dear ones. .......... There is no echo to the voice that calls them, but on this bright festival of your saints-day is there anyone who cannot feel their presence, Zhukovsky, Pushkin, Karamzin! .......... We believe right now that these invisible guests leave their celestial world to hover lovingly among us, sanctifying our feast. .......... In the name of your Muse, we follow with a goblet to drink a toast. Let the wine in this bright cup sparkle and foam for years! 255. Once I was a major, many years ago. You promised me a future: the glitter of a general's epaulettes. What rank I have now beats me, but as your batman, it's time to go, Field Marshall of the Russian intellect. 256. TO ALEXANDER II You seized your day, marked out in this age by the lord's great grace. He displaced the form of slavery from man, returned the younger brother to the family. 257. I knew her even then, in those fabulous years when, before the morning ray of the earliest days, a star already drowns in the blue sky, and she was as she'd always been, filled with that fresh charm of pre-dawn darkness when, unheard and unseen, dew touches flowers. At that time her life was so complete, so whole so alien to things of earth, you'd think she too had travelled far, hiding in the sky just like the star. 258. Not for nothing have your remembered the sounds of Russian from childhood, caring for them within yourself with lively sympathy. Now, at the height of your science and between two worlds, you stand as a universal mediator. 259. TO PRINCE P.A. VYAZEMSKY It's not the same now as it was six months back. There's no longer that close circle of friends. Great nature herself celebrates your jubilee. See to what lengths she has gone to prepare this feast for you, all this shoreline, this sea, this whole wondrous world of summer. With its foot on the last step and with light poured over it, this magnificent day says farewell to its poet. Fountains quietly waft and plash, the garden breathes in slumberous coolness, and Peter's limes rustle so jubilantly above you. 260. Play while above you the sky is still cloudless. Play with people, play with fate, you - life destined for battle, you - heart greedy for storms. .......... How often, tormented by sad dreams, I look at you in anguish, my gaze clouding with tears. Why? What have we in common? You're going to live, I'm going away. .......... I've sensed the morning dreams of the barely woken day, but late, living storms, passions' outbursts, passions' tears, no, none of this is for me! .......... But perhaps in summer heat you'll recall your spring. Oh, remember this time too as we would a vague dream escaping us as dawn approaches. 261. ON SENDING THE NEW TESTAMENT Fate did not select for you an easy nor a happy lot, and very early on you entered into unequal combat with merciless life. .......... You fought with rare courage and in this fateful struggle every fibre of your soul endured the very harshest trials. .......... No, life did not defeat you and in the hopeless fight not once, my dear, not once did you betray the truth in your heart, nor yourself. .......... But earthly powers are feeble: malicious life will suddenly rage insanely and, as if about to be buried, we will suddenly feel such depression. .......... At such times, remember this book with love, let all your soul incline to it and rest, the way you'd sink into your pillow. 262. TO BOTH NICHOLASES We wish all the very best to both Nicholases and greet them with heartfelt sincerity. 263. He used to be a gentle cossack. The fool now tries to administrate. He's Philip's son, I suppose, but still he's no Alexander the Great. 264. TO A.A. FET My heartfelt greeting to you, and, such as it is, here's my portrait. Sympathetic poet, let it tell you, silently at least, how dear your greeting was to me, how touched my soul was by it. 265. Nature has endowed some with a sense which is prophetically sightless from its birth. They feel with it, they hear waters dark-flowing in the deeps of earth. .......... You are beloved of the great Earth-Mother: more coveted by far your lot has been, for often, through the surface cover, into her very eyes you've seen! 266. THE SACRED MOUNTAINS Quietly, softly over Ukraine, the July night lies like a fascinating secret. The sky has gone in so deeply on itself, the stars burn so high and the Donets glistens in the dark. .......... Sweet hour of peace! The peeling of bells, the prayers, the psalms of Svyatogor are silenced. Beneath the walls of their dwelling, illuminated by the moon, the monks sleep in peace. .......... A gigantic outcrop, wondrously white, the cliff stands above the Donets, raising its cross to Heaven like an eternal sentry guarding the monks. .......... It is said that in its womb, locked away, as if in a grave, a wondrous monk lived in severe abnegation for many a year, shedding so many tears before God, lavishing so much faith! .......... It's for that that at night, with a strength that lives even today, above the Donets the cliff stands, and, with this sacred place of prayer, abundant in grace even today, it enlivens the sleeping world. 