ウクライナのアニメーション映画『ストールンプリンセス：キーウの王女とルスラン』日本語吹替版主題歌（INI新曲「My Story」）付き、斎藤工ナ... https://youtu.be/RCclcytZOQY?si=4iZsdcn4ZAT3x04t @YouTubeより
https://youtu.be/RCclcytZOQY?si=4iZsdcn4ZAT3x04t
Ruslan and Ludmila (English Edition)
Prologue At the seashore’s a golden chain; That golden chain entwines an oak. A learned cat around that oak Day and night keeps his walk: Goes to the right—a song he sings; Returning left—a tale he brings. There sprites dwell amongst the trees, Upon whose branches rusalki[1] sit at ease. There, on paths where no one’s been, Are creature’s traces no one’s seen. There stands a hut on chicken’s feet Without a window or door upon it. The woods and fields are full of wonder; There at dawn waves break and thunder On a somber, sandy shore and, dolesome, Thirty knights, all young and handsome, Emerge from water, full of glee, Led by their Uncle of the Sea. There a prince, while passing by, A king doth capture on the sly. Over fields and over sea A wizard carries o’er the clouds A hero-knight in sight of crowds. Alone in a tower a Princess stays; Her commands a faithful wolf obeys. Baba Yaga[2] by mortar is borne Walking and stalking the woods forlorn Tsar Kashchey[3] pines over riches profuse— This the spirit—the essence of Rus’! I was there; mead there drank; Beneath the oak reposed on the bank. The cat to me his tales hath told— Many tales and tales of old. One of these I still remember: This to the world I hereby will render.
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Canto I Deeds of days long since passed, The tales of olden times. With his powerful sons and friends In his high hall of audience, Vladimir Bright Sun caroused. His youngest daughter he espoused To the fearless Prince Ruslan; And with heavy glasses clinking, To their health mead was drinking. Slowly our ancestors dine: Slowly ‘round doth grope With the foaming beer and wine, The ladle and the silver cup. Into their hearts joy’s stream is pouring; Goblets, hissing over brims, tarrying Cup-bearers are gravely carrying. Slowly around the hall they go And to the guests they do bow low. The speeches of the guests, sitting ‘round, Merge in one confused noise. Suddenly a singer’s voice is heard, The quick ringing of a gusli.[4] All are silent, listen to Boyan[5]: He praises, sage divine, The beauty of Ludmila, Ruslan, And the wreath which Lel[6] did twine. Worn out by passion, tired, irate, He did not drink or eat, the infatuated Ruslan. His friend he admired, His mustache pulled impatiently: Each moment he did count. Behind the table round, Three knights sat silently Before an empty ladle, Forgot their cups completely, The fare they did not desire. They were rivals of Ruslan. They heard not eloquent Boyan, Their eyes to the earth were cast. Unhappy guests! Concealed deep within their breasts Are grief and love and hate. One, Rogday, a daring warrior, Whose stern sword the Kiev frontiers spread, The other, Farlaf, savage clamorer At banquets, never conquered, Indolent lord amid the swords. The third with passion burned: The Khazar Khan Ratmir. All pale and stern. Unhappy, at the feast appeared. The banquet over, they rise in rows, The guests, and mingle in crowds; Make obeisance, greet the newlyweds. Her glance the bride to earth hath cast, As though her heart were sad. The groom is radiant and bright. The shadows on the earth have spread And close the hour of midnight. Drowsy with the wine, the boyars bow, And to their homes begin to go. The groom, in passionate intoxication, Is, in his imagination, The beauty of his bride caressing. With concealed sad feeling The grand Prince his blessing To the young pair’s giving. And now the young bride is led To the waiting nuptial bed… In the stillness of the night Lel the lamp did light. Fulfilled is the charming hope! Ruslan is ready with the gift of love to cope. The jealous clothes drop on the bed, Upon the Byzantine carpet. Dost thou hear love’s whispers? Sweet sounds of the kiss And broken murmurs and caresses Of the submitting bashfulness? The groom beforehand hath experienced delight— And here is in sight… Suddenly a thunder clap sounded! A light flashed through the mists; All things hath bounded. The fire was suddenly extinguished, Darkness all surrounded. And all again was quiet. The heart sank in Ruslan, astounded. In sinister silence of the night Twice was a strange voice heard. Someone with smoky darkness covered As the mists above the earth Hath for an instant hovered, And disappeared in darkness of the night. The chamber again was empty and quiet. He rose from bed, affrighted husband! From his face rolled perspiration. Trembling, his cold hand Implored the darkness in his agitation. Alas! His friend no more the chamber graces! But empty air Ruslan embraces. Ludmila in the chamber was no more— Carried away by a mysterious power. If one, a martyr, suffers in some fashion From stirring love and hopeless passion Though life be lonely and unkind To him, still life endurable he’ll find. But after many years To embrace a beloved friend— Object of desires and tears— And suddenly see her disappear, Forever taking leave… My friend, I rather would not live. Yet, he’s alive, our Ruslan, the unfortunate. But how greeted him the Prince disconsolate? Distraught by ominous gossip, full of ire, Of his son-in-law he doth inquire: “Where is Ludmila? Where is thy bride?” Ruslan’s blushing face Betrayed the anguish of disgrace. “Children, friends” said the Prince, “I well remember your past service. Have ye pity on me. Who will ride the Princess to regain? His deed will not be done in vain. To him (endure thou cruel torture, murderer, Who could not of a wife take care!) To him I’ll give the Princess for a bride And half of my kingdom, beside.” “I,” said the groom in fear, “I—I—” called with Rogday, Farlaf, and the happy knight, Ratmir. “We will our horses gird And ride all over the earth; We will not stay away, We shall not delay. Father, have no fear: Soon with thy daughter we’ll reappear!” With silent gratitude, the wretched Man to them his hand outstretched. All four together are leaving. Ruslan is somber, despondent and grieving. Memories of his bride His mind doth chide. All mount their spirited horses, And along the happy Dnieper’s shores Are soon flying, whirling dust And in the vague distance are lost. But long the Grand Prince Stood gazing into the distance, The dismal distance after them was eyeing. His saddened thoughts after them flying. Ruslan, tormented, silently In a maze of memory was lost. Looking backward haughtily, With arms akimbo, weightily Farlaf rode behind our Ruslan; Said, “I with much difficulty ran, My friends, away to this flight. O victim of a jealous mood, I’ll soon be shedding thy blood! Be merry, mettled horse— Be happy, faithful sword!” The Khazar Khan is certain in his mind Ludmila he will surely find. Ludmila he in thought embraces… On his saddle well nigh dances; In him seethes the bold, young blood. He gallops impatiently on the road. Full of hope are his sparkling eyes, And teasing his bold steed, And, whirling on, full speed Up the steep hill he flies. Stern Rogday not a word is saying; Silent his plan he’s laying. Affrighted by uncertain fate, Tortured by the pangs of jealousy, More than the others he’s irate, And oft at a glance well filled with hate His somber eyes does animate. The rivals to the same road keep, All day together ride. Darkness shrouds the Dnieper deep, ’Twixt misty sloping shores the Dnieper courses. From the east creep the shadows of the night ’Tis time to stop and rest their horses. And here their path is crossed by another road. “Time to part,” the riders say. “Blind fate we will implicitly obey. Let’s suffer her for us to bode.” Each horse then feeling no spurs, Took for itself its own road. Unhappy Ruslan, how dost thou fare Lonely in the desert silence? His own wedding night to our Prince Appeared like a hideous nightmare. Over his brow his helmet pulled; The reins he dropped from powerful Hands. Trotting with slow pace, He saw hope die within his soul, Disappearing, leaving no wake, no trace. Suddenly, before the knight Appeared a cave; within the cave a light. Beneath the sleepy vaults he doth ride, Caverns old as earth and tide. Despondently walks in, the knight… What beholdeth our Prince? An old man serene, a tranquil glance, Of peaceful mien, calm appearance. A lamp before him burning, And leaves of old books he’s turning, Attentively is reading thereon. “Welcome, my son!” To Ruslan, smiling, he is saying, “Twenty years alone Here, was I praying To meet thee. Yea, Here, in old age, in darkness fading, At last arrived the day. A long time I was waiting— We’re bound by fate! Stay, Sit down here and abide… Ruslan! Thou hast lost thy bride. Thy doom art fearing; Thine ardent courage is disappearing. But thy cruel grief will vanish fast— A short time only will it last. With hope and happy faith Meet everything. Thy glorious fate Will at no time thee betray. Have no fear when thou from here dost part. Forward, with thy sword and fearless heart! At midnight make thy way. “Know, Ruslan: The midnight raider of thy place, Seducer of maidens beautiful of face, The horrible enchanter, Chernomor, Who the midnight mountains doth rule. No one his castle ever did explore; But thou, destroyer of all cruel And evil wiles, will enter there. And he, the crafty murderer, Will perish at thy hands. To thee I will say no more… Good cheer awaits thee, be assured.” The knight fell at the feet Of the sage; grateful, kissed his old hands. His eyes again with hope were lit… His heart forgot its torments; His spirits revived. But soon mortification Lighted up his face. “I know the cause of thy vexation. Happily ’tis easy to efface,” The old man said. “The sorcerer’s love for the maid Is loathsome to thee. Be thou at rest, today. It is no longer fearsome. He may The stars in the sky assemble, Or whistle and the moon will tremble; But against the law of time, Futile is the power of his crime. Jealous, trembling and dour, Custodian of his castle’s doors, All his wiles are without power Against the captive he adores. He wanders ‘round the maid And is cursing his cruel fate… But, good knight, the day hath passed— ’Tis time for thee to rest.” Ruslan on soft moss doth creep Before the dying fire, to sleep. Tired, he lies down, sighting, shifting, Seeking his own mind to rest;— In vain. The knight, at last, To the old man his eyes uplifting, “I cannot sleep, father! See My sleep brings no rest to me. What shall I do?