The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

by Alexander Pushkin

  In saddle dances, for in thought

  He is the fair young maid embracing

  Whose love he has for so long sought.

  The light of hope is in his eye,

  Now7 does he make his stallion fly,

  Now7 forces him, the good steed teasing,

  To rear, now gallops him uphill,

  Now lets him prance about at will.

  Rogdai is silent; with increasing

  Unease his heart fills; dark thoughts chill

  And burden him; he is tormented

  By jealousy, and, all calm gone,

  With hate-glazed eye, like one demented,

  Stares sullenlv at Prince Ruslan.

  Along a single road the rivals

  Rode on all through the day until

  From east poured shades that night’s arrival

  Bespoke.... The Dnieper, cold and still,

  Is wrapt in folds of mist.... The horses

  Have need of rest.... Not far away

  A track lies that another crosses.

  “ Tis time to part,” the riders say.

  “Let us chance fate.” So ‘tis decided;

  Each horse is given now its head,

  And, by the touch of spur unguided,

  Starts off and moves where ‘twill ahead.

  What do you in the hush of desert

  Alone, Ruslan? Sad is your plight.

  Was’t all a dream — the bride you treasured,

  The terrors of your wedding night?

  Your helmet pushed down to your brow

  Your strong hands limp, the reins let loose,

  O’er woods and fields astride your steed

  You ride, while faith and hope recede

  And leave you well-nigh dead of spirit..

  A cave shows Tore the knight; he nears

  And sees a light there. His feet lead

  Him straight inside. The dark and broo

  Vaults seem as old as nature. Moody,

  Distraught Ruslan is.... In the cave

  A bearded ancient, his mien grave

  And quiet, sits. A lamp is burning

  Near him, a book lies on his knee;

  Engrossed in it, its pages he

  With careful hand is slowly turning.

  “I bid you welcome, knight! At last!”

  Says he in greeting, smiling warmly.

  “‘Here have I twenty long years passed

  Of my old age, and grim and lonely

  They’ve been.... But now has come the day

  For which, foreseeing it, I waited.

  To meet, we two, my son, were fated,

  Now sit and hear me out, I pray....

  Ludmila from you has been taken;

  You flag, you droop, by hope forsaken

  And faith itself.... ‘Tis wrong! For brief

  With evil and its partner, grief,

  Will be, I promise, your encounter.

  Take heart; with strong, sound spirit counter

  The blows of fortune, banish woe,

  And, sword aloft held, northward go!

  ‘‘He who has wronged you, O my daring

  Young stalwart, is old Chernomor.

  A wizard, he is known to carry

  Young maids off to the hills. ‘Tis for

  Long years he’s reigned there. None has ever

  His castle seen, but through its door

  You’ll pass, I know, and end forever

  The villain’s rule; by your hand he

  Will perish-so ‘tis meant to be!...

  I may not yield to indiscretion

  And say aught more; your destiny

  Yourself from this day on you fashion.’’

  Our knight falls at the elder’s feet

  And in delight his hand he kisses.

  The world a bright place seems, and sweeet

  Life is again; forgot distress is....

  But then the sudden joyful glow

  His face leaves, and it pales and darkens.

  “Do not despair but to me harken,”

  The old man says. “I know what so

  Disquiets you: you are in fear of

  The warlock’s love, eh, knight?... Be calm

  The truth is, O my youthful hero,

  That he can do the maid no harm.

  From sky the stars he’ll pluck, I’ll wager,

  Or shift the moon that sails on high,

  But change the law of time and aging

  He cannot, hard as he may try.

  Though he lets none her chamber enter

  And jealous watch keeps at her door,

  He is the impotent tormentor

  Of his fair captive, nothing more.

  While never far from her, he curses

  His lot, and soundly — but, my knight,

  ‘Tis time for you to rest: the earth is

  Enclosed in shadow; it is night.”

  On soft moss lies Ruslan, a flame

  Before him flickering. He yearns

  For soothing sleep, he twists and turns

  And flings about-but no, ‘tis plain

  That sleep won’t come. He heaves a sigh

  And says: “Nay, Father, sick am I

  Of soul and cannot sleep for dreary

  And troubled thought. Talk to me, do;

  With godly speech, I beg of you,

  Relieve my heart: it aches, it’s weary...

  I make too bold to ask you this;

  You, who befriend me, I importune-

  Speak! Tell me, confidant of fortune:

  Wby came you to this wilderness?”

  And with a wistful smile replying

  To him, the old man says: “Alas,

  I have forgot my land!” Then, sighing:

  “A Finn am I by birth. It was

  My lot to tend the flocks of neighbours,

  And I would take them off to graze

  In vales on which no stranger’s gaze

  E’er rested. Carefree midst my labours

  Did I remain, and only knew,

  Besides the woods and streams, what few

  Joys poverty could offer .to me....

  Alas! Ahead dark days were looming.