267. For itself this story speaks, the plot's not hard to unravel: our dirty Russian pub has travelled right up to the Caucasian peaks. 268. 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. ......... These battles have already lasted eight months, this heroic ardour, the treachery and lies, a den of thieves in a house of prayer, crucifix and dagger in the same hand. .......... The entire world seems drunk on falsehood. There's every form and trick of wickedness! No, never has God's justice been so insolently called to battle by the injustice of man! .......... This cry of blind sympathy, a universal summons to frenzied conflict, the depravity of minds, the distortion of the word, it's all risen up and threatens you, .......... oh native land! Such a call to arms has not been heard since the earliest times. Russia, it seems you have a great significance! Be valiant, stand firm, be strong and overcome! 269. TO HIS GRACE PRINCE A.A. SUVOROV Humane grandson of a martial grandfather, forgive us, nice prince, for honouring the Russian cannibal, we Russians not having asked Europe's permission! .......... How on earth can we excuse this cheek to you? How can we justify agreeing with someone who stood up for and saved the integrity of Russia, sacrificing everything to his calling, .......... who took upon himself, in desperate conflict, all the responsibility, all the labour, all the burden, and who, raising it to life, shouldered the entire, poor, tormented tribe, .......... who, chosen to be the bull's-eye of all sedition, stood and stands, peaceful, unharmed, in spite of foes, their lies and evil-mouthing, in spite, alas, of his own people's banalities? .......... So let this letter to him from us, his friends, be a shameful piece of testimony! What we need, prince, is your great grandfather. At least he'd have signed it himself! 270. Just as now and then during summer a bird will flutter into the room, bringing with it life and light, announcing, illuminating, pulling after it into our nook the blossoming world of nature, green woods, living waters and the gleam of a blue sky, so did our guest pay a transient, aerial visit to our stuck-up stifling world, shaking us all from sleep. Warmed by her presence, life shook its feathers anew, and even Peter's summer thought of thawing out when she arrived. While she was here, old age became young again and experience became an apprentice. She twisted this diplomatic milieu around her little finger. It was as if our entire house came to life, choosing her as its inhabitant, and already we were less troubled by the tireless telegraph. But all charms are short-lived. It's not their lot to stay with us, so now we've had to say goodbye, though we'll not forget for a long, long time those unexpectedly charming impressions, those dimples on rosy cheeks, those comfortably stately movements, and that upright figure, and hearty laugh and resonant voice, the semi-cunning light of her eyes, and that long, fine hair which even fairies' fingers couldn't hold. 271. TO N.I. KROL Cold September rages. Russet leaves fall from trees. Dimming day is a haze. Night falls. Mist rises. In my heart and to my sight - everything so colourlessly cold, unresponsively sad. A sudden song bursts out and by some charm the mist curls up and flies away, the sky is blue once more, clothing itself in radiance, and everything is green again, everything turns into spring. This fantasy stayed with me all the time your little bird was singing. 272. FEBRUARY 19TH., 1864 With his last, quiet steps he approached the window. Evening was coming and with rays as pure as grace it shone and burned in the west. He recalled that year of renewal, that great day, that day born of the New Testament, and the shade preceding death shone from his face, emotion-filled. .......... Two cherished, kindred images which he bore in his heart like a sacrament, appeared to him: the tsar and Russia, and he blessed them both and with all his heart. He lowered his head to his pillow, the final struggle accomplished. Then with love did the saviour himself release his true, obedient servant. 