—My soul is ill, Wearied of life I feel. Suffer me to revive my heart With holy conversation. Confess! Tell who thou art! Forgive audacious interrogation, Mysterious enchanter blessed: Why did you here in the desert come to rest?” The old man sadly smiled and sighed And thus to our knight replied: “Courteous son! My country distance Long I did abandon—’tis a somber land. A native Finn I am. In truth, In blessed, carefree youth Through its valleys I did rove; The herds of neighbors—villages I drove; I knew naught but thick forests, swift Streams, the caves of our cliffs, And poverty’s tempestuous diversions. But now it grieves—I wince— To make this painful, grim assertion: To live in comfortable quiescence I have not been permitted since. “Then in our village, Like a solitary flower, here Lived Naina, reputed far and near For the beauty of her image. One morning when the sun began to climb, I prowled o’er dark meadows with my herd Blowing a bagpipe to a rhyme. Around me the roar of the waterfall I heard. A youthful maiden on the shore A garland of flowers twined. ‘Twas fate that brought me to her, I opined. O knight, she was Naina… I drove my herd and closer came; And love’s fateful flame (Which since I grievously deplored) For my audacity was the one reward. I then discovered love—its heavenly bliss And its cruel miseries. “Slowly, half a year went past; And, trembling, I confessed my love at last. My timid sorrow she heard; Proud and unconcerned, she said: ‘I do not love thee, shepherd.’ “All became wild and blurred. I took aversion to oaks and shadows, To the diversions of the happy shepherd, And no consolation could I find. Dejected, I at last had steeled And forced all thoughts in my mind To leave my native field: The treacherous and stormy deep With daring throng to sail across, Military glory to reap, Proud Naina’s attention to engross. I called for daring fishermen In quest of gold the sea to span. Then, for the first time was heard In my country the sound of the sword And the shouts of roving seamen. Ten years the waves and snowy seas We reddened with our victories. Our fame grew. Tsars of distant countries Feared my fearless crew. Their proud hordes Fled from the northern sword. Long and joyfully we fought Tributes and gifts dividing as we ought. And oft sat with our conquered At a joyful friendly banquet. But a heart enchanted by Naina’s memory, Amid the noise of banquets and of victory, Secretly and long was yearning To Finnish shores to be returning. ‘Time to return home now, my friends,’ I said, ‘and hang our idle quivers Beneath the roof of native shanties.’ Oars grew noisy on the rivers, Leaving in our wake foul fear. Proud and joyful in our native bay again We did appear. “Fulfilled my dreams, my ardent desires! The scene of joyful meeting I beheld with my own eyes; And at the feet of the disdainful beauty, I laid my bloody sword, And corals, diamonds, all my booty Spread o’er with passionate word. Silently, stand near Her envious friends. I stand, a captive drear. Indifferent to my lot, She departed unconcerned, Saying in a voice so stern— ‘Hero, I love thee not.’ “How then shall I then narrate My son, what to relate I have no more strength? E’en now, at present moment, With lifeless soul at threshold of the grave, The memory of that mortification, I cannot brave. Whene’er this somber scene appears, On my beard roll bitter tears. “In my somber land Among the desert fishermen Is hidden a secret science. Beneath the vault of eternal silence Amid the woods and distant thickets Live gray old magicians. To things of wisdom they direct Their thoughts and their emotions. All things their wisdom knows: What passed, and what shall come again; Each thing before their stern will bows, And over love and death they reign. “I, searching ardent love, In hopeless sorrow strove Naina to attract with aid Of sorcery; in the heart of the maid Enchanted love to light. I hurried, in embrace of freedom, Into the solitary dark of night. In the woods with their wisdom, Many years I passed… The day arrived at last When I discerned the mystery of adjuration— The crowning consummation Of my love’s aspiration. ‘Now Naina, thou art mine,’ I said within my mind. But in truth fate alone did conquer— Fate, my relentless haunter. “With dream of youthful expectation, In an ecstasy of desire I performed, in haste, an adjuration, Spirits of dark woods inspired. A thunderous arrow flashed; A howl of enchanted storms arose; The earth beneath my own feet crashed; And suddenly I saw sitting close To me, a decrepit old woman, gray-haired, Hunchbacked and with trembling hand, Sunken eyes sparkling bright: Of somber degradation a sight That was Naina, courteous knight! With my eyes I viewed the sight Of this ghost, and I doubted what I saw. Suddenly I screamed and cried: ‘Is it possible Naina, thou? Where is thy beauty? What hath chanced to thee? Did fate change thee so horribly? Is it so long since I, all hurriedly, Took leave of our world for my quest?’ ‘Forty years have passed,’ The maiden made reply. ‘I am seventy today—alas! What shall I do?’ she squeaked. ‘My years swiftly flashed by— Thy spring passed; mine, too, did pass. Both of us have grown old, I profess; But, my friend, no harm forsooth To lose the faithless youth. Certainly my head is covered with gray hair; A little hunchbacked am I, not so fair But—’ the chatterbox then added—‘I confess— Thy Naina is a sorceress.’ “Her words were true. With all my enchanting virtue I stood a simpleton near her And this made me more hapless: my vaunting Came true, to my own terror. My goddess was me now with her love haunting. Ugly lips in a smile twisting, In her squeaking voice this old inelegance To me love’s words was whispering. Think what a sufferance! With eyes cast to the earth I listened to her passionate words. ‘Thus did I discover, My friend, I’m thine forever. With tender passion I burn; Desires of love I suffer. Come thou to my embrace; I yearn For thee. O love, my love, I’m dying.’ Meanwhile, dear Ruslan, With love she was me eyeing And unto my kaftan With emaciated hands was hanging, While I was almost fainting. This I could no longer stand: I broke away. And with all my strength I ran. “Thou undeserving,’ I heard her harsh voice raving, ‘Thou my name hast stained. Thou hast disturbed an innocent maid’s Restful days. Naina’s love thou has gained And now despise! …Those are the ways Of all men! They breathe with shame! Alas, I have myself to blame. He seduced me, the poor unfortunate! I submitted to his love passionate! Betrayer! Monster! What a shame! Now fear me, seducer, defamer Of a maiden’s name!’ “Thus we parted. Since that separation Sorrowful, I live in solitude. And now my only consolation Is but nature, wisdom and serenitude. Now only the grave do I await But her strong love does not abate For me and her flame of love, of late From spite hath changed to hate. With a dark soul thus loving evil The old woman most certainly Will haunt thee. But sorrow is not eternal.” Avidly is listening the knight. His eyes are bright, He is awake—he sleeps not— Hears not the flight of night. Erewhile the radiant day the world doth grace, With a deep sigh the grateful knight The old enchanter doth embrace; And then, with his soul once more hopeful, Takes his leave. With his feet spurs The neighing horse And whistles, on the saddle turning. “Father, do not forget me.” The old sage to his friend His good wishes is returning. “A happy journey! Forgive me; Love thy wife; be wise. Forget not an old seer’s advice.”
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Canto II Rivals in the art of war, Devoid of peace shall be your fate. Pay tribute evermore to glory, Get drunk with hate. Astound the world with bloody victory— No one shall dare to interfere. But rivals of another sort, ye knights O Parnassus mountains, pray hear: Your quarrelsome verbosity excites Only jeers. Quarrel—but remain Ye ever dignified until the end. Ye rivals for a maiden’s hand Remain ever truthful friends. Trust me: he for whom the gods did ordain A maiden’s heart, he will charming remain All the world to spite. ’Tis but sinful and foolish to fight. An ominous foreboding hath oppressed Untamable Rogday. Leaving all his fellow wayfarers, he pressed Forward on a solitary way. He rode along the woody desert And by furious thoughts was he stirred. Cruel spirits thus infuriated him. The stern knight to himself was whispering, “I’ll kill…I’ll murder him. Oh, how the maiden must be crying.” His veering steed full speed was flying. Meanwhile, valiant Farlaf was in the embrace Of peaceful dreams and fleeting. Hiding from mid-day rays At noon beside a brooklet he was eating, His spiritual strength thus fortifying. Suddenly he saw a knight across the field— As though a cyclone to him flying. Forgetting quiver, spear and shield, And leaving his enjoyable repast, Farlaf, aghast, Leaped on his saddle; fearing backward To cast his glance, heedlessly was flying. “Wait, low coward,” The other was crying After him. “Suffer me to tear thy head away.” Farlaf recognized Rogday, Shriveling and fainting in his fear, Thought he saw death near, And his horse still faster he was driving, As might a hare, who, striving To run away from dogs is keeping Ears down, leaping Over hillock, field, with all his might. Nearby this glorious flight, Muddy streams did flow, Swelled by the spring’s melted snow, Into the wet breast of earth digging. Waving his tail, the mettled steed, To the turbulent ditch came full speed; Biting his bridle, over the slope And over the ditch the horse did lope. But the timid rider, feet up, Heavily fell into the dirt Seeing neither sky nor earth, Already cruel death he was embracing… “Perish, coward!” His stern sword raising, Spoke Rogday, but soon did recognize Farlaf and dropped his hands, distressed. Disappointment, rage, surprise His features then expressed. Gnashing his teeth, and without speech, Our hero rode away with bent head, From the ditch. Then beneath the mountain an old hag, Gray-haired and hunchbacked, With crutch pointing to the north: “Thereto,” she said, “go forth. There wilt thou find him.” Joyful, filled with renewed vim To meet his certain death, Rogday Thence to the north rode away. Farlaf, left in the ditch, Marveled in his fear: “Where did my rival disappear?” Suddenly he heard the voice of the witch: “Rise, brave knight, thou art free. I have brought thy horse to thee. Rise and harken to me.” Confused and startled rose the knight; Crawling, he left the muddy ground. Timidly he looked around And sighed, but his spirit again revived. “Thank God,” he thought, “I am alive.” “’Tis hard to find thy maid,” the witch did say, “To a distant land Ludmila ran away,— Neither I nor thou wilt find her. ’Tis dangerous for thee the world to explore— Thou wilt be sorry at the end. Harken, my friend: Go to thy homestead near Kiev and there tarry In thine own shelter solitary; In thine inherited home warily remain. Leave the rest for me: I will for thee thy bride retain.” Thus saying, she did disappear. Our prudent hero, overcome by fear, Took leave of glory, and the Princess’ love. Only for his own home he strove. The least animation,— The flight of a titmouse, Or the water’s noise, Threw him into heat and perspiration. Meanwhile, Ruslan far off hath strayed, Into the woods and desert field, His mind by one thought swayed: “Where is my joy concealed? At what place doth she hide? Where art thou, my bride? Will I again heed thy speech tender? Or perchance art thou fated with the old enchanter— Ever a captive in his turret to stay? And doleful maid, growing old, In a dark cell to fade away? Then, perchance, an audacious rival bold Will come?