A.Pushkin, Ruslan And Lyudmila, The 1 Song - Transl.(Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

By Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Ruslan and Lyudmila
The first song.

The old affairs of the old times,
The tales of old days, that passed...

....

In the circle of his powerful sons,
Among his friends in the hall of his tower,
Vladimir - named as Sun, the knyaz,
Had revelled pompously, he was going
To marry his last daughter to Ruslan,
The brave knyaz, and from heavy glass
He drank for their health sweet honey.

Not so fast the ancestors were eating,
Not so fast were scoops, which were in turn
Going through circle, the bowls silver,
Full with the boiling beer, wine with joy,
That they were pouring into hearts there,
The foam was hissing at the edges,
And slaves those cups were grandly carrying
And bending lowly to guests.
The voices'd blended with each other
In the indistinct noise. The guests are 'buzzing'
In their circle. Once the pleasant
And clear voice of the psaltery
Hushed the turmoil and everybody
Listen to Bayan, becoming silent,
Who sings sweet praises to Lyudmila,
The lovely bride, and her Ruslan,
And for the weaved by Lel their wreath.
But tired all of passion in that time
Ruslan can't eat, can't drink.
He's deeply fallen into love,
He looks on lovely friend, indeed
With sighing, angriness, and fire,
And pulling his moustashe, impatient,
He's counting the blinks depleting....


In sad mood, with the cloudy faces
At noisy wedding table there are three
Vityazes*, such young, in silence,
(* vityaz - the name of hero in old Russia)
And with their empty ladles, sitting.
They had forgotten of the cup's circle,
They are distressed, dislike the beer,
As well as songs of Bayan-oracle;
Their eyes are dropped down the floor -
They are in confront to Ruslan,
And deep in soul they do store
The poison of both hatred, love.
One of them is Rogdai, the famous conqueror,
He with his sword enlarged
The territory of ukranian fields.
The other lad - is Farlaf-shouter,
He's never been defeated on the feasts,
But in the swords he is less brave, though;
The last guy - is the knyaz Ratmir,
From Khazaria, he's caught with passion.
With gloomy, pale faces sit
They on the feast, not feast for them.
When party finished, all stand up
In rows, mixing in a crowd;
All look at the young pair, shyly
The bride lowers down eyes,
As if she'd turned sad with her heart,
But her bridegroom is gay and light.

But shadow is covering the nature,
It's now time to midnight dark, already;
All boyars, by a sleep from honey captured,
(* Boyarin is the russian equivalent to lord)
Are leaving feast, bowing to all respectively.
The bridegroom all filled with delight and ecstasy:
Caressing there in imagination
The bashful beauty of his bride;
With secret and sad feeling of affection
The great knyaz blesses with his heart
The married pair.

And look, the young bride
Is now taken to nuptial bed;
The lights have gone out...
The icon lamp is lit by Lel.
The hopes came to truth,
And gifts of love are now prepared;
The jealous cloths are going to
Fall on the carpets of Tzar's palace...
And do you hear the lover's whisper
With sounds of sweet kisses, and
The choking last grumbles of the diffidence? ...
The spouse feels delight beforehand;
And here it has come... But suddenly
The thunder bursted out, and the light
Flashed in the haze, the lamp's burned down,
The smoke ran away, the dark
Has covered all, the quake around,
The soul of Ruslan is paralysed...
Everything stopped. In awful silence
Twice the strange voice was marked,
And someone in the smoke raised up
More black than a black darkness...
And once again the room is empty
And quiet, frightened, the bridegroom
Stands up, dripping with sweat all,
With trembling hand he points to
The darkness, mute and cold...
Oh, grief! The nice friend is absent!
He vainly seizes an air empty;
Lyudmila is unseen in dark, she's stolen
By the unknown force to nowhere.

Ah, if the martyr of the love
Is suffering of a hopeless passion;
Though sad, you may live then, alas,
My friends, for many- many years.
But after long-long period how
Could your girl-friend to embrace -
The object of your strong desire,
Of bitter tears, of the craving,
And the one minute spouse - lose forever...
I think the better choice, dear friends
Is only to die to end!

Ruslan is alive, unlucky, though.
But what's the great knyaz said to all?
Defeated with the awful rumours,
Being beside himself with rage
To son-in-law, he calls the court:
'Where's Lyudmila? ' - asks he then,
His face inflamed with fire burst.
Ruslan doesn't hear... 'Dear children!
Dear friends! I do remember
Your old merits: take a pity
To old man! Who will consent
To ride for my daughter? Who's affair
And feat will be not in vain?
And you, Ruslan, let be ashamed,
Be racked with bitter torments, villain!
Even your wife you couldn't save! -
I'll give her only to that man,
With the half of my hereditable land,
Who's able to return her back?
Who's able? 'I' - the fiancee said.
'I! I! ' - Rogdai, Farlaf exclaimed
With Ratmir, being super-glad.
'Immediatly we'll our horses saddle,
And through the world we'll go far
In search for dear your knyazhna!
Be sure, father, we'll get fast! '
And old man spreads his hands at last
For them, tormented with severe anguish.

They four go outdoors; Ruslan
Is dismal in his mood, as dead;
Again the thought of his lost bride
Is torturing him, turning him sad.
They straddle their zealous horses;
Along the banks of the river Dnepr
They fly in clouds of dust swirling;
And hide themself in distance well;
You can't see there riders more...
But long and long the old knyaz
Is looking after them in field,
That's empty now, with his mind,
With thoughths to follow them he tries...

Ruslan is pining in deep silence,
Being in state of lose of mind.
Farlaf in that time looks too grandious,
And over shoulder throw his glance,
As puffed, ride the Ruslan's horse after
And says: 'I hardly waited freedom,
My dear friends! Now got a chance
To meet a Giant! I'm eager
To make a river from his blood!
And much will be the victims' number!
Be cheered, my true sword, that time,
Be ardent, my brave horse! Undoubtly
I'll be a winner, I don't lie! '

The khazar's Khan, taking as fact
The future marriage with Lyudmila,
Looks as if dancing over the back
Of horse, his young blood cheerly
Is playing, hope - in his eyes.
And he is galloping and teasing
His jaunty chaser, rearing up,
Circling and riding it through mounts.

Rogdai is sullen, mute in fear
Of future destiny, which could
Be rather changeable, and stricken
With jealousy and the vain mood,
He is in trouble all the way,
And hardly, horrofully looking
On knyaz Ruslan, wishing him bad.

And all the pretendents are riding
Along the same road all day,
The Dnepr-river bank turns darker,
From east there creeps the night shadow,
And over Dnepr there stretches mist,
To rest their horses have a need.
Under one great hill they all meet
The cross of a new wide road, then
They say: 'It's time to leave!
We ought to turn to our fate! '
And every horse, without feel
Of steel curb, rush onto the way,
They choosed by their own will.

What are you doing, Ruslan, poor,
Alone in this silence deep?
May be your marriage day, for sure,
Lyudmila - was the only dream?
And putting the copper helmet over
The eyes, throwing off the reins,
You are at slow pace still going
Through fields, without a hope ray,
And slowly belief in your heart
Is dying, as the falling sun.






-
(to be continued)