mplex and employ a totally inappropriate vocabulary to make the point. When it came to politics, Tyutchev always knew precisely what he was saying. Frequently a mediocre political pronouncement starts or finishes powerfully, the poetic mediocrities reserved for the central "message" part of the work. In [268] he begins thus: Uzhasnyi son otyagotel nad nami, Uzhasnyi, bezobraznyi son: V krovi do pyat, my b'yomsya s mertvetsami, Voskresshimi dlya novykh pokhoron. *** We've been burdened by a horrible dream, a horrible, ugly dream: up to our ankles in blood, we're fighting corpses resurrected for fresh funerals. The poem then develops quickly along overtly nationalistic, largely non-lyrical lines, culminating in a call to Russia to stand firm when faced with foreign hostility. There is a warm start and a gently eerie finish to [357]: Nad russkoi Vil'noi starodavnoi Rodnye teplyatsya kresty - I zvonom medi pravoslavnoi Vse oglasilis' vysoty. .......... .......... V tot chas, kak s neba mesyats skhodit, V kholodnei, rannei polumgle, Eshchyo kakoi-to prizrak brodit Po ozhivayushchei zemle. *** Over ancient, Russian Vilnius kindred crosses glimmer. Orthodoxy's pealing bronze makes all the heavens shudder. .......... .......... and as the moon's about to leave the sky, in that early morning chill, across the land just waking up a spectral visitor wanders still The opening of Gus na kostre/Hus at the Stake [356] parallels the lyric poem Pozhary/Fires [331]. The political piece begins: Kostyor sooruzhyon, i rokovoe Gotovo vspykhnut' plamya; vsyo molchit - Lish' slyshen lyogkii tresk, i v nizhnem sloe Kostra ogon' predatel'ski skvozit. *** The pyre has been built. The fateful flame's about to flare and all is silent, save for gentle crackles as deep within the pyre the treacherous fire filters. The more lyrical of the two works is a treatment of the cunning, treacherous beast which is the fire: Na pozharishche pechal'nom Net ni iskry, dym odin, - Gde zh ogon, zloi istrebitel', Polnomochnyi vlastelin? *** On this sad, scorched site no sparks, only smoke. Where's the fire, malicious destroyer, omnipotent master? Many of Tyutchev's political poems are more complex than has often been thought. They have their genesis in the lyrical mind of the poet and, irrespective of their content, what is at times only a residual degree of lyricism often imbues them with a poetic quality which successfully reinforces their political message. The three thematic groups, nature, love and politics, all too briefly dealt with above, sum up Tyutchev's poetic preoccupations. This is not to say that he did not have other themes. There are justly famous religious and philosophical poems, but a number of the religious works are inextricably linked with politics and many of his philosophical lines are scattered through works which more properly belong in one of the other categories. One reaches a point in Tyutchev where it becomes impossible to classify accurately, for themes and imagery spill across borders. And just as his political works are not all bad, so many of his religious lyrics, far from being "flaccid little exercises in other people's piety" (A:14/137-9), are "inspired and noble", possessing a "depth and sincerity" which "cannot be doubted" (A:18vii/328). His philosophical works are equally genuine. Tyutchev did not present a system of ideas in his lyrics, rather expressing "moods and problems which the leading thinkers were only beginning to tackle and of which others were not yet even aware". (ibid./330-1) These moods and problems of which Lane speaks are dealt with, often subtly, certainly not always overtly, in poems of many kinds. No matter how a reader reacts to Tyutchev's oeuvre as a whole or to one or the other of his broad categories, the poet must ultimately be judged on his greatest lyrics. In the thirties, no Russian poet produced such a work as Letnii vecher/A Summer Evening [41]. Lines containing the echoing depression of Bessonnitsa/Insomnia [47] flowed from the pen of neither Pushkin nor Lermontov. There are many other examples of the uniqueness of this poet: the egocentric, strange detachment of a mind floating above a world which might be real or unreal, as in Eshchyo shumel vesyolyi den'/The happy day was loud [52], the almost sexually explicit final stanza of K N. N./ To N. N. [51], the slow, languorous movement and ominous imagery of fading and death of Osennii vecher/ An Autumn Evening [73], the Pascalian picture of man hanging lost in an abyss of Kak okean ob''emlet shar zemnoi/Just as the ocean curls around earth's shore [64], and the pithy, philosophical comment made with impressive economy, as in Silentium!