273. Not always does the soul have sickly dreams: spring's arrived, once more the sun will beam. 274. The breeze has dropped and lighter is the breath of the blue assembly of Geneva's waters. A boat rows across it again. Another swan ripples it. The sun burns all day as if it were summer. Trees sparkle in motley hues, their frail showiness lulled by the air's caressing billow. And there, peacefully solemn, disrobed since early morning, Mont Blanc is shining like some unearthly revelation. My heart could forget everything here, could forget all its torment, If only back home there were one grave less. 275. All day she lay oblivious. To lie across her body shadows came. Outside the tepid rain of summer streamed, splashing through the trees in happy games. .......... She lay for quite some time absorbed as slowly she came round, consciously immersed in thought, beginning to listen to the sounds. .......... As if conversing with herself, she said, and she was fully aware, (I was with her, crushed, but still alive,) "Oh, I loved it all so much out there!" .......... You love - at loving as you could, no-one's yet arrived. Oh Christ, without my heart exploding, to have this to survive! 276. Like an unresolved mystery, living charm breathes in her. We note with a tremor of alarm the quiet life of her eyes. .......... Is this charm terrestrial in any way? Is it some earthly grace? My soul would like to pray but my heart strives to adore 277. Oh, this south, oh, this Nice! How their glitter troubles me. Life's like a bird that's been shot and wants to rise but cannot. It wants to spread its wings, it wants to fly again but they just hang, feeble, broken things, and it grips the ground and shivers in impotent pain. 278. No matter who you are, just meeting her, with pure or illicit thoughts, you will suddenly feel more acutely that there's a better world, a spiritual one. 279. AN ENCYCLICAL Once, the hammer of the justice of the Lord smashed and destroyed the primal temple where the high priest gasped his last, impaled upon his own sword. .......... More fearsome, more implacable, God demands that he atone on these days of heavenly judgement in apostate Rome, and capital sentence will be passed on that Pretender to Christ's throne! .......... Passing centuries disguise black deeds and lying rumours, but God in his justice cannot pardon this latest in a string of lies. .......... No human being will win the right to kill this earthly ruler, living by the sword of man so long himself. He will be destroyed by his own fateful words: "Think for yourself and you sin!" 280. TO PRINCE GORCHAKOV Yours has been a fateful calling, but whoever summoned you will be observing. All that is best in Russia, anything with life in it, is watching you, believing, waiting. You saved the honour of deceived, insulted Russia. Nothing deserves more praise. Today you're faced with other feats of bravery. Stand up for the thought, save the spirit. 281. Ocean-billows, night-surging, here radiant, there blue-grey, living creature, washed in moon-rays, breathing, striding, glimmering... The water-world has no skyline. Bare but for sparkling movement, growling thunder. The sea is shot with dull light. How good it is in the unpeopled night! Sea-flanks swell above, monstrous currents under. Whose feast is this? What celebration? Waves rush, thunder, glisten. Stars sense them, gaze, listen. in this shining, in this agitation, in a dream I am lost. Into this world I would sink whole, I would stand up to my soul immersed, ocean-tossed. 282. When God has deferred assent, no matter how the loving soul suffers, its suffering will never win it joy, though it might come to realise itself. .......... Soul, my soul, you gave yourself wholly to cherished love alone, breathing by it, suffering by it. May the Lord bless you, soul! .......... He, the charitable, the omnipotent, He, warming with his rays luxuriant flowers blossoming in the air, and the pure pearl on the bed of the sea! 283. IN REPLY TO AN ADDRESS Friends, you're behaving like boors, to native Russia delivering your snub. You think you're members of the English Commons? You're only members of the English Club! 284. In the martyrdom of my stagnation are hours and days which intensify the pain. Their weight is crushing, fatal's their oppression. Verse can't endure it, verse cannot explain. ......... Everything dies. Tears and affection close their doors! So empty and dark all around. The past no longer wafts its clear shadow: like a corpse, it lies beneath the ground. .......... Above it, in bright reality, loveless, where sun-rays never fall, there's an impassive, soulless world which neither knows, nor can remember her at all. .......... I'm alone in my submissive tedium. I want to know myself, to be aware; I can't, a shattered boat thrown up by breakers upon a nameless shore that's wild and bare. .......... Lord, let me burn with suffering. Dispel the deathliness cramping my soul. You've taken her, but all the living torment, the painful memory of her leave whole. .......... Let me remember her, life's task fulfilling, fighting her final conflict of despair, loving with love so fierce and so burning, facing