Girls would divine:
They’d take off one shoe,
Throw it over the gates;
Then rummage in the snow; listen
At the window; feed the chickens
Specially chosen grains;
They’d melt clarified wax;
In a bowl of clear water,
Place a gold ring,
Emerald earrings;
Cover with a cloth,
And over the bowl sing in unison
The divinatory songs.
The moon shone weakly
Through the dimness of the mist,
Silent and solemn,
Stands sweet Svetlana.
“What’s the matter, darling?
Spare us a word;
Listen to the roundelay;
Draw out your ring.
Sing, my dear: “Blacksmith,
Forge me a new gold band,
Forge me a golden ring;
For me to be crowned me with this circlet,
To be betrothed with this ring
Before the sacred altar”
“How can I sing, dear friends?
My sweetheart is far away;
It is my fate to die
In lonely sadness.
A year has flown by – there’s no news;
He doesn’t write to me;
Ah! yet he alone is the light of my life,
Through him alone does my heart breathe…
Or do you even remember me?
Where, in what quarter, are you?
Where is your dwelling place?
I pray and shed my tears!
Soothe my misery,
Consoling angel!“
Now in the parlour the table is covered
With a white napkin;
And on this table stand
A mirror and a candle;
Two places are set.
“Seek, Svetlana;
In the clear mirror’s glass
At midnight, without fail
You will know your fate;
Your sweetheart will knock at the door
With a light hand;
The latch of the door will drop;
He will sit at his place
To dine with you”.
Now the lovely girl is alone;
She sits at the mirror;
With a secret shyness she
Looks into the mirror;
The mirror is dark; all around
A deathly hush;
The candle with a sputtering flame
Barely sheds a light…
Timidity stirs her breast,
She fears to look behind,
Terror clouds her eyes…
With a crackle, the candle flares up,
A cricket chirps plaintively,
The midnight messenger.
Propped on her elbow,
Svetlana scarcely breathes…
Now… so lightly at the lock
Someone knocks, she listens;
Looks timidly at the mirror;
Behind her shoulders
Someone has appeared, flashes
His bright eyes…
Her breath is held in terror…
Suddenly towards her flies
A quiet, faint whisper;
“I am with you, my love;
Heaven’s voice is stilled;
I can hear your gasp!”
She turns around… her sweetheart reaches
His arms towards her.
“My joy, light of my eyes,
Nothing shall part us.
Let us ride! The priest already awaits us in the church
With the deacon and the wardens;
The choir sings the wedding hymn;
The sanctuary blazes with candles”.
There comes in answer a tender gaze;
They go into the wide courtyard,
To the log gates;
At the gates their sleigh is waiting;
The horses tear with impatience
At the silken reins.
They sit… the horses set off in a trice;
Shooting steam from their nostrils;
From their hooves is thrown
A blizzard over the sleigh.
They prance… all is empty around,
The steppe is in Svetlana’s eyes;
Round the moon a cloudy ring;
The fields barely gleam.
Her clairvoyant heart trembles;
The maiden shyly speaks:
“Why so silent, darling?”
Not a syllable in reply:
He looks into the moonlight,
Pale and gloomy.
The horses dash on over the hillocks;
Part the deep snow…
Here to the side the holy sanctuary
Appears in its solitude;
A gust has opened the doors;
There are people’s shadows in the sanctuary;
The chandeliers’ bright light
Wanes in the incense;
In the middle is a black tomb;
And the priest gives a drawn-out cry:
“Awake thou taken by the grave!”
The maiden trembles still harder;
The horses are gone; her love is silent,
Pale and gloomy.
Suddenly a snowstorm is upon them;
The snow falls in tufts;
A black crow, with a whistling of wings,
Wheels above the sleigh;
The crow croaks: despair!
The hurried horses
Peer forwards into the dark distance,
Erecting their manes;
A light flickers on the plain;
A peaceful refuge comes into view,
A hut buried in the snow.
The brisk horses pick up their pace
At a joyful canter, towards it,
Tearing up the snow.
Now they draw level… then, in an instant,
Have vanished from her eyes;
Horses, sleigh and fiancé
Are as if they had never been.
