Cooper Horseman A.S. Pushkin
The incident described in this story, is based on true.The flooding details are borrowed from magazines of that time. A curious can cope with the news made by V.N.Berh.
On the store of a deserted waves
He had stay, by a great thoughts, is full,
And afar do looked. Before he widely
The river have rushed; a poor boat
Have aspired on it alone.
On the mossy, fenny coastes
The log huts are blackened here and there,
Is a shelter of a poor chuhoner;
And the wood, unknown to a beams
In a fog of the hidden sun,
Around is rustled.
And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
Here the city will be found
To angrily to the haughty neighbour.
By the nature here it is fated to us
To Europe to axes the window,
By a firm foot to stand at the sea.
Here on the new to them waves
All flags on a visit will be to us,
And we feast on the open space.
Has passed the hundred years, and the young hailstone
Of the midnight countries is beauty and miracle,
From a darkness of the woods, from a sink bog
Has risen magnificently, proudly;
Where before the Finnish fisher,
The sad stepson of the nature,
One at the low coast
Threw in the unknown waters
Own shabby seine, nowadays there
On the en-lived coasts
The bulks stayed are restricted
Of the palaces and towers; the ships
By a crowd from all edges of the earth
To the rich landing stages are aspires;
In the granite Neva has put on;
The bridges have hung over the waters;
By the dark green gardens
Its islands have become covered,
And before the younger capital
Old Moscow has grown dim,
As before the new tsarina
The porfiry -carried widow.
I love you, the Peter creating,
I love your strict, stayed kind,
The Neva majestic flowing,
Its coastal granite,
The pattern pig-iron of your fencings,
The transparent twilight, the moonless shine
Of your thoughtful nights
When I am in my room
I write, I read without an icon lamp,
And there are clear the sleeping bulks
Of a deserted streets, and there is light
The admiralty needle,
And, do not allow came-in a darkness night
On the gold heavens,
One dawn to replace another
Hastens, having given to a night the half of a hour.
I love, of yours cruel winter,
The motionless air and frost,
The run of a sledge along wide Neva,
The girl's faces are brighter than roses,
Both shine, and noise, and a dialect of balls,
And at an o'clock of a junket single
The hissing of a foamy glasses
And the punch blame blued.
I love the aggressive vivacity
Of the amusing Mars fields,
Of the infantry hosts and horses
In them stayly steady guard
The rags of these banners victorious,
The shine of these copper caps,
Through raked in fight.
I love, the military capital,
Of your stronghold a smoke and a thunder,
When the midnight tsarina
Grants the son in the imperial house,
Or a victory over the enemy
Russia again triumphs,
Or, having cracked dark blue ice,
Neva to the seas bears its
And, feeling a spring days, exults.
Flaunt, Peter's hailstones, and stand
Firmly as Russia,
Yes peace in with you
And the won elements;
The enmity and own ancient captivity
Let Finnish waves will forget
And by a vain threat will not be
To disturb the Peter's eternal rest!
It was terrible time,
About it it is fresh remember...
About it, my friends, for you
I will begin the toldess
My story will be sad.
PART THE FIRST
Over the nazed Petrograd
November by the autumn cool have breathed.
Splached by a noised wave
In the edges of the fencing standing,
Neva is rushed about, as the patient
In the bed un-rested.
The temp was late and darkly;
Angrily the rain in a window fought,
And the wind blew, is sadly howling.
At that time from visitors home
Evgeny young has come...
We will be our hero
To call this name. It
Sounds pleasantly; with it for a long time
My feather besides is amicable.
Him calling to us is not necessary for us,
Though in the past times
It, perhaps, also shone
And under Karamzin's feather
In native legend has sounded;
But nowadays by the light and rumour
It is forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; somewhere serves,
Shuns the notable and does not grieve
About the rested relatives,
About the forgotten olden time.
So, home back, Evgeny
Has shaken an overcoat, has undressed, has laid down.
But long he could not fall asleep
In a weary of a different reflexions.
About what he thought? About that,
That it was poor that by a job
He should himself to deliver
Both the independence and honour;
That god to him could done to add
A mind and money. That after all are
Such an idle lucky persons,
Of a not distant mind, an idlers,
To whom the life is go easy!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that weather
Was not appeased; that the river
Is arrived by; that hardly probable
From Neva the bridges have not removed yet
Also that with Parasha there will be he
By the two, by three days is separated.