/Stay Silent! [83], containing his most famous line, Mysl' izrechennaya est' lozh'/A thought you've spoken is untrue. Tyutchev's existing poetic works consist of just under four hundred pieces. Approximately half of these are translations, occasional poems and the political verse. Of the remaining fifty per cent not all poems are of equal merit and his best works are very short. It is remarkable that on the basis of such an insignificant output in terms of lines written, over such a long period, Tyutchev should be considered at least the equal of Lermontov and by no means far behind Pushkin in the pantheon of Russian poets, although such a situation is not unique. After all, Kafka wrote little fiction. Tyutchev's importance is attributable not only to the very high quality of poems written in a relatively new literary age, that which began in Russia at the end of the eighteenth century and developed apace throughout the "golden" nineteenth, when Russia boasted scores of clever, talented poets whose work was by no means inferior to that of their Western counterparts. Ultimately, perhaps, we judge him on that originality, that sense of being different which is a characteristic of the voice out of place in its time, for Tyutchev's most celebrated lyrics are brilliant, often troubling works which do not properly represent the first third of the nineteenth century. So many observations inspiring his lyrics triggered conflict in his mind. His scenes, even at their most idyllic, are parts of a larger picture of anxiety. Turmoil and brooding questioning are central to Tyutchev's view of the universe and he expresses them with a very modern, uncompromising sharpness which appeals to our own age rather more, perhaps, than the florid, immense variety of Pushkin and Lermontov. FOOTNOTES 1. Tyutchev's parents were Ivan (1776-1846) and Ekaterina (nee Tolstaya, 1776-1866). He had a brother, Nikolay (1801-70) and a sister, Darya, (1806-79), married name Sushkova). Apart from these, Sergei, Dmitrii and Vasilii died in childbirth. 2. Prior to the decree of February 14th. 1918, Russia used the Julian calendar which was twelve days behind the Gregorian in use in the West. The two dating systems are referred to as Old and New Style and all dates in this book are Old Style. 3. His first wife was the widowed Eleonore Peterson (nee Countess von Bothmer, 1799-1838), four years older than he and with three children of her own. She had three daughters by Tyutchev, Anna (1829-89), Darya (1834-1903) and Ekaterina (1835-82). His children by his second wife, Baroness Ernestine von Dornberg (nee Pfeffel, 1810-94), also a widow, were Maria (1840-72), Dmitrii (1841-70) and Ivan (1846-1909). His mistress, Elena Deniseva (1826-64) bore him Elena (1851-65), Fyodor (1860-1916) and Nikolai (1851-65). 52  * THE POEMS *  1. DEAR DAD! On this happy day, a son’s tender feelings seek a gift for you, but what sort? A bunch of flowers? But the blooms are all over and meadows and valleys have lost their colours. Shall I ask the Muses for some verses? I’ll ask my heart. Here’s what my heart has told me: embraced by your fortunate family, gentlest of men, father-philanthropist, true friend of good, protector of the poor, may your precious days flow in peace! Your loving children and subjects all around you, on every face you will see joy. Thus from on high, the sun looks down with smile upon flowers brought to life by its beams. 2. NEW YEAR, 1816 Already the heavens’ great luminary, pouring abundance and light from on high, has traced its yearly path around the sky, rising in grandeur in a new domain. Behold! Clothed in a glittering dawn, penetrating the whitening vault of these etherial regions, flying down with his fateful urn comes the Sun’s new son, the New Year! His forerunner has vanished from the face of the earth and on the current of revolving ages, like a drop in the ocean, has drowned in eternity! This year will pass too. Heaven’s statute is sacred. Oh, Time! Eternity’s mobile mirror! Everything disintegrates, falls beneath your hand. Your boundaries, your beginning are hidden from feeble, mortal eyes. .......... Aeons are born and disappear once again, one century erased by yet another. What can flee the wrath of malicious Chronos? What can stand its ground before this awesome god? A bleak wind whistles through ruined Babylon! Beasts graze where Memphis once prospered! Around Troy’s toppled stones stinging thorns are thickly entwined! .......... And you, oh son of luxury, mortal voluptuary, your life of idle bliss and comfort rolls peacefully on! But you’ve forgotten, unfortunate man, that we must all gaze at the shores of fearsome Cocytus. Your elevated rank, your flatterers, your gold will not save you from death! Can you really not have seen how frequently fire-winged lightning strikes the brows of towering cliffs? .......... Yet still your greedy hand has dared to snatch the daily bread from orphans and from widows, casting families into joyless exile! Blind man! The path of riches leads to ruin! The subterranean dwelling has opened before you. Oh, victim of