Ruslan and Ludmila

D. M. Thomas

• Publisher: Scribner UK
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781471177460
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Alexander Pushkin's epic magic-realist tale is brought vividly to life in this superb translation by D. M. Thomas. Drawing on the Russian folklore of Pushkin's childhood, the poem recounts the abduction of Princess Ludmila by the evil wizard Chernomor and the attempt by the brave knight Ruslan to rescue his bride. Ruslan must embark on a perilous quest, encountering an intriguing cast of characters – including a hermit, a witch and a pugnacious floating head – before he can be reunited with his love. Ruslan and Ludmila is a vibrantly colourful blend of traditional chivalry, outrageous humour and exciting escapades: a gorgeous display of the poet's astonishing imagination.

CANTO ONE

I bring to light a vanished day,

Deeds that survived the ages’ testing.

Vladimir the Bright-Sun held sway

In a high banquet chamber, feasting

With doughty sons and friends. The host

Rose smiling to propose a toast,

Raising head-high his heavy glass,

To Prince Ruslan, to whom will pass

His youngest daughter. As with most

Feasts in old Russia, all was measured,

Quite slow; such was the ceremony

Of feasts, the eating, drinking, leisured;

The goblets circled without hurry,

The bearers moved about quite gravely,

Keeping the company well-wined,

With lots of froth; as was behovely,

Then steeply, from the waist, inclined.

Talk, laughs, created an unceasing

And joyous buzz the table round;

Then, over all, a voice most pleasing

And, too, a lyre’s sweet rippling sound;

Now all were silent, and delighted

To hear the enchanting bard Bayan

Singing of Lel¹ who has united

Lovely Ludmila and Ruslan.

Into impatient longing sinking,

Ruslan is scarcely eating, drinking;

Darling Ludmila holds his gaze,

He burns, he knits his brows, he sighs,

Absently plucks at his moustache and

Counts every second, deep-impassioned.

Elsewhere amidst the noisy crowd,

Gloomily hunched and beetle-browed,

Sitting aloof, are three knights, youthful,

Staring into their empty cups,

Of the rich meats don’t eat a mouthful;

For them the mead-jug never stops;

They do not hear the wise Bayan;

These guests, three rivals of Ruslan,

Along with love have the dread poison

Of hate, incapable of reason.

First, brave Rogdai, who with his blade

Flashing in many battles made

Wider rich Kiev’s fertile fields;

Next, loudmouthed Farlaf, never bested

At feasts, but when in battle tested

He becomes humble and soon yields;

His passions tautened like a drum –

The third, the Khazar Khan Ratmir.

All three sit pale and sunk in gloom,

The cheerful feast brings them no cheer.

Now it was done. Clatter and jangled

Voices as everyone rose and mingled,

All eyes now on the bridal pair:

The bride with downcast eyes, demure, or

As if her heart felt sudden terror,

The groom now with a joyous air.

Over the earth night’s shadows creeping,

The murk of midnight moving close,

The boyars make their bows; half-sleeping

From the strong mead, they take to horse.

The groom, in rapture, with elation,

Is stroking in imagination

The bashful maiden in their bed;

Her father, sad in secret, tender,

Draws in the air the sign to render

His blessing on these newly wed.

The bride’s escorted by her servants

To the silk couch; the torches dim;

But Lel, in customary observance,

Is ready . . . The night-lamp’s lit by him.

The wedding gifts at last unfurl,

Fondest desires are coming true;

Falls jealous raiment from the girl

On carpets of the richest hue . . .

Do you not hear the whispers, amorous,

The liquid, sweet sound of a kiss,

Her interrupted, troubled murmur as

The final shyness yields? . . . No, this

You hear – the sudden, monstrous crashing

Of thunder . . . shattered, their delight –

The room’s lit by the lightning flashing,

Then darkness; quenched is the nightlight,

Smoke pours in and the dark room sways

And trembles; Ruslan is in a daze,

Feeling his brave heart turn to ice

And he lies helpless; now, an eerie

Voice sounds in the nuptial chamber, twice,

Someone still blacker than the dreary

Room looms up . . . and then in a trice

Vanishes . . . Now all noise is stilled;

Starts up the bridegroom, terror-filled,

The sweat upon his brow is frozen;

Shaking, he searches with cold hand

The dark he cannot understand . . .

O grief! his love, his bride, his chosen . . .

He might be plucking at the wind,

For his Ludmila is not there,

Borne away by some unknown power.

If you love hopelessly and madly,

Endure all torments love can give,

My friends, you will live bleakly, sadly,

Yet it is possible to live.

But if, after the long, long years,

At last you are in bed embracing

The object of your longings, tears,

Just for a moment your heart racing,

But then your love is snatched away . . .

My friends, I know I’d rather die!

Ruslan was still alive, tormented.

What of the great Prince? Soon informed,

He summoned all his court, demented –

His friends, his sons, Ruslan, and stormed

At him, his grief and anger blazing:

‘Where is my daughter – and your bride?’

His son-in-law, his gaze not raising,

Seemed not to hear. Vladimir cried:

‘My knights, my friends, beyond all praising

Your service; now pity an old man!

Who’ll save my precious girl, my life?

Of gratitude you will find no lack. –

Weep, wretch! You could not guard your wife...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Preface
• Translator’s Introduction
• Dedication
• Prologue
• Canto One
• Canto Two
• Canto Three
• Canto Four
• Canto Five
• Canto Six
• Epilogue
• Copyright