—No! No! My faithful wife, Not as long as I am alive And my head yet from my shoulders hath not rolled; And thank the Lord, I yet carry my trusty sword!” Once on a sombrous eventide, While our knight Rode along rocks of a steep bank, Suddenly, behind, he heard a clank— An arrow whistling, struck his shield. Then came the sounds of a quiver, and a neighing, And a thud, rolling over desert field. “Stand still,” a thunder-voice was saying. And, like a storm in his might In whirling dust there flew a knight. The rider called as he rode apace, “Be ready for a deadly combat, knight, To lie down, a corpse, in this place, And find for thee here a bride.” Ruslan recognized the rider savage, As he shook with violent rage. My friend! Let us leave our knight, Nor heed his savage fight. ’Tis time to think of our maiden—of her And of the horrible Chernomor. How the hero of my dream, the knight, Though immodest at times, I narrated, How in silence of the night From the beautiful Ludmila was separated; How Ludmila, from Knight Ruslan, astonished, Into the air hath vanished… When the murderer with powerful hand Plucked her from her faithful friend, And from her nuptial bed, And through thick smoke and somber air As a cyclone to the clouds he fled, Disappearing to his mountain lair. Then perception and her memory failed her, And in the horrible castle of Chernomor She, frightened, trembling and confounded, At last herself found. I witnessed on one summer day, A rooster who over the coop held sway; After a chicken in court he raced With sensual wings his friend embraced, But over them, drawing crafty curves, there hovered, The old thief of the chicken quarters, Taking murderous measures in his flight: As a bolt from the heaven, in the court fell the kite. Again he arose; But in his murderous claws, He carried away the poor unfortunate: To his dark crevices did disappear. In vain, alarmed by his woeful fate, And overcome with fear, The rooster called his beloved mate. He beheld naught but feathers flying around, Floating on the wind and falling to the ground. Ludmila, ‘til the morn did rest; In sleep, by a dull stupor distressed; By confused horror she was struck. At last, at dawn, she awoke, And thrown into fearful agitation Still in her passionate intoxication, She waited for her groom. Gazing fearful around, She was horrified when she found She was not in her own room. The unfortunate maid Upon a gorgeous featherbed was laid, Beneath the shadows of a baldachin; Tassels, exotic patterns on the screen, Sapphires, amethysts which gleam, And like a flame were playing... Golden pans were spraying Currents of aromatic steam. Thank God, I need not espouse “The beauty of the enchanted house: Long since Scheherazade[7] Hath done this before me. But in no bright turret are we content When we miss there our friend. Attired in light and simple dress, Three beautiful maids appeared. Approaching our fair Princess, All bowed low in fear. One maid with silent steps drew near, And then with pearly garland bound Ludmila’s forehead ’round. Casting down her glance, modest, In azure sarafan the other her then dressed. Ludmila’s curls and her breasts she covered With veil transparent as the mists that hovered On high. The enviable veil a form embraced, Deserving paradise to grace, And two light boots did compress Two marvelous small feet. The last maid to our Princess A diamonded belt did submit, While hidden singers whistled happy songs. Alas! Neither rare stones, Nor the sarafan, nor the rows of pearl Which Ludmila’s form did girdle, Nor the songs of flattery, Would make her heart merry. In vain the mirror painted her fair countenance, Her form thus gorgeously attired. Casting to the earth her doleful glance, Ludmila was one pining, and so tired. They who all the “truth: may heed” And the bottom of a somber heart can read, Certainly know That when a woman in her woe, Through tears, on sly, somehow, In spite of habit and reason, detests. In the mirror her glance to cast, Her sorrow no longer is a jest. Ludmila, alone with her woe, Approaches the latticed window; Her glance strays To clouded distant space. Snowy vales bedecked with shrouds bright, High towers, peaks of mountains, Monotonous, somber, white, Slumber in eternal silence. Nowhere a curling smoke a roof adorns, No traveler amid the snow is found; No joyful hunt, no hunter’s horns In the desert mountains sound. Only at times there woefully whistles The storm, rioting in fields; And rocking at edge of the gray skies, Naked woods arise. She covered her face, our Ludmila lorn, And ran to the silver door. With song it opened before her, And suddenly, herself she found in gardens immense, More gorgeous than the gardens of Armida[8] Or those where reigned King Solomon or Prince Taurede[9]... Tossing, clamoring groves surround the palace, Myrtles, laurel woods, palm alleys, Everywhere proud heads of cedars grow, Golden oranges reflect them below In the waters. Amid the hillocks hovers May’s curling breeze, Which, with fire of spring, breathes. Amid the enchanted fields A Chinese nightingale whistles. Pearly fountains fly In the shadows of trembling twigs With joyful noise, to the sky; And beneath them magnificent statues glitter, Which as living appear... Even Phidias,[10] contemplating this, Though by Pallada[11] and Phoebus[12] taught, Disappointed, at the end would drop His marvelous, enchanted chisel from his hand. Breaking ‘gainst a marble impediment, With a brilliant and fiery curve fall Many a splashing waterfall, A brook in the woody dimness flows Scarce twisting dreamy billows, Amid eternal greenery, here and there Brightly sparkles a cool shelter. Everywhere bright roses flower. But the maid, confounded, Is walking and not turning ’round. This enchanted splendor she would not adore; The sight of this indulgence is disgusting her. In the enchanted garden she saunters, Everywhere she wanders Giving free rein to her tears; Her doleful glance she uprears To inexorable skies. Suddenly were lighted up her eyes, And to her lips she puts her finger: A horrible decision in her mind lingers. A high bridge above the waterfall Is spread above cliffs. With despairing soul Shedding tears, She comes near, Upon the water casts her eyes, She beats her breast and cries: To drown in the waves she decides... Still, into the water she will not leap, But continues to wander and to weep. My beautiful Ludmila at last tires Of running in the sunlight; And her tears she dries. Weary, on the grass she doth sit, In her mind a thought: ’Tis time to eat. Suddenly by shadows of a tent Ludmila from on high is overspanned; A splendid dinner before her is laid, A knife and fork of crystal made. Amid silence, from the branches An invisible harp is heard to play. Surprised, the captive Princess In her heart does say, “Away from love, in bondage, I desire not to remain alive. O thou, whose passionate homage Hath me of all my joy deprived, Know thy ruthless power Ludmila doth defy; Ludmila knows how to die. I care not for thy tents, For thy songs, nor for thy banquets, I will not eat, nor even hear. All life I will pine here Away. I will die in thy gardens, in tears. Thus she spake, But notwithstanding all this, Sat down beneath the trees From the relished banquet to partake. Ludmila at last Is finished with her repast. The tent takes flight, The harp, and all else disappear… Again, as before, all is quiet, And Ludmila in her tears From grove to grove alone strides. The moon, the queen of the night, in the skies Appears. Darkness draws near from all sides. Tired, the Princess on the hill lies. Suddenly in the air she doth rise, Carried by a power tender As a breeze, which in the palace doth surrender Her. Setting her down with care Amid the aromas of the evening roses, There again on the bed she lies… Pitifully, sorrowfully, she cries, And amid her tears reposes. Three maids again make their appearance. They get busy around the Princess, Her gorgeous attire undress. But their imposed silence, and their somber glance Betray their pity for the maid, Their powerless reproach to fate. With tender hands The drowsy Princess they undress. Her ladyship In nightshirt, white as snow, Reclines in sleep… With a sign the maidens now Retire and are seen no more. Someone quietly then opens the door, Scarcely breathing, Ludmila trembles as a leaf. The momentary sleep takes leave, Her fingers are cold; and her eyes betray but fearfulness. She redoubles then her wakefulness. Silent, she eyes the distance... All is dark—naught but deathlike silence, Only the beating of her heart she hears. And as if the stillness whispers all her fears, Suddenly here they are coming…coming to her bed The Princess in the pillows doth hide... Suddenly—how fearful, indeed,— A noise is heard. A sudden light Illumines the darkness of the night. Proudly stepping, a throng of slaves With bare sabers glittering, Decorous, pompous on pillows A graybeard they are carrying: A dwarf hunchback, Stretching his neck, They bring in with measured step. To his shaved head, donned with a night cap, Belongs the beard. To her bed he neared. Suddenly the Princess from her bed Leaped: the dwarf’s night cap With a speedy hand she grasped; A trembling fist she clasped, And so loudly she screamed That she deafened all the slaves. Fearful then, the dwarf esteemed, In haste his ears he closed, More than Ludmila he trembled. He desired to run, but was entangled In his beard: fell and almost strangled, Stood up and fell over again; and in great horror Swarms of slaves trampling, Running, pushing, making noise galore, On the run the dwarf catch. The esteemed dwarf they fetch, And they carry him out, his beard unweaving, His cap meanwhile with Ludmila leaving: But what hath become of our knight? Rememberest thou the sudden meeting at night? Take thy speedy brush, Orłowski,[13] draw The night, the combat beneath the glow Of the moon’s flickering light. The knights desperately fight With rage their breasts are compressed The spears are cast far away; The quivers stained. In the fray The swords were shattered. The shields broken, and their fragments scattered. Each other in a fit of vehemence they embrace. Their horses, beneath, black dust do raise. The combatants entwined remain, As though by device they are chained To the saddles. Their limbs with rage come together; One foe’s breast upon the other Entwined, are torpid growing; Along their veins flame flowing; They rock, and at last are growing Weaker. Suddenly enraged. Our hero, with his iron hands, From the saddle his adversary disengaged; Above the river him suspends And headlong sends Rogday into the waves. “Perish!” he doth cry, “My cruel envier, die!” My dear reader, thou hast guessed, Whom Ruslan hath surpassed. He was the searcher after bloody wars... Ludmila he was seeking as his bride. Along Dnieper’s shores Stern Rogday, Kiev's pride, Then sought the rival of his maid. He overtook him; but strength, The votary of war, betrayed, And Russia’s glory, our ancient, And daring brave, in the desert died. I heard a rusalka Rogday espied And in her cold fingers carried him away. Avidly him she embraced, And with him to the bottom of the river raced A long time since, The Dnieper’s shores were portraying The huge ghost of the knight, And oft in a dark night, in sight Of scared fishermen, Rogday was beheld straying.