Evgeny here has sighed heartly
And was dream up, as the poet:
«To marry? To me? Why so to do not?
It is and heavy, certainly;
But well, I am young and healthy,
To work by a day and night I am ready;
Somehow to myself I will arrange
the shelter restrained and simple
And in it Parasha I will do calm.
Will pass, perhaps, year-other -
A place I will receive, to Parasha
Reorder our family
And the education of the children...
And we begin to live, and so to a coffin
The hand with a hand both of us will reach,
And the grandsons will bury us...»
So he dreamt. Also it was sad
To him that night, and he wished,
That the wind was howled not so sadly
And that the rain was knocked on a window
Not so it is angry...
He at last has closed. And here
The haze of a rainy night thins
And the pale day will comes...
The terrible day!
All night Neva
Was torn to the sea against a storm,
Do not having overcome their violent nonsense...
And began to argue to its to not can...
In the morning over its coastes
The people were restricted by a heaps,
Admiring by a splashes, mountains
And the foam of a furious waters.
But the force of the winds from the gulf
The re-barriered Neva
Back went, is angry, rough,
And was flooded the islands,
The weather more grew furious,
Neva was blown up and roared,
By a copper is bubbling and curling,
And suddenly, as an animal stinker,
On the city has rushed. Before it
All has run, all around
Has suddenly become empty -the waters suddenly
Inflows in the underground cellars,
To the lattices the channels have rushed,
And Petropol, as a triton, has emerged,
On a belt in water is shipped.
The siege! The attack! The malicious waves,
As a thieves, climbs in the windows. The boats
Go running a glass beats down by a stern.
The trays under a wet veil,
The fragments of a huts, a logs, a roofs,
The goods of the thrifty trade,
The belongings of a pale poverty,
By the thunder-storm the taken down bridges,
The coffin from a dim cemetery
Floats on the streets!
Sees the divine anger and the executions waits.
Alas! All perishes: a shelter and food!
Where will take?
That terrible year
The late tsar still by Russia
With the glory rules. On the balcony,
He is sad, vague, has came
And said: «With the Gods weather
To tsars not hold on». He has sat down
And in a thought by the mournful eyes
At the malicious disaster has looked.
Stood the areas by a lakes,
And in them by the wide rivers
The streets were flowed in. The palace
Seemed by the island sadly.
The tsar said - from the end in the end,
On the near streets and afar
In a dangerous way among rough waters
The generals were started up
To rescue him and by the fear hold in
And home the sinking people.
Then, on the area Petrova,
Where the house in a corner has risen new,
Where over a raised porch
With a upped paw, as live,
There are stand the two lions sentry,
On an animal marble to ride,
Without a hat, the hands having compressed by a cross,
He sat motionless, terribly pale
Evgeny. He was feared, poor,
Not for himself. He has not heard,
As the greedy shaft do rose,
To it soles washing away,
As the rain to him in the face was whipped,
As a wind, violently howling,
From him and a hat has suddenly through.
Him desperate looks
At the edge alone induced
Motionlessly were. As the mountains,
From the indignant depth
There were stand the waves there and were angry,
There the storm was howled, there were rushed
The fragments... My God, my God! There -
Alas! Closer to the waves,
Almost at the gulf -
The fence uncolored, yes a willow
And a shabby small house: there in,
The widow and the daughter, him Parasha,
Him dream... Or in the sleep
He sees its? Or all ours
And the life is anything, as a dream empty,
The sneer of the sky at the earth?
And he, as though is bewitched,
As though to the marble he is chained,
Cannot descend! Round him
A water is and more than anything!
And, it is turned to him by the back,
In un-fluctuated height,
Over revolted Neva
Stands with the streched hand
The idol on a bronze game.
PART THE SECOND
But here, satieted by the destroy
And by the impudent violence tired,
Neva was back entailed,
Admiring by own revolting
And leaving with the uncaring
Own extraction. So the villain,
With the furious own band
Into the village having rushed, wrestled, cuted,
Destroys and plunders; the cries, gnash,
violent, abuse, alarm, howl! .