fate and people's slander unafraid, .......... her, her who, never defeating fate, vowed all the same that fate would never win, her, her who till the end was able to bear such pain, to pray, believe - to love! 285. Dying, he doubted, tormented by an ominous thought, but not for nothing had God spoken in him. God is loyal to His chosen ones. .......... One hundred years of toil and woe have passed and now, more manly with each passing day, our Native Speech, given full play, celebrates his wake. .......... No longer ensnared, freed from former fetters, in all its intellectual freedom it pays its compliments to him. .......... And we, grateful grandsons, for all his good deeds, in the name of Truth and Learning, sing Eternal Memory. .......... Yes, his significance is great, true to the Russian mind he fought for Enlightenment for us, not enslaving us to it. .......... Like that Old Testament fighter who struggled till dawn with an unearthly Power and survived the nocturnal battle. 286. In Nice the tsar's son is dying. They'll forge shackles for us out of this. "It's God's vengeance for the Poles" - that's what they're saying here in the capital. .......... Whose crazy, narrow brain could give birth to such ideas? Whose? Some Polish priest's? Or one of Russia's minister's? ......... Oh, all these fateful rumours, this criminal, wild mumbling of our native land's black sheep will not be heeded by Russia! .......... Learn your lesson! Let's not hear that fearful cry resound, as in the past: "Treason's abroad! The tsar's been taken!" Russia won't save him then! 287. APRIL 12TH., 1865 It's all been decided and he is at peace, he, enduring till the end, though it seems he was worthy before God of a different, better crown, .......... another, better inheritance, the inheritance of his god, he, our joy since childhood, he wasn't ours, he was His. .......... But between him and us there are bonds stronger than nature: with every heart in Russia now he prays for her, .......... for her, whose sorrow and trials are understood and gauged only by the one who, sanctifying herself through suffering, stood crying by the cross. 288. How truly has the common sense of folk defined the sense of words: not for nothing, it's clear, from "caring" has it derived the term "to croak". 289. Est in arundineis modulatio musica ripis. The sea is harmony. Shapely in debate, all elements cohere. Rustling in the river's reeds, musical designs inhere. .......... Imperturbable form is the outward sign of nature's utter consonance. Only our spectral liberty imparts a sense of dissonance. .......... Whence this disharmony? How did it arise? In the general chorus, why this solo refrain? Why do our souls not sing like the sea and why must the thinking reed complain? ......... And why, from earth to the farthest stars (even today there's no reply) do we hear a protest in the void, the soul's despairing cry? 290. TO MY FRIEND YA. P. POLONSKY Living sparks no longer answer friendly banter. There's deepest night in me. Dawn it will not see. Soon there'll fly into the gloom, unnoticed, The dying fire's thin smoke, the last there'll ever be. 291. You commanded, though, perhaps, in jest, and I shall carry out your orders. This is no place for hesitation, nor for reason, and even wisdom is crazy about you, .......... and even he, your glorious grandfather, though he'd out-argue all of Europe, gave in in the unequal battle and sued for peace at your feet. 292. TO PRINCE VYAZEMSKY There's the telegraph if you've got no legs. Let it bear to you my partly ailing verse. May God preserve you in his goodness from all kinds of squabbles, alarms, troubles, as well as from insomnia at night. 293. Poor Lazarus, wretched Iros, with effort and in turmoil I write to you, getting up from my sick bed, and let my lame greeting be given wings by the telegraph. .......... Let it hasten it on, playing, to that wonderful, bright corner where all day, never silent, it's as if a rain storm sings in green copses. 294. It's fifteen years today, my friend, since that blissful fateful day when she breathed all her soul into me, poured her whole being into me. .......... It's already a year now, uncomplaining, not reproaching, everything lost, that I greet my fate: to be so frightfully alone until I die, as alone as when beneath the earth I'll lie. 295. The East is doubtful, silent. Everything is keenly quiet. What is it? Dream or expectation? Is day distant or near? The mountains' napes are barely white. Mist still lies on woods and dales. Towns sleep. Hamlets doze, but just look up ... .......... Look: see the band of light which seems to glow with hidden passion. Brighter, more alive, burning right through ... Another moment - across the boundless skies a universal pealing heralds the sun's triumphant rising. 