Tartarus! Oh, victim of the Furies, the glitter of your splendour, vandal, will not enchant these dread goddesses! .......... There you will see the keen axe forever hanging by the finest hair above your head; your ulcerated flesh will be garbed not in purple cloth, but in a blanket of writhing worms! You will lay your torn members upon a bed not of the finest, softest down to sweetly lull them, but no, upon scorching sulphur, and you will piercingly, eternally howl! But what is this? This terrifying throng! These bloody shades maliciously grinning are hurrying towards you! They died of barbaric persecution; for this barbarity, await your just reward at their hands! Suffer, agonise, evil doer, victim of hell’s vengeance! Your forgotten grave is now covered by grass! The voice which flattered you up here has forever fallen completely silent! 3. TO TWO FRIENDS On this blessed day, one of you adopted the name and virtue of that maiden who struggled in the name of sacred religion; nature conferred upon the other one existence. She engineered it that in both, feelings and deeds should constitute mutual joy, setting an example to the fair sex. .......... Separation oppresses you, oh true friends! The time will soon come, that pleasant, sweet, blissful time of meeting, and in an outpouring of your hearts you’ll finally see her, forgetting past suffering! 4. Let envy gnaw Zoilus’s heart! Voltaire, he cannot harm you! The Muses protect their fostered ones: into eternity’s temple, Oh wondrous one, they’ll lead you. 5. A LETTER FROM HORACE TO MECENATUS INVITING HIM TO DINNER IN THE COUNTRY (HORACE). Come, desired guest, my beauty, my joy! Come, the comradely goblet awaits you here, the rose garland, the sweetness of tender songs! Kindled not by the flatterer’s hand, the aromas of anemones and lilies pour fragrantly onto the feast and baskets full of fruit gladden your eye and palate. Come, righteous man, protector of the people, true son of the fatherland, uncompromising friend of monarchs, fortunate foster child of the Castalian maidens, come into my humble abode! Let magnificent columns and the gilded masses of temples entice the greedy gaze of the unthinking crowd. Leave the careworn city for a while, recline in the shade of leafy groves. Peace awaits you here. Under the roof of the rural penates where everything is beautiful and breathes simplicity, where the cold glitter of purple and gold are alien, that’s where the comradely goblet is sweet! The brow furrowed by thought looses its gloomy aspect here. In the dwelling of our fathers, everything pours joy onto us! Heavy-footed, heavenly Leo has already stepped into the regions of heat and along a flaming path flows across the bright skies! In a sacred, silvan coppice, where a strange haze fuses with coolness, where a trembling, quiet light glimmers through the leaves, a playful freshet barely moves, whispering in the dusk with the sedge along the banks. Here, at the hottest times, in front of a dense thicket, a shepherd and his flock sleep in the cool shade and in rose bushes gentle zephyrs sleep. And you, high devotee of Themis, protector of the defenceless, you spend your days burdened by cares, and our compatriots’ happiness is the good and worthy fruit of your unremitting endeavours. On their behalf you would like to know what fate has in store, but the stern ruler of Earth, Heaven and Hell has wreathed the future in a dense, eternal mist. Be reverential, men born of earth! What? This earthly dust will dare to try to comprehend what is heavenly? Will it dare to tear the veil of mystery? The very fastest mind will numb in confusion and this turbulent sage will be the gods’ laughing stock! Wandering through this thorny wilderness, we can pluck one bloom, catch a fleeting moment. The future is for destiny, not us. So we leave it to the whim of the higher ones! What is time? A swift current rolling the crystal of sapphire waves through peaceful glades and along banks luxuriant in abundant swards. Across the ripples’ silver, the sun’s golden light plays and slips; but give it an hour and, quickly tempestuous, forgetting its shores, forgetting its peaceful movement, it’s lost in the boundless sea, in the shoreless emptiness of vast waters! But wait: suddenly from louring storm-masses rain erupts from black depths. The water rises, roars, breaks its banks and a furious wind stirs up the waves! Blessed, a hundredfold blessed, is he who knows repose, gazing moved at the celestial Guide which flows to rest in Neptune’s domains, who, overjoyed, can say to himself: I have lived! Tomorrow, through a leaden cloud, let the omnipotent god of thunder throw a crimson mantle to envelope the darkening air, or let sunlight once more scatter through the skies, for mortal man it makes no difference, and what the winged years have taken away with them from earth’s sad face into the repository of