A Picture from the Ramparts5/Hans/Christian Andersen/Jean Hersholt翻訳

A Picture from the Ramparts
A translation of Hans Christian Andersen's "Et Billede fra Castelsvolden" by Jean Hersholt.

It is autumn, and we are standing on the ramparts of the citadel, gazing at the ships on the sound and the distant coast of Sweden rising beyond, bright in the evening sunlight. Behind us the ramparts drop abruptly; growing below us are stately trees whose golden leaves are falling from their branches. Down below them are dark and gloomy buildings with wooden palisades, and inside, where the sentry paces back and forth, it is dreary and dark. But behind the grated windows it is still darker and drearier, for here are confined the most hardened criminals, the convict slaves.
秋、そして、僕達は、海峡に浮かぶ船や、タべの陽光に映えて、向こうに聳え立つスィ―ドゥンの遥かな岸を見詰めながら、要塞の塁壁の上に立っている。僕達の眼下に生い茂っているのは、荘厳たる樹木。黄金色の葉が、その枝から落ちている。その下に沿って、木製の柵で囲まれた、暗く沈んだ幾つものビルディングがある。そして内側を、後方と前方を歩哨が、ゆっくり歩く。それは、暗く、陰気だ。とは言うものの、後ろの軋む窓の下では、それは、益々暗く、陰気だ。因みに、ここには、最も常習の囚人奴隷が監禁されている。

A sunbeam from the setting sun creeps into the bare dungeon, for the sun shines on good and evil alike. A sullen, savage prisoner glares bitterly at the cold sunbeam. Then a tiny bird flutters against his grated window, for the bird too sings for the evil as well as for the good. For a moment it twitters softly, "Qvivit," then remains perched on the grating, fluttering its wings, plucking a feather from its breast, and ruffling up its plumage.
沈む太陽から光が剥き出しの土牢に忍び込んだ。陽は、善良な者にも悪魔の上にも等しく差すものだから。押し黙り、殺伐とした囚人が、余所余所しい日光を、敵意を持って睨み付ける。その時、鳥が、軋む窓でパタパタしている。因みにその島も又、善良な人に対するのと同様、悪魔の為に囀る。束の間、それは、静かに囀る。「Qvivit」、それから格子の上にとまって、じっとしていた。 その羽をパタパタしながら、胸から羽毛を毟りながら、その羽毛を逆立てながら。

As the chained criminal gazes at it, a milder expression steals softly over his ugly face. A feeling that he scarcely realizes slowly enters his heart-a feeling that is somehow akin to the sunbeam that has strayed through the grating, and the scent of violets that in the spring bloom so abundantly outside his prison.

Now there sound the clear, strong, and lively notes of the huntsman's horn. Away from the grating flies the startled bird, the sunbeam fades; all is again dark in the cell and in the heart of the wicked man. But for one brief moment the sun has shone therein, and the little song of the bird has been heard.

Keep on, sweet tones of the huntsman's horn! For the evening is mild, and the sea as calm and smooth as a mirror.

20:24 2015/12/02水曜日