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Canto III In vain to enviers were ye forbidden, In vain for friends did I disguise, — My verse! Ye remained not hidden From the jealous and the angry eyes. Already a critic, to oblige these, Asked me a fateful quiz: Why Ruslan’s spouse As a maiden I did espouse, As if her husband to deride? Dost thou here behold, dear reader, The black stamp of spite? Tell me, critic,—tell me, pleader, Shall I really answer thee? Blush, unfortunate; God be with thee: Blush—I’m satisfied that I was right. In modest kindness remain I quiet. Thou wilt understand, Clymene, Victim of the wearisome Hymene.[14] Thy languishing glance thou didst cast,— A fleeting tear hath thee distressed, Dropped on my verse, there left its mark, Thou blushed and then thy glance grew dark, And thou sighed…I understood thy sigh! Bold man, thy hour is nigh, Amour with self-willed vexation Commenced a vindictive conversation And thy infamous head Soon with crown of thorns be clad! The cool morning dawn shines Over the crest of the Midnight Mountains In the wonderful castle silence reigns. Chernomor, regretful, in his own chamber pines, Yawns angrily from his bed. Without a hat, In his morning gown clad; Attending to his beard, his mannerly, Obedient slaves hum. With bony comb, tenderly His long curls they comb; For sake of beauty and of fondness. To minister his moustache endless, Eastern aromas they are listing; His craft curls they are twisting. Then, God knows only wherefrom, suddenly, Into the window a winged snake comes flying In rings curling speedily, and instantly Resolved itself into Naina While, surprised, the throng I eyeing. “I greet thee,” she doth say, “Long respected brother. I knew Chernomor until this day From whatever talk, gossip uttered; But irrevocable fate United us with common hate. Danger now is threatening thee, An ill-omened cloud is hanging over thee And insulted dignity Is calling for revenge, to me.” With voice of crafty flattery The dwarf takes her hand, And says: “Wonderful maid, I am thy votary, To me thy league is dear, my friend. We will defeat the Finn’s plot. Harken! Dark snares I never feared, This is my predestined lot: Not in vain in his enchanted beard Chernomor delights. As long as the enemy’s sword doth spare His enchanted long gray hair, None of the courageous knights And none of mortals will destroy,— His a planned decoy. Ludmila will submit To me, and Ruslan surely perish.” And the somber witch: three times she did repeat “He'll perish! He’ll perish!” Thus she spake, thrice did hiss; Three times did she stamp at this, And as a snake on her way She fearfully then flew away. Dressed in vestments rich and sportive And abetted by the witch, Chernomor Resolved once more To bring to his beloved captive, His beard, submission, and his love. The bearded dwarf aided by the blessing Of Naina, set out the court to rove. Through endless rooms he was passing, But no trace of Ludmila found there. He took his guest yet further Into the laurel wood And where the rail fence stood, And at the lake and round the waterfall, The bridge, and near the arbors tall. But in no place did he find her trace. Who would dare describe his fright, His rage, his roar, his cry? Enraged, he was oblivious of daylight; And loud rang the dwarf cry: “Run, slaves, fly, And fetch Ludmila by and by. What? Are ye jesting with me? Are ye detesting me? Am I no longer feared? I’ll strangle ye all with my beard!” Reader, shall I tell to soothe thee What became of our beauty? All morning in tears she was mourning And was laughing. Terrible Chernomor She feared no more. Only his beard alone she feared. He was laughable, Chernomor, And horror never yet did last Beside a jest. She rose from bed and dressed To meet the morning rays, Unwittingly did cast her gaze In the mirror to behold her. Her golden curls she did raise From her lilylike shoulders; Her thick hair she admired, And with careless hand it plaited. And her last day’s attire In the nook awaited Her. She sighed, and dressed on the sly, And quietly began to cry. Yet all the time while she was sighing, The truthful mirror she was eying. With fancies suddenly excited, She then decided To try the hat of Chernomor. No one was there to explore, The place, and no one her to be greeting. To lovely maid of seventeen, What hat will not be fitting? Ludmila never yet had been Lazy to attire. She turned her hat Upon her brow, on side and also straight, Then backwards set it on her head And behold!—A miracle of fate! Ludmila in the mirror disappeared! She then turned it the other way again—she reappeared! “Very well, Chernomor,” She said, “Ludmila fears thee no more. The Princess the enchanter’s hat, Still blushing with great happiness, Set backward on her head. Let’s return now to our knight! Is it not a shame For hat and beard to claim Attention, and Ruslan to his own fate For us to leave? Ruslan, after cruel victory achieved, Through thick woods was making way, When suddenly perceived A wide vale extending far away Beneath the morning sky’s light. He trembled unwittingly, our knight, As before him appeared the sight Of gruesome battlefield. Here and there Were yellow bones; everywhere Were scattered armors, quivers: amid the grass And over the field Shone there a harness, There a rusted shield. In bones of hands, swords were laying A shaggy helmet, grass overgrown, And in it was a skull decaying; A champion’s skeleton struck down To the ground with his horse. Everywhere were spears and arrows Stuck into the earth. Ivy peacefully did all embrace And naught in the silence of the desert A whisper did raise. While the sun’s bright rays From its infinite height Soon the Vale of Death cast their light. The knight sighed; With sorrowful eyes he beheld the sight Of the field. “O field! O field! Who over thee spread These bones of the dead? What heroes on thee camped? What mettled horses on thee stamped In the last hour of the fateful combat? What sky the prayers heard? Why art thou covered with the pall of death? And why, with grass of mute oblivion, is earth Around thee girth?—Perchance One day oblivion will me entrance; Perchance on a mute hill One day will be dug a grave for me; And the loud strings of singers will be still, And no one will at all remember me.” The field he then explored... Our hero was in need of a good sword, And even of a cuirass.—Our knight Hath been disarmed in his last fight. He traveled round the fields Amid the shrubs, forsaken bones, Amid the heaps of rusting shields, Swords, helmets, scattered among the stones; Arms for himself he was seeking… In the steppe awoke a rumbling and a creaking; A jangling, and a clanking and a buzzing. A shield he lifted without choosing. Found helmets, ringing horns,—but yet no sword: The whole battlefield he scoured around, But nowhere was a sword found... Many swords, but all small and light,— But no weakling was our handsome knight— Unlike the knights of this day. A spear he lifted in his hands— Something with which to play, With quiver his breast he dressed, And further rode along his way. Over field paled red sundown; and soon Above the sleepy leas Spread the smoky fleece Of the mists. In heaven rose the silver moon. On a somber pathway thoughtfully abiding, Ruslan journeyed riding On his horse. Then suddenly stood still; As through the mists he beheld an enormous hill, And heard something snoring terribly... Nearer he came to the hill…nearer, and he heard A sound as though the hill was breathing heavily. Ruslan gazed at it without fear, His dauntless soul was undismayed. But, moving his ear, The fearful horse grew obstinate; He shook his head; his mane rose upright. Suddenly lighted by the moonlight The hill grew bright; And gazing through the dark, the knight Then saw some wonder facing him... May I describe the scene? ‘Twas with a live, masculine head he met; Enormous eyes were still with sleep oppressed; Above him rocked a cast helmet; The feathers on his dark crest Like the shadows were they straying, In a horrible trance Over the steppe were swaying. The head, standing there in silence, Like a sentinel in somber desert, To Ruslan had appeared— A misty enormity by someone reared, Surprised and disconcerted, The knight resolved to end his sleep. He rode around the heap And gazed at it right close. And with his spear he tickled the giant’s nose. The head opened its eyes and frowned, Sneezed, and yawned. The steppe shook; a storm arose; From the moustache and the brows And from the lashes rose a flock of owls. Awoke the silent woods; the dust arose; The echo sneezed; the mettled horse Neighed and flew away. Our knight bold Scarcely to his seat could hold, And after him—a thundering noise. “Whereto, silly knight?” cried a voice. “Go back, I am not jesting; If you come once more to me, I will swallow thee,— And with thy body will be repasting.” Ruslan despisingly surveyed The head; his steed with his bridle stayed. “Why dost thou disturb me?” The head cried: “Some guest fate sent to me! Harken: disappear thou, get away, fly! I want to sleep, and now it’s night Good-bye!” But the famous knight When he heard such disrespectful insult In angry gravity hath called: “Be silent, empty head! I heard an old refrain: ‘A wide forehead, But scarce of brain.’ I’m riding on my way, And make no noise, But if I charge on thee You surely will fare worse!” Then filled with rage, Constrained with spite, The head grew savage: Bloodshot eyes commenced to light As though a flame ablaze: Foaming lips were trembling; From his ears steam was ascending; And he with all his might, Set out to blow at the knight. In vain the horse closed his eyes, Bent his head, strained his breast, And through the storm and rain Strove to keep abreast. Blinded, struck by fear, he fled again Into the field to rest. The knight attempted to turn back, And once more was beaten back, And after him with all his might The head, like a mad man laughing, the knight With his jeers he did exasperate: “Stand still knight! Why art thou running? Wait, Knight, thou wilt break thy neck. Fear not rider, come back. Oblige now; strike one blow, Before with battered horse you part.” Thus the head with his tongue was chiding, Deeply in his heart, his disappointment hiding, Ruslan threatened with his spear At the head’s sneer. Suddenly at the head’s tongue cold steel He struck full force at one blow... Blood from the enraged hill Like a river began to flow... Gnawing steel and growing pale, Surprised, enraged, and dazed, The head upon the Prince gazed... Thus at times on our stage, Some poor pupil of Melpomene[15] Whom sudden whistling doth enrage, His discouraged mien Grows pale; he forgets his part; Head bent, he stammers, trembles; In face of jeering crowd, he loses heart. Availing of a chance, in haste To the head, who with surprise grew Dumb, like a hawk the champion flew. With stern arm raised He struck with heavy glove, full force The cheek of the jeering head… The dewy grass did instantly turn red, And bloody foam upon the ground was spread; And rocking, the head Turned over, rolling, jumping, Hid cast helmet thumping; And underneath upon uncovered ground The champion a shining sword found. Lighted with great joy, our knight Caught the sword and to the head outright With cruel design in his mind, came near, Bent to cut the head’s nose and ears. Ruslan already swung his broad sword, When suddenly an appeal he heard: The head to him was praying. The sword aside he quietly was laying, Anger in him dying,— His heart was subdued with prayers. Thus ice melts in the valleys, When ’tis touched by midday rays. “Thou hast made me wise,” The head to Ruslan sighs: “Thy strong arm proved to me I have been guilty before thee. From this day I will be obedient to thee. But be thou magnanimous, knight, Have pity on me. I, too, was once a gallant knight, In the wars with knights of a foreign land There never was one who could against me stand. And I would have been happy, were it not for one other: My rival, and younger brother, Crafty, cruel Chernomor, Who our family did disgrace. Born dwarf with a beard, My size, since earliest days, He hated and he feared. I ever was a bit plain, Though tall; while he of foolish size Was like a devil wise, And like a devil of cruel vein. Then to my woe The wonderful beard of my foe In magic power is attired. As long as his beard is entire, He fears no man on earth, And by no adversary will he be hurt. Once he said to me: ‘Brother, I will to thee a mystery disclose. To save ourselves from our foes… I found, in a dark book ’twas expounded, That behind the Eastern Mount, By the quiet seashore, hidden under rocks, Beneath a deep cellar under locks, Is stowed away a sword. I learned of late (Witchcraft to me disclosed) That by the will of hostile fate This sword one day will be known to us And it will vanquish the two of us: Thy head cut off, my beard defeat. Most urgently we need To gain that sword the crafty spirit hid.’ ‘Why dost thou suffer woe?’ I said, ‘I am prepared for this sword to go, To any far off desert Even to the very edge of earth.’ I placed a pine upon my shoulder, And for the sake of advice upon the other I lifted my cruel brother. Thus I ventured forth upon the road With a courageous heart. I did stride and stride. Thank God, as if the prophesy to spite, All things were right at the start. Behind the distant mountains We discovered the fateful cellar, And I demolished it with my bare hands, And found the sword that had been hidden there. But, no good had fate desired. A quarrel then arose,— I admit there was good cause— Who should this sword acquire? We argued; then to curse began, But in the end A snare discovered the crafty man. He was silent, as though his heart had softened. ‘Let’s not dispute in vain,’ Said, gravely, Chernomor, ‘Friendship we may put to shame. Wisdom councils peace forevermore. We'll leave it all to fate To decide. Let both stretch on the ground, (What will not invent hate!) And who first a sound shall perceive Should the wonderful sword receive,’ He said, and stretched upon the earth. I lay down beside him. I heard no sound. I thought: I will deceive him; But I, myself, was found Cruelly deceived. He, faithless, silently Rose on his toes over me. He swung the sword... As a storm whistled the sharp sword. I had no time aught to behold, And my head from my shoulders rolled. My head with the enchanter’s power, Life’s spirit hath retained. My skeleton with thorns overgrown In a distant country hath remained, There in dust, decayed, unburied; But the cruel dwarf my head carted Away to this desert land, And ‘til today I guard it faithfully The sword thou holdest in thy hand, O knight! Fate ever guards thee, Take this sword and God will reward thee. And if the midget thou shalt meet by chance Then of him take revenge Of his cruelty and mockery. I will then be happy this world to leave, And I will thee thy slap forgive.”