296. ON THE EVE OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF AUGUST 4TH., 1864 Wandering along the highway as daylight quietly dies... Depressed. My legs don't want to move. My darling, can you see me? .......... It's getting darker, darker over all the earth. Day's last glimmer flying off... That's the world I shared with you. Angel, can you see me? .......... Tomorrow we pray and grieve. Tomorrow we recall that fateful day. My angel, wherever souls go, My angel, can you see me? 297. Unexpectedly and brightly, moist across the blueness of the sky, an airy arc has been erected. Triumphant, it will soon pass by. One arm has plunged into the forest. Beyond the clouds the other sweeps. Half the sky it has encompassed. It's reached its highest point and sleeps. .......... This iridescent vision is pure delight for human eyes. It's given us for just a moment, so catch it. In your grasp it lies! Look again. It's paling. One second more its colours glow. It's gone. It's vanished just as surely as what you breathe and live by goes. 298. Sad night creeps across an earth beset neither by thought nor threat but by joyless, sluggish sleep. Lightning brightens the scowls, winking intermittently like deaf-mute ghouls debating heatedly. .......... A sign has been agreed: the sky's alight. A sudden surge snaps from the murk with sudden speed and fields and distant woods emerge. Then again they're under shrouds. You sense it all go darkly still up there, and if in camera some high affair they'd ratified above the clouds. 299. Not a day relieves the soul of pain, of pain about the past, seeking words, not finding them, drying, drying with every day, .......... just like the anguish-burning exile, bemoaning his lost land, discovering on the bed of the sea that it's buried in the sand. 300. Let foul slander rage, labour to crush her with lies. Every demand quails before the candour of her eyes. .......... Sincere and lovely, of wondrous form, her cloudless soul's a sky untroubled by storms. ......... Not a speck of dust adheres when those nauseating churls sow their stupid calumny which cannot even crumple the airy silk of her curls! 301. TO COUNTESS A.D. BLUDOVA However meagre life becomes, however much we're forced to come to terms with what is clearer every day in any case, that just surviving isn't living, .......... in the name of a dear past, in the name of your father, let's promise one another never to betray ourselves. 302. So he's saved! Could it turn out otherwise? A sense of joy has flooded Russia. But amidst the prayers, amidst our grateful tears, one thought persists and gnaws our hearts: .......... with just one shot, everything in us has been insulted, and there seems no escape from this slap in Russia's face. It lies, alas, a despicable blot on all the history of the Russian race! 303. When what we have said is echoed far and wide by a soul sympathetic to its sense, we need no other recompense - we're satisfied, we're satisfied. 304. TO PRINCE SUVOROV Two disparate tendencies join in you, you holy fool who cannot save his soul, you clown without a scrap of wit. .......... It seems that Nature's grand design was creating then condemning you to deeds you needn't answer for, to words that go unpunished. 305. In God's world it can happen that snow will fall in May, but Spring doesn't grieve, knowing her time will come. ......... Despite its raging, this untimely fool is powerless. Blizzards and storms have already abated, summer storms are on their way. 306. When our disordered exchequer doesn't simply thresh around, but runs itself aground, just sitting like a crab, who will come to save her, well who, if not a sailor? 307. Lake's still currents, gold-glinting roofs, past glories in abundance in the lake. Life plays. Sun burns. Under both, here, a wonder-wafting past, wafted by its own enchantment. Golden sun glints, lake-currents glimmer. Here the great past seems to breathe oblivion, slumbering sweetly, carefree, unworried, unalarmed in wondrous dreams by the momentary tremor of swan-voices. 308. On his funeral pall, instead of wreaths, we've inscribed some simple words: "Oh Russia, were it not for yours. he'd have had no enemies at all". 309. When our decrepit energies turn traitor, when, like former tenants, we let our house to the young, save us then, good spirit, from faint-hearted reproaches, from slander, from animosity at our changing life, from feelings of suppressed spite at the world which is being renewed, where new guests sit at the feast prepared for them, at the bitter, galling awareness that the current no longer bears our boat, that there are other vocations, that others have been called forward, from everything that (the more ardently - the deeper) we have concealed so long, because more shameful than ageing, aged love is an old man's peevish passion. 