The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection) Read online

  Unlike the barren life of town,

  A life as dull as chant of slaves.

  III.

  With weary glance the youth looks back

  Upon the now unpeopled plain;

  Nor can he yet the secret cause

  Of grief that fills his heart discern.

  Beside him lies the black-eyed maid;

  Lord of himself, lives as he will;

  And o’er him shines the glowing sun

  In his rounded midday beauty.

  What, then, torments his youthful soul?

  What care disturbs his restless heart?

  The bird of air is free and knows

  Nor anxious toil nor daily care;

  Nor fretsome seeks to weave a nest,

  That shall defy the ages’ wear;

  But on the branch the long night sleeps,

  Till sun shall don his morning robe,

  And then, responsive to God’s call,

  With quickened thrill sings out his song.

  When spring, fair nature’s darling child,

  Gives place to sultry summer’s heat,

  And later autumn brings its due,

  Dark clouds, and mists, and frequent rains,

  Men’s hopes fall low, and they are drear;

  The bird to other distant lands,

  To warmer shores and bluer seas,

  Will fly, and wait return of spring.

  Like the bird that is free from care,

  An exile lone, bird of passage,

  He knew not where to lay his head,

  Nor was there aught to touch his soul.

  To him the world lay open wide,

  Nor cared he where he strayed or slept;

  But each new day he freely left

  To fate’s disposal and control.

  The changes and alarms of life

  Thus failed to break his peace of mind.

  At times, the far-off star of fame

  Would tempt him leave his ease, and climb;

  In vain, the world before him spread

  Its idle pomps and pleasures vile;

  Not seldom o’er his lonely head

  The thunder roared and threat’ning broke;

  But naught he recked of tempests rude,

  And dozed alike in storm and calm;

  He lived his life, nor recognised

  The power of blind and cunning fate.

  But, God: what passions wild have stormed

  Aleko’s seeming tranquil breast!

  With what mad fury have they raged,

  And torn in twain his wounded soul!

  And thinks he to have tamed them now?

  They shall awake, their hour will come!

  IV.

  ZEMPH1RE.

  But say, my friend, dost not regret

  The world tnou hast behind thee left?

  ALEKO.

  And what is there to leave?

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Thou knowst:

  Country, friends and native city.

  ALEKO.

  Wherefore regret? Ah, didst thou know,

  Couldst but once conceive or measure

  The vileness of their stifling town!

  Where men do herd in crowds, nor breathe

  The morning fresh, or mountain free.

  Or scent of spring on meadow sweet;

  Are shamed of love, and banish thought,

  Consent to sell their freedom dear,

  To, fetish idols bow their heads,

  Will sue for pelf, and hug their chains.

  What have I left? The falser’s lie

  The smirking bigot’s narrow creed.

  The senseless hate of unwashed mob,

  Rank, orders, title, bought with shame.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  But there are mansions vast and rich,

  There are carpets varicoloured,

  There are balls and banquets gayest,

  And there are jewelled maidens fair.

  ALEKO.

  What gain can bring the to wn’s mad Joys?

  Where love reigns not, joy cannot be.

  Better far than all their maidens,

  Art thou, Zemphire, though poorly clad,

  Of jewels and of necklace bare!

  Change not, my true and faithful friend,

  And I’ll keep true to my sole wish,

  With thee will share my love, my cares,

  My life, in willing banishment

  OLD MAN.

  I see, thou lovst us and our folk,

  Though bora amidst a people rich;But freedom is not alway’s dear

  To him who has been born in ease.

  Amongst us runs a legend old:

  From southern climes was banished once

  A stranger to our land.... his name

  I knew, but have forgotten since....

  He was already old in years,

  But still was young in heart and soul;

  Possessed the wondrous gift of song,

  And voice like murmur of the waves.

  And all who knew him loved him well,

  And on the Danube’s shore he lived,

  Offended none, and none despised,

  Enchanting all with song divine;

  Was not proud, nor reasoned wisely,

  But weak and timid, like a child.

  For him our folk would hunt the beast,

  Or trap the fish in close-knit net;

  And when the river swift would freeze,

  And wintry winds began to howl,

  For him, their aged favourite,

  They deftly stitched warm skins of fur.

  For he was strange to petty toil

  And all the tasks of daily life,

  And lived a wand’rer pale and poor.

  An angry god had punished him,

  He said, for some offence and crime.

  And now he prayed that death might come;

  And as he roamed the Danube shore,

  His grief he shared with its blue waves,

  And oft would shed hot, burning tears,

  At thought of his far-distant home.

  And ere he died, he prayed that we

  His body to the south would bring;

  For never could he sleep in peace,

  Unless in his dear earth he lay,

  His home once more his native land.

  ALEKO.

  Such fate awaits thy noblest sons,

  Oh Rome, great empress of the world!

  Singer of love, hymner of gods,

  Tell me, what is poet’s glory?

