Selected Poetry (Penguin)

by Alexander Pushkin

  Silent was the hour.

  With firm resolve, the princess,

  Nuzzled by the dog,

  Climbed the steps to the threshold

  And grasped an iron ring:

  Gently, the door swung open

  150Into a bright-lit room –

  Benches she sees before her

  With homely covering,

  Icons, an oaken table,

  A tiled shelf on the stove.

  The princess sees a household

  Good-hearted people keep;

  She’ll surely not be harmed here …

  Yet not a soul in sight.

  All round the rooms she hastened,

  160Began to clean and sweep;

  She lit a holy candle,

  Made sure the stove was hot,

  Then she climbed to a plank-bed

  And soon was fast asleep.

  Came the time for supper;

  Tramping feet in the yard:

  In stepped seven champions,

  Red moustaches seven.

  The eldest spoke: ‘A wonder!

  170Everything bright and clean,

  Everything tidy. Someone

  Seems to expect us seven.

  Who is it? Show yourself,

  And be our true companion:

  An old man? – Be our uncle;

  A young man? – Be our brother;

  If you’re an older woman –

  Our pride and joy, our mother;

  If you’re a lovely maiden –

  180Our sister and none other.’

  Now the princess appeared;

  She paid her hosts due reverence,

  Bowed to the waist and blushed,

  And asked for their forgiveness

  That she was in their house

  Quite without invitation.

  They knew from how she spoke

  Their guest must be a princess;

  They showed her to the ingle,

  190Before her set a pie

  And goblet on a salver.

  But wine she would have none,

  And of the pie she tasted

  Only a piece of crust;

  Rest was what she wanted

  Now her day was done.

  The seven led the maiden

  Up to a light, bright room,

  And there they left her sleeping

  200Until next day, alone.

  The days speed by, the princess

  Lives quietly in the wood,

  And of the seven champions

  It seems she’ll never tire.

  Before first light the seven

  Go forth in happy throng

  To try their skill and sinews;

  On the grey duck they fire,

  Or chase the mountain Cherkess

  210Straying through the wood,

  Or down a mounted Saracen,

  Or chop a Tatar’s pate;

  While for her part the princess

  Keeps house; she cleans and cooks;

  With no dispute or quarrel

  Days pass at rapid rate.

  To that good maid the brothers

  All lost their hearts as one.

  They came to her one morning,

  220Into her room, all seven.

  The eldest spoke: ‘Dear maiden,

  Dear sister to us all,

  We are in love with you,

  Each brother of us seven

  Would take you for his own:

  How could that be, however?

  And so, for mercy’s sake,

  Decide between us: you

  Be wife to one of us

  230And to the rest a sister.

  Why do you shake your head?

  No one of us will do?’

  ‘Oh, faithful, honest brothers,

  Brothers most dear to me,’

  The princess gave her answer,

  ‘Were I to lie, I’d pray

  To God that I might perish.

  I am betrothed. To me,

  You’re all so wise, so fearless,

  240I love you equally,

  I could not choose between you;

  But I have given my heart,

  I’ve made my choice for ever:

  It is Prince Yelisey.’

  The brothers listened, silent;

  They stood and scratched their heads.

  The eldest of them answered:

  ‘Forgive us,’ bowing low;

  ‘If that’s the case, you’ll never

  250Hear more from us.’ ‘I’m not,’

  Replied the princess, ‘angry,

  I’m only saying no;

  No fault of yours.’ Politely

  The suitors left the room;

  And so their lives continued

  Without dissent or woe.

  Meanwhile, the evil stepmother,

  Remembering the princess,

  Sulked and could not forgive her;

  260The mirror roused her bile.

  At last, returning to it,

  She ceased her rage, sat down,

  Began to preen before it,

  And asked it with a smile:

  ‘Mirror, mirror, tell me,

  And mind you speak the truth:

  Am I not the fairest,

  The fairest on all earth?’

  ‘Indeed,’ the mirror answered,

  270‘Fair you are, O Queen,

  But somewhere in the greenwood

  A maiden keeps her hearth,

  Quietly, with seven champions;

  She is most fair on earth.’

  The queen flew at Chernavka:

  ‘Up to your tricks again!

  How did you dare deceive me!’

  And brought her to confess.

  An iron penal collar

  280The cruel queen put on her,

  And vowed that one must perish –

  She or the princess.

  One day, beside her window

  The princess sat and spun,

  Waiting for the champions.

  She heard, close by the wall,

  The house-dog fiercely barking;

  She raised her eyes and saw

  A holy beggarwoman

  290Fend off the animal.

  ‘Wait there,’ she cried, ‘old woman!

  I’ll chase the dog away

  And bring you down a morsel.’

  The holy woman: ‘Child!

  That cursed dog half killed me,

  That savage beast of yours –

  Come down here and help me!

  I’ve never seen so wild!’

