guest, ‘tis time to march:
Quick, children, quit the couch of ease!
With busy haste they all start up;
The tents are raised; the waggon-vans
Stand ready for the long day’s inarch.
At given sign the swarming crowds
Begin to make their slow descent
Through steep defiles precipitous.
In hand tilt-carts the asses draw
Their close-packed loads of children gay;
And mingling groups of old and young
In orderly disorder move.
Loud cries, and shouts, and gipsy songs;
The bear’s low growl, and frequent creak
Of his impatient, irksome chain;
The particoloured, tattered robes;
Shoeless men half-clad and children;
The angry bark and howl of dogs;
The noisy bagpipe’s piercing notes;
The grating harsh of turning wheels.
A picture wild and dissonant,
But all alert and full of soul;
Unlike our world’s benumbing ease,
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.
And, filled with sense of coming ill,
Scarce his aching limbs can bear him:
With quivering lips and trembling knees
He pushes on — and does he dream?
He sees two shadows close to him,
And hears the murmured whisper near,
That floats above the lonely mounds.
FIRST VOICE.
‘Tis time!
SECOND VOICE.
Why this haste?
FIRST VOICE.
I must away!
SECOND VOICE.
Nay, rather let us wait the day!
FIRST VOICE.
‘Tis late!
SECOND VOICE.
How timid is thy love!
One minute!
FIRST VOICE.
Wilt thou be my death?
SECOND VOICE.
One minute more!
FIRST VOICE.
But if he wakes,
And finds me gone?
ALEKO.
I have awaked!
Whither so fast? There is no haste!
‘Tis well, we need not search for graves!
ZEMPHIRE.
Darling, run, escape!
ALEKO.
Stay, sir, stay!
Whither, fair gipsy, wilt thou run?
Die!
(He kills him with a dagger.)
ZEMPHIRE.
What hast thou done?
YOUNG GIPSY.
I die! Farewell!
ZEMPHIRE.
Aleko, thou hast slain my friend!
And, see, thou art all stained with blood!.
Oh, what hast thou done?
ALEKO.
I? Nothing!
His love, once thy breath, breathe it now!
ZEMPHIRE.
Enough! I have no fear of thee!
Thine empty threats, I hold in scorn!
Thee and thy bloody crime, I curse!
ALEKO.
Follow!
(He stabs Zemphire).
ZEMPHIRE
And, loving, I will die!
Night’s clouds were streaked with red of dawn.
Beyond the hills Aleko sate
Alone on ancient burial mound,
With blood-stained dagger in his hand.
Near him lay two lifeless bodies;
His face was fixed and motionless,
And vacant stared at gipsy crowd,
Who fearsome stood around and gazed.
In farther field they dug a grave;
With solemn step the women moved,
And kissed the eyelids of the dead.
Apart the old man stood and looked,
In silent helplessness of grief,
Upon the dead girl’s rigid form.
Lightly they raised the bodies twain,
And slowly bore them to the grave,
And laid the youthful erring pair
In the cold, bosom of the, earth.
Aleko from afar watched all,
But when the last handful of dust
Over the sleeping dead was cast,
In silence low he bent his head,
And prone on grass fell from the mound.
The old man then approached and said:
“Go, leave us now, thou haughty man!
We wild folk have no law to bind.
To torture or to punish men;
We need no sinner’s blood, or groans,
Nor can we with a murd’rer five.
Thou art not born for wild free will,
Thou wouldst thyself alone be free;
Thy voice will strike but terror here
Among the good and free in soul;
Harsh thou art and rash: so, leave us!
Farewell, and peace abide with thee!”
He spake, and now the busy crowd
The nomad camp begin to raise:
They hasten forth, and soon are lost
To view. One van alone, with roof
Of canvas torn, remains behind,
And stands upon the fatal field.
As when, before cold winter conies,
At early hour, on misty morn,
A flock of cranes will from the field
Rise up on high with eager cry,
And quick begin their southern flight,
One wretched bird, the sportsman prey,
With wounded wing that helpless hangs,
Is left behind to pine and die.
Though night came on, within the van
None cared to kindle light or fire,
And none beneath the tattered roof
Sought rest or sleep till morning broke.
EPILOGUE.
The magic charm of song divine
Brings back to lite the olden days,
Writes anew on memory’s page
The record of past joys and griefs.
In the land where centuries long
The din of war not once was hushed;
Where Russian arms supremely marked
The lawful bounds of Stamboul’s sway;
And where the mighty eagle shook
His proud, wide wings o’er triumphs won;
‘Twas there, the wild steppe stretching round,
On borders of our ancient rule,
I met the gipsy waggon-vans,
The sons of freedom uncontrolled.
