A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS

a narrative poem by Alexander Pushkin

DEDICATION TO N. N. RAYEVSKYI

pt it with a smile, my friend -

s offering of an imagination set free:
you I've dedicated this exiled poet's song,
work my empry time has moved me to create.

meless but comfortless, I faced destruction;

heard my false accusers whispering on every side.
e cold dagger of betrayal was tearing me,
burden of love's disillusion was crushing me.
close to you I still found peace;
heart had rest in our fond friendship;
storms that raged above me lost their fury;
in that quiet anchorage I praised the gods.

was sad when we parted;

as my thoughts tumed to poetry
recalled the Caucasus,
grim Mount Besht5u,2 like an awesome hermit,
inates with its five peaks
villages3 and fields of the Circassians.
became for me a new Parnassus, mount of inspiration.
never forget its flinry summits,
gushing springs, its parched heathlands,
sultry wastes, that landscape
made such a deep impression on the fwo of us -
132 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS

where warlike raiders roam the hills

and a wild imagrnation
lies in ambush in the empty silence.
PART ONE
Yes, in this story you'll find, I hope,
memories of the days we so enjoyed, ia, a village: the menfolk were sitting at ease in their
you'll find clashing emotions, ys. Born and bred in the Caucasus, they talked about
familiar dreams, familiar sorrows, unrest and destruction of war, about the fineness of their
and the private voice of my inner self,, about the pleasures of their wild, free lives; and they
hanged memories ofthe past - the raids when they carried
'We've
taken dif|erenr paths in liG. before them, the tricks their clever chieftains used to play,
No sooner had your flower opened vicious thrusts their swords delivered, their deadly aim as
in the gentle climate of your home rksmen, the villages they burned to ashes, and the gentle
than, treasured child as you were, h of the dark-eyed girls they took captive.
you followed in the footsteps of your war-hero father They chatted on in the stillness, while the moon floated
and proudly dashed away ro fields of blood, in the evening mist. Suddenly a mounted Circassian
to hail of enemy fire. up in front of thern, dragging a young prisoner on a
The fatherland has raken you to irs heart, . 'A Russian - look!' cried the raider. The villagers
moved by your self-sacrifice, uickly gathered round in an angry throng. But the prisoner
and seeing in you the true beacon of its hopes. cold and silent, with bloodied head, motionless like a
. He did not see the faces of his enemies; he did not
I, early on, have come to know distress, faced persecution, r their shouts and curses. A deathly coma cast its shadow
victim of slanderers and vindictive fools; him, enveloping him with a baleful chill.
but, fortifying my heart For hours the young prisoner lay in hear,y stupor. Not till
with independence and with parience, midday sun shone cheerfully overhead did the life-force
I have been imperturbably awaiting better days, r within him, and he gave a muffled groan. Warmed by the
looking to the successes of my friends 's rays the poor fellow slowly raised himself up and
for my delight and consolation. feebly around He saw the mountain massif
ring inaccessibly above, eyrie of marauding tribes and
part of free Circassia. The young man remembered: he
a prisoner - or was it just a horri$'ing nightmare? Then
heard the sudden clank of the chain round his legs. The
ful sound told all. The scenery around grew dim.
e to freedom, precious freedom! He was a slave.
He was lying behind some huts by a thomy hedge. The
134 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS 13 5

Circassians were in the fields; there was no one on guard; in thg loud hubbub started up in the distance. The folk were
empty village all was quiet. He could see the valley floor, rning from their fields ss the village, their gleaming harvest
deserted, stretched out before him like a green coverlet. ives catching the fading light. As they arrived fires were lit in
Beyond, the hillsides rose in stages to a regular line ofmountaix ir houses, and gradually the raucous clamour died away.
peaks; and among them a lonely track lost itself in a forbidding ith nightfall a comfortabl6 tranquilliry enveloped the place.
remoteness. The young prisoner's heart was troubled by a the distance a mountain torrent showed white as it tumbled
heavy thought. . . . That distant road must lead to Russia - the a rocky precipice. The sleeping peaks of the Caucasus
land where his youthful fire had first blazed with self-con- re wrapped in a blanket of cloud' . ' .
fidence and unconcern; the land where he had experienced But someone was coming in the moonlight, treading
life's first thrills, where he had loved so much, where he had thily in the deep silence. Who was it? The Russian looked
courted such dreadful anguish. Yes, it was there that he had let . Before him stood a Circassian girl, a gentle greeting on her