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Canto IV Every day from sleep arising, The almighty God I praise Because now-a-days Sorcerers no more are snares devising, And therefore—God be glorious— Marriages are safe with us. Their snares now are no longer dangerous To our wives and marriage laws, But there are enchanters Of another sort, whom I despise: Smiles, blue eyes, A sweet voice…Friends, Trust them not, for they are crafty, And no attention shalt thou grant To them. Permit you not their poison to enchant, And to thee lasting peace our God will grant. Poetry’s celebrated genius, Singer of the sights mysterious:— Of love, and devils, and the lofty skies: Eternal habitant of graves and paradise. Forgive me, northern Orpheus, If in my entertaining story, The lyre of my self-willed muse In beautiful lies will thee accuse. My friend, thou hast heard how of old A murderer from sorrow, a vow uttered, And to the devil he sold His soul, and the souls of his virgin daughters. And then with prayer, faith and repentance deep, He found a holy man as comforter; How he died, and how they fell asleep— His virgin daughters. It captivates and terrifies The scene of these somber nights, The sombrous visions, the somber devil, And God’s anger, and the sinner evil, His virtuous daughter’s beauty... We were moved, for them, to pity, We cried; Their jagged castle we espied; Their quiet captivity we loved, Their quiet dream… Deep in our hearts we blessed Vadim. Their awakening we then perceived, And on their father’s grave with them we grieved.... Or...is it possible we were deceived? And forsooth, Am I telling thee the truth? The young Ratmir, flying on his horse Directed southward his course. He thought: “Before sundown I’Il overtake Ruslan’s loving bride.” But the day into night was grown, And before him the knight Only distant mists descried Above the river. Naught but desert space in sight. The last ray of sunlight The woody summits painted bright, Past dark cliffs he did ride Searching a lodging for the night. Before him he saw a valley lie; And above the cliffs a castle rise. Jagged walls lifting spires to the skies, Dark turrets at each corner, And a maid along the wall, all alone, By sundown lighted, wandered As though above the sea a solitary swan. And the maiden’s song was scarcely heard In deep silence above the earth. "Upon the field the darkness of the night, From the waves the cold wind rose. ’Tis late, young handsome knight, Hide thyself among us. Indulgence, rest, thou wilt find at night; Noise and banquets during day. Pray, our call answer and obey; Come to us, young handsome knight. Thou wilt find beauties bright, Tender kisses, tender greetings, Come to us for secret meetings. Come to us, young handsome knight. At dawn, at morning bright, We'll fill thy cup before thy quitting, Come to us for peaceful meeting; Come to us, young handsome knight. Upon the fields the darkness of the night, From the waves the cold wind rose. ’Tis late, young handsome knight, Hide thyself among us.” She’s enticing; she is singing, And the Khan is answering her call; The Khan already is beneath the wall. Pretty maidens ring about him With friendly speech surrounding; Their captivating gaze, The maids take not from his face. In the palace of the hermits gay, The Khan is entering. Two maids lead the horse away, Another takes the helmet winged. In a nook are stored The shield and sword, And the shining cuirass. One maid the forged steel unlaces. An attire of indulgence replaces His stern warlike dress. The youth then is following The maids to a magnificent Russian bath. Smoky waves, from the silver tubs are flowing, Above the floor are spread. Cold, gushing fountains splash. On a dazzling carpet our Khan is lying, Transparent steam above him is flying. Half-naked beauties cast their glances, Full of indulgence, And with tender silent care, The Khan ensnare. They crowd—a playful throng— One maid over the knight is swaying Birch branches long, Aromatic steam she’s spraying. Another, with the sap of the spring roses Refreshes his limbs bare, In aromas floatingly reposes His dark and curly hair. Carried away by his rapture He thinks no more of Ludmila’s capture. He no more remembers her. Overcome with sensuous desire, He is sweltering, Passions him inspire, And his heart is melting. When he finished his bath Ratmir, in velvet dressed, sat To a banquet in a circle of the beautiful maids. I am no Homer: he alone may praise In elevated verse the banquets Of the Grecian bands, Foaming cups, and noisy camps. More fitting is for me To imitate Parny,[16] With careless lyre to praise Nakedness within the shadows of the night. Love’s tender kisses, beauty’s grace, A castle lighted by the moonlight. I see a castle in the darkness of the night. Where the impassioned, tired knight Overcome, is a dream enjoying. His head and cheeks are glowing, His open lips a kiss invite, He’s slowly, passionately breathing, Maids whose charms of love incite He beholds in dreams fleeting. The door opens in silence deep, The jealous floor creaks beneath A maiden’s hurrying feet. Lighted by the moonlight she appears Before him. The winged dream disappears- Awake…Thou handsome knight! Awake…’Tis thy night! Awake…Thou will deplore each moment lost! She comes near...he abides In sensuous dreams engrossed... The cover from his bed glides, Before him stands the maiden, breathless, As though Diana, faithless, Contemplating a sleeping shepherd… With deep passion stirred, Overcome, she trembles; And her head she bends Over him. Her knees rest Against his solitary bedstead. A kiss interrupts the dreams of our knight In the deep silence of the night. My virgin lyre, my friend, Became silent beneath my hand. Her timid voice no longer wilt thou hear. Let’s leave the young Ratmir. I dare not continue my song... Ruslan doth demand, Our attention: Ruslan, the warrior strong, Ruslan our truthful friend. Exhausted with his savage fight, The knight beneath the head lay down, Enjoying sleep all night. Erewhile, the bright dawn Rose on the horizon With its morning playful rays Painting gold the shaggy face. Ruslan mounted his mettled horse, And like an arrow again sped on his course, Withered leaves are falling from the trees, Yellow painting the meadow’s grounds, In the woods the wind with its whizz, The singing voices of the birds drowns, Somber mists the naked hills embrace: Winter is near. Ruslan, on his way, Courageously doth race On his horse, on the road to the distant north. Each day New dangers he has to face: Here he contends with a hostile champion, There with a witch defiant, Then again with a ruthless giant. In the moonlight oft he sees, As though enchanted, dreaming at her ease, A rusalka, enshrouded by the mists, On the solitary branches sits, And with crafty smile on her lips Though saying to him no word Still with him does flirt. But, guarded by a secret purpose, Ruslan God’s protection enjoys. He listens to no voice, He is distracted by no scene, Ludmila alone inspiring him. Meanwhile by the enchanter undetected, By his hat protected, In no place espied, Where does our Ludmila hide? In the garden she ever saunters To her friend she wanders In her dreams; on their speedy wing She at times to distant Kiev races And her father and her brothers there embraces; With her youthful friends, in her imagination, Mirthful merry-making she enjoys. With her nurse she does converse, Forgotten her captivity and separation. But suddenly all her dreams are gone, And the Princess again sorrowful, alone, Captivity has to face. The infatuated murderer and his slaves, Day and night her capture frame. Scour everywhere for her and call her name, But in vain! Oft with them Ludmila playing. In the enchanted woods doth appear Without a hat there straying. And calls out loudly, “Here, here!” All rush at her sound, But invisible, aside With silent step she bounds, And from their hands escapes. Each hour at different place Is discovered her instant trace: Here golden fruit flutter, And from noisy branches disappear, There sparkling drops of fountain-water On the trampled meadows suddenly appear. “Surely,”—all are thinking “The Princess is eating now or drinking.” On the top of a cedar, or birch she does hide Exulting in a few moments sleep at night. Tears from her eyes are often rolling, Ruslan’s name she fervently is calling. Overcome with woe and fits of yearning, At times before the dawn of the morning, Against a tree she rests her head; A brief sleep her heart makes glad, And in the early morning she does stroll To bathe her at the waterfall... The dwarf from his palace stand Himself once saw: how by an unseen hand The water was splashed and sprinkled there below. In her customary sorrow She wanders all day long, And in the evening is heard her song. Often amid the flowers suddenly is found, A garland dropped upon the ground: At times a shred of Persian shawl appears Or a kerchief wet with tears. Worn out by the ravage Of his cruel passion, blinded with rage, Chernomor was with one thought engrossed: Ludmila he would make his own. Thus the blacksmith of Lemnos,[17] While accepting a bridegroom’s crown From Cytherea,[18] spread On her path a net, Uncovering thus to the jeering Gods Cypris’s[19] tender plots.[20] One early morning hour The Princess while at rest within a marble arbor Through the trees’ swinging branches, chanced Upon the flowered meadows to cast her glance Suddenly she heard one talk: “My dear, dear bride,”—and Ruslan she descried— His features, his figure, his walk, His face pale, on his hip a wound, His eyes with tears were bright. Dismayed and astounded, “Ruslan, Ruslan!” she cried. Fearfully her husband she embraced But suddenly the ghost was effaced, And the Princess trapped in a net, Found herself. And from her head Upon the earth dropped her hat, And she someone heard rejoice: “She’s mine,” roared a stern voice And Chernomor she then beheld standing nigh… The Princess sorrowfully sighed, Fell unconscious; and wonderful dreams Embraced her with their soothing wings. — What will now be the end? A horrible scene alarms! The enchanter’s audacious hand Caresses Ludmila’s charms. Will he be happy to the end Of his days? But lo! Here comes a defender A horn sounds A formidable foe the dwarf taunts! Terror-stricken, the enchanter Covers Ludmila’s head with his enchanted hat But the horn ever calling keeps on howling louder With defiance the murderer is greeting Casting his beard around his shoulder, Chernomor flew away for the sudden meeting.