time not even the Father of Nature himself will alter. This world is the plaything of malicious fortune. She casts her conceited glance at the earth and shakes the entire universe through blind whim! Unfaithful, today she cast her shadow across me; she showers me with riches and honours, but tomorrow, suddenly spreading her wings, she will direct her flight at others. I am despised. I do not protest and, both sorrowful witness and victim of the fateful game, I offer her gifts and garb myself in virtue. Wreathed in storms, let the southern wind stir and raise the salty depths and fuse the black hills of the sea’s seething waters with thunder clouds, ripping fragile ships’ rigging, destroying everything in its fury! Protected by the skies of my gentle homeland, I shall not burden the gods with prayers; but friendship and love, among the waves of life, will guide my bark unharmed into harbour. 6. Omnipotent am I while weak, a ruler yet a slave. I lose no sleep if I do good or if I evil wreak. I give a lot, get little back, I answer to none but Number One, and if I want to beat someone, then I’m the one who gets the smack. 7. URANIA It has been revealed! Is it not a dream? A new world! A new force, like a flame, has enfolded my ecstatic spirit! Who taught me, a youth, to soar like an eagle? Behold this priceless gift of the Muses! Behold these wings of inspiration! I fly and this world vanishes before me, this world, swaddled in a misty, constricting shroud of turmoil and vanity has gone! Like the sun’s golden beams, the ether has touched my eyes and blown earthly dust from them. I behold the dwellings of the all-highest ones whence, through open doors of mystery, by the good will of fate, Mnemosyne’s daughters flow towards us, honour, joy, beauty for all races, for every age! .......... The measureless sea stretches under my feet, and in the blue light of the gentle waves the sky is aflame with burning stars, like the faces of gods in a pure heart. Expectation is like a quiet trembling. All around is sacred silence. .......... Behold! Like the moon emerging from clouds Urania’s islet lifts from silvered foam. A steady light pours all around me born of the smile of goddesses. The sounds of lyres rise higher. The world drowns in enchantment! .......... Setting aside the shades of the ethereal cover and the Charites’ magic belt, Urania has adopted her own image and a starry crown burns on the goddess! On earth, what captivated us as a dream presents itself up here as Truth. .......... Only here, under a clear sky, will life’s murky current brighten; only here, forgotten by Aquilon, it flows deep and bright! Only here is life’s genius fair, here, where roses of pure pleasure last forever, is Poetry’s garland eternally young! .......... Like Pharos for enlightened souls and minds, the temple of the Heavenly One has been erected and Wisdom invites those captivated by what is heavenly to taste the nourishing feast laid out up there. All around the beneficial one, in gold-blossoming dawns, on high thrones, in the radiance of gods, there sit in their splendour the saviours of mortals creators of good, of order, of cities. Behold eternally youthful Peace, with golden chains binding families, peoples, monarchs; Justice with its eternally unmoving scales; Fear of God, preserver of sacred altars; and you, Compassion, joy of those who suffer! You, Loyalty, your brow inclined against the anchor, Patriotism, the native land’s protection, and cold Valour with burning sword; you of the ever bright eyes, Patience, and Labour, you undeviating healer and minion. Thus do the highest powers hold counsel! .......... Among them, around them in sacred reverence, around the slopes of cloud-like mountains, flowing in mysterious circles, is the bright choir of the sciences and knowledge. Alone Urania, like a sun among the stars, preserves harmony and steers their paths. At a motion of her mighty staff the boon of enlightenment flows from land to land. Where formerly there was dark night, there is the phenomenon of radiant day; like a river of stars across the heavens reaching, she embraces the universe and pours life’s gifts onto the West, the East, the North and the South. Reveal yourself to me, universe of years which have flown by! Tell me, Urania where was your first temple, your throne, your people, teacher of all ages? The mysterious East! Your turn has been and gone! Your earliest day has flowed by! From nearby gates the Sun haughtily passes through the dwelling of its birth and flows on, languorous and doubting monarch. Where is Babylon here? Where Thebes? Where is my city? Where is illustrious Persepolis? Where is Memnon, my herald? They are not here! Its rays are lost in the steppes where they are sorrowfully met by the hunter or the ploughman, fruitlessly digging the burning sands or sadly, bashfully slipping across the mossy ribs of