|
Posted: 08 Jul 2015 10:17 AM PDT
This poem was, at the time of writing, held to be subversive and revolutionary in Russia. It had a talismanic significance for many a young revolutionary. Manuscript copies of it were often confiscated upon arrest. One, for example, was among the "disloyal writings possessed by officers of the Kiev Grenadier Regiment." This poem managed to royally piss off Tsar Alexander I, whom I would call a witless jackass but for the fact that I prefer to reserve that title for those jackasses, such as Tsar Nicholas II, whose witlessness was truly beyond measure. Tsar Alexander's reaction to the popularity of this poem was that "Pushkin must be exiled". Capo d'Istrias, who boasted the brownest nose of all the Tsar's groveling acolytes, wrote in his capacity as head of the Foreign Office :
"Ðекоторые поÑтичеÑкие произведениÑ, а в оÑобенноÑти Ода на Ñвободу, привлекли внимание правительÑтва на г. Пушкина. Среди великих краÑот замыÑла и Ñлога Ñто поÑледнее Ñтихотворение ÑвидетельÑтвует об опаÑных началах, почерпнутых в Ñовременной школе, или, лучше Ñказать, в ÑиÑтеме анархии, недоброÑовеÑтно именуемой ÑиÑтемой прав человека, Ñвободы и незавиÑимоÑти народов"
"Some pieces of verse and most of all an ode to liberty directed the government's attentions toward Mr. Pushkin. Among the greatest beauties of conception and style this latter piece gives evidence of dangerous principles drawn from the ideas of our age, or, more precisely, that system of anarchy dishonestly called the system of human rights, of freedom and the independence of nations."
In truth, though, the poem is far from revolutionary. Rather, the ideas it expresses are those of conservative liberalism, defending monarchy as long as the monarch, no less than his subjects, is bound by the law and respects it. One may, however, note the way in which it draws on the Marseillaise, a song which quickly became a republican revolutionary anthem in Russia among those who knew French. Echoes can be found a few places e.g. in stanza 2, line 6 (compare Tremblez, Tyrans et vous perfides…)
Ode to Liberty
By Alexander Pushkin
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Russian
Listless Cytherean princess1, sing
No longer! Begone from my view!
But you, great scourge of tsar and king,
Proud Muse of Freedom, where are you?
Come rip my laurels off. Bring stones
And crush this coddled lyre. Let me
Sing to the world of Liberty
And shame that scum upon the thrones.
Reveal to me the noble path
Where that exalted Gaul2 once strode,
When you in storied Days of Wrath
Inspired in him a dauntless Ode.
Now, flighty Fortune's favored knaves,
Tremble, O Tyrants of the Earth!
But ye: take heed now, know your worth
And rise as men, ye fallen slaves!
I cannot cast my gaze but see
A body flayed, an ankle chained,
The useless tears of Slavery,
The Law perverted and profaned.
Yea, everywhere iniquitous
Power in the fog of superstition
Ascends: Vainglory's fateful passion,
And Slavery's gruesome genius.
Heavy on every sovereign head
There lies a People's misery,
Save where the mighty Law is wed
Firmly with holy Liberty,
Where their hard shield is spread for all,
Where in a Nation's faithful hand
Among mere equals in the land
The sword can equitably fall3
To smite transgression from on high
With one blow, righteously severe
In fingers uncorrupted by
Ravenous avarice or fear.
O Monarchs, ye are crowned by will
And law of Man, not Nature's hand.
Though ye above the people stand,
Eternal Law stands higher still.
But woe betide the commonweal
Where it is blithely slumbering,
Where Law itself is forced to kneel
Before the Masses, or the King.
Here is the Man: witness he bears
To his forebears’ infamous error
And in the storm of recent Terror
Laid down royal neck for theirs.
King Louis to his death ascends4
In sight of hushed posterity,
His crownless, beaten head he bends:
Blood for the block of perfidy.
The Law stands mute, the People too.
And down the criminal axe-blade flies
And lo! A ghastly purple5 lies
Upon a Gaul enslaved anew.
You autocratic psychopath,6
You and your throne do I despise!
I watch your doom, your children's death
With hateful, jubilating eyes.
Upon your forehead they descry
The People’s mark of true damnation.
Stain of the world, shame of creation,
Reproach on earth to God on high!
When on the dark Neva the star
Of midnight makes the water gleam,
When carefree eyelids near and far
Are overwhelmed with peaceful dream,
The poet, roused with intellect,
Sees the lone tyrant's statue loom
Grimly asleep amid the gloom,
The palace now a derelict,7
And Clio's8 awesome call he hears
Behind those awesome walls of power.