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Canto V O! how my Princess is lovely, Modest and grateful! To her husband she is faithful True, at times she is bewitching…so what? Still lovelier she is for that. Each hour her beauty I adore, Each hour entertains me with charms rare. Surely then it is not fair Her with Delphine,[21] stern maid, to compare. One hath good fortune’s gift: to entice Men’s hearts and eyes. Her speech, her smiles, The flame of love doth cause to rise. The other under her petticoat is a Hussar Grant her but moustache and spurs: He’s happy, whom beneath the evening star Ludmila, in a silent place adores And her “friend” she calls; And trust me, happy is one Whom Delphine is leaving all alone And still more If he doth not at all know her. However, that doth not matter. But who challenged the enchanter To a last and desperate encounter? Who was he whom the murderer so feared? Ruslan, inspired with revenge, At the abode of Chernomor appeared. His loud horn howled like a storm. His impatient steed Dug into the snow with his feet, Suddenly Ruslan’s helmet was hit By invisible hands. And he saw that over him soared The dwarf with upraised terrible sword. Ruslan covered him with shield, struck out... But Chernomor rose to the cloud And there disappeared; but soon again from on high On the Prince he darted from the sky. The agile knight quickly galloped off; But carried off by the forceful blow The dwarf toppled over upon the snow. Ruslan from his steed then did dismount And the wizard he pinned to the ground, And on his beard gained a firm hold. The enchanter, writhing in despair, Rose, with Ruslan, again in the air. While, sorrowful, the steed them beheld; They well nigh attained the clouds Yet to the beard Ruslan desperately held. They soared over somber wood, over snowy shrouds, Over mountains steep, over oceans deep. From exertion Ruslan was growing torpid. Yet to the beard of the murderer He held with all his strength. Chernomor at last weakened in blue air, Surprised at the Russian’s might, at length He said thus to Ruslan: “Harken, knight, I respect thy youthful might. I will no more harm thee. I will forget all. From today I will obedient be. Come down to earth, implore thee.” “Be silent crafty kite,” Interrupted him our knight. With Chernomor The abductor of Ruslan’s bride All agreement I debar. My stern sword will revenge the thief. Thou mightest soar even to the midnight star Still thou wilt part with thy beard in grief.” Fear overwhelmed Chernomor; Silent, disappointed and lorn, — In vain, his beard he was shaking: Ruslan the beard was not forsaking. He carried Ruslan two days. On third for mercy he was praying. “O knight, I resign to thy grace. Command, I will alight at any place.” “Art vanquished, at length,” Ruslan replied,—“Art now in fright. Submit to Ruslan’s strength:— Bring me to Ludmila, my bride.” Chernomor submitted; All the demands of the knight he conceded. And instantly Ruslan himself found Among the Midnight Mountains, on the ground. Our knight firmly in one hand The sword grasped. Striking at the beard with all his strength, He cut it off like a bunch of grass, “Know our might,” triumphantly he cried. “Where is thy splendor now, bird of prey? Behold! Thy strength is fading away.” Upon his helmet then he bound the hair gray, And, whistling, called his horse. The overjoyed horse came flying Ruslan, the midget, into his valet forced, Then behind his saddle tying. Seeing Ruslan from the mountain thus depart With the beard from his helmet flying (A token of fateful victory), Swarms of slaves, in a great hurry, And throngs of timid maiden slaves, Like ghosts to every place Ran to hide. Ruslan set out to wander Through many a proud chamber. His lovely bride he called But only the scoffing echo squalled. Wroth and impatient, Into the garden he opened the door, But nowhere he found a trace of her. He cast his eyes around, But the castle all empty he found. He set out. searching through the arbors, And along the river shores, And along the waterfall. Ludmila’s name he did shout But no one answered to his call. The knight was overwhelmed by sudden fear, A distressing thought within his mind arose: Captivity, sorrows,— Perchance, he threw her into the river… He bent his head, his mind grew dark; He turned lifeless as a rock; Motionless he stood, in somber thought engrossed. It seemed that the wild flame of love did grip Our saddened knight, as if the Princess’ ghost Approached his trembling lip. Suddenly wild, desperate, The Prince set out; he rushed Through the garden, Ludmila’s name did shout, And with his sword all that came his way he crushed; From the hills the rocks tore down; The bridge in the river he was hauling; The arbor trees were falling;— The whole field he laid bare:— Naught at all would he spare. A thunderous howl rose from the earth. The distant hills the thunder heard. The beautiful countryside he laid waste: With his stern whistling sword everything he defaced. Suddenly a chance swing brought down Ludmila’s hat upon the lawn: The farewell present of Chernomor. Witchcraft instantly lost its power, And Ludmila in her net he espied He dared not trust his sight! With a shout of joy he greeted his bride. He tore at her net, And kissing her hands and head, Tears of love and joy he shed. He called her—but she remained engrossed In dreams; her eyes and lips were closed. The sensuous dreams did still entice The maid. Ruslan dared not take away his eyes From her. Passionately he gazed At her; her young breasts he embraced. Once again sorrow overwhelmed him. Suddenly he heard a voice— The voice of the charitable Finn, “Take courage, prince; rejoice! With sleeping Ludmila homeward ride. With new joy thy heart fill. Be truthful to love, honor abide. God’s thunder will strike the evil, And peace on earth will eternalize. Go with her to bright Kiev, and there the Princess Before thee will rise From her enchanted caress.” Ruslan with these words was brought to life. He lifted in his embrace his wife. With his precious weight, his own bride, He stepped down from the steep height And into the vale he descended, Tenderly carrying in his embrace his friend. Ruslan, silent, with the dwarf gray Behind the saddle rode on his way To Kiev. Fresh as spring sunrise Ludmila in his embrace lies; Her head was resting on the champion’s shoulder. Tenderly he held her. Her hair in ringlets the wind was waving. How oft her breasts were heaving! And how oft her calm face Like an instant rose was gleaming! Secret dreams to her embrace The image of Ruslan were bringing. Often on her lips his name was fleeting, While in enchanted forgetfulness she was breathing. He heard her sigh, beheld her tears, The smile that on her lips lingered, The excitement of her sleepy fingers, A long time over vale and mountain, In bright day and somber night Journeyed our faithful knight. But his native land was yet distant. And while his sleeping wife he bore, Evil temptation from his mind he was dispatching, Was he really but a martyr And was his wife only watching? Had he really only in his thought Found inspiration? The monk who truly wrote For posterity this narration, Assures us truly in that,— And I believe it. Without sharing, Sorrowful and coarse is love’s enjoyment. We are happy only when we are sharing Together our blissful, joyful moments. The sleep of our faithful Princess Was different than thine, O shepherdess! In spring, once, in a solitary nook Beneath the tree’s shadows on the grass, There I recollect a peaceful brook, One time, in evening, Lydia’s dreaming, A shady grove, My first kiss of love, Light fleeting, and trembling. Hath not scattered, my friends Lydia’s sleepy patience… But friends, I babble nonsense. Why should I now recover this memory? Its enjoyment and the maiden whom once I did adore Do not interest me anymore. My mind is preoccupied now With Ruslan, Ludmila, and Chernomor! Before him curled a valley At intervals with spruce grown; A black crest the round And distant hill did crown Extending high Above, far into the bright blue sky, Here the merited steed increased his prancing. Before them towered the wondrous head; upon them glancing His pitiful, enormous eyes. Hair like the woods, above high forehead Seemed reaching far into the skies, From his cheeks, pale as lead, Life’s spirit fled; His lips were half open; his enormous teeth were gnashing. The last day was thus distressing,— The colossal head already was half dead. The knight with Ludmila arrived There with the midget tied Behind the saddle. “Good morning, Head,” Ruslan called, “Thy traitor before thee I hold— Thy crafty brother, Chernomor, ‘Thou