the pyramids. Hide yourself, gloomy aspect of frail glory! The sun hurries into the distance. On the shores of the Aegean the laurel has bowed a welcoming head to it, and on the hills of Hellas Athene’s green myrtle has twined itself around its altar. The blind Singer called it to him in solemn song, horsemen and steeds, leaders and chariots, the assembly of gods who left Olympus; the mortal blows of Ares’s hand, and the sweet songs of shepherds; Rome rose, and the thunder and sweet-sounding songs of Mars resounded a hundredfold across Tiber’s hills; and the swan of Mantua, having ploughed up the ill-fated ashes of Troy, rose and poured his eternal light upon the seas! But what meets my gaze? Where, where have you hidden yourself, heavenly one? She flees, like a pale spectre in the dark. The world’s morning star has set. Everywhere there is chaos and darkness! “No! The light of the sciences is eternal It will not be embraced by the ungovernable gloom. Its fruit is imperishable and will not die!” Urania speaks and brandishes her sceptre, and from iron fetters, Italy liberates its pale, sore-covered head, tears the bonds of savage serpents, foot on the lion’s neck. Everything began here! The holy ground, valleys, the bowels of mountains, streams, woods and you, Vesuvius! You, fiery abyss, fearsome beauty of threatening nature! You have returned everything which, in insatiable fury, frenzied Saturn wanted to hide from us! The blossom of Hellas and of Rome has issued from the ashes! Once more the sun has begun to flow along its bountiful path. Nowhere will the ranks of dreadful battles nor spells, nor languid charms, nor massed hordes, nor malicious Hell, on his most sublime paths, forbid the eagle of Ferrara access: on fiery wings he has brought to the temple of Jerusalem victory and a crown. There the nymphs of the Tajo, there the waves of the Guadalquivir flow to meet you, young Singer, bringing to us songs from the shores of another world. But who are these two geniuses standing there? Like radiant seraphim, guardians of the gates of Eden and high priests of incomprehensible mysteries, one from Britain’s waters, the other from the Alps, they reach miracle-working hands to each other. Alien to what is earthly, they raise their eyes to the heavens in the heat of divine reveries! Why does the face of the watery depths burn? Where do the exultant waters of the Thames hurry? Why this sacred trembling, Alps, Appennines? Earth, be reverent! Lend your ears, people! The immortal singers promise you God: one, like the son of thunder, thunders about the Fall, the other, like grace, rings out salvation and the path which leads to the heavens. And behold, amid the snows of the deep land of midnight, beneath the glint of cold dawns, beneath the whistling of icy blizzards, he rose from Kholmogor, like a strong, high cedar, he stands, ascends and takes in everything around him with his strong boughs. Lifting to the clouds, his head glistens with immortal fruit and there, where gleaming metal is buried, there he digs through the soil with his deep roots. Thus the Russian Pindar arose! He raised his arms to the skies that he may block the path of flaming storms. With Minerva’s lance he struck the bowels of earth and golden treasures flowed forth. He stretched his imperial gaze across the sea and his light burns, like Castor and Pollux! .......... The singer, on the grave of the father, the hero-tsar, laid fresh laurels, and he has illuminated Elizabeth’s priceless days of peace and bliss. Then, spilling out, light from the northern lights was reflected on the steep shores of the Araks and the geniuses reached their hands to gaze that way and a new Thebes gleamed red in the rays. There, there, in the land of the morning star, the singer of Felitsa arose! .......... He who keeps the secrets of destiny foresaw the hero-tsar in his cradle. He is now with us! He has flowed down from the heavens, The assembly of royal geniuses has flown down with him, has surrounded his throne; God’s spirit reposes above him! The Muses have joyously sung the praises of You, oh tsar of our hearts - a Man on the throne! .......... By your all-powerful hand the gates of Janus have closed! You have protected us with silence. You are our glory, our beauty! Meekly bowing to your throne, storms sleep on high and in the vales. And here, where everything flows from your goodness, here, once again a genius of enlightenment, gleaming with the light of renewal, the happiness of his days is blessed! Here he swears sacred oaths that, constant, faithful, on his glittering height, following the behests and example of the monarch, he will rise, leaning on Faith, to his divine destination. 