightenings,
The dreadful presence of our empress sings :
Which grant for ever (O eternal Night)
Till virtue flourish in the light of light
Explicit Hymnus,
...а вслед за этим автор воспевает Цинтию - читай, Елизавету... Астрею...
«Hymnus in Cynthiam»
Nature's bright eyesight, and, the Night's fair soul,'
That with thy triple forehead dost control
Earth, seas, and hell; and art in dignity
The greatest and swiftest planet in the sky.
Peaceful and warlike, and the power of fate,
In perfect circle of whose sacred state
The circles of our hopes are compassed :
All wisdom, beauty, majesty, and dread.
Wrought in the spealcing portrait of thy face.
Great Cynthia, rise out of thy *Latmian palace,*
Wash thy bright body in th' Atlantic streams.
Put on those robes that are most rich in beams ;
And in thy all-ill-purging purity
(As if the shady/ Cytheron did fry
In sightful fury of a solemn fire).
Ascend thy chariot, and make earth amdire
Thy old swift changes, made a young fix'd prime,
O let thy beauty scorch the wings of time.
[...]
...But keep your jewels, make ye braver yet,
Elysian ladies ; and (in riches set,
Upon your foreheads) let us see your hearts ;
Build Cynthia's temple in your virtuous parts,
Let every jewel be a virtue's glass:
And no Herostratus shall ever rase
Those holy monuments : but pillars stand,
Where every Grace and Muse shall hang her garland.
The mind in that we like, rules every limb,
Gives hands to bodies, makes them make them trim ;
Why then in that the body doth dislike,
Should riot his sword as great a veney strike ?
The bit and spur that monarch ruleth still,
To further good things and to curb the ill,
He is the Ganymede, the bird of Jove,
Rapt to her sovereign's bosom for his love,
His beauty was it, not the body's pride,
That made him great Aquarius stellified.
And that mind most is beautiful and high,
And nearest comes to a Divinity,
That furtherest is from spot of Earth's delight,
Pleasures that lose their substance with their sight,
Such one, Saturnius ravisheth to. love,
And fills the cup of all content to Jove.
...Thrice mighty Cynthia, should be frozen dead,
To all the lawless flames of Cupid's godhead.
To this end let thy beams' divinities
For ever shine upon their sparkling eyes,
And be as quench to those pestiferent fires,
That through their eyes impoison their desires.
[...]
Thou never any hadst, but didst affect,
Endymion for his studious intellect.
Thy soul-chaste kisses were for virtue's sake,
And since his eyes were evermore awake,
To search for knowledge of thy excellence,
And all astrology : no negligence
Or female softness fed his learned trance,
Nor was thy veil once touch'd with dalliance.
Wise poets feign thy godhead properly
The thresholds of men's doors did fortify,
And therefore built they thankful altars there,
Serving thy power in most religious fear.
Dear precedent for us to imitate,
Whose doors thou guard'st against imperious fate,
Keeping our peaceful households safe from sack,
And free'st our ships when others suffer wrack.
[...]
Ravish more maids, but maids subdue his might,
With well-steel'd lances of thy watchful sight.
Then in thy clear and icy pentacle,
Now execute a magic miracle :
Slip every sort of poison'd herbs and plants,
And bring thy rabid mastiffs to these haunts.
Look with thy fierce aspect, be terror-strong,
Assume thy wondrous shape of half a furlong :
Put on thy feet of serpents, viperous hairs,
And act the fearfull'st part of thy affairs :
Convert the violent courses of thy floods,
Remove whole fields of corn, and hugest woods,
Cast hills into the sea, and make the stars
Drop out of heaven, and lose thy mariners.
So shall the wonders of thy power be seen,
And thou for ever live the planets' queen.
Параллельно отрывкам из поэмы мы вывешивали тематические гравюры, которые могли вдохновлять и Чапмена, и прочих «сатурнианцев» и «меланхоликов».
А вот анализ всей расчудесной тематической символики на них - начиная от Дюрера и вплоть до Захарии Долендо - лучше произвести в отдельном посте :)
англоязычная глава Франсис Йейтс о Чапмене и Дюрере
Сборник стихов Чапмена (в адаптированной английской версии)
и вот тоже...
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/George_Chapman#The_Shadow_of_Night_-_Hymnus_in_noctem
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Волшебная подборка профессиональнейшего спеца по истории костюма и быта Марины