The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

by Alexander Pushkin

  Rests in the killer’s arms unfeeling,

  The hands of magic her lips sealing,

  Its powers holding her spellbound.

  His men the aged Prince watch dully

  As, anxious-eyed and melancholy,

  Farlaf he queries, though no sound

  Escapes him.”Aye, the maiden sleeps,”

  A finger holding to his lips,

  Without a qualm, Farlaf says slyly.

  ‘T found her, Prince, held by a wily

  And wicked goblin captive in

  A Murom forest. Bound to win

  Was valour, and it did. We battled

  For three long days. Above us two

  The moon rose thrice; then all was settled:

  He fell. The sleeping maid to you

  I rushed to bring from that forsaken

  And lonely spot. W^hen she’s to waken

  And with whose help is only known

  To fate, whose ways are dark. Alone

  Hope, yes, and patient meditation

  Can offer us some consolation.”

  Throughout the town there flew ere long

  The fateful news, all hearts distressing.

  The square filled with a seething throng

  Of townsfolk, toward the palace pressing.

  A house of grief, it opes its doors

  To all, and there the crowd now pours

  To see the youthful princess sleeping

  On a raised couch clothed in brocade,

  The knights and princes o’er the maid

  With sombre faces vigil keeping.

  Horns, tympans, gusli, tambourines

  And trumpets sound. The Prince, grief- worn,

  His grey head ‘gainst his child’s feet leans

  With silent tears. Beside him, torn

  By mute remorse, dismay, self-pity,

  Farlaf stands trembling, white of face,

  His brashness gone without a trace.

  Soon darkness fell, but in- the city

  None closed an eye, and all throughout

  The night discussed, grouped near their houses,

  How it could all have come about,

  Some husbands lingering without

  And quite forgetting their young spouses,

  But when the twin-horned moon on high

  Met dawn, its bright rays slowly paling,

  There rose throughout a hue and cry,

  A din, a clang of arms, a wailing.

  A new alarm! And, shaken, all

  Come scrambling up the city wall.

  A mist the river cloaks. Beyond it

  They see white tents, the glint of shields,

  Dust raised by horsemen in the field

  And moving carts: they are surrounded;

  Up on the hilltops campfires flame...

  To such scenes Kiev is no stranger;

  It’s clear the city is in danger,

  The Pechenegs attack again!

  While this went on, the Finn, a seer

  And ruler of the spirits, waited,

  Withdrawn from all the world, to hear

  Of happenings anticipated,

  Foreseen by him.... Calm, tranquil he:

  What is ordained is bound to be.

  Deep in the steppe, sun-parched and soundless,

  Beyond a chain of hills, the boundless

  Realm of wild gales and windstorms, where

  The aweless witch will scarcely dare

  To walk with the approach of evening,

  A vale lies hid that boasts two springs:

  One leaps o’er stones and plays and sings,

  For it is rich in water living,

  The other o’er the valley bed

  Flows sluggishly, its waters dead.

  All’s silence here, no breezes blowing

  That coolness bring; no busy bird

  To chatter or to sing is heard;

  No age-old pines on sand dunes growing

  Are seen to stir; no fawn,, no deer

  Drinks of these waters. It is here

  On guard two spirits have been standing

  Since Time began, the fear commanding

  Of all. Before them now the Finn

  Appears, two jugs, both empty, bearing;

  Their trance is broken, and from him

  They flee, to other parts repairing.

  He fills the vessels with the pure,

  Sweet water ‘fore him softly streaming,

  And then is off, to vanish seeming

  Into thin air. A second or

  Two seconds pass, and in the vale

  Where, motionless and deathly pale,

  Ruslan lies, he now stands. First he

  Dead water o’er the knight sprays, causing

  The gaping wounds to heal and rosy

  The grey lips turning suddenly;

  With living water then he sprays

  The comely but still lifeless face —

  And death is vanquished, gone its rigor;

  Ruslan, full of fresh strength and vigour,

  Stands up; life courses in his veins,

  The past a ghastly dream remains

  Behind him, dim.... O’erjoyed, he faces

  The rising day that ‘fore him blazes.

  But he’s alone.... Where’s his young bride?..

  Of fear a tremor passes through him;

  Then his heart leaps, for at his side

  He sees the Finn who now says to him:

  “It’s as Fate wills. Bliss is in store

  For you, my son, but not before

  A bloody feast you’ll have attended

  And with your sword put down the foe.

  You’ll see your bride and gladness know,

  Once peace on Kiev has descended.

  Here is a ring for you. Her brow

  Touch wdth it, and from sleep she’ll waken.

  The very sight of you, I vow,

  Will leave your foes confused and shaken

  And put the lot of them to flight.

  Then will maliciousness and spite,

  My friend, and all things evil perish.

  Be worthy of your love and cherish

  Your bride, Ruslan.... And now goodbye...

  Beyond the grave will you and I

  Meet, not before.” With this he vanished,

  And Prince Ruslan, all his fears banished,

  O’erjoyed to be to life restored,

  Stands with his arms stretched out toward

  His friend.... Alas! The grassy lea is

  Deserted quite save for the bay

  (The dwarfs still in the bag) who whinnies

  And rears and shakes his mane. Away

  The prince now makes to go, and, springing

  Into the saddle, grips the reins.