8. Inconstant, watery gulfs finally behind him, the swimmer attains the longed-for shores. In the harbour, his flight in the wilderness over, he re-acquaints himself with joy! Exulting, will he not then drape his mighty bark with flowers? Beneath their luxuriant, shining verdure will he not hide the scars of dark tempests and seas? .......... You too with fearless glory sundered the seas’ expanses with your rudder and today, my friend, stately in peace, rejoicing, you fly into your haven. Quicker to the shore, onto friendship’s bosom incline your head, oh singer, that I might weave sprigs from Apollo’s tree into his foster-child’s hair! 9. ON PUSHKIN’S ODE TO FREEDOM Alight with the fire of freedom and drowning out the noise of chains, the spirit of Alcaeus has awoken in the lyre and slavery’s dust has fled it. Sparks have scattered from the lyre and in a stream, like a divine flame, they have fallen onto the pale brows of tsars. .......... Happy is he who with a firm, bold voice, forgetting their rank, forgetting their thrones, is born to speak sacred truths to inveterate tyrants! And you, fostered by the muses, have been rewarded by this great lot! .......... Sing and with the power of euphony soften, touch, transform autocracy’s sold friends into friends of goodness and beauty! Singer, trouble not our civic calm, darken not the royal glitter! Beneath the kingly velvet, let your magic strumming soften hearts, without alarming! 10. CHARON AND KACHENOVSKY Charon Are you really from the land of the living, brother? You’re so dry and thin. In truth, I’m ready to swear here and now that your unclean spirit has long been languishing in Hades. Kachenovsky Well, friend Charon. I’m skinny and dry from books and - why hide it any longer? I’ve been full of bile, vengeful and bad-tempered, my life as useless as a burned out match. 11. SOLITUDE (LAMARTINE) Glancing from a craggy height, how often I sit pensive in the shade of dense thickets, evening’s varied pictures unfolding before me. Here a river foams, the beauty of the valley, leaving me, fading in the dark distance; there the slumbering ripples of an azure pond are bright in deep silence. Through the dark foliage of trees I see dusk’s last ray still wandering. The moon slowly rises from the north on a chariot of clouds and from a lone belfry drawn-out, indistinct peals are heard all around. The passer-by listens, and the distant bell fuses its voice with the day’s final sounds. The world is beautiful! Yet rapture has no place in my withered heart! Like an orphaned shade I wander through a foreign land, dead, the light of the sun powerless to warm me. My gaze slips sadly from hill to hill, slowly extinguished in the fearsome void. Alas, where shall I meet that on which my gaze might rest? There is no happiness, for all nature’s beauty! And you, my fields, copses and valleys, you are dead! Life’s spirit has flown away from you! What do you have for me now, joyless scenes? There is one missing from the world, and the whole world has emptied! Let day break, let nocturnal shades descend, both darkness and light are repellent to me. My fate knows no change and there’s eternal grief in the deeps of my soul! But is the wanderer to languish long in his prison? When shall I abandon this earthly dust for a better world, that world where there are no orphans, where what you believe in comes to pass, where there are suns of truth in imperishable skies? Then, perhaps, there will shine through the saving object of my secret hopes, to which my soul here still strives, which it will embrace only there, in my native land. How brightly the assembly of stars burns above me, the divinity’s living thoughts! What a night has thickened upon the earth, and how dead this earth is in the sight of the heavens! A storm springs up and a wind, and a desolate leaf is eddied! And for me, me, like the dead leaf, it is time to leave life’s valley. Bear me away, tempestuous ones, carry off this orphan! 12. SPRING (DEDICATED TO MY FRIENDS) Love of the earth, charm of the year, spring smells sweetly of us! Nature is throwing a feast for creation, a coming-together feast for its sons! .......... The spirit of life, strength and freedom rises, fans around us! Joy has poured into our hearts, like an echo of spring’s celebration, like the life-creating voice of a god! .......... Where are you, sons of Harmony? Come, with bold fingers touch the slumbering strings, warmed by the bright rays of love, of ecstasy, of spring! .......... Just as in full, flaming bloom, at morning’s first, young light roses glisten and burn; as the zephyr in its joyous flight scatters their aroma, so do you, life-joy, pour yourself into everything. Singers, let’s follow you! Let our youth soar, friends, around the bright blooms of good fortune! .......... This feeble gift of grateful love is yours, this simple blossom, with little aroma. You, my mentors, will accept it with a gracious smile. Thus does a feeble child, as a token of its love, bring to its mother’s breast the flower it picked in a meadow! 