  A grave unknown, obscure; the theme

  Of legend passed from mouth to mouth;

  The nameless hero of wild tale

  By gipsy told in smoky tent.

  V.

  Two years have passed, and as before,

  The peaceful band of gipsies free

  Are ne’er relused, but “easy find

  A friendly welcome and repose.

  All social lies and cheats thrown off,

  Aleko is as free as they;

  Regretting naught and spared all care,

  Their roaming life he daily shares.

  He is the same, nor have they changed;

  The years gone by he has forgot,

  And gipsy life is now his own.

  The tent’s hard couch on which he sleeps,

  Unconscious of the morrow’s fate;

  The routine march of ease unbroke;

  The language poor, but soft and sweet;

  In all he finds alike delight.

  The bear, its native haunt forgot,

  Is now the sharer of his tent.

  In villages that skirt the road,

  They stop before Moldavian homes;

  To please a timid, gaping crowd,

  The bear will dance his clumsy step,

  And grol wimpatient at his chain;

  And, leaning on his pilgrim-staff,

  The old man idly beats his drum;

  Aleko, singing, leads the bear;


  Zemphire is sent to make the round,

  And beg from each a small reward

  But night has set, and they all three

  The evening meal prepare to share.

  The old man sleeps and all is still;

  Within the tent dead silence reigns.

  VI.

  The tents gleam bright in spring sun’s rays,

  The old man warms his sluggish blood,

  His daughter sings a song of love,

  Aleko listens and grows pale.

  ZEMPHIRE (singing).

  Husband old, husband fierce,

  Burn, hack me with thy sword’

  I am bold, do not fear

  Either sword or fire’s flame.

  Knowst thou not, I hate thee?

  Knowst thou not, I scorn thee?

  Another has my love,

  And, loving, I can die!

  ALEKO.

  Cease, I pray, thy singing wearies,

  Nor do I like such savage rhymes.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  My song offends? But what care I?

  ‘Tis for myself alone I sing.

  Burn, hack me with thy sword,

  No word shalt hear from me;

  Husband old, husband fierce,

  His name I’ll ne’er betray!

  He’s fresher than the spring,

  He breathes warm summer’s heat

  With daring youth he glows,

  And none but me he loves!

  Softly I caressed him

  In shadow of the night,

  As merrily we laughed,

  And mocked at thy gray hairs

  ALEKO.

  Cease, Zemphire, cease! It is enough!

  ZEMPHIRE.

  And hast thou understood my song?

  ALEKO.

  Zemphire!

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Be angry, if thou wilt:

  It was to thee I sang my song.

  (She goes away singing).

  OLD MAN.

  I remember, I remember,

  It is a song of olden days;

  And years ago, to please our folk,

  Marie would sing this rhyme to them.

  On winter nights, when we were camped

  On the Kagoula barren steppes,

  Marie would chant the savage lay.

  And rock the child before the fire

  I lose all count of byegone days.

  And quickly fades their memory;

  But this one song has ta’en deep root.,

  And still I hear its mocking notes.

  Now all is still; ‘tis night; the moon

  With silver tips the southern pole.

  Sudden the gipsy-sire is roused

  From sleep by Zemphire’s touch and voice.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  In his sleep Aleko frights me;

  He tosses, groans, and sighs, and weeps.

  OLD MAN.

  Disturb him not, but silence keep.

  I oft have heard the Russians say,

  At night, the demon of the house

  Will haunt the troubled sleeper’s dream,

  And then at dawn itself depart.

  Till then, ‘tis well thou sitst by me.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  In sleep he starts, and cries, Zemphire!

  OLD MAN.

  Though dreaming, still he seeks for thee

  Dearer than all thou art to him.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  And yet, his love has brought no joy:

  My heart would fain throw off the yoke,

  Be free again.... But hush!... listen!

  He mutters now another s name.

  OLD MAN.

  Whose name?

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Dost thon not hear? He groans,

  And grinds his teeth.’ Tis horrible!

  I will awake him quick.

  OLD MAN.

  Why seek

  To chase the demon of the night?

  It will itself depart.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  I hear

  Him restless turn, and now he calls:

  I go. Farewell! Sleep, father, sleep!

  ALEKO.

  Where hast thou been?

  ZEMPHIRE.

  I was with father.

  Some evil spirit did torment

  And plague thee in thy sleep. I dared

  No longer stay’. But thou didst grind

  Thy teeth, and called me.

  ALEKO.

  In my dream

  It seemed as if between us was —

  But no! it is too horrible!

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Dost thou believe in cheating dreams?

  ALEKO.

  In none, in naught, do I believe;

  Nor dreams, nor lover’s secret vows;

  Nor that thy heart can loyal keep.

  VIII.

  OLD MAN.

  And why, in vain caprice of youth,

  Dost thou, like furnace sighing, moan?