mayst see once more.” At the Prince’s proud word The head bestirred, And opened his enormous eyes As if from deep sleep he did rise. Horribly he sighed. His cruel brother in his horror recognized. A red flame through his cheeks flashed, His great dying enormous eyes Their last rage expressed... In confusion, in deadly tremor, With bared teeth gnashing At his brother Chernomor, With confused reproach he was lashing… His long sufferance ended, From his face at that moment Life disappeared. His breath weakened, And his glance was extinguished forevermore. Soon Chernomor and the knight Witnessed his last death-tremor And saw him rest in eternal night. The dwarf who at the saddle hung, Feared to breathe and no comment made: With dark witchcraft’s tongue, Zealously to the devils he prayed. In the thick woods, amid cool shadows, An unnamed brooklet flows And there upon the sand A bent hovel stands. With thick pine the slope is crowned, By a hedge of reeds ’tis fenced round. The rill with slow waves splashes; And, dreamily, the reeds it washes. It seemed as if upon these shores Peace since creation reigned supreme. God’s world here was so quiet and serene. Ruslan halted there his mettled horse. The spreading daylight The woods and shores of the rill crowned, With its rays bright. Ruslan lay his wife upon the ground, Sat on the meadow then and sighed, Gazing sorrowfully about, Suddenly he saw above the river float, The humble sail of a boat: A lone fisherman, his net spread Above the waves. Bending over his oars He silently approached the woody shores, To the peaceful hovel drawing near. On the threshold then appeared A young maiden. She stood in sunrise, With her luxurious hair Loosely streaming in the air. A tranquil glance was gleaming in her eyes, Her lovely breast and shoulders were bare,— All was lovely and captivating in her... They embraced each other, Sat down beside the cool water. And an hour of carefree rest And of love quite unnoticeably passed For them. But whom, to his surprise In this fisherman sitting so near To him did Ruslan recognize? The young Khazar Khan Ratmir! In love and bloody wars His rival and his comrade! Ratmir, on those solitary shores, His military glory and Ludmila had betrayed! For all time he estranged The love of a tender friend. Our hero then approached the hermit. The other saw the knight and, deeply stirred, Ran immediately Ruslan to meet. A joyful cry was heard, Each other they embraced. “What do I see?” Ruslan phrased His surprise. “What compelled thee in this place to hide, To forsake all dangers and thy military pride And the sword which thy courage glorified?” “My friend,” the fisherman replied, “My soul of military glory is long tired; ‘Tis but a vain and ruinous ghost. All craving for the bloody wars I lost; Innocent, diversion, trust Thou my word, love and a tranquil grove On this unperturbed site of the earth Are now to me a hundred times more worth. I will pay no more Tribute to the madness of war, With true happiness am I blessed. For the sake of my lovely friend I have disowned all my past. And even Ludmila’s love I have disdained.” “Courteous Khan, I am glad,” Ruslan said. “Ludmila is here with me.” “Where is she? With thee? Permit me to see her...but no! It will seem bad... My friend is all of life and joy to me. He gave me happiness and bliss, and above All other things peace and her pure love... In vain they promised happiness To me the lips of the enchantresses. Twelve maidens had me adored, And for the sake of her from their happy castle I fled, And in these shadows my heavy sword Laid down, and my shaggy helmet. All my glory I disclaimed, I forgave all my foes on earth; A peaceful hermit I remained Alone, since in this happy desert… With thee my lovely friend, For thou my friend art The light of my heart...” The lovely shepherdess calmly the comrades eyed, Giving heed to candid talk of friends. Upon the Khan she reposed her lovely glance And filled with bliss, she sighed. Thus fisherman and knight their thoughts did share ‘Til late at night were sitting On the bank, their hearts laid bare, Hours unnoticeably were fleeting, The moon arose. At the approaching night, All seemed quiet. Ruslan with a blanket his bride Covered, and mounted his stout Steed. The silent Khan thoughtful followed After him as in a dream. For Ruslan lovingly he wished great glory And happiness and victory; And with proud memories of his past years, And at times with a sorrowful thought His mind was fraught. Why hath not fortune and fate My unsteady lyre made But heroic deeds to praise? And with it (not yet known to the world) to relate Love and friendship of the old days? Poet of sorrowful truth, O muse, Why need I to posterity narrate Evil, secret wiles, and hate, And the faithless with my song accuse? Of the underserving contender, I am narrating His quest for glory, terminating: Alone, unknown, in the desert stagnating, Farlaf, hidden; Naina was awaiting. The solemn hour came. To him arrived the spiteful dame. “Go and saddle thy horse,” She said. And into a black cat treacherous She instantly was changed. Farlaf his steed did gird; Fearfully behind Naina he was going. Along a somber footpath, into the desert Wood through dark of night, he was her following. The silent vale sleeps Dressed in evening mists. The moon in darkness runs about And hides behind each passing cloud; And light bright and fleeting, At times casts upon the mound Where somber Ruslan is sitting Near the sleeping Princess stretched upon the ground. Over him floats somber dreams Waiving sleep with their cold wings. His head is bent over Ludmila’s feet, And gazing at the maid with misty eyes, Languishing wearily, he sighs. Over his tired head slumber creeps: Overcome at length, beside the Princess he sleeps. And a prophetic dream the hero sees: The Princess standing above a precipice Pale, motionless, overcome with fears. But suddenly Ludmila disappears. Ruslan is alone above the abyss, A familiar voice and sighs From beneath he hears, And after his wife he flies. Then suddenly before him appears Vladimir, surrounded by twelve sons, Within a circle of gray-haired champions In his high hall of audience. He sees a throng of the invited valiants, ‘Round the warlike table all are sitting And angry is the Prince and still is grieving As on the day when Ruslan was leaving. All are quiet; are scarcely breathing— Daring not the silence to remove. Stilled is the joyful noise of guests, And ‘round the table doth not move The foaming cup. He sees amid the guests Rogday, who in combat was by him defeated Alive and at the table seated, With his foaming glass clinking Joyfully his mead he’s drinking And heeds not the astonished Ruslan. Ruslan beholds the young Khan, And many a foe, and many a friend... He hears the rapid sound of dulcimer ringing And the speech of Boyan, the eloquent, Who of the heroes’ diversions is singing. Overcome with horror and surprise, Ruslan suddenly beholds young Farlaf bringing Ludmila to the hall within. But the old Prince doth not rise, His head in sorrow bent, silently he doth abide, The boyars and all the princes. Deep in their hearts their feelings hide And remain in unmoved quiescence. Suddenly all things are effaced: Cold death our hero doth embrace, Fearful, shedding tears, he thinks That these are naught else but illusive dreams. But the ill-omened dreams to end Alas! already was beyond his strength. The moon scarcely shines o’er the crests of the mountains, The somber wood still darker grows. Over vale a deadly silence reigns. The betrayer comes near, riding on his horse. He beholds a meadow by the moonlight lit, He sees a somber mound: Ruslan sleeping at Ludmila’s feet, His horse trampling around, Suddenly the witch in mists doth disappear Farlaf fearfully draws near. His heart is beating fast, he trembles, The reins drop from his lifeless hands. He unsheathes his sword And ready is the knight, To cut in two upon the sward. The racer scents his foe in fright And neighs; the ground his foot is breaking In vain. Ruslan, not waking, With horrible dreams is distressed Like a heavy weight those dreams rest On him. Encouraged by the witch’s word, The betrayer three times plunges his sword Into Ruslan’s heart, pinning him to earth; And then runs hurriedly, fearfully away To Kiev with his precious prey. The unconscious Ruslan all the night In darkness reposed beneath the mound. Hours passed. The blood without respite Was flowing from his inflamed wound. At morning he opened up his misty eyes, Painfully, and weakly groaned With effort he rose from the ground, Bent his warrior’s head And then again unconscious fell—without breath.