  The princess fetched her something,

  300She’d hardly left the stair –

  The dog came swiftly at her,

  Barking as if to keep

  Its mistress from the stranger,

  Fierce as a forest bear

  Leapt at the holy woman.

  ‘He’s been disturbed from sleep,’

  The princess said, ‘catch this now!’

  A loaf flew through the air;

  The little old woman caught it –

  310‘Thank you dear,’ she cried,

  ‘God bless you for your kindness;

  And this for you now – catch!’

  A fresh and juicy pippin,

  A golden one, she shied

  To the princess on the stairway …

  How the dog leapt and whined …

  But, hands outstretched, the princess

  Caught it neat and clean.

  ‘When you’re bored, my darling,

  320Just eat that fruit, and say

  Your grace …’ The little old woman

  Bowed, and was no more seen …

  Up the stairs with the princess,

  Looking in her face,

  The dog ran, whined its heart out,

  And growled, as if to say:

  ‘You mustn’t touch that apple!’

  The princess smiled at him,

  Stroked him, and asked him gently:

  330‘What’s
up with you today?’ –

  Then went into her chamber

  And quietly shut the door,

  To spin before the window

  And see the brothers in,

  Always eyeing the apple

  So ripe and rich with juice,

  So pure and fresh and fragrant,

  With such a golden skin

  It seemed to ooze with honey!

  340Inside she saw the pips …

  She tried to wait till supper,

  But she could wait no more;

  She raised the golden apple

  Up to her scarlet lips,

  And took a stealthy nibble …

  A piece went down her throat …

  At once the poor thing, breathless,

  Grows faint, and sways and slips,

  Her pure white hands fall lifeless

  350And drop the golden fruit,

  She falls beneath the icons

  And upwards roll her eyes;

  Her head upon a wall-bench,

  Motionless she lies …

  Just then the seven brothers

  Returned in merry throng,

  Fresh from some bold adventure.

  Towards them, head stretched high,

  The dog came howling, led them

  360Home to the tower. ‘For sure,’

  The brothers cried, ‘misfortune

  Awaits us here!’ Inside

  They hastened – woe! Next moment

  The dog rushed in and snatched

  The apple – barking, snarling,

  He gulped it down. And more

  He never breathed: that apple

  Was poisoned to the core.

  Before the lifeless princess

  370The seven in their grief

  Spoke a holy prayer,

  And stood with heads hung deep.

  They raised her up and dressed her

  For burial – but paused,

  In doubt if they should do so.

  As on the breast of sleep

  She lay, so fresh and peaceful

  It seemed as if she breathed.

  Three days the brothers waited;

  380The princess did not wake.

  Done with the doleful ritual,

  The body of the maid

  They laid in a crystal coffin,

  And then set forth to take

  Her corpse at hour of midnight

  To a far-off mountain cave,

  Where they affixed the coffin

  To six stout pillars, girt

  With six stout chains of iron,

  390And round it built a grille;

  And there they paid their sister

  Their last respects on earth.

  ‘Sleep in your grave,’ – the eldest –

  ‘On earth your beauty fell

  All too soon to evil;

  Heaven receive your soul.

  With all our hearts we loved you,

  And kept you for your love –

  But you belonged to no man,

  400The grave now has you whole.’

  The wicked queen, that morning,

  Eager to hear good news,

  Went to take her mirror

  In secret from the wall.

  ‘Now am I not the fairest,

  The fairest one of all?’

  Asked she, and came the answer:

  ‘No doubt of it, O Queen,

  Indeed you are the fairest,

  410The fairest one of all.’

  Meanwhile, ever seeking

  His dear-beloved bride,

  Round the world and weeping

  Rode Prince Yelisey.

  But always those he questioned

  Were hard put for reply;

  They answered him with laughter

  Or simply turned away.

  At last he put his question

  420To the glorious golden Sun:

  ‘Dear Sun! All year you wander

  About the skies, you bring

  Warm spring to end the winter,

  You see all humankind.

  You won’t refuse to help me? –

  Have you, while journeying,

  Seen a fair young princess?

  I’m her betrothed.’ ‘Dear friend,’

  The golden Sun gave answer,

  430‘I have not … no. I fear

  She’ll be no longer living.

  Although, perhaps, the Moon,

  My neighbour, may have met her,

  Or seen some sign of her.’

  And so the Prince, in torment,

  Waited for the night.

  And when the Moon had risen,

  He swiftly put his case:

  ‘O Moon, my dear companion,

  440Shining heavenly horn!

  You get up in the darkness,

  Bright-eyed and round of face;

  All the stars admire you,

  They love to see you rise.

  You won’t refuse to help me? –

  Have you, in your journeys,

  Seen a fair young princess?

  I’m her betrothed.’ ‘My friend,’

  The shining Moon gave answer,

  450‘I only watch in earnest

  When my turn comes round –

  I might have missed the princess,

  No princess have I seen.’