his turbulent life-sryle ruin his hopes, his pleasures, his desires, ess lips. He stared at her without speaking; it was a
locking within his blighted heart the memory of better days. ion, he thought, a trick played by his exhausted senses.
t.l
He had put other folk, and society itsele to the test, and he
visible in the moonlight she smiled with compassion and
urance. She crouched, and with a steady hand she held
had leamed how much it cost to buy their fickleness. In hearts cool kumisa to his lips. But he ignored the healthgiving
of friends he had found betrayal; in dreams of love he had : his hungry soul caught the look in the young girl's eyes
found a mindless nightmare. He was sick ofbeing the regular the magic sound of her pleasant voice. He could not
butt of idiots he had long despised, of foes who spoke with rstand the foreign words, but her tender expression, her
forked tongues, of dupes who would pass on any slander. So ing cheeks, her gentle voice - these all said 'Live on!', and
he had renounced sociery and befriended nature; he had left prisoner lived again. In response to her kindly prompting,
his home and rushed away to distant parts, in the cheerful gathered his remaining strength, pulled himself up and
company of freedom - or freedom's ghost. ed his aching thirst on the refreshing drink; then he lay
Freedom! - the one thing he had cherished in an empry to rest the weight of his head once more upon the stones.
world. He had worn out his sensibility in fevered emotion; But still he kept his clouded eyes on the Circassian girl, and for
he had let himself grow cold to poetry and imagination; but long, long time she sat by him pensively. It was as though
his heart still stirred when he heard a freedom song. Freedour wanted to comfort the prisoner with her silent presence.
he had worshipped as an aloof deiry, with the Grvent prayer ry so often her mouth opened involuntarily as she tried to
ofa devotee. ; then she would sigh, and more than once her eyes filled
Now all was over . . . Nowhere could he see anything on ith tears.
which to fix his hopes. His latest dreams - even they had I Day followed day in blurred succession. The prisoner, still in
deserted him. He was a slave. Resting his head on a stone he ains, spent the whole time with the cattle in the mountains.
waited for the flame of his sorry life to go out with the last n summer heat he took shelter in the moist coolness of a cave.
glow of sunset; he longed for the refuge of the grave. [Link] a crescent mooll's silver light shone out beyond the
The sun was already out of sight behind the mountains. rk mountains, the Circassian girl came by a shadowed
 r36 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRIS6NER IN THE CAUCASUS r37