310. The pale, blue sky breathes warmth and light and greets Peter's city with an unheard of September. .......... A warm, moist fullness in the air waters fresh foliage and quietly ripples through the stately pennants. .......... The sun sows glittering heat along the deeps of the Neva. Everything gleams and wafts like the south and life is like a dream. .......... More free and easy, more welcoming is the vanishing day, and the shade of autumn evenings is heated by summer comfort. .......... At night, multi-coloured lights flame... enchanted nights, enchanted days. .......... It's as if nature's strict rules had been relaxed in favour of the spirit of life and freedom, of the inspirations of love. .......... It's as if, eternally indestructible, the eternal order had been destroyed by the loving and loved human soul. .......... In this caressing radiance, in this blue sky there's a smile, there's an awareness, there's a sympathetic reception. .......... And sacred emotion with the gift of pure tears has come to us like a revelation and echoed through everything. .......... What was unprecedented till now our knowing people has understood, and the week of Dagmar will cross the generations. 311. Russia is a thing of which the intellect cannot conceive. Hers is no common yardstick. You measure her uniquely: in Russia you believe! 312. ON THE JUBILEE OF N.M. KARAMZIN On Karamzin's great day, at this fraternal funeral feast in his memory, what should we have to say before the fatherland, what, that she could respond to? .......... With what reverent praise, with what living sympathy shall we honour this glorious day, this national, family festival? .......... What respects shall we send you, you, our good, pure genius, amidst the perturbations and doubts of these much-troubled years .......... with their ugly mixture of impotent justice and glaring lies, so hateful to a soul which is high, passionate about goodness, .......... a soul, such as yours was when it still fought on here, but which headed irrepressibly for God's invocatory voice? .......... We shall say, be a guide to us, be an inspiring star, illuminate our fateful dusk, wholesome, free, wise spirit, .......... able to bring all together into an unbreakable, whole structure, everything humanly good, reinforcing it with Russian feeling, .......... able, your neck unbending before the crown's charms, to be a friend of the tsar to the end and a true subject of Russia. 313. Russian star, will you always seek mists to stay concealed, or like an optical illusion will you forever be revealed? .......... Will you really be to avid eyes which seek your glow at night an empty, mocking meteor aimlessly scattering its light? .......... Murk thickens. Grief deepens. Disaster's slipped its tether. See whose flag is sinking in the ocean. Wake up, wake now, or drown forever! 314. IN ROME An edifice was raised in ancient Rome, Neron building himself a golden palace. At the very granite foot of the palace a blade of grass engaged the caesar in a dispute: "I'll not give in to you, you know that, earthly ruler, and I cast aside your hateful burden." "What, not give in to me? The world groans beneath me!" "The whole world is your servant, but my servant is Time." 315. Although it has slipped from the face of the earth there remains in the souls of tsars a retreat for truth. Who has not heard the solemn word? Age passes it on to age. .......... And what now? Alas, what do we see? Who will give shelter to, who will look after the divine guest? Lies, evil lies have corrupted all minds, and the whole world has become lie incarnate! .......... Once again the East is smoking with fresh blood, there's carnage once again, everywhere there's wailing and weeping, and again the feasting executioner is in the right, and the victims are given up to slander! Oh, this age, nurtured on dissension, soulless age with a malicious intellect, in the squares, in palaces, on thrones, everywhere it's become the personal foe of truth! .......... But there remains one powerful retreat, one sacred altar left for truth: in your soul, our Orthodox tsar, our good-hearted, honourable Russian tsar! 316 . It's not the first time the East has been in turmoil, not the first time they've crucified Christ there, and with their shield the powers protect the pallid horn of the moon from "the cross". A cry goes up: "Crucify him, crucify him! Give them over once more to slavery and to torment!" Oh Russia, surely you can't hear these sounds and, like Pilate, wash your hands. Don't you see, it's your heart that's bleeding! 317. Above prostrate Russia there arose in a sudden storm Peter, nicknamed the Fourth, Arakcheev the Second. 