13. A.N.M. You have no faith in wondrous fancies. Reason has destroyed everything and, subjugating to constricting laws the air, the seas, the land, like prisoners, has laid them bare. It has dried to its depths that life which breathed a soul into the tree, gave body to the incorporeal! .......... Where are you, oh ancient peoples? Your world was a temple for all the gods, You read the book of Mother Nature clearly, without glasses! No, you’re not those ancient peoples! Our age, my friends, is not like theirs. .......... Oh slave of learned vanity, fettered by your science! Vainly, critic, you chase off their gold-winged dreams. Believe me - experience is all the proof you need the magic temple of good fairies even in a vision, is more joyful than, in waking life, languishing bored in your squalid shack! 14. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE (SCHILLER) Andromache Once more, Hector, do you hurl yourself into the storm of battle where, unapproachable with his sword of steel, the vengeful Pelides fights furiously? Who will look out for Hector’s son? Who will teach him his lordly duty, instil fear of the gods into the baby? Hector Am I to pine in burdensome peace? My heart thirsts for the coolness of battle, thirsts to avenge Pergamum, ancient dwelling of my fathers! If I fall, saviour of my homeland, I shall gaily go down to the shores of the Styx. Andromache In these halls of fame am I fated to see your sword idle and rusting? Are all of Priam’s kin condemned? Soon, where there is neither love nor light, where the dusky Lethe flows, soon your love will die! Hector All my soul’s hopes, all my impulses will be swallowed by the silent waters, but not Hector’s love! Do you hear? They’re rushing off... The flame of battle is burning! The hour has struck! My son, my wife, Troy! Endless is the love of Hector! 15. Along the fateful shore of life, swept up and left by nature, a fiery and a lively youth played, unaware of danger. The Muse took in the orphaned boy and he became her family. She wore a rug of poetry, luxuriant and lovely. When he’d matured, nurtured by the Muse’s good example, a surplus of sensation led him off to Freedom’s temple. He made no gloomy offerings in the service of his idol, just proffering a fiery harp, just scattering some petals. There was one more priority, it’s worthy of a mention, for Cupid played around his head, demanding his attention. An arrow was the god’s kind gift. As soon as he was able, Orpheus’s wife became the subject of a fable. Reality was just a dream, his world was what he made it. Thus he’s attracted earthly fame, thus heaven will reward him. He’s sharp of intellect and quick, of rich imagination, and only ever argued to defend his dissertation. 16. Do not endow us with the spirit of idle gossip!” Okay. But from now on, we agree, by virtue of our agreement, don’t expect any prayers from me! 17. TO WINE’S DETRACTORS (FOR WINE, INDEED, BRINGS JOY TO MAN’S HEART). We’re far too quick to criticise. What’s wrong with liking drink? Drinking wine’s a healthy joy no man of sense denies. .......... Curses and grief to those who dare to dispute what’s so blatantly clear. I summon the heavens to the box to take the oath in this affair. .......... Our forebear took a bite - blame his wife or blame the snake - tasting the forbidden fruit. We know the rest. It served him right. .......... Well, I agree, it must be said, the old man was at fault; he knew he had the grape yet let an apple turn his head .......... Honour and glory has Noah earned, conducting himself with skill, becoming friendly with the wine when water he had spurned. .......... Neither quarrels nor reproaches could spoil his drinking pleasure, the juice of the grape he often poured into his cup at times of leisure. .......... All of his best efforts God himself has blessed. They both reached an agreement, divine good will to test: .......... Should any of his sons not learn to love to take a drink - the scoundrel! - Noah intervened: the blackguard was condemned to burn. .......... So let us stand and raise a glass let’s sup it out of piety, so that along with Noah through heaven’s gates we’ll pass. 18. AN EPISTLE TO A.V. SHEREMETEV Your good genius had difficulty getting you back home, my brother by blood and in sloth, away from manoeuvres and training, barracks, alarms, incarcerations, from your submissive, military existence. At home with your friends, in casual dress, reconciling peace with service, you have hung up your idle sabre in the hero-agronomist’s garden. Okay then. Free once more, could you ever be faithless to your favourite dream? Inactivity can spell trouble, friend, If you’ve no-one to share it with. Take my friendly advice (the Oracle would speak in verse and always convinced its listeners): amongst the beauties of Moscow no doubt it’s easy to find a pretty girl of fifteen, who’s bright, who has spirit and