  Here men are free, the skies are bright,

  And women own no fetter-bonds.

  Grieve not, nor be cast down in soul.

  ALEKO.

  But, father, she no longer loves.

  OLD MAN.

  Console thyself: she is a child.

  Thy grief to reason is perverse:

  Thou lovst with passion and with fire;

  A passing jest is women’s love.

  Look up; beneath the wide expanse

  The moon pursues her unchecked path,

  And, as she moves, she gently sheds

  Her fickle light on all below;

  A moment gilds a favoured cloud,

  Only the next to leave it dark,

  And flood its rival with her light.

  But who shall stop her trackless course,

  Bid her stay and no farther roam?

  And who shall say to maiden s heart,

  Love one, and only one, ne’er change.

  It cannot be. —

  ALEKO.

  How she loved me!

  How tenderly she bent o’er me,

  And in the silence of the night,

  Her head soft pillowed on my breast,

  With childish mirth and innocence

  Whispered, laughing, tender nothings,

  And with caresses winsome could

  In one short moment chase away

  All gloomy thoughts and craven fears!

  And now, thou tellst me, she is false,

  That she, Zemphire, no longer loves’

  OLD MAN.

  Hearken, and I will story tell

  Of myself and years long, long past,

  Before Moscow had tried to win

  Her new domains on Danube shore.

  You see, I would recall, my friend.

  The sorrow of far, younger years.

  The mighty Sultan then we feared:

  The Pascha ruled the Budschack plain,

  And lofty heights of Ackermann.

  Then I was young, and my glad souL

  Within me leaped, all free of care;

  And then my jet-black, raven curls

  Flowed down unmixed with elder gray.

  Among the maidens young was one,

  Their queen in beauty — long I loved

  And worshipped her, as men the sun.

  At last I won her — she was mine!

  Alas, like falling star, my youth,

  Gleaming, flashed, and quickly vanished:

  But swifter far the reign of love

  Rose and flitted by; — one short year,

  And Marie, my queen, betrayed me!

  Near the wide, deep lakes of Kagoul,

  We chanced to meet a stranger tribe,

  Who pitched their tents at mountain’s foot,

  Where we had made our sojourn brief;

  Two nights we friendly camped together,

  And on the third they sudden left

  With them.... her daughter left behind,

  Marie escaped to pleasures new.


  I sleeping was, and when dawn broke,

  And I arose, I found her not!

  I called.... in vain — no answer came!

  Many a day poor Zemphire pined,

  And wept; my tears I joined with hers.

  But from that day my heart grew cold,

  Unstirred by maiden’s wiles or charms;

  Nor have I sought a mate to share

  My lot; but all alone have passed,

  Resigned, the cheating hours of life.

  ALEKO.

  And wherefore didst thou not at once

  Pursue the faithless perjured pair,

  And plunge thy dagger in the heart

  Of robber and his paramour?

  OLD MAN.

  But why? Youth is free, free as a bird.

  Who has strength to curb the flight of love?

  To each one day of joy is sent;

  And what has been can ne’er return.

  ALEKO.

  Mine not the nature to forego

  My right without a struggle fierce,

  Be robbed the joy of sweet revenge.

  Nay, if on brink of ocean cliff

  I found my hated foe asleep,

  I swear, I should not think to spare

  His life, but with my foot would toss

  O’er edge of cliff his helpless trunk,

  And laugh in his pale, upturned face

  Of wakened horror and surprise.

  And in mine ear the water’s splash

  Would echo like the stirring sound

  Of conquering march loud and gay.

  IX.

  YOUNG GIPSY.

  Yet one more kiss, before we part!

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Lime flies: jealous he is, and harsh.

  YOUNG GIPSY.

  A last.... but long caress.... but one!

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Farewell, before he comes to seek me.

  YOUNG GIPSY.

  But say, when shall we meet again?

  ZEMPHIRE.

  To-night, when as the. moon goes down,

  We’ll meet beyond the mounds. Farewell

  YOUNG GIPSY.

  You will forget to come, I fear.

  ZEMPHIRE.

  Away!... Fear not!... I’ll come, I swear!

  X.

  Aleko sleeps. But dreams confused

  Disturb and haunt his troubled rest;

  And with a startled cry he wakes,

  And stretches forth his jealous hand,

  Which falls on cold and vacant sheet;

  No sleeping Zemphire lies by him.

  With boding heart he listens long,

  But all is still; and. filled with dread,

  A chilling fear runs through his veins,

  As out he hurries from the tent.

  Pale and trembling, far he wanders,

  But all the field is wrapt in sleep

  The moon is hid behind the clouds

  And twinkling light of stars is dim.

  The faintest track of steps, the dews

  Have nigh effaced, still show the way

  That leads up to the burial mounds.

  With eager pace he makes his way,

  By demon urged along the path,

  And stands before the long-ranged heaps,

  That rear their pale and spectral tops.