318. How I love the cherished pages of this posthumous album, how everything about them is so kindred and close, how full it all is of spiritual warmth! .......... How the sympathetic strength of these lines has fanned me with the past! The temple has emptied, the thurible's fire has gone out, but the sacrificial smoke still rises. 319. "The smoke of the fatherland is sweet to smell!" Thus a former age, poetically, would speak. But ours forever seeks sunspots as well and smuts our fatherland with smoke that reeks! 320. SMOKE Once there stood a mighty, beautiful wood here, it rustled greenly, this magical forest, but not really a forest, rather an entire world of variety, filled with visions and wonders. .......... Sunlight filtered through, shadows shimmered; the racket of birds would not be stilled; swift deer flashed through thickets and the hunter's horn resounded now and then. .......... At the cross-roads, chatting and greeting, meeting us from the silvan half-light, entranced by a kind of wondrous light, swarms of familiar faces. .......... What life, what charm, what a luxuriant, bright feast for the soul! Unearthly creations there seemed to be to us, but this marvellous world was close to us. .......... And once again to the mysterious forest we have come in our former love. But where is it? Who has brought down the curtain, dropped it from the sky to the earth? .......... What's this? A spectre, spells of some sort? Where are we? Can we believe our eyes? All that's here is smoke, like the fifth element, smoke, joyless, endless smoke! .......... Here and there ugly stumps stick through where the fire's left it bare, and white flames run across the burned boughs with an ominous crackling. .......... No, it's a dream! No, the breeze will spring up and bear away the spectre of smoke and once more our wood will be green, as it was, magic, kindred. 321. TO THE SLAVS A heartfelt greeting to you, brethren, from all corners of Slavdom, greetings to you all, without exception! A family feast is prepared for you all! Not for nothing has Russia called you to a festival of peace and love; but you must realise, dear guests, that here you're more than guests - you're family! .......... You're at home here, and more at home than in your own native land, here where the rule of foreign powers is unknown, here where there is but one tongue for all of us, rulers and ruled, and where Slavdom is not held accountable for the grave original sin. .......... Although we've been split apart by inimical fate, we're still one race, the scions of a single mother! That's why they hate us! You'll not be forgiven for Russia nor Russia forgiven for you! .......... They're worried to death by the fact that the Slavonic family is telling friend and foe to their faces for the first time, "Here I am!" At the memory which will not go away of a long chain of evil deeds, Slav self-consciousness, like divine retribution, will terrify them! .......... Long ago on European soil, where falsehood grew so luxuriantly, long ago with the learning of the Pharisee, a dual truth was created: for them - law and justice, for us - violation and deceit, and antiquity reinforced them, as the inheritance of the Slavs. And that which lasted centuries has not dried up today, and weighing down on us, above us, gathered here ... Still smarting from old pains is all our modern times ... The field of Kosovo has not been touched, the White Mountain not levelled to the ground! And among us - no small shame - in the Slav medium kindred to all, the only one who's walked away from their disgrace and has not succumbed to their enmity is he who for his own kind everywhere and always has been the foremost miscreant: they will only honour our Judas with their kiss. .......... Shamefully conciliatory tribe, when will you become a race? When will your time of differences and adversity become redundant, and when will a cry ring out for unity and bring down that which divides us? We'll wait and trust in providence which knows the day and the hour. And this faith in God's justice will no longer die in our breasts, though many sacrifices and much sorrow will still be met by us on the way ... It lives - this supreme achiever - and its judgement is not meagre, and the word liberator-tsar will reach out beyond the Russian border. 