  He’s hale and sound. Across the plains

  And woods we see him boldly winging.

  And what of Kiev, by the foe

  Beleaguered?... There, filled with suspense,

  High on its walls and battlements,

  The townsfolk crowd. The fields below

  Surveying fearfully, they wait

  God’s smiting hand, the hand of fate.

  Subdued laments come from the houses;

  No sound the fear-hushed byways rouses.

  Beside his child in earnest prayer

  Vladimir kneels, plunged deep in sorrow.

  His knights and noblemen and their

  Great warrior-host for war prepare:

  The bloodv fray’s set for the morrow! ‘

  Dawn broke, and down the hills the foes

  Poured, armed with swords and spears and bows;

  They surged relentless, never slowing,

  Wave upon wave across the plains

  And toward the city walls came flowing.

  The Kiev trumpets started blowing,

  And out its men rushed, with the chains

  Of the attackers boldly clashing.

  The fray begins! In sudden fear,

  As death
they scent, steeds neigh and rear;

  The riders, forward headlong dashing,

  In battle meet, their steel swords flashing.

  Sent forth in clouds, the arrows hum;

  The fields turn red: with blood they run.

  A man who’s lost his war-horse faces

  A horseman: which of them will smite

  The other first? In wild-eyed fright

  Across the field a charger races.

  Death. Cries for help and battle-calls.

  A Pecheneg, a Russian falls.

  One’s by an arrow pierced swift-flying;

  Another’s maced, his groan unheard;

  A foeman’s shield has crushed a third,

  And. trampled on, he lies there, dying.

  The fray went on till dark set in,

  But neither warring side could win....

  The slain in mounds lay; blood flowed freely;

  Sleep claimed the living, all concealing

  From their sight. Through the fearful night’s

  Long hours the wounded moaned in pain,

  And one could hear the Russian knights

  To their God pray and speak His name.

  But paler turned the shade of morn,

  And in the swiftly-flowing river

  The rippling waves seemed made of silver:

  Day, thickly cloaked in mist, was born.

  The hills and forests slowly brightened;

  The skies, by sun their blueness heightened,

  Broke free of sleep.... Yet moveless still

  The battlefield remained until

  The hostile camp awoke abruptly,

  A challenge followed the alarm,

  And warfare once again erupting,

  Old Kiev lost its short-lived calm.

  All rush to watch the scene below

  And see a knight in flaming mail

  Through ranks of foemen blaze a trail,

  See him descend on them and mow

  Them boldly down-see his sword flash

  And thrust and stab and cut and slash....

  It was Ruslan. The dwarf behind him,

  His horn triumphantly he blows

  And like a thunderbolt the foes

  Strikes down; where’er it is we find him

  Borne bv his steed, the infidels

  Row upon row he vengeful fells,

  And awing the enthralled beholders,

  With whistling sword parts heads from shoulders....

  Where’er he passes, bodies strew

  The battleground, crushed, headless, dying,

  With spears and arrows near them lying

  And heaps of armour. Then, anew

  The trumpet’s battle call remorseless

  Sounds, and behold!-the Slavic forces

  To join Ruslan on horseback fly.

  A fierce fray follows.... Pagan, die!

  The Pechenegs, those savage raiders,

  Round up their scattered horses and

  In panic flee. The feared invaders

  Of Russ. they can no more withstand

  The Slavs’ attack; their wild yells carry

  Over the dusty field; their hordes,

  Cut down by Kiev’s smiting swords,

  The fires of the inferno face....

  Kiev exults.... And now our daring

  Young prince-his horse he sits with grace-

  On through its gate rides, proudly bearing

  His sword of victory; his lance

  Shines star-like, drawing every glance;

  The blood is seen to trickle down

  His heavy mail of bronze, he’s wearing

  A helm whose top the whiskers crown

  Of Chernomor. And all about him

  There’s noise and gaiety and shouting.

  The very air with his name rings....

  Toward the Prince’s house on wings

  Of hope he flies, and goes inside.

  Here now’s the silent chamber where

  Sleeps fair Ludmila; at her side

  Her father stands, deep lines of care

  Etched on his face. There’s no one near him,

  No friend to comfort or to cheer him,

  For they have all gone off to war....

  Farlaf, alone the call of duty

  Denying, at the chamber door

  Kept vigil; in him deeply rooted

  Was an aversion for things martial,

  To calm and comfort he was partial,

  And very much so. Seeing who

  Was there before, him, he surrendered

  To fear; his blood froze; speechless rendered,

  On to his knees he fell.... He knew

  That retribution was his due,

  That he was doomed. Ruslan, however,

  The magic ring just then recalled

  And, faithful to his love as ever,

  Her pale brow touched with it. Behold!-

  She oped her eyes and sighed in wonder:

  Night had been long, too long.... It seemed

  That she was still entranced, still under

  The spell of something she had dreamed.