  “Near where I lived, a lovely flower,

  One named Nahina, bloomed; of our

  Young maids none lovelier than she

  Was there. One morn, a bagpipe blowing,

  My flocks I grazed where grass was growing

  In lush profusion. I could see

  A brook wind ‘fore me; by it, weaving

  A garland, sat a dear young lass....

  Her beauty — ah, ‘twas past believing!-

  Drew and enchanted me, and as

  I gazed at her I knew I’d seen her

  Before.... Yes, knight, it was Nahina,

  ‘Twas fate had brought me there. The flame

  Of love was my reward for eyeing

  The maid thus brazenly; I came

  To know a passion self-denying:

  All of its bliss, all of its pain.

  “Six months sped by.... I thought to win her

  And opened up my heart. I said:

  Т love thee dearly, sweet Nahina!’

  But my shy sadness only bred

  Scorn in her who was vain and prideful;

  She was indifferent to my lot,

  And said, of all my pain unmindful:

  ‘Well, shepherd mine, I love thee not!’

  “I was estranged from all, and gloomy

  Life seemed. The shady native wood,

  The games of shepherds-nothing could

  My hurt soothe and bring comfort to me

  I languished.... But the far seas drew me;

  To leave my homeland sought I then

  And with a band of fighting men

  To brave the ocean’s winds capricious....

  I hoped to win renown and fame

  And for my own Nahina claim.

  This planned, according to my wishes,

  I called upon some boat
men who

  Joined with me in a quest for danger

  And gold. My land, to war a stranger,

  The clash of steel now heard, and knew

  The sound of boat with boat colliding....

  On, on we sailed, the billows riding,

  My men and I, by sweet hope led,

  Both snow and water painting red

  For ten long years with gore of foes.

  As rumour of our prow^ess spread,

  The foreign rulers came to dread

  Our forays, and their champions chose

  To flee our blades. Yes, fierce and hearted

  Our battles were, and merry, too,

  And with the men we had defeated

  Together feasted we. But through

  The din of war and merrymaking

  I heard Nahina’s voice, and for

  The sight of her in secret aching,

  Before me saw my native shore.

  ‘Come, men!’ I cried. ‘Did we not roam

  The world enough? Time to go home!

  ‘Neath native eaves we’ll hang our mail;

  Is’t not, in faith, for this we hanker!’

  And leaving in our wake a trail

  Of fear, for Finland we set sail

  And in her waters soon dropped anchor.

  ‘Fulfilled were all my dreamings past

  That set my lone heart faster beating.

  O longed-for moment of our meeting,

  O blessed hour, you came at last!

  There, at the feet of my proud beauty

  I laid my sword and, too, the booty

  Of war: pearls, corals, gold. ‘Fore her,

  By jealous womenfolk surrounded,

  Her one-time playmates, my unbounded

  Love making me her prisoner,

  Mute stood I, but Nahina coolly

  Turned from me, saying with no sign

  That she would e’er relent: ‘Nay, truly,

  I do not love thee, hero mine!’

  “I do not like to speak of things

  y. It is pure agony to think of.

  E’en now, my son, when at the brink of

  I am of death, remembrance brings

  Fresh sorrow to my long-numb spirit

  And gravely wounds my being whole,

  And torn by pain, seared by it, wearied,

  I feel the tears down my cheeks roll.

  “But hark! In parts I call my home,

  Amid the northern fishers lone,

  The art of magic lives. The shaded,

  Thick-growing forests wrapt in deep,

  Eternal silence lie and keep

  The secrets of the wizards aged

  Who dwell there and whose minds to quest

  For wisdom of the loftiest

  And weirdest kind are given. Awesome

  Their powers are: what was and also

  What will be they have knowledge of,

  Life can they snuff and foster love.

  “And I, love’s mad and avid seeker,

  In my despair that ne’er grew weaker,

  By means of magic thought to start

  In proud Nahina’s icy heart

  Of love for me at least a flicker.

  Toward the murk of woodland free

  My steps in hot impatience turning,

  The subtle craft of wizardry

  I spent unnumbered years in learning.

  Then were the fearsome secrets, sought

  By me with such despair, such yearning,

  Revealed to my enlightened thought;

  Of charms and spells I knew the power:

  Love’s aim achieved — О happy hour!

  ‘Nahina, thou art mine!’ I cried.

  ‘Now shall I have thee for my bride.’

  But once again by fate defeated

  Was I and of my triumph cheated.

  “Enraptured, with young dreams aglow,

  Filled with love’s fervour and elation,

  I loudly chant an incantation

  And on dark spirits call, and lo!-

  A flash of light, a crash of thunder,

  And magic whirlwinds start awake,

  I feel the earth begin to quake,

  I hear it hum and rumble under

  My feet, and there in front of me,

  The picture of senility,

  A crone stands. She is bent and shrunken,

  Her hair is white, her eye is sunken

  And glazed with age, her head is shaking...