322. TO THE SLAVS Man mu? die Slaven an die Mauer drucken. They shout, they threaten: "Watch, we'll squeeze the Slavs to the wall!" Well, let's hope they don't burst apart during their ardent onslaught! .......... Yes, there's a wall, all right, but it's a big one and it's not hard to push you against it. But what benefit would come from it? That's what I can't figure out. .......... That wall is fearfully resilient, although it's a granite cliff. One sixth part of the globe it long ago encompassed. .......... More than once it's been stormed, here and there a couple of stones have been broken off, but after that the warriors retreated with bruised foreheads. .......... It stands as it has always stood, watching, a martial fastness. It's not so much that it's threatening, but... every stone in it is alive. .......... So let the frenzied attempts of the Germans constrict and press you to its embrasures and its shutters, Let's just see what they get hold of! .......... No matter how blind enmity rages, no matter how their violence threatens, this kindred wall will not give you up, it will not repulse its own people. .......... It will part before you and, like a living bulwark for you, will stand between you and the enemy and move closer to them. 323. POSTSCRIPT TO THE POEM ENTITLED TO HANKA Thus I appealed, thus I spoke. That was thirty years ago. Efforts are more determined. Evil is nastier. .......... You, standing now before God, man of justice, sacred shade, let all your life be a guarantee that the desired day will come. .......... For all your constancy in the battle which has still not ended, let the first All Slav festival be an offering to you! 324. It's a waste of time. You'll not make them see sense. The more liberal they are, the coarser they are. Civilisation is a fetish to them, but its idea is inaccessible to them. .......... However much you grovel to it, gentlemen, you'll not gain recognition from Europe: in her eyes you will forever be not the servants of enlightenment, rather its serfs. 325. ON THE JUBILEE OF PRINCE A.M. GORCHAKOV In these bloodily fateful days when, calling a halt to its fighting, Russia has sheathed her sword, her sword, pitted in battle, he was summoned by the will of authority to stand guard, and he stood, and he conducted on his own with Europe a valiant, unequal struggle. .......... For twelve years now this obstinate dual has lasted. The world of foreigners wonders. Russia alone can understand him. He it was who first guessed what the problem was, and he it was who first boldly recognised the Russian spirit as the union of strength, and this crown is his just reward. 326. In these days of madness, if a noble prince sinks to decorate Christ's torturer with his own hand, if we recall the saying, perhaps you'll understand: "Evil be to him who evil thinks". 327. However burdensome the end, that thing we'll never comprehend, our mortal suffering's exhaustion, more horror in our souls is roused by watching one by one being doused our every cherished recollection. 328. A righteous punishment is being meted out for a grievous sin, a thousand-year old sin. There will be no appeal, the blow will not be deflected, and God's justice will be seen by everyone. .......... It's the righteous punishment of divine justice and whoever you might call to for support, judgement will be passed and the papal tiara will for the last time be bathed in blood. .......... And you, its innocent bearer, let God save you and bring you to your senses. Pray to Him, that your grey hair be not dirtied by spilled blood. 329. ON READING THE IMPERIAL DESPATCHES, PRINTED IN THE JOURNAL DE ST. PETERSBOURG. When expiation is accomplished and once more dawn illuminates the East, oh, how they'll then understand the meaning of these magnificent lines! .......... How the first bright ray of daybreak, touching, will bring brilliant flame, gilding and making sacred these prophetic pages! .......... And in an outpouring of national sentiment, like pure, divine dew, a tear of gratitude from free peoples will start to gleam on them! .......... In them is written a whole story about what was and what is. Having unmasked Europe's conscience, they have saved Russia's honour! 330. Once more by the Neva I stand. Once more, as in the past, as I were alive, I stare at these sleeping waters. .......... There's not a spark in the sky's blue. Everything's stilled in pale enchantment. Alone along the pensive Neva currents of moonlight stream. .......... Am I dreaming all this, or am I really seeing what we saw by this very moon when we were both still alive? 331. FIRES As far as the eye can see, horizon-wide, massive, threatening cloud, column upon column, a chasm of smoke hanging over the land. Dead bushes spreading out, grasses smouldering, unburning, a row of charred firs thinned out on the horizon. On this sad, scorched site no sparks, only smoke. Where's the fire, malicious destroyer, omnipotent master? Stealthily here and there, like some red beast crawling through the undergrowth, the living fire runs! Let twilight come Smoke and darkness merge. With consoling flames the beast illuminates his camp. Before the might of this elemental enmity, silent, arms drooping, stands sad man, stands a helpless child. 332. Clouds melt in the sky. Beaming in the heat, the river runs, sparkling like a steel mirror. .......... It's hotter by the