path and brought the prisoner wine, kumis, sweet-smelling aloft; the whinnying sf Qircassian horses and the lowing of
honeycomb fresh from the hive, and millet-meal white like cattle were drowned in the roar of the tempest . . . Then
snow. She shared this secret supper with him; and resting suddenly, amid lightning flashes, a cloudburst of rain and hail
her gentle eyes on him she talked away, blending her incom- would unleash itself on the valleys. Torrents of rainwater
prehensible words with the language of eyes and hands. She streamed downhill, scouring the slopes and shifting primeval
sang him songs of the mountains too, and songs of happy rocks. But the prisoner, alone on his mountain height, beyond
Georgia; and she eagerly tried to memorise the foreign words thunder clouds and out of storm's reach, would await the
he taught her. return of sunlight and listen with strange enjoyment to the
It was the fint time that the innocent young girl had known cataclysm's mufiled reverberation.
the joy ofbeing in love. But the Russian had long ago lost the It was the outlandish people of those parts that the European
ecstasy of his younger days; he was unable to respond to a found most fascinating. The prisoner noted the religious
love that was childlike and openhearted - perhaps he was beliefs of the mountain folk, their customs, and their up-
afraid to recall the image of a love he had forgotten. bringing; he liked the simpliciry of their lives, their
It is but gradually that our youth fades and that we lose our hospitaliry, their love of fighting, the speed and deftness of
capacity for love; we still from time to time surprise ourselves their movements, their lightness of foot, their strength of
with an encounter that thrills us. But the vibrant sensation of hand. For hours on end he would watch a lithe Circassian in
our first love, the heavenly fire of its rapture - that is shaggy cap and black felt cloak galloping on the wide steppe
something that will never visit us again. or through the hills - leaning forward in the saddle, his agile
It seemed that the prisoner, bereft of hope, was getting used legs pressing down on the stirmps, at one with his steed,
to his wretched existence. He tried to suppress deep within practising early for war.
him both the anguish of captivity and the fire of defiance. As He admired the elegance of the dress they wore for battle
he picked his way among the gloomy crags in the chill of and for everyday. A Circassian is festooned with weaponry;
early morning he would fix his searching gaze on the distant he takes pride and comfort in it. He carries a harness, a
massif} that showed grey and pink and deepest blue. What handgun, a quiver, a Kub6n-sryle6 bow, a lasso, a dagger, and
scenes of splendour! Mountain peaks, thrones of etemal a sabre * which he constantly keeps by him at work and at
snows, seemed to the eye like a motionless bank of clouds; leisure. He carries everything lightly, never fumbles. On foot
and in their midst Mount Elbrus,5 huge and majestic, rwin- or on horseback, he is always the same, with the same
headed colossus glistening with crown of ice, gleamed white indomitable, intrepid bearing. His prized possession is his
in the azure sky. mettlesome horse, reared among mountain herds, a terror
Sometimes with dull persistent rumbling a peal of thunder to easy-going cossacks, but to him a loyal, longsuffering
i would herald a storm; then the prisoner would love to sit companion. With his horse the wily brigand lies in wait in
motionless on the mountainside above the village, the storm cave or thick undergrowth; then, spying a traveller, he's offat
lt
clouds smouldering at his Get and the dust swirling up in once like an arrow from the blue; and in an instant a powerful
spirals across the steppe. Deer sought shelter in terror among throw decides the contest. Fair game! The trailing rope is
the rocks; eagles rose from their ledges and screeched high already dragging the stranger into the mountain fashess. The
13 8 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRIS9NER IN THE CAUCASUS I39

horse gallops on with all full of fire and daring; he can

speed, frrgrant cupful of best Qgorgian wineT to cheer him. 131s1,
fen and forest, thicket' beneath felt cloak still damp with rain, the traveller will enjoy
-"k. hi, way anywhere - through a night's untroubled sleep in the smoky hut before nroving on
rock and gully. He leaves behind a trail of blood; his
hoofbeats sound through the empry hills; ahead a foam- from the hospitable shelter of his lodging next morning.
flecked torrent roars - he plunges into the seething flood; the Customarily, at the high feast ofBairam,8 a crowd ofyoung
traveller, thrown to the bottom, gulps in the turbid water' Circassians will gather for a series of sporting contests. They'll
and fainting prays for death, sees death before him' ' ' '
But undo their quivers-full of feathered anows and shoot at the
the sturdy horse rushes straight through and hauls the man birds ofprey up in the clouds. Then they'll form an impatient
out on the sPraY-drenched bank. line at the top of a steep hillside and, at a given signal, bound
Here's ,noth., of the Circassian's tricks' When the darkness down like deer, filling the valley with dust and the sound of
of a moonless night shrouds the hills, he grasps a branchecl running as their feet strike the earth in a friendly race.
treetrunk thrown down into the river by a storrn; he fastens ail But men that are born for war get tired of the monotony of
his fighting gear - shield, cloak, cuirass, helmet, quiver and peacetime, and often they mar the sporting activities of their
-- freedom and leisure with crueller sports. Sometimes in the
bow to the boughs and age-old roots' Then, silent and
untiring, he jumps down into the swift torrent behind it' The wild exuberance of Circassian festivities there'll be a menacing
night ii murky; the river roars; the powerful current bears flash of swords, and the heads of slaves will tumble to the dust
hit past lonely banks where cossacks stand guard on raised to the youngsters' rapturous applause.
and peering at the dark- The Russian witnessed these bloody entertainments with
-[Link], leaning on their lances indifference. In earlier life he had himself been fond of
flowing stream - while the scoundrel's armoury, black against
blackness, floats past them. What is he thinking about' that daredevilry and had burned with thirst for bloodshed. Bound
cossack? Is he remembering past battles, nights spent in by a code of honour from which mercy was absent, he had
the