Alone, in the dark,
Cast away from her sweetheart,
The maiden is in a desperate plight;
Around her are snowstorm and blizzard.
Of a way back there is no trace…
To her eyes in the shack comes a light:
Now she crosses herself;
Then at the door with a prayer she knocks…
The door falls open… creaks…
Quietly falls wide open.
What is this?... In the shack there is a coffin; covered
With a white cloth;
An image of the Saviour stands at its foot;
A candle is in front of the icon…
Oh, Svetlana, what has become of you?
Whose dwelling have you entered?
Terrible is the unanswering inhabitant
Of the empty hut.
She enters with trepidation, in tears;
Before the icon she flings herself in the dust,
Praying to the Saviour;
And with her cross in her hand,
Under the saints in the niche
She fearfully hides herself.
All has fallen quiet… the blizzard ceased…
The candle sputters weakly,
Now shedding a trembling light,
Now growing once more dim…
All is in a deep, deathly sleep,
A dreadful silence…
Hush, Svetlana!... in the quiet
A low churring comes…
Then she looks: towards her in the niche
A snow-white dove
With shining eyes,
Quietly flutters down,
It settles quietly on her breasts,
Embraces them with its wings.
All around has again fallen silent….
Now it seems to Svetlana
That under the white linen
The corpse is stirring…
The shroud has slid off; the body
(Its face more shadowed than the night)
Is all in view – on its brow a diadem,
Its eyes shut.
Suddenly… behind the sealed lips, a groan;
He strives to part
His chilled arms…
What of the maiden?... She trembles…
Her doom is nigh… but unsleeping
Proves the white dove.
It stretches, unfurls
Its delicate wings;
Towards the dead man’s chest it darts…
Deprived of all strength,
He moans, then grinds
His teeth with terrible sounds
And turns towards the maid
His dread eyes…
The pallor is back on his lips;
In his rolling eyes
Death has appeared…
Look, Svetlana… O, Lord in Heaven!
Her sweetheart is the corpse!
Ah me!... then she awakes.
Where is she?... Before the mirror, alone
In the middle of the parlour;
Through the flimsy curtain
Comes a ray of dawn;
The cockerel beats its noisy wings,
Heralding the day with a song;
All gleams… Svetlana’s mind
Is clouded by the apparition.
“Ah! awful, dreadful dream!
It does not portend well –
Some bitter fate;
A hidden shadow of my days to come,
What do you foretell for my soul,
Joy or misery?”
At the window Svetlana sits
(For her breast throbs dully)
Beyond the window the broad way
Can be seen through the mist;
The snow sparkles in the new sun,
The thin steam turns pink…
Hush…! In the empty distance booms
A sonorous bell;
On the road is a snowy dust;
Mettlesome horses, as if on wings,
Come galloping with a sleigh;
Nearer they come, then at the very gates;
A sturdy guest trudges towards the porch…
Who is it? Svetlana’s betrothed.
What of your dream, Svetlana,
Foretelling torment?
Your sweetheart is with you; still the same
For the test of separation;
The same love is in his eyes,
The same kind glances;
The same gentle utterances
On his sweet lips.
Now open wide, holy sanctuary;
Fly to heaven,
Ye faithful vows;
Gather all, young and old;
And clinking the chiming glasses, sing
In harmony: many years!
Please smile, my lovely one,
On my ballad;
In it are many wonders,
Very little sense.
And I, happy in your glance
Do not want glory also;
Glory, we’ve been taught, is smoke;
Light is the wise judge.
This is the burden of my ballad:
“The best friend we have in this life
Is faith in providence.
Bless the law of our maker:
Here lies misfortune – the deceiving dream;
Fortune is the awakening”.
Oh! never know these frightening dreams,
My Svetlana…
Give, Creator, protection to her!
Let no wound of unhappiness,
No momentary shadow of grief
Touch her;
In her may the soul be as clear as day;
Oh, may the hand of calamity
Pass her straight by!
Like the delightful sparkling
Of the brook within the meadow’s lap,
May all her life be bright,
May merriment, as it was wont,
Don Juan
Ymdeithydd
Jake0395
Pääsuke
Sat, 16/03/2024 - 16:58
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