Works of Alexander Pushkin (16 page)

In that year of woe and horror,
Tsar Alexander ruled in fame.
From palace window, sick at heart
And grieved, he looked, and muttered low:
“Before dread Nature, might of Tsars
Is naught and vain!” And long he sate,
And, sobbing, watched the ruin spread.
The city squares were changed to lakes,
The streets in broad streams swam, and like
Abandoned isle the palace stood.
I then spake the Tsar.... From point to point,
Along the near and distant streets
Two tried and trusty lords, in boat
Began to make their dang’rous way
To save the wretches lost in fear,
And drowning in their battered homes.

Meanwhile in Petroff’s gloomy square,
Where the new, huge building rises,
And where, on either side of porch,
There stands, on pedestal high reared,
With upraised paw, as large as life,
A lion guardian, on the watch:
Upon the brute’s wide marble back,
Without a cap, hands clasped round mane,
Evjenie sate, all pale and still.
And if his cheeks were wan with fright,
It was not l’or himself he feared.
He had not seen the thirsty waves
Loud howling rise above his feet;
Nor felt the torrents lash his face;
Nor heard the sharp, grim shriek of wind,
That caught and tossed his cap away.
His eyes despairingly were fixed
On one far spot, where mountain-high
From deep abyss the waters climbed,
And, dashing down, before them bore
The floating wrecks of waste and spoil.
Great God! ‘twas where they strove most fierce,
The central point of their blind force,
On brink of widely swollen gulf,
An old house stood, with willow-tree
Before and wooden fence, the home
Of widow poor and daughter fair,
His life’s one hope.... Or did he rave,
And was it all mere fancy’s trick?
Or is our life an empty dream,
The toy and sport of jesting fate?...
And there, as bound by some strong spell,
Or chained to marbled lion’s back,
He sate, and could not stir. Around
Was water, water, nothing else.
And all the while, face turned from him,
Supreme on safe, defiant height,
Above the stir of troubled waves,
Sate, with his royal hand outstretched,
The giant on his steed of bronze.
 

THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. CANTO THE SECOND.

At length, with work of ruin tired,
Her mutiny the Neva ceased,
And to her former course returned,
In mere revolt her pleasure found,
And careless left her prey behind.
As on an unprotected town
Armed brigands fall, and rob and kill,
And naught is heard but cries of grief
And rage, vain threats, and panic shrieks,
Whilst havoc uncontrolled prevails,
Till glut of spoil and fear of law
Disarm the thieves, who home retreat
And half their booty leave in fright.

The waters fell, the vanished roads
Once more appeared. With sinking heart,
Evjenie, half in hope, in fear
And anguish, neared the scarce calmed gulf.
Proud of their strength, its sullen waves
Muttered and surged, as f beneath
Some angry fire still smouldered deep;
And fast they rolled in foaming rage,
And heavily the Neva breathed,
Like panting steed that flies the field.
Evjenie looks, and boat discerns,
And runs as to a treasure found;
In haste he calls the boatman near,
Who, bargaining, consents to bring
Our hero o’er the storm-tossed stream.

And long with tempest-driven waves
The skilful oarsman battling strove,
And oft the boat is sinking lost,
And hurled beneath the cloud-capped crests,
As oft upbounds... until at length
It toucned the shore.

The well-known street
And friendly spot are eager sought.
But dazed he looks, for all is changed,
And awful is the sight revealed.
A mass of ruins lies before,
In part thrown down, in part waste blank,
Houses falling, or laid quite prone,
Whilst some are scattered by the waves,
Like corpses left on battle-field
To rot. Headlong, Evjenie sped,
Scarce knowing why or where he rushed,
And ill forebodings weighed his heart.
And now he comes where fate awaits,
As with sealed letter n her hand.
The intervening space is passed,
With hastened step he nears the house:
But what is this he sees?
He stopped...
Retreated... and once more returned..
Bewildered gazed... went on... looked back.
Here is the place their house once stood,
And there the willow-tree. The gates
Here entrance barred. But where the house?
Thoughts of horror now possessed him,
As round and round he marched and stared.
While whirling words broke from his lips,
And with clenched fist his forehead struck,
And sudden shrieked with laughter loud.