  And then her vision cleared-she knew him!

  And fell into his arms, and to him

  Clung lovingly. By joy made numb,

  He saw naught, heard naught, his heart raced.

  And Prince Vladimir, overcome,

  Wept as his dear ones he embraced.

  You will have guessed, and without fail,

  How ends mv all too drawn-out tale.

  Flown was Vladimir’s wrath ungrounded;

  Farlaf confessed his guilt; Ruslan,

  So happy was he, in him found it

  All to forgive; the dwarf, undone,

  His powers lost, was added to

  Vladimir-Bright Sun’s retinue;

  To mark an end to tribulation

  A sumptuous feast of celebration

  The Prince held in his chamber high,

  By friends and family surrounded.

  The ways and deeds of days gone by,

  A narrative on legend founded.

  EPILOGUE

  Thus, the world’s mindless dweller, spending

  Life’s precious hours in idle peace,

  Its strings my lyre to me lending,

  I sang the lore of bygone days.

  I sang, the painful blows forgetting

  Of fate that blindly o’er us rules,

  The wiles of frivolous maids, the petty

  And thoughtless jibes of prating fools.

  My mind, on wings of fancy soaring,

  To parts ethereal was borne,

  While all unknown there gathered o’er me

  The dark clouds of a mighty storm....

  And I was lost.... But vou who always

  Watched o’er me in my earlier years,

  You, blessed friendship, giving solace

  To one whose heart deep sorrow sears!-

  You calmed the raging storm, and, heeding

  M spirit’s call, brought peace to me;

  You saved me-saved my treasured freedom,

  Of fiery youth the deity!

  Far from the social whirl, the Neva

  Behind me left, forgotten even

  By rumour, here am I where loom

  Caucasian peaks in prideful gloom.

  Atop high steeps, mid downward tumbling

  Cascades and cataracts of stone,

  I stand and drink it all in dumbly,

  And revel, to reflection prone,

  In nature’s dark and savage beauty;

  To wounding thought my soul’s still wed,

  Within it sadness lives, deep-rooted,

  But the poetic fires are dead,

  In vain I seek for inspiration:

  Gone is the blithe and happy time

  Of love, of merry dreams, of rhyme,

  Of all that filled me with elation.

  Sweet rapture’s span has not been long,

  Flown from me has the Muse of song,

&n
bsp; Of softly spoken incantation....

  LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  A PRESENTIMENT

  A STUDY

  A WINTER MORNING

  A WISH

  ANCIENT RUSSIAN SONG

  CONSOLATION

  DEATH-THOUGHTS

  DESPAIR

  DROWNED

  ELEGY

  ELEGY: HAPPY WHO TO HIMSELF CONFESS

  ELEGY: HUSHED I SOON SHALL BE

  ELEGY: THE EXTINGUISHED JOY OF CRAZY YEARS

  FAME

  FIRST LOVE

  FRIENDSHIP

  GOD GRANT, MY REASON NE’ER BETRAY ME

  HOME-SICKNESS

  HYMN TO FORCE

  I HAVE OUTLIVED MY EVERY WISH

  IN AN ALBUM

  IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND

  INSANITY

  INSPIRING LOVE

  INVOCATION

  JEALOUSY

  LOVE

  LOVE AND FREEDOM

  LOVE’S DEBT

  MON PORTRAIT

  MY MONUMENT

  MY MUSE

  MY PEDIGREE

  NOT AT ALL

  POLTAVA. CANTO THE FIRST.

  POLTAVA. CANTO THE SECOND.

  POLTAVA. CANTO THE THIRD.

  QUESTIONINGS

  RESIGNED LOVE

  RIGHTS

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIFTH

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIRST

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FOURTH

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SECOND

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SIXTH

  RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE THIRD

  SIGNS

  SING NOT, BEAUTY

  SLEEPLESSNESS

  SONNET: POET, NOT POPULAR APPLAUSE SHALT THOU PRIZE!

  SORROW

  SPANISH LOVE-SONG

  TARTAR SONG.

  THE ANGEL

  THE AWAKING

  THE BARD

  THE BIRDLET

  THE BLACK SHAWL

  THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. CANTO THE FIRST.

  THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. CANTO THE SECOND.

  THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. PROLOGUE.

  THE BURNT LETTER

  THE CLOUD

  THE DELIBASH

  THE DREAMER

  THE FLOWERET

  THE FOUNTAIN OF BAKHCHISARAI

  THE GIPSIES

  THE GRACES

  THE GRAVE OF A YOUTH

  THE GYPSIES

  THE HORSE

  THE MERMAID

  THE NIGHTINGALE

  THE NOISY JOYS OF THOUGHTLESS YEARS ARE SPENT

  THE OUTCAST

  THE POET

  THE PROPHET

  THE STORM-MAID

  THE TALISMAN

  THE TASK

  THE THREE SPRINGS

  THE UNWASHED

  TO —— (KERN)

  TO —— (KERN) COMPARISON

  TO A BABE

  TO THE CALUMNIATORS OF RUSSIA

  TO THE SEA