  The king’s son in reply:

  ‘My bride is lost for ever!’

  The Moon: ‘No, wait; perhaps

  The Wind has seen her. Ask him.

  Do not be sad – goodbye.’

  Prince Yelisey, undaunted,

  460Sped on to ask the Wind:

  ‘Wind, you are strong and mighty,

  You chase the cloudy flocks,

  You stir the dark blue ocean,

  And blow through all the world,

  You fear no higher power,

  But only bow to God’s.

  You won’t refuse to help me? –

  Have you, in your journeys,

  Seen a fair young princess?

  470I’m her betrothed.’ ‘Well now,’

  The wild Wind spoke in answer,

  ‘I know a quiet stream,

  A craggy peak beyond it,

  A cavern deep below,

  And in that dismal cavern

  A crystal coffin hangs

  On chains from six stout pillars.

  There, in that mountainside

  Which carries no man’s footprint,

  480You will find your bride.’

  Onward the wild Wind hastened.

  Sobbing bitterly,

  Prince Yelisey pressed forward

  To that deserted place

  To see his heart’s beloved

  One last time. He saw

  A barren land before him;

  To that steep mountain-face

  And that deep cavern’s entrance

  490He quickly made his way.

  There in the dismal darkness

  A crystal coffin hangs,

  And in that crystal coffin

  His princess lies at peace.

  Upon his dear bride’s coffin

  In grief he beats and bangs.

  The coffin cracks. The maid

  Immediately awakens.

  Amazed, she looks about:

  500‘How long have I been sleeping?’

  She sighs a long deep sigh,

  And from the hanging coffin

  Carefully climbs down …

  Ah! Both of them are weeping.

  By the hand he takes her

  And leads her to the light;

  Happily conversing,

  Homeward they make their way;

  ‘Safe and sound our princess!’

  510The trumpeters convey.

  Meanwhile, the evil stepmother

  Idly sat at home,

  Talking to the mirror

  That hung upon the wall:

  ‘Am I not the fairest,

  The fairest one of all?’

  And this she heard for answer
:

  ‘Yes, fair you are, O Queen,

  The princess, though, is fairest,

  520The fairest one of all.’

  Up leapt the wicked stepmother,

  She smashed the glass to bits,

  And stamping to the doorway –

  She met the young princess.

  Sharp pangs ran through and through her,

  She died of her distress.

  The moment she was buried

  The marriage was prepared,

  And with his heart’s intended

  530Prince Yelisey was wed.

  There followed celebration

  Unknown before to man;

  I tasted mead and ale there,

  With whiskers scarcely wet.

  1833

  The Tale of the Golden Cockerel

  Pushkin’s last skazka was written in autumn 1834, the beginning of the humiliating final period of his life. Chained for most of the time to the capital when he wanted to write in the country, subjected to constant police spying, he was thoroughly disenchanted with Tsar Nicholas, who had broken his undertaking to be his personal censor.

  This most personally loaded of Pushkin’s skazki is written detachedly, almost without descriptive detail, with light irony and slight archaisms among popular turns of phrase. The condensed language makes its gait slower and weightier than that of the other two rhymed skazki in the present selection, Tsar Saltan and The Dead Princess and the Seven Champions, in the same metre (Pushkin’s trochaic tetrameter, retained in translation only in the case of The Tale of the Golden Cockerel). In the ludicrous figure of Tsar Dadon we see a caricature of not only Nicholas I but possibly also the other two tsars of whom Pushkin had had personal experience – Paul I and Alexander I. The wise eunuch-astrologer and his fate might be taken as Pushkin’s warning to himself not to go too far with tsars (see note to line 188, and for more detail about this poem see Introduction under ‘Fairy Tales’).

  In a sketch that Pushkin made on the cover of the fair copy of The Tale of the Golden Cockerel, the American scholar Sona Hoisington sees indication of an astrologer–cockerel–Pushkin nexus. Facing the bust of Tsar Dadon is an ambiguous coxcombed grotesque – presumably representing the astrologer – with ‘phallic-like features who appears to be making an obscene gesture at Dadon’. Pushkin refers sardonically in correspondence of this time to his role as ‘court jester’, and this might be read in the depiction, in which, further, ‘the strong sexual overtones associated in the poem with the cockerel are […] transferred to the astrologer’. Hoisington suggests that the cockerel might be taken as a symbol of Pushkin’s masculinity in a creative sense, ‘that part of himself which he felt the tsar in real life had rendered impotent’, observing that when the astrologer speaks or acts on his own account, he is called ‘the wise man’, but when he is the object of the tsar’s perception he is called ‘the eunuch’ (Hoisington, pp. 25–33, from which quotations here are taken).

  This tale was first published in 1835 in the Library for Reading, with lines 58 and 209–10 (in this translation) removed by the censor. The full text with these lines restored appeared in St Petersburg in 1869 in the second volume of a second edition of Annenkov.