open on field of death, regiments parading for a thanksgiving

a been used to seeing death near at hand when, engaged in
,.-i.., or the folks back home? Dangerous reminiscencesl a duel, he had walked, cold and unmoved, to meet a
It's time to say goodbye to the free life of camp, to the family challenger's bullet. Perhaps, as he stood deep in thought, he
homestead, to the soft flowing Don, to wars and pretry girls' was remembering the time when he had himselftaken part in
The hidden enemy has made fast to the bank; out comes an festivities with a crowd of his friends . . Was he
arrow from his quiver and - whoosh! - the cossack falls' the gretting those bygone days and the disillusionment they
guardpost runs with blood. led to? Or was he fascinated to watch these fierce
- uncomplicated pastimes and see his own past mirrored
Now picture our Circassian in the home where his ancestors
have lived. Imagine him sitting there peacefully with his ithfully in the savage nation's lifesryle?
family, when weather is bad and embers are glowing in the The drift of his innermost thoughts he hid in deep silence.
hearth. A weary stranger rides up late from a trek across lonely held his head high, and his looks betrayed nothing. The
mountains; he dismounts, comes in and seats himself nervously gh Circassians marvelled at his nonchalance and pluck;
by the fire. Then the Circassian is the kindly host' rising spared him for his youth, and in whispered exchanges
courteously to greet the newcomer, and handing him a gratulated themselves on their prize.
 A PRIS9NER IN THE CAUCASUS

no more rapture, no morc desire; I shall fade away, victim of

destructive passion. You see here the debris of unhappy love,
the terrible wreckage ef 3n inner tempest. Leave me alone;
PART [Link] just pity this wretched fate of mine. My poor friend, why
didn't you come into my life earlier - in the days when I still
believed in my hopes and in the dreams that thrilled me? But
The mountain girl had now come to experience an inner
rapture, life's sweetest delight' Her eyes, ardent and
innocent' it's too late: I'm dead to happiness; the spectre of those hopes
has flown away. This friend of yours has lost the capacity for
."p..rr.d love and happiness' When in the darkness of night
h., .ort p"nion, burning with passionate desire' kissed her making love; to feelings of tenderness he reacts like stone.
: 'How terrible to respond to lively kisses with lips that are
with a siient kiss, she would forget the everyday world; she
dead; and to meet eyes full of tears with a chilly smile! How
would say: 'Dear prisoner, brighten that sad look ofyours;
rest

yorr. [Link] on my breast; forget about'freedom and your terrible, when dozing numbly in the arms of a passionate
iro-el"nd. I'm happy to hide here with you' away from lover, to be tormented by useless jealousy as one thinks of
to me' another woman! While you return my kisses so lingeringly,
everyone: my heart is yours to command' Make love
tenderly, and find the hours of love passing so quickly and
No orr. yet has kissed my eyelids' No young' dark-eyed
where I sleep ly, at the same time I am gulping back tears in the
Circassian has crept at dead of night to the bed
I ilence, distracted, miserable, seeing before me, as in a dream,
alone. They call me a heartless girl, beautiful but stubbom'
fierce vision of someone I shall always love. I call to it, I struggle
know what the future has in store for me: my father and
I don't ards it - and meanwhile I say nothing, see nothing, hear
brother want to sell me for a sum of gold to someone
if hothing. I give myself to you in oblivion; it's the mysterious
love in another village; but they'll give in to my entreaties;
ntom that I embrace: that's what I shed tears for in the
not, I'll find a dagge. o, ,o-t poison' It's to you' to you only'
I love iness; it haunts me everywhere, bringing a sombre pain
thai I'm drawn, by *[Link] force I can't understand'
" my bereft soul.
you, dear captive; you've overpowered my inmost being ' ' '
'