And, by a robbery hardened,
Being afraid of a pursuit, weary,
The robbers hasten home,
The extraction on a way dropping.
Water has sold, and a roadway
Has opened, and my Evgeny
Hastens, by the soul fading,
In the hope, fear and melancholy
To the hardly reconciled river.
But, by the celebration of a victory the full
Waves still were boiled spite,
As though under them the fire was decayed,
Still their foam was covered,
And hardly Neva was breathed,
As from the fight the running came horse.
Evgeny looks: sees a boat;
He to it runs as on a find;
He calls a carrier -
And a carefree carrier
Him for a ten-kopeck coin willingly
Through waves terrible carries.
And long with the rough waves
The skilled oarsman was struggled,
And to disappear deep into between their numbers
Hourly with the impudent swimmers
The boat was ready - and at last
He has reached coast.
By the familiar street runs
In the acquaintances places. Looks,
Cannot to know. A kind terrible!
All before him is filled up;
That is dumped that is taken down;
The small houses were twisted, others
Have absolutely fallen, others
By waves are shifted; around,
As though in the field fighting,
The bodies rolls. Evgeny
Headlong, do not remembering anything,
Being exhausted from the tortures,
Runs there where waits for him
The destiny with the unknown news,
As with the sealed letter.
And here he runs suburb,
And here the gulf, and near the house is...
What is it? .
He has stopped.
Has gone back and was turned back.
Looks... Goes... Still looks.
Here a place where their house costs;
Here a willow. There were here the collars -
Has taken down them, it is visible. Where is the house?
And, it is full of gloomy care,
All goes, he goes around,
Interprets loudly with himself -
And suddenly, push in a forehead by the hand,
Has laughed loudly.
The night haze
On a city quivering has descended;
But long the inhabitants did not sleep
And between themself interpreted
About a past day.
The morning beam
Because of the tired, pale clouds
Has flashed over the calm capital
Also has not found already a traces
Of the troubles yesterday's; by the crimson
An angrily has been already covered.
Into an former order all has entered.
Already on the free streets
With the own cold un-feal-less
The people went. The official people,
Having left a night shelter,
On the service went. The shop-man brave,
Do not desponding, have opened
By Neva a plundered cellar,
To go on the loss important
On a near to vent. From the court yards
Brought a boats.
The vi-count Tails,
The poet favourite by the heavens,
Sang still by the immortal verses
The misfortune of the Neva coast.
But poor, poor my Evgenie...
Alas! Him distraught mind
Against the terrible shocks
Has not resisted. The rebellious noise
Of Neva and winds was distributed
In his ears. The terrible thoughts
He is silently full, he was wandered.
He was tormented with one dream.
There has passed the week, month - he
To himself home did not come back.
Him deserted corner
Has given to rent as there was a term,
The owner to the poor poet.
Evgenie behind own good
Did not come. He to soon light
Became alien. All the day long wandered on the foot,
And slept on landing stage; ate
In a window the submitted piece.
The clothes shabby on him
Was torn and decayed. The malicious children
Threw a stones to him go.
Quite often the carrier spin
Was quilted him, therefore
That he did not assort road
Never now; it seemed - he
Did not notice. He is deafened
Was by the noise of the internal alarm.
And so he own unfortunate century
Was dragged, neither an animal nor the person,
Nor so nor that, the inhabitant of a light,
A dead phantom...
Once he slept
At the Neva landing stage. The days of the summer
Tended by the autumn. Go breathed
Rainy wind. A gloomy shaft
Was splashed on the landing stage, grumbling to foam
And beated about the smooth steeps,
As the top-beater-bowled at a doors
To him not east judges.
The poor man has woken up. It was gloomy:
The rain was dripped, the wind was howled sadly,
And with him in the distance, in the night darkness
The sentry had call in...
Evgeny has jumped; has remembered live
The last horror; hasty
He has risen; has gone to wander, and suddenly
Has stopped - and around
Quietly began to drive by the eyes
With the wild fear on the face.
He has come under the columns
Of the big house. On a porch
With the upper paw, as live,
There were stand lions sentry,
And directly in the dark height
Over the fencing rock
The idol with the streched arm
Sat on the bronze horse.