serfs. Leave for a while the plough of Tolstoy, forget chimerae and rank, get married and in the world’s full sense be the aide-de-camp of your wife. Then we’ll surrender to inspiration, Hymen will wake up the Muse. I’ll sacrifice my sloth to her, just you overcome your own! 19. SONG OF JOY (SCHILLER) Joy, first-born of creation, daughter of the great Father, as a glorifying offering we devote our hearts to you! Whatever the whim of the world has separated, your altar brings together once again, and the soul you have warmed drinks love in your rays! .......... Chorus Get into one circle, children of God! Your father is looking at you! His summoning voice is sacred and his reward is true! .......... Whoever has foreseen the sweetness of the heavens, who has loved on this earth, who has drawn joy from a dear glance, share our joy. Everything which one heart to another’s heart has echoed in a brother’s breast; whoever cannot love, out of the circle with you, leave in tears! .......... Chorus Family of souls! Oh, heavenly ray! Almighty link! It leads to the heavens where the Unknown One dwells! .......... At the breasts of good nature everything which breathes drinks Joy! All creations, all nations are pulled along behind her. She has given us friends for times of unhappiness, the vine, the garlands of the Charities, sensuality to insects, to the angel - a place before God. .......... Chorus Hearts, what do you revere? Or is it the creator informing you? Here there are only shadows. The sun is there. Seek it above the stars! .......... Eternal joy feeds the soul of God’s creation with the mysterious power of fermentation. The cup of life is ablaze. It has teased the grass up into the light, in suns it has developed chaos and in space, not subservient to the astronomer, it has poured it! .......... Chorus As worlds roll on one behind the other behind the ever-moving finger, we flow on to our destination bravely, like a hero to battle! .......... In the bright mirror of truth your image shines in our eyes, your jewel burns at the bottom of the bitter phial of experience. Like a cloud of coolness, you appear to us amidst difficulties, you shine like the morning of rebirth through the cracks in tombs! .......... Chorus Believe in the guiding hand! Our griefs, tears, sighs are preserved in it like a pledge and will be redeemed one hundredfold. .......... Who can comprehend providence? Who will indicate its path? In our heart let us seek revelation, the heart signifies the divinity! Away from the earth, enmity! Let soul be kin to soul! Let us sacrifice vengeance and buy friends, purple - with the price of sackcloth. .......... Chorus We have forgiven our foes. In the book of life there are no debts; there, in the sanctum of worlds, God judges how we have judged! .......... Joy swells the grape, joy fires the cups, softens the heart of the savage, enlivens the breast of the despairing! The foam sparkles up to the sky. Hearts are fuller. Friends, brothers - onto your knees! This cup is for the all-bountiful one! .......... Chorus You, whose thought gave birth to spirits, you, whose glance has burned worlds! Let us drink to you, great God! Life of worlds and luminary of souls! .......... To the weak - brotherly service, to the good - brotherly love, the loyalty of oaths - to friend and foe, as a tribute to duty - all the heart’s blood! The bold voice of the citizen to the council of earthly gods. Solemnise the sacred deed. Eternal shame to his enemies. .......... Chorus Our hand to yours, father, we stretch for all eternity! Give eternity to our oaths! Our oaths are the hymn of hearts! 20. TEARS O lacrimarum fons.... Friends, I love to let my eyes caress the sparkling, deep red of the wine, or peer through the foliage at the scented ruby of the vine. .......... I love to watch creation deep in spring time in sweet fragrance when the world is slumbering sweetly and is smiling in its sleep! .......... I love the face of a pretty girl ablaze in the breeze of spring, her cheeks folding into dimples, the sensual silk of her curls. .......... But what are Venus’s delights, the juice of the grape and roses’ aromas, compared to you, oh sacred well of tears, the dew of the god’s morning light! .......... Heavenly beams play upon them and, refracted in fiery showers, on the storm-clouds of existence they sketch rainbow-living colours. .......... And should the pupils of mortal man be brushed by the wings of the angel of tears, then the mist will vanish in tearful swirls and a sky of seraph faces will before our eyes unfurl. 21. FROM A FOREIGN LAND (HEINE) In the gloomy north, on a bleak crag, a lone, white cedar stands in the snow and has fallen sweetly asleep in the frosty mist, and the blizzard lulls its sleep. .......... It dreams all the time of a young palm which, in the East’s distant regions, beneath a burning sky, on a scorched hill, st