Canto One

Prologue

By a curving bay an oak stands green; a golden chain is on that oak; and day and night a learned cat walks round and round it on the chain: going to the right, he starts a song, going to the left, he tells a tale. There are wonders there: a wood sprite roams, a water maiden sits in the boughs; on paths no one has ever walked are tracks of beasts no one has seen; a hut stands there on chicken's legs, with neither window nor door; wood and valley are full of visions; at dawn the waves come rolling in onto the empty sandy shore, and thirty knights, all fair to see, come one by one out of the clear water, and with them their old sea-captain; a prince, in passing, takes captive a terrible tsar; in the clouds, before the people, a wizard carries a hero through the forests and the seas; in a dungeon a princess grieves, and a brown wolf serves her faithfully; a mortar walks there by itself with Baba Yaga in it; there Tsar Koschei pines over his gold; there is a Russian spirit there — it smells of Russia! And I was there, and drank mead there; I saw the green oak by the sea; I sat beneath it, and the learned cat told me his tales. One I remember; this tale I now shall tell the world.

Dedication

For you, the queens of my soul, beauties, for you alone I wrote down in my golden hours, to the whisper of old gossip, the stories of the times gone by. Accept with kindness my playful work; I ask no praise of anyone; I am happy already in the sweet hope that a girl, trembling with love, will glance, perhaps, in secret, at my sinful songs.

I

Deeds of days long passed away, legends of the deepest past.

In his high hall, among his mighty sons, among his friends, Prince Vladimir the Sun was feasting; he was giving his youngest daughter to the brave Prince Ruslan, and drinking from a heavy cup of honey to their health. Not soon did our forefathers eat; not soon went round the dippers and silver bowls of foaming wine and beer. They poured gladness into the heart; foam hissed at the rims; the cupbearers carried them gravely and bowed low to the guests.

Speeches mingled into one noise; the merry guests hummed; but suddenly there sounded a pleasant voice, and the ringing sound of the quick gusli; all fell silent and listened to Bayan: and the sweet singer praised Ludmila the lovely, and Ruslan, and the crown woven for them by Lel.

But weary with impatient passion, Ruslan, in love, does not eat or drink; he looks at his dear love, sighs, grows angry, burns, and, plucking his moustache with impatience, counts every moment.

At the same loud table sit three young knights, silent, gloomy, by empty dippers, forgetful of the circling cups; they do not hear the prophetic Bayan; their eyes are lowered, troubled: they are Ruslan's three rivals; the unhappy men hide in their souls the poison of love and hate. One is Rogdai, a bold warrior, who pushed back with his sword the borders of the rich fields of Kiev; the second, Farlaf, a loud braggart, unbeaten at feasts by any man, but a modest warrior among swords; the last, full of passionate thought, the young Khazar Khan Ratmir: all three pale and sullen, and the merry feast is no feast for them.

The feast is over; they rise in rows, mingled in noisy crowds, and all look at the young pair. The bride has lowered her eyes, as though her heart were sad; the bridegroom is radiant. The prince blesses them both; and the guests disperse, and the bride and groom are led to the bridal chamber. [The wedding-night scene is given only in outline.]

But suddenly thunder struck; a light flashed through the mist; the lamp went out; the smoke ran; all around grew dark, and everything trembled, and Ruslan's soul froze. Everything went still. In the terrible silence a strange voice spoke twice, and someone in the smoky depth soared, blacker than the misty dark. And again the room is empty and silent; the frightened bridegroom rises, cold sweat on his face; trembling, with a cold hand he asks the dumb darkness — O grief! — his dear love is gone! He clasps the empty air; Ludmila is not in the thick darkness; she has been carried off by an unknown power.

In the morning the bridegroom, in mortal grief, throws himself at the prince's feet. "Where is my daughter?" cries the prince, struck as by thunder, turning on his son-in-law. "You lost her? Shame! Children, friends! Which of you will find my daughter? Whoever finds her, to him I give her, and half my father's kingdom!"

"I!" said the grieving bridegroom. "I! I!" cried Rogdai, Farlaf and the joyful Ratmir. "We'll saddle our horses; we're glad to ride the world over. Father, do not drag out our parting; we are going." And the four leap on their horses, ride out along the Dnieper, and the old prince, mute with grief, follows them long with his eyes.

They rode together all day, in silence; then, at evening, they came to a crossroads, and parted, each taking his own road; and Ruslan rode on alone, deep in thought, his reins loose.

Then, ahead of him, in a cave, he saw a light. He rode to it. Under the vault sat an old man, grey, with a clear look, a calm face, a long beard; a lamp before him; he was reading an old book. "Welcome, my son!" he said with a smile. "I have waited twenty years in loneliness for this day. I know: you have lost Ludmila. Ludmila has been carried off by the terrible wizard Chernomor, long the robber of beauties, the master of the northern mountains. No one's eye has yet seen his dwelling; but you, destroyer of evil, will reach it, and he will fall by your hand. More I may not tell you; the fate of your coming days is in your own will now."

Our knight fell at the old man's feet, and kissed his hand with joy; the world grew bright to him again; his torments were forgotten; but then his face clouded again. "Do not grieve," said the old man; "the wizard's love is not terrible to you. He brings down stars from the sky, he whistles and the moon trembles; but against time his law has no power. He is old and his strength is long gone; [Pushkin's bawdy joke here is softened.] for all his care, he will have to guard her as a jealous miser guards a useless treasure."

And Ruslan asked the old man who he was, and how he lived there. And the old man told his story.

The Finn's Tale

"I was born in a Finnish valley, a shepherd. I knew nothing in those days but the dark forests, the streams, the caves of our crags, and the merry work of the poor. But in our village lived Naina, the flower of beauty. I saw her; I loved her, with a fire I had never known; I told her of my love, and she, proudly, said: 'Shepherd, I do not love you.' Then I gathered a band of friends, went to war, for glory, to win her; for ten years I fought; I came back with treasure; I laid it at her feet: 'Hero, I do not love you,' said Naina again.

"Then I resolved to win her by enchantment. In the silence of the forest, among wizards, I spent years learning their dark craft; and at last I called her by my spells. The bushes parted; the earth groaned; and before me sat an old woman, bent, grey-haired, with sunken eyes, a hump, a shaking head: it was Naina. Forty years had passed while I was learning; and she said to me: 'Now, my love, I have caught fire; I burn, I am dying with love.' I fled. And she, scorned, has hated me ever since; she knows sorcery too; her anger will turn on you also, my son. But go; be bold; the morning is near."

In the morning Ruslan rode on. The old man blessed him from the cave: "Go; do not forget your old Finn."