Vivid before his sight appears
The foul Caligula's last hour.
In stars and ribbons he espies
Assassins drunk with wine and spite
Approaching, furtive in the night
With wolfish hearts and brazen eyes.
And silent stands the faithless guard,
The drawbridge downed without alarm,
The gate in dark of night unbarred
By treason’s mercenary arm.
O shame! O terror of our time!
Those Janissary beasts burst in9
And slash, the Criminal Sovereign
Is slaughtered by unholy crime.
Henceforward, Monarchs, learn ye well:
No punishment, no accolade,
No altar and no dungeon cell
Can be your steadfast barricade.
The first bowed head must be your own
Beneath Law's trusty canopy
The Peoples' life and liberty
Then evermore shall guard your throne. | ВольноÑÑ‚ÑŒ: Ода
ÐлекÑандр Пушкин
Беги, ÑокройÑÑ Ð¾Ñ‚ очей,
Цитеры ÑÐ»Ð°Ð±Ð°Ñ Ñ†Ð°Ñ€Ð¸Ñ†Ð°!
Где ты, где ты, гроза царей,
Свободы Ð³Ð¾Ñ€Ð´Ð°Ñ Ð¿ÐµÐ²Ð¸Ñ†Ð°? —
Приди, Ñорви Ñ Ð¼ÐµÐ½Ñ Ð²ÐµÐ½Ð¾Ðº,
Разбей изнеженную лиру…
Хочу воÑпеть Свободу миру,
Ðа тронах поразить порок.
Открой мне благородный Ñлед
Того возвышенного галла,
Кому Ñама Ñредь Ñлавных бед
Ты гимны Ñмелые внушала.
Питомцы ветреной Судьбы,
Тираны мира! трепещите!
Рвы, мужайтеÑÑŒ и внемлите,
ВоÑÑтаньте, падшие рабы!
Увы! куда ни брошу взор —
Везде бичи, везде железы,
Законов гибельный позор,
Ðеволи немощные Ñлезы;
Везде Ð½ÐµÐ¿Ñ€Ð°Ð²ÐµÐ´Ð½Ð°Ñ Ð’Ð»Ð°ÑÑ‚ÑŒ
Ð’ Ñгущенной мгле предраÑÑуждений
ВоÑÑела — РабÑтва грозный Гений
И Славы Ñ€Ð¾ÐºÐ¾Ð²Ð°Ñ ÑтраÑÑ‚ÑŒ.
Лишь там над царÑкою главой
Ðародов не легло Ñтраданье,
Где крепко Ñ Ð’Ð¾Ð»ÑŒÐ½Ð¾Ñтью ÑвÑтой
Законов мощных Ñочетанье;
Где вÑем проÑтерт их твердый щит,
Где Ñжатый верными руками
Граждан над равными главами
Их меч без выбора Ñкользит,
И преÑтупленье Ñ Ð²Ñ‹Ñока
Сражает праведным размахом;
Где не подкупна их рука
Ðи алчной ÑкупоÑтью, ни Ñтрахом.
Владыки! вам венец и трон
Дает Закон — а не природа;
Стоите выше вы народа,
Ðо вечный выше Ð²Ð°Ñ Ð—Ð°ÐºÐ¾Ð½.
И горе, горе племенам,
Где дремлет он неоÑторожно,
Где иль народу иль царÑм
Законом влаÑтвовать возможно!
Ð¢ÐµÐ±Ñ Ð² Ñвидетели зову,
О мученик ошибок Ñлавных,
За предков в шуме бурь недавных
Сложивший царÑкую главу.
ВоÑходит к Ñмерти Людовик,
Ð’ виду безмолвного потомÑтва,
Главой развенчанной приник
К кровавой плахе ВероломÑтва.
Молчит Закон — народ молчит,
Падет преÑÑ‚ÑƒÐ¿Ð½Ð°Ñ Ñекира…..
И Ñе — злодейÑÐºÐ°Ñ Ð¿Ð¾Ñ€Ñ„Ð¸Ñ€Ð°
Ðа галлах Ñкованных лежит.
СамовлаÑтительный Злодей!,
ТебÑ, твой трон Ñ Ð½ÐµÐ½Ð°Ð²Ð¸Ð¶Ñƒ,
Твою погибель, Ñмерть детей
С жеÑтокой радоÑтию вижу.
Читают на твоем челе
Печать проклÑÑ‚Ð¸Ñ Ð½Ð°Ñ€Ð¾Ð´Ñ‹,
Ты ÑƒÐ¶Ð°Ñ Ð¼Ð¸Ñ€Ð°, Ñтыд природы,
Упрек ты богу на земле.