  And yet, and yet — had I mistaken

  Her for another?-Nay, O knight;

  Nahina ‘twas!... In doubt, in fright

  The horrid vision now I measured

  With unbelieving gaze, my sight

  Mistrusting.... ‘Thou! Art thou my treasured

  Nahina? Speak!’ from me the cry

  Burst forth. ‘Where is thy beauty? Wby

  Have the gods changed thee so? Have I

  Long, then, from life and love been parted?’

  ‘For forty years!’ I heard her say.

  ‘Indeed, I’m seventy to-day!...

  But never mind! So are lives charted

  And so they pass. Thy spring has flown

  And mine has too. We are, I own,

  Old, both, but be thou not disheartened

  By fickle youth’s swift passage. True,

  I’m grey, a trifle crooked too,

  Less lively and perhaps less charming

  Than once I was....’ This in disarming

  Tones she declared, her voice a squeak.

  ‘Come, do not look, I beg, so tragic....

  I am-in confidence I speak-

  Like thee become well versed in magic.’

  “A sorceress! What had she said!...

  Struck dumb was I by the admission

  And felt a fool, a dunderhead

  For all my store of erudition.

  “But worse by far was that the spell

  That I had cast worked far too well.

  My shrivelled idol flared with passion;

  She loved me — loved me to obsession!

  Her grey lips twisted in a smile,

  In graveyard tones the old hag muttered

  The wildest of avowals, while

  I suffered silently, in utter

  Disgust and loathing, and upon

  The ground my eyes kept. She wheezed on,

  And though, by fits of coughing shaken,

  So was she with her subject taken,

  She never stopped. ‘My poor heart is

  For tender passion born and bliss,’

  She croaked. ‘ ‘Tis love alone I covet

  And hunger for. I flame, I bum....

  O come to me, for thee I yearn;

  I’m dying, dying, my beloved!’

  “ ‘Twas lustfully that she, Ruslan,

  Was ogling me. Her bony fingers

  Caught greedily at my caftan....

  There to remain, knight, there to linger

  Beside her was sheer agony;

  I squeezed my eyes shut, for, you see,

  I could not bear it any longer,

  And broke away.... ‘Knave! Thus to wrong me!’

  She yelped. ‘A pure maid’s life-quite shattered!

  Such villainy! For shame! For shame!

  As if my love so little mattered!

  Alas! I am myself to blame;

  You men, I vow, are all the same.

  By thy seduction helpless rendered,

  To passion wholly I surrendered....

  Deceiver! Blackguard! Thou shalt know

  Wbat vengeance is, just wait!...’

  “ ‘Twas so

  We parted. In these forests buried

  E’er since, a hermit’s solitary

  Life have I led, and of the balm

  Of nature tasted, by its calm

  And wisdom doctored. I’ll not tarry

  Long here on earth.... To you alone

  Do I impart this; know: the crone

  Has not
forgot her unrequited,

  Scorned passion. In her soul, her blighted

  And ugly soul, love’s changed to spite;

  And that she’ll come to hate you, knight

  As she does me, you can be sure.

  But be not, I entreat you, frighted:

  Griefs bound to pass, ‘twill not endure.

  The old man’s story hungrily

  Our knight took in. Enchanted by it,

  He sat there rapt and clear of eye,

  Untouched by sleep. The night was qui(

  He never heard it winging by.

  Now dawn’s bright glow the heavens graces...

  With rueful smile Ruslan embraces

  The mage, and, full of gratitude,

  The cave leaves in a hopeful mood.

  He leaps into the saddle deftly,

  Grips with his legs the whinnying steed,

  And with a whistle moves off swiftly.

  “Be with me, Father, in my need!”

  He cries. “Farewell!” Across the clearing

  The answer carries, his heart cheering:

  “Forgive your bride and love her, heed

  My counsel, knight! Farewell! Godspeed

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SECOND

  You whose swords clash in contest gory,

  Persist in your dread rivalry;

  Pay tribute full to sombre glory

  And relish hate and enmity!

  Let the world, gaping at your deadly

  Encounters, freeze-know: none will try

  To interfere; more-none will, sadly,

  Of pity for you breathe a sigh.

  You who compete in different fashion,

  Of the remote Parnassian heights

  The mettlesome and valiant knights,

  Fence if you must, but with discretion,

  From vulgar bickering refrain:

  The herd ‘twill only entertain.

  And as for you, by tender passion

  Made bitter rivals, pray remain

  On cordial terms-for he who’s fated

  To win a maid’s love this will do

  Though all mankind should lay plans to

  Keep the two lovers separated....

  Why fume?-It’s silly and a sin.

  When bold Rogdai, his heart with dim

  But chilling boding filled, had parted

  From his companions three and started

  Across a lonely tract of land,

  As he rode swiftly o’er the woody

  And silent plain, on his ills brooding,

  The hapless youth could ill withstand,

  So troubled were his thoughts, so painful,

  The Evil Spirit’s taunting baneful,

  And whispered: “Smite I shall and kill!