Prevod

(An exclusive preference for ancient literature is as unjust as one for modern literature.) A devilish affray Broke out one day Within a cellar’s walls Among countless tippling Mosquitoes. (Yet one thing strikes me as odd: 5 That good Villaviciosa Should not, in his Mosquea, Have mentioned this encounter.) The trouble was that many, Seasoned and sagacious, 10 Stoutly maintained That no one now produced Those pure and noble wines, So mellow, Rich in taste and fragrance, 15 That once the harvest yielded. In the view of several others, Who held the contrary opinion, The most excellent wines Were those most lately made; 20 They mocked the opposing party, Dismissing All such extravagant praise As the mere declamations Of prejudiced judges, 25 Lovers of everything old. The shrill buzzing Of the two contending factions Shook the cellar to its foundations, When, lo and behold, there arrived 30 An elderly Mosquito, A most accomplished taster; And, letting fly an oath, he said: “By the life of the god Bacchus…! (Among them, as everyone knows, 35 This is a solemn oath): Where I am present, none Can give a more fitting Or better-grounded verdict; Let this uproar cease. 40 Upon my word as a good Navarrese, Whether in cask, wineskin, or jug, Barrel, earthen jar, or vat, The juice of the grape Can scarcely escape 45 A thorough visit from me; And when it comes to tasting it, Distinguishing and judging it, I could set up a school From Jerez to Tudela, 50 From Málaga to Peralta, From the Canaries to Malta, From Oporto to Valdepeñas. Know, then, on these credentials, That it is utter folly 55 To think that every wine Whose vintage dates From long ago Was always a superior wine. With time it has gained 60 In quality, I grant you; But if from the outset It had been bad wine, It would long since have turned sour; And, after all, there were, 65 Just as there are today, In centuries gone by, Wines that tasted of vinegar. On the other hand, I sometimes taste A wine so new 70 That it could hold its own Against the finest of another age. And if many Augusts Pass over certain young wines That meet with scorn today, 75 Perhaps they will be drunk As exquisite vintages By the Mosquitoes of the future. Enough of this contention; And for my final judgment, 80 I condemn bad wine, I sip it when it is good, And never stop to ask Whether it is modern or ancient.” Let a thousand tiresome scholars, 85 Some championing the ancient, Others the modern, Pursue their endless quarrel. My favourite text Shall always be the Mosquito. 90