Evgeny has shuddered. Have cleared up
In him the terribly think. He has learnt
And a place where the flood played,
Where the waves predatory were crowded,
Revolting spitefully round him,
Both the lions, and the area, and that,
Who motionlessly was towered
In a gloom by the copper head,
Whom, by the fatal will
Under the sea the city was based...
It is terribled in a neighbouring haze!
What thought is on a forehead!
What force in it is hidden!
And in this game what fire is!
Where you skip, a proud horse,
And where you will lower the hoofs?
Oh the powerful lord of the destiny!
Whether not so you over the chasm
At the height, by the bridle iron
Russia has lifted on the racks?
By the circle of the bottom of an idol
The madman poor has bypassed
And the wild looks has guided
On a face holder of the semiworld.
Its breast has hesitated. A forehead
To a cool lattice has lain down,
The eyes were covered with a fog,
On the heart the blame has run,
The blood has boiled. He became gloomy
Before the pride idol
And, teeth having squeezed, the fingers having compressed,
As inhole by the black force,
«Kindly, the builder wonder-working! -
He has whispered, spitefully having begun to tremble, -
So to you! . » And suddenly headlong
He was let to run. It seemed
To him that the terrible tsar,
Instantly anger burns up,
The face quietly addressed...
And he on the area empty
Runs and hears behind himself -
As though the rumble thunder -
Is the heavy-sonorous riddle
On the shaken roadway.
And, it is lighted up by the pale moon,
Stretched a hand in height,
Behind him the Horseman Copper rushes
On the sonorous-skipping horse;
And in all night the long madman poor,
Where the stops were turned,
Behind him everywhere the Horseman Copper
With the heavy footfall skipped.
And since then, when happened
To go that area to him,
In his face it was represented
The rumple. To own heart
He is pressed hasty a hand,
As though him restraining a flour,
The cap worn out do undressed,
The confused eyes did not raise
And went by the side.
The small island
On a beach it is visible. Sometimes
Will moor with a seine there
The fisherman on the overdue catching
And the poor supper cooks,
Or the official will visit,
Walking in a boat on Sunday,
The deserted island. It is not adult
There no a grasse. The waterfull
There, playing, has brought
The house shabby. Over the water
There was it as a black bush.
It by the last spring
Have brought on the barc. It was empty
And all is destroyed. At the threshold
Have found my madman,
And there and then him cool corpse
Have buried for God's sake.
The amusing Mars fields - Pushkin speaks about the military parades occurring annually in Petersburg on the Mars field - the enormous area - and in city centre.
Stronghold - the Peter and Paul Fortress from which in cases especially solemn or dangerous (flooding, an ice drift on Neva) made gun shots.
From Neva of bridges any more have not removed - Bridges on Neva at that time were only floating (pontoon) . During flooding and ice drifts them planted also a crossing through Neva stopped.
Triton - in the Greek mythology a sea deity. It was usually represented put out of water by the top part of a body.
The late tsar - Alexander I. He has died in November,1825.
The Stogny (old glories.) - the areas.
The Petrovsky area - the area on the bank of Neva where there is a monument to Peter I (later a Senatskaya Square, nowadays the area of Decembrists) .
The bagryanitsa - an imperial raincoat, or a cloak of red colour. Probably, Pushkin here hints at the help rendered by Alexander I suffered from flooding.
Tails - the worthless poet who has printed «the Message about flooding of Petropolja». Pushkin's laudatory expressions about Hvostove and its verses have obviously humiliating character.
To Europe to open a window - Algarotti somewhere has told: «Petersbourg est la fenetre par laquelle la Russie regarde en Europe».
[Algarotti - the Italian writer of a XVIII-th century. Its words in the letters published by it on Russia where it came in 1739: «Petersburg is a window through which Russia looks to Europe» (fr.) ]
Generals - Count Miloradovich and general aide-de-camp Benkendorf.
Yuri Starostin's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
The Petersburg story
Comments about this poem (Cooper Horseman A.S. Pushkin by Yuri Starostin )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Harold Hart Crane
(21 July 1899 – 27 April 1932)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967)
(1886 - 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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