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LT → френски → Victor Hugo → Elle avait pris ce pli... → английски
  • Victor Hugo

    Victor Hugo

    Elle avait pris ce pli... → превод на английски

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Elle avait pris ce pli...

Elle avait pris ce pli dans son âge enfantin
De venir dans ma chambre un peu chaque matin;
Je l'attendais ainsi qu'un rayon qu'on espère;
Elle entrait, et disait: Bonjour, mon petit père ;
Prenait ma plume, ouvrait mes livres, s'asseyait
Sur mon lit, dérangeait mes papiers, et riait,
Puis soudain s'en allait comme un oiseau qui passe.
 
Alors, je reprenais, la tête un peu moins lasse,
Mon oeuvre interrompue, et, tout en écrivant,
Parmi mes manuscrits je rencontrais souvent
Quelque arabesque folle et qu'elle avait tracée,
Et mainte page blanche entre ses mains froissée
Où, je ne sais comment, venaient mes plus doux vers.
Elle aimait Dieu, les fleurs, les astres, les prés verts,
 
Et c'était un esprit avant d'être une femme.
Son regard reflétait la clarté de son âme.
Elle me consultait sur tout à tous moments.
Oh! que de soirs d'hiver radieux et charmants
Passés à raisonner langue, histoire et grammaire,
Mes quatre enfants groupés sur mes genoux, leur mère
Tout près, quelques amis causant au coin du feu !
J'appelais cette vie être content de peu !
 
Et dire qu'elle est morte! Hélas! que Dieu m'assiste !
Je n'étais jamais gai quand je la sentais triste ;
J'étais morne au milieu du bal le plus joyeux
Si j'avais, en partant, vu quelque ombre en ses yeux.
 
Превод

She had gotten into this habit...

She had gotten into this habit, from her childish age,
To come a little in my room every morning;
I would wait as one would hope for a sunbeam to appear;
She would come and say "Good morning, dear father";
Would take my pen, open my books, sit down
On my bed, make a mess with my papers, laugh,
And then suddenly would she go away as a passing bird.
 
Then, I would go back to my interrupted work,
My head a little bit less weary and, while writing,
I would often find amid my manuscripts
Some zany arabesque that she would have had drawn,
And manifold crinkled white sheets between her hands
Where would somehow come my sweetest verses.
She used to love God, flowers, stars, and green meadows.
 
And she was a spirit before being a woman.
Her look would reflect her soul's brightness.
She would consult me all the time about anything.
Oh! how many evenings of radiant and charming winters
Have we spent reasoning language, history, and grammar,
My four children gathered on my laps, her mother
Nearby, and some friends talking around the fire!
This life simply made me joyful!
 
And to think that she is dead! Alas! may God support me!
Never was I gay when I could feel she was sad;
I was gloomy in the middle of the happiest ball
Had I, when leaving, seen some shade in her eyes.
 
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Victor Hugo: 3-те най-преглеждани
1.Demain, dès l'aube
2.Les Djinns
3.L’enfant
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