I long in idle whim pursued
Through barren waste and forest wild
The gay and lawless gipsy band.
Their modest, simple fare I shared,
And slept before their flaming fires.
I loved the noise of their loud songs.
And still the name of fair Marie
Haunts and startles my restless sleep.
And yet, with you, free nature’s sons.
True happiness can ne’er be found;
And humblest tents are oft the haunt
Of troubled dreams and hopes destroyed;
And nomad camps, though pitched in wilds,
From nature ravin give no shield;
There, too, will human passions rage,
And naught protect men from their-fate.
POLTAVA
A POEM IN THREE CANTOS.
Translated by Charles Edward Turner
This narrative poem was written in 1828 and concerns Ivan Mazepa’s actions in the Battle of Poltava between Sweden and Russia. The poem intertwines a love plot between Mazepa and the beautiful Maria, with an account of Mazepa’s betrayal of Peter I and the Tsar’s ultimate victory. The poem is celebrated for its depth of characterisation and employs the use of several different genres, inspiring the composer Tchaikovsky to compose the 1884 opera Mazeppa.
Poltava opens with an epigraph from Byron’s 1819 ballad Mazeppa, which depicts the Hetman as a Romantic hero, exiled from Poland for his love affair with a married noblewoman. Pushkin follows this epigraph with a passionate dedication to an anonymous lover. The poem is divided into three cantos of equal length. The first canto opens on the estate of the nobleman Vasily Kochubei and describes Kochubei’s beautiful daughter Maria, who has fallen in love with the Hetman Mazepa. As he is her godfather and much older than her, they decide to keep their love for each other secret. However, they are soon discovered and are forced to elope…
Ivan Stepanovych Mazepa (1639 – 1709), the protagonist of the poem
CONTENTS
POLTAVA. CANTO THE FIRST.
POLTAVA. CANTO THE SECOND.
POLTAVA. CANTO THE THIRD.
The Battle of Poltava, 27 June 1709
POLTAVA. CANTO THE FIRST.
Rich and famed is Kotzubei.
Boundless and large his spacious fields,
Whereon his droves of horses graze
At their free will and all unwatched.
Around Poltava’s fairest plains
Stretch far his gardens and his parks;
And in his house are treasures rare
Satins, furs and dishes silver,
Exposed to view or safely locked.
But Kotzubei, rich and proud,
Cares little for his long-maned steeds,
The tribute paid by Tartar horde,
Or lands bequeathed him by his sires;
But in Marie, his daughter fair,
The old man finds his dearest pride.
In vain you’ll seek Poltava through
Her peer in loveliness and grace.
Fresh as primal flower of spring,
Warm-nurtured in the forest’s shade;
As Kieff poplar tall and stately;
Her every motion like the course
Of floating swan on lonely lake,
Or deer’s quick flight across the mead:
Her breasts as white as foam of sea;
Around her forehead high and broad,
Thick clustered lie her jet-black locks,
Veiling her eyes that gleam like stars;
Her lips as red as full-blown rose.
But not the charm of beauty rare,
That blooms a moment and then fades,
Had made Marie beloved by all;
But fame had crowned her with the name
Of maiden modest, pure and wise.
And rival suitors sought her hand,
The youths of Russia and Ukraine;
But from the marriage-crown, as from
The fetters of a slave she shrank.
And all had been repulsed.... but now
His messengers the Hetman sends.
No longer young, and worn with years,
With toils of war and cares of state,
But young and warm in heart, once more
Mazeppa feels the force of love.
A boyish love will fiercely burn,
Its fierceness spent, as quickly die;
The passion cools, to be renewed,
And finds each day some fancy fresh.
An old man’s heart disdains to burn
With such obedient, lightsome ease,
The victim of a moment s whim:
But dulled and dimmed with thoughtful years,
The fire of passion tempered flames;
The heart is proof against its force,
And slow to burn; but once ‘tis stirred,
The love born late can ne’er grow cold,
And only dies with parting breath.
It is no deer that seeks a refuge sure,
Alarmed by eagle’s heavy flight;
It is a bride her chamber roams,
And, trembling, waits her parents’ word.
All filled with angry discontent,
The mother comes, as one distraught,
Seizes her hand, and sharply cries:
“Now, shame befall the godless wretch!
Can such things be? No, whilst we live,
He ne’er shall wreak his foul desire!
Well fit to play the father, or
The friend to god-child young and pure,
The senseless fool, in dotage years,
Forsooth would ape the husband’s part!”
Naught spake Marie. But o’er her face
A creeping pallor slowly flushed;
And cold and stiff, like lifeless corpse,
Prone on the floor the maiden fell.
She woke to life, and then once more
Her eyes were closed, nor did she speak
One single word.
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