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Canto VI Thou dost command me, my tender friend, Upon my careless lyre, the legends Of old times-to sing, And to the faithful muse a sacrifice to bring Hours of relieving rest. Lovely friend, thou knowest From fickle gossip in flight, Thy friend in beatitudes delights; Forgot with solitary labor to aspire The sounds of his precious lyre. Unaccustomed to exertion, I today Am with indulgence carried away. I breathe with glory—and with thee, Inattentive to the call of my vocation. The genius of dreams and inspiration Hath forsaken me, Thirst of pleasure and love Alone my heart doth not move, But thou sayest thou lovest the stories Of love, tradition’s glories; The champion, Ludmila, thou dost adore; Vladimir, the witch and Chernomor. The Finn’s faithful sorrows Thy imagination occupied; Listening to my gossip light, With thy smile thou oft wert dreaming; But thy tender eyes Yet more tender often on thy bard were beaming. Thy enraptured friend follows thy advice: He kneels submissive at thy feet And his songs for thee he doth repeat Again he touches idle strings And of the youthful knight, to thee he sings. But what have I said? Yes, what was Ruslan doing? On the field he’s lying dead, And his blood is no more flowing. ‘The eager raven over him flies. No longer does his bright horn sound; His idle armor’s strewn upon the ground, And upon the earth his shaggy helmet lies. In a circle ’round Ruslan, the horse Constantly was keeping course. Sorrowful, he bent down his proud head, From his eyes all light had fled. No longer now his golden mane he waved, No longer was he frolicking; but grave, For Ruslan patiently was waiting. But Ruslan lies unconscious and not waking: With cold sleep he is chained unto the ground, And it will yet be long before his shield will sound. And Chernomor? In the valley he was left behind By the witch forgotten. Sleepy; tired, aware of nothing Angry thoughts were seething in his mind. The knight and Princess He was cursing in his weariness… At last his heart he steeled, And stepping out, the countryside was eying. He beheld the champion was killed And in a pool of blood upon the earth was lying, And Ludmila was no longer there… Only bare and desert field… The murderer was thrilled! He believed that he again was free and strong… But the cruel dwarf was wrong. Meanwhile, Farlaf with Ludmila in his embrace, Along the road to Kiev did race. Before him the waves of the angry Dnieper raged Amid familiar pasturage. The gold-roofed city he very soon was eyeing… Already through the city he was flying On his horse. A tempestuous noise arose. People behind the rider did gather And ran to cheer the heart of Ludmila’s father, The betrayer, becoming bold, Appeared then at the palace threshold. Engrossed in woe profound Vladimir Bright Sun sat in his turret, Distressed by somber thought, Knights and boyars, gravely seated ‘round, Before Vladimir’s door, With Ludmila in his arms stood a warrior. All, with low whispers, Rose from their place. “Farlaf…really…with Ludmila is here?” Sorrow vanished from Vladimir's face. From the chair arose the old father, And hurried with heavy steps to see His own unfortunate daughter. With his fatherly hands He desired to touch her. But the lovely maiden was not hearing In enchanted sleep she was dreaming In the arms of Farlaf. All were whispering And all disturbed seeming. But craftily his finger putting to his lips Farlaf said, “Ludmila sleeps. Sometime ago I found Her in the desert Murom woods on a greensward, The captive of a cruel faun. Savagely we contended with our swords; Three days gloriously were fighting,— Three nights the moon Our bitter combat was lighting. He fell; and the young Princess at last Into my hands hath passed. Who will interrupt her enchanted sleep? Who will free her from the enchanter’s grip? I know not...Hidden from me the secret of adjuration. Patience is for us now the only consolation.” Soon the fateful news was broadcast loud, And the people, in a motley crowd In the city market gathered, a tempestuous rout. The castle is opened to all. People are crowding in the hall Where, on a high bed With brocaded blanket overspread, The Princess lies in sleep so sound. The princes and knights stand ’round Sorrowful. Trumpets are sounding. Dulcimers, horns and drums are pounding, Thundering over her. The old Grand Prince in despair, Exhausted by his sorrow To Ludmila’s feet his gray hair Lays down with silent tears. Pale Farlaf is standing near Disappointed; in his deep repentance, He casts to earth his glance Night arrived, and in the sky the moon did rise; But no one in the city closed his sleepless eyes. Noisy crowds in the street were walking, And about the miracle all were talking. All the city with excitement was rife; Even the youthful husband, that night Neglected his own youthful wife. But soon as the light Of the two-horned moon Disappeared before the morning dawn, All Kiev was confused by new alarms. Cries, noises, howls, calls to arms— All people were crowding the invader to resist, Gathered for a sanguine fight At the city walls. Through the morning mist They beheld tents across the river white; Like the flames glowed flashing shields; Riders flying in the fields, Raising to the skies black dust. Wagons moving on their heels, Fires burning on the hills, Pechenegs[22] are swarming like the locust; The Pechenegs in a sudden mutiny The city of Kiev were threatening. Meanwhile the prophetic Finn, The Master of the spirits, Alone in the tranquil desert sits; And soon the day he hath foreseen Arrived, and the fateful hour came On earth evil to restrain. In silent desert, on red hot plains, Behind a distant chain of desert mountains, Behind the abode of winds and thunder storms Where even the witch’s daring glance To penetrate in a late hour scorns, A wonderful valley lies: In that vale are two springs: One, flowing with live waves, Over stones joyfully rings; The other with dead water splashes, Silence there reigns supreme. The wind dozes. Spring coolness never there the air refreshes Forever silent, stand century old spruces. Birds never circle on this spot. The gazelle in a sultry day dares not Water there to drink. Two spirits from the world’s beginning Silent on the bosom of peace there stand: The shadowy shores they guard… With two empty ladles in that wonderful land The hermit comes forward. The spirits cease their dream and disappear Overwhelmed by sudden fear… The hermit then the virgin waters splashes, Immersing in the springs two glasses, Into the air then he disappears And again instantly he reappears, In that vale at the place Where Ruslan motionless lies in death’s embrace. The old man bends over the knight, And him with the dead water sprays. His wounds grow bright And beauty wondrous suddenly the corpse doth grace. Then with live water again the hero he splashes And youthful life, Ruslan instantly refreshes. With a new spirit he doth from the earth arise And gazes about with his eager eyes. Like shadows in an ugly dream, The memories of his past seem To him. But where is Ludmila? He’s alone In the field. Instantly all joy is gone From him. But again he is thrilled with renewed vim; He hears the voice of the prophetic Finn Who embraces him: “O my son, rejoice at thy fate. A bloody banquet is awaiting thee. Thy stern sword as a calamity. Will descend upon thine enemies, And to Kiev thou wilt bring peace. Ludmila there will appear, Take this ring and touch her head Evil charms will disappear... Thy image, among thy foes confusion will spread. Peace will reign, hate will disappear, Both of ye deserve great happiness. Farewell knight. Thou wilt see me no more. Give my thy hand; we will part forever Now, for only there, beyond the grave’s door And not before, we will meet again,” He said and disappeared. Greatly inspired By his word, with spirit of life fired, Ruslan raised his hand after him. But the prophetic Finn was no longer seen. Ruslan stood alone in the empty field… He climbed upon his mount. The steed then with the midget still behind the saddle bound Impatiently wheeled. And galloped off, neighing, With his mane swaying, And the Prince, alive and sound, Again flew over field and over mound. Meanwhile what a shameful scene Beleaguered Kiev seemed! Timid sighs in homes were heard: People overcome by woe, Were crowding upon the walls that Kiev girth Casting their fearful glance upon the meadow. Grand Prince Vladimir, deserted, alone Near his daughter with prayer did moan. But the courageous swarm of the champions And the Princes, each with his faithful band Were Preparing with the foe to contend. The day arrived! The hosts of the foe over the fields At dawn advanced from the hills Upon the city; like a tornado the walls they stormed. In Kiev trumpets thundered, horns were rung. The champions in a battle line formed, And rushed out to encounter the daring throng. And there they came together on the field! Scenting death, the horses wheeled, Sword began to clang on shield; A cloud of arrows through the air whistled. The vale with blood instantly was flushed,— And straight ahead the riders rushed. The mounted bands intermingled, intertwined, Close together, in two vigorous walls, A line there was fighting another line. There a rider, here a footman was felled There a scared steed was flying. Here a Russian was killed; There a Pecheneg was dying. Here thunder shouts of war were heard. And there a host was put to flight. One was knocked down by a sword; Another struck by an arrow light; A warrior beneath a shield was crushed,— As over him a mad steed rushed. The battle lasted until dark of night: But neither we nor foe were put to flight. That night the champions their eyes did close Behind walls of mangled corpses of man and horse; And deep was the sleep on the bloody ground. Only seldom in the dark of night Was heard a sorrowful groan And the prayer of a Russian knight. The morning shadows were pale. The waterfall was sparkling with its silvery scale. A doubtful day was born in the east: The sun was breaking through the mists. The morning sky awoke on high, The hills and woods, grew bright With sunlight. But the battlefields peaceful lie, And mute remained the savage fight. Suddenly in the foe’s camp a cry arose, The savage clamor of the war’s thunder The peaceful silence tore asunder. The Russians rushed out in confused rows And beheld a splendid warrior on a horse, His armor glowing like a flame. Like a bolt from heaven he came To their foes, blowing on his horn, Cutting, spearing, and flying like a storm. This was Ruslan; the courageous man Like a thunder fell upon the infidel. The frightened camp was him descrying, Galloping with the midget saddled, o’er the field, Everywhere the angry horse came flying, Everywhere the stern sword whistled, Heads from shoulders were rolling, Wailing rows upon rows falling. In one instant the warlike meadows Were covered with heaps of quivers and arrows, With hills of bloody corpses Of crushed, beheaded men and horses. On the call of war, to the sound of trumpet Slavic bands mounted, Came flying over the hills In wake of our hero’s heels. Horror the Pecheneg embraced. Violent children of the raid, Dared no more resist. They were calling for their scattered horses Wailing, through the fields’ dusty mists They were flying from the Kiev swords. Victims, sentenced to hell, Before the Russian sword they fell. Kiev again was free, And the Russians celebrated victory. In the city a mighty champion appeared, From his helmet waved a long beard. In his arm he held a shining sword; Like a star of sky, his spear shone forth. He was flying, with hope crowned, Along the noisy streets, to the Princess’ house. The people him surrounded In enraptured crowds. Vladimir, by this celebration astounded, From his silent turret came out, Sorrowful, overwhelmed by his woe, He stood there alone. His friends with the foe On the bloody battlefield were contending; But at his side Farlaf was standing. Far from the foe’s swords Far away from the invader’s hordes, He despised the alarm of wars, And stood guard at the palace doors. As soon as our hero he did recognize, His blood turned cold; from his eyes Light was extinguished; he fell upon his knees. Deserving punishment he now sees Is due him for his treachery... But aware of the powers of sorcery, The secret charms of the ring, Of Ludmila in her sleep dreaming, And the words of the departed seer, Ruslan with hurried step draws near Her bed; and with trembling hand on calm face The charmed ring he placed. And behold! The young Princess sighs And opens her bright eyes! It seemed, As though oppressed with distorted dream, She marveled at such lasting night. Suddenly she beheld the sight Of her knight. Ruslan she faced, And passionately her hero she embraced. Ruslan awoke with flaming heart; Tears of joy his woes effaced. And the Grand Prince, at last solaced, The lovely ones embraced. How shall I end my long chant? Thou hath guessed, my friend. The unjust anger of the Prince abated. Farlaf on his knees then truly stated, Before Ludmila, Ruslan, and before the Prince, His shame, his crime and his offense. The happy Prince forgave him. Shorn of power of sorcery, The dwarf in Vladimir’s court was taken in. Vladimir Bright Sun in his high hall of audience, Long then caroused with his family, in memory Of the celebrated fateful victory, Amid a throng of invited valiants. Deeds of days long since passed, The tales of olden times.
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Epilogue Thus unconcerned man of society at my respite On the idle lap of peace while at rest, With my obedient lyre I glorified Tales of olden times. I was singing—and forgot my ills, Insults, unhappiness and evils,— The treachery of Dorida,[23] the unfaithful, The gossiping of the noisy fool. Upon the wings of inspiration borne, Behind the earth I was carried… Meantime a treacherous storm Above me spread And I was perishing. O thou holy supporter Amid the storm’s howl, Thou, tender comforter Of my sickly soul, The stormy weather thou didst entreat, Thou hast returned peace to my impetuous soul. Thou hath saved Freedom’s Spirit Of my Stormy Youth, the idol Forgotten by Society’s gossiping discourse. Far from Neva’s shores Before me Caucasia’s proud heads[24] Are spread Above their summits steep, Above the rocky slopes deep. I am nourished with somber dreams, With fascinating scenes Of a land wonderfully wild and grim. But the same oppressive dream As before, my soul ever doth inspire Long in me is extinguished Poetry’s fire. In vain am I seeking here impressions. It hath vanished from me my age of passion. O love and the inspirations of the heart, The days of rapture forever did depart From me; and from me too is hidden long The goddess of peaceful song.
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