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 leisu
re
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.*
Lel -the Slavic god of love.
Ruslan, o’ercome by fiery feeling,
Of food partakes not; from Ludmila
He cannot tear away his eyes;
He flames with love, he frowns, he sighs,
At his moustache plucks, filled with torme
And, all impatience, counts each moment.
Amid the noisy feasters brood
Three youthful knights. In doleful mood
They sit there, their great tankards empty
With downcast eyes, the fare, though tempting,
Untouched; the goblets past them sail;
They do not seem to hear the tale
Of wisdom chanted by Bayan....
The luckless rivals of Ruslan,
Of love and hate a deadly brew
In their hearts hid, the three are too
O’erwrought for speech. The first of these
Is bold Rogdai of battle fame
(‘Twas he who Kiev’s boundaries
Stretched with his blade); the next, the vain,
Loud-voiced Farlaf, by none defeated
At festal board, but tame, most tame
Mid flashing swords and tempers heated;
The last, the Khazar Khan Ratmir,
A reckless spirit, aye, and ardent.
All three are pale-browed, glum, despondent:
The feast’s no feast, the cheer’s no cheer.
It’s over, and the teasiers rise
And flock together. Noise. All eyes
Are smiling, all are on the two
Younff newlv-weds.... Ludmila. tearful,
Looks shyly down: her groom is cheerful,
He beams.... Now do the shades anew
Embrace the earth, e’er nearer creeping,
The murk of midnight veils the dome....
The bovars. by sweet mead made sleepy,
Bow to their hosts and make for home.
Ruslan’s all rapture, all elation....
AVhat bliss! In his imagination
His bride caresses he. But there
Is sadness in the warmth of feeling
With which, their happy union sealing,
The old prince blesses our young pair.
The bridal couch has long been ready;
The maid is led to it.... It’s night.
The torches dim, but Lei already
His own bright lamp has set alight.
Love offers- see — its gifts most tender,
Its fondest wish at last comes true,
On carpets of Byzantine splendour
The jealous covers fall.... Do you
The sound of kisses, love’s sweet token.
And its soft, whispered words not hear?
Does not-come, say-the murmur broken
Of shy reluctance reach your ear?
Anticipation fires the spirit,
O’erjoyed the groom... But lo!-the air
Is rent by thunder, ever nearer
It comes. A flash’ The lamp goes out,
The room sw^ays, darkness all about,
Smoke pours.... Fear grips Ruslan, defeating
His native pluck: his heart stops beating...
All’s silence, grim and threatening.
An eerie voice sounds twice. There rises
Up through the haze a menacing
Black figure.... Coiling smoke disguises
Its shape.... It vanishes.... Now our
Poor groom, on his brow drops of sweat,
Starts up. by sudden dread beset,
And for his bride-O fateful hour!-
With trembling hand gropes anxiously..
On emptiness he seizes, she
Has by some strange and evil power
Been borne away.... He’s overcome....
Ah, if to be love’s martyr some
Unfortunate young swain is fated,
His days may well be filled with gloom,
But life can still be tolerated.
But if in your arms, after years
Of longing, of desire, of tears,
Your bride of but one minute lies
And then becomes another’s prize,
‘Tis much too much... Quite frankly, I,
Were such my case, would choose to die!
But poor Ruslan’s alive and tortured
In mind and heart.... O’erw
helmed by news,
Just then arrived, of the misfortune,
The Prince, enraged, turns on the youth.
The whole court summoning, “Ludmila....
Where is Ludmila?” thunders he.
Ruslan does not respond. “My children!
Your merits past high hold I.... Free,
I beg, my daughter from the clutches
Of evil. I am helpless; such is
Old age’s piteous frailty.
But though I am too old to do it,
Not so are you. Go forth and save
My poor Ludmila, you’ll not rue it:
He who succeeds, shall-writhe, you knave!
Wby did you not, wretch, base tormentor,
Know how to guard your young wife better?
Shall have Ludmila for a bride
And half my fathers’ realm beside!...
Who’ll heed my plea?” “I!” says the grieving,
Unhappy groom. “I!” shouts Rogdai,
And echoed by Farlaf his cry
And by Ratmir is. “W^e are leaving
Straightway, and pray believe us, sire,
We’ll ride around the world entire
If need be. From your daughter parted
Not long will you be, never fear.”
The old prince cannot speak for tears;
His gratitude is mute; sadhearted,
A broken man, at door he stands
And to them stretches out his hands.
All four the palace leave together;
Ruslan is ashen-faced, half-dead.
Thoughts of his kidnapped bride, of whether
He’ll ever find the maid, with dread
And pain his heart fill. Now the foursome
Get on their restless, chafing horses,
And leaving dust clouds in their wake,
Away along the Dnieper make....
They’re lost to sight, but Prince Vladimir
Stands gazing at the road and tries
To span the distance ever-dimming
As after them in thought he flies.
Ruslan, his mind and memory hazy,
Is mute, lost in a kind of trance;
Behind him, o’er his shoulder gazing,
The picture of young arrogance,
Farlaf rides, hand on hip, defiant.
Says he: “At last! The taste is sweet
Of freedom, friends.... When will we meet-
The prospect likes me w^ell-a giant?
Then will blood pour as passions seethe
And victims offer to the sabre.
Rejoice, my blade! Rejoice, my steed,
And lightly, freely prance and caper!”
The Khazar Khan, his pulses racing,
The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection) Page 14