Когда на мрачную Ðеву
Звезда полуночи Ñверкает,
И беззаботную главу
Спокойный Ñон отÑгощает,
ГлÑдит задумчивый певец
Ðа грозно ÑпÑщий Ñредь тумана
ПуÑтынный памÑтник тирана,
Забвенью брошенный дворец —,
И Ñлышит Клии Ñтрашный глаÑ
За Ñими Ñтрашными Ñтенами,
Калигуллы поÑледний чаÑ
Он видит живо пред очами,
Он видит — в лентах и звездах,
Вином и злобой упоенны
Идут убийцы потаенны,
Ðа лицах дерзоÑÑ‚ÑŒ, в Ñердце Ñтрах.
Молчит неверный чаÑовой,
Опущен молча моÑÑ‚ подъемный,
Врата отверÑÑ‚Ñ‹ в тьме ночной
Рукой предательÑтва наемной….
О Ñтыд! о ÑƒÐ¶Ð°Ñ Ð½Ð°ÑˆÐ¸Ñ… дней!
Как звери, вторглиÑÑŒ Ñнычары!…,
Падут беÑÑлавные удары…
Погиб увенчанный злодей.
И днеÑÑŒ учитеÑÑŒ, о цари:
Ðи наказаньÑ, ни награды,
Ðи кров темниц, ни алтари
Ðе верные Ð´Ð»Ñ Ð²Ð°Ñ Ð¾Ð³Ñ€Ð°Ð´Ñ‹.
СклонитеÑÑŒ первые главой
Под Ñень надежную Закона,
И Ñтанут вечной Ñтражей трона
Ðародов вольноÑÑ‚ÑŒ и покой. |
Notes:
1 I.e. Venus Aphrodite, associated in antiquity with the Ionian island of Cythera. The line, in my English as in Pushkin's Russian, has a surfeit of soft sibillants (tsitery slabaya tsaritsa) adding a sound-component to the denigration of Aphrodite as feeble.
2The identity of this "exalted Gaul" is one of the many quarrels with which scholars of Pushkinian minutiae have masturbatorily busied themselves. Possibilities range from Nabokov's suggestion of the minor poet Ponce Denis Ecouchard Le Brun, to the sadly underrated (by modern critics) poet André Chénier who died on the guillotine at the age of 31, to Jacques de Molay- last grand master of the Knights Templar. For a variety of reasons Chénier seems the most likely, or rather, the only likely choice. But obviously this is a question of interest to historians and the appreciator of poetry doesn't, or at least shouldn't, give one flying fuck.
3 C.f. Guillaume Thomas Raynal's Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans les deux Indes where he writes:
La loi n'est rien, si ce n'est pas un glaive qui se promène indistinctement sur toutes les têtes, et qui abat ce qui s'élève au-dessus du plan horizontal sur lequel il se meut. La loi ne commande à personne ou commande à tous. Devant la loi, ainsi que devant Dieu, tous sont égaux.
The law is nothing, unless it be a sword passing indiscriminately over all heads, and smiting all that rise above the horizontal plane in which it moves. The law governs none, or governs all. Before the Law as before God, all are equal
4King Louis XVI, guillotined in 1793 during the reign of Terror.
5i.e. Napoleonic purple.
6 i.e. Napoleon. Yeah, I know, "psychopath" wasn't a word in the early 19th century. I don't care.
7 The Tyrant here referred to is Tsar Paul I, father of the then-current Tsar Alexander I. The poem was written in the Turgenevs' apartment which looked out across the canal at the Mikhailovsky Castle, the scene of Paul's assassination in 1801- an event envisioned in the subsequent two stanzas.
In Pushkin's time, Paul was considered and depicted as a royal psychopath who ignored the will of his subjects. Later scholarship, based on among others the accounts of various ambassadors who had the displeasure of his company, has revised this image to one of an ineffective, unfocused yet not *entirely* evil doofus who lacked the resolve and discipline needed to turn his good intentions into reality and whose paranoid fear of a French-style revolution lead him to suspect treason on the part of any man who didn't bow low enough and any maid of honor who refused him entry into her vagina. Sir Charles Whitworth, the English ambassador at the time, wrote of him He will advert to every motive which offended vanity can conceive.
8- Clio: the muse of History.
9 Janissaries: i.e. assassins fierce and ruthless as Turkish troops. 
|
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave a comment-- or suggestions, particularly of topics and places you'd like to see covered