Once more, the friendly shades of night
The city fearsome shroud, but few
Their couches sought, and long discussed
Among themselves, with bated breath,
That day of woe.

Clear morning’s ray
From out the pale and wearied clouds
The fated city gleamed to cheer.
But few the traces were it found
Of past night’s wreck. With purple pall
The ugly work of ill was hid,
And life resumed its wonted ways.
Again the free and open streets
Were thronged with crowds intent on self,
And none to give the dead a thought.
The sleek-dressed clerk for office left
His home. The tradesman, unabashed,
His courage kept and oped his vaults
The Neva had despoiled, and schemed
How best he could his neighbour make
Redeem his loss. The cumoered yards
Of boats were cleared:
And Count Chvostoff,
Poet inspired by heavenly muse,
In verse immortal, though unread,
Failed not to sing of Neptune’s wrath.

But poor Evjenie, what of him?
His mind was tender, easy touched,
Nor proof against these griefful woes.
The horrid noise of rebel waves
And winds loud echoed in his ears.
Aimless, he wandered here and there,
Strange thougnts revolving in his mind,
He ne’er could solve. A demon dream
Haunted, followed, and possessed him.
A week, a month went by, and he
Still heedless roamed, nor home returned;
The term elapsed, his room was let
To tenant new, poor as himseif,
Nor did he come his goods to fetch,
But soon was lost to world and men.
All day the streets he idly strayed,
And slept at night in wharf or shed,
His food, the crust of bread he begged.
His well-worn cloak in tatters hung
Each day more loose. And wanton boys
Their play would cease, to hurl sharp stones,
As he passed by, and coachmen rude
With whip aroused him from his daze,
As in mid-road he puzzled stood;
And on he moved without complaint:
A voice within, unheard of men,
Had deafened him to outer noise.
And so he lived, like one that is
Nor beast nor man, nor live nor dead,
Nor denizen of earth, nor ghost
Of other world.

By river-side,
He once was sleeping in a wharf;
The trees had cast their summer dress,
And autumn winds begun to blow.
The angry surge beat on the wharf,
Nor ceased to dash against its steps;
As widow knocked importunate
At the unrighteous judge’s door.
He woke. But all was dark and dull;
The rain fell fast; the shrill blasts wailed;
And in the distance he could hear
The echo low of sentry’s voice.
Up leaped Evjenie; he recalled
The horrors of the past, and rose,
His aimless roamings to resume.
But suddenly he paused, and with
Large eyes of fear he slowly scanned
The dreary space that stretched around.
He found himself beneath the porch
Of spacious house. And on the steps,
With upraised paws, as large as life,
Two lions stood, both keeping guard:
Whilst in the darkness, tow’ring high,
On pedestal of granite rock,
Sate, with his royal hand outstretched,
The giant on his steed of bronze.

Evjenie shuddered, and his thoughts
Grew strangely clear. Again he saw
The place where seas had wildly played,
Where waves of prey had shrieking roared,
And round him dashed with angry whirl:
He saw the lions, square, and
him,
Who with bronze head, and motionless,
In the darkness proudly towered,
As ever, with his hand outstretched,
He watched the city he had built.

The poor mad creature wildly roamed
Around the rock with aching limbs.
And read the words clear cut in stone;
And, crushed with grief, his bleeding heart
Grew dead within him. And he pressed
His burning brow against the rail;
A blinding mist came o’er his eyes,
And through his frame a shudder ran,
As he stood trembling, lost in gloom,
Before great Russia’s giant Tsar.  
With finger raised in dumb reproach,
He thought’ to speak. But no word came.
And quick he took to headlong flight
It seemed, his face with angry glow
Aflame, the all-dread Tsar had turned,
And fixed on him his searching gaze:
He fled, and, flying, heard behind.
Like roll of thunder, loud and sharp,
The heavy measured tread of feet.
That shook the ground beneath their march
And in the pale moon’s silver light,
With hand majestic, far outstretched,
The Statue Knight of Bronze pursued,
High mounted on his lordly steed.
And all that night the crazed wretch heard,
Where’er he sped his flying steps,
In close pursuit the Knight of Bronze,
And measured tramp of prancing steed.
And from that day, if e’er he chanced
To cross the square where statue stood,
A troubled stare came o’er his face,
And quick he pressed to heart his hand,
As if to quell some sharpest pain,
And well-worn cap from head removed,
Nor daring raise his fear-struck eyes.
In stealth slunk by.

Close to the beach,
An island small is seen. And there
Belated fisher anchor casts,
And frugal evening meal prepares;
Or spruce-dressed citizen in boat,
Decked out for Sunday trip, will touch
The lone abandoned isle, where not
A blade of grass redeems the waste.
Twas there the waters, when they fell,
The widow’s house had stranded left;
And like black bush it rose above
Their surface, till in early spring
Men came and carted it away.
It was all bare, nor found they aught,
Save our friend, poor mad Evjenie,
On the threshold fallen. And there.
With friendly hands, his corpse they laid.

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA

Anonymous translation

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIRST

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SECOND

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE THIRD

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FOURTH

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIFTH

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SIXTH

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

For you, queens of my soul, my treasured
Young beauties, for your sake did I
Devote my golden hours of leisure
To writing down, I’ll not deny,
With faithful hand of long past ages
The whispered fables.... Take them, pray,
Accept these playful lines, these pages
For which I ask no praise.... But stay!
For my reward-I need not seek it-
Is hope: Oh, that some girl should scan,
As only one who’s lovesick can,
These naughty songs of mine in secret!

PROLOGUE

On seashore far a green oak towers,
And to it with a gold chain bound,
A .learned cat whiles away the hours
By walking slowly round and round.
To right he walks, and sings a ditty;
To left he walks, and tells a tale....
 
What marvels there! A mermaid sitting
High in a tree, a sprite, a trail
Where unknown beasts move never seen by
Man’s eyes, a hut on chicken feet,
Without doors, without windows,
An evil witch’s lone retreat;
The woods and valleys there are teeming
With strange things.... Dawn brings waves that, gleaming,
 
Over the sandy beaches creep,
And from the clear and shining water
Step thirty goodly knights escorted
By their Old Guardian, of the deep
An ancient dweller.... There a dreaded
And hated tsar is captive ta’en;
There, as all watch, for cloud banks headed,
Across the sea and o’er a plain,
A warlock bears a knight. There, weeping,
A princess sits locked in a cell,
And Grey Wolf serves her very well;
There, in a mortar, onward sweeping
All of itself, beneath the skies
The wicked Baba-Yaga flies;
There pines Koshchei and lusts for gold....
 
All breathes of Russ, the Russ of old
There once was I, friends, and the сat
As near him ‘neath the oak I sat
And drank of sweet mead at my leisure,
Recounted tales to me.... With pleasure
One that I liked do I recall
And here and now will share with all...

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIRST

The ways and deeds of days gone by,
A narrative on legend founded....
 
In princely banquet chamber high,
By doughty sons and guests surrounded,
Vladimir-Bright Sun holds a fete;
His daughter is the chosen mate
Of Prince Ruslan, and these two linking
In marriage, old Vladimir’s drinking
Their health, a handsome cup and great
To his lips held and fond thoughts thinking.
Our fathers ate ‘thout haste-indeed,
Passed slowly round the groaning tables
The silver beakers were and ladles
With frothing ale filled and with mead.
 
Into the heart cheer poured they, truly....
The bearers, bowing, solemn-faced,
Before the feasters tankards placed;
High rose the foam and hissed, unruly....
 
The hum of talk is loud, unceasing;
Abuzz the guests: a merry round.
Then through the hubbub, all ears pleasing,
There comes the gusli’s rippling sound.
A hush. In dulcet song and ringing
Bayan, the bard-all hark him well-
Of bride and groom the praise is singing;
He lauds their union, gift of Lel.*