He woulJlook at the lovesick girl with silent piry' his mind Just leave me my iron fetters, my lonely dreams, my
my sorrow and my tears: you cannot share them.
full of hearry thoughts as he listened to her words of love'
Hrs
of past days ou've heard my heart's confession. Forgive me . . . put your
self-controi would falter, and the memories
in mine - to say goodbye. The chill of separation won't
would weli up within him. Once large tears even rolled down
ble a woman's aflections for long. Love will pass; she'll
from his .y"r. Th. pain of love without hope lay in his
heart
to the young girl: restless; a pretty lass will fall in love again.'
like lead. At last he poured out his sorrows
'Forget me: I'm not worth your love, your devotion' You The young girl sat with open mouth, sobbing without tears.
r downcast, motionless eyes expressed a silent protest. She
mustn't waste your precious days on me: encourage another
rbled, pale as a ghost. Her cold hand still lay in the hand of
young man. Let his love take the place of my cold and sorry
lover. At lengh the agony of love poured itself out in
i..[Link]. He'lI be faithful; he'Il value your loveliness, -the
youthful ished words:
affectionate look in your eyes' the warmth of your
I have 'Ah, Russian, Russian, why did I give rnyself up to you for
ii kisses, and the tenderness of your impassioned words'

i
 142 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRIS9NER IN THE CAUCASUS 143

ever before I knew what you felt! It's not long I've been creeping up to raid the Circassian villages by night and
resting my dreaming head on your chest. It's not many nights bravely rescue any captives. He called out . . . but all around
of happiness fate has granted me. Will they ever come back was silent; only the aiysl splashed and roared; and the wild
again? Surely joy hasn't vanished for ever? I'm young, I'm creature, scenting a huilan, bounded off into the empry
inexperienced: if only from pity, prisoner, you could have darkness.
kept the truth from me by staying silent, by pretending to be One day the Russian prisoner heard a warlike shout echoing
kind. I would have eased your predicament by whatever through the mountains: 'To the horses! To the horses!' There
gentle attentions you needed. I would have protected you in was running and commotion, the jingle of copper bits, the
your moments of sleep, while you rested, poor suflering black of felt cloaks, the gleam of weaponry. The saddled
friend. You didn't wish it . . . horses seethed; all the men of the village were ready to go
'But who is she, this gorgeous creature you're so attached raiding; and the fierce horde of born fighters streamed down
to? Do you love her, Russian? Does she love you? . . . from the hills like a river and galloped along the banks of the
'I understand your pain . . . Please in your turn forgive my ubin to exact the rewards of violence.
weeping. Don't laugh at my distress.' The village fell quiet. Guard dogs lay asleep by the huts in
'
She stopped talking. Sobs and groans convulsed the poor sunshine. Naked, dark-skinned children played around,
girl's breast. Her lips muttered wordless reproaches. Insensible, isy and uncontrolled. Their great-grandfathers sat in a
she clutched his knees, hardly able to breathe. The prisoner e, blue smoke spiralling from their pipes. They were
gently raised her up, distressed as she was, and said: ing in silence as the young girls sang a refrain they knew
'Don't cry. Like you, I've been persecuted by fate and ll; and as they listened their old hearts grew young again.
tormented by passion. No, I received no love in return; I
loved alone, suffered alone. And like a smouldering ember I The Circassian song
shall die away in oblivion, somewhere in these desolate
I
valleys. I shall end my life far from the river banks I long for.
This steppeland will be my grave; and here in exile this hearry The mountain river's waters roar;
chain will gather rust, still fastened to my bones . . . ' no human sound the nightwatch rouses.
The stan of night grew dim; great mountain ranges, bright A cossack sentry, tired of war,
with snow, stood out in the distant radiance. The rwo of leans on his steel-tipped lance and drowses.
them, with bowed heads and downcast eyes, parted in silence. 'Cossack! The night is dark; don'r dream
-
From that time on the prisoner wandered near the village, a Chechen lurks across the stream.'
alone and disconsolate. Dawn brought one new day after 2
another to the sultry horizon; and night slipped away after
night. He thirsted for freedom, to no avail. If a mountain goat A cossack drifts in his canoe,
darted momentarily befween the bushes, or if a gazelle leapt a fishnet through the water towing.
through the shadows, he gave a start, making his chains clank' 'Cossack! A watery death for you -
Then he would wait intently: perhaps it was a cossack as children, in hot weather going
 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRISoNER IN THE CAUCASUS r45

to paddle, fall and, drowning, scream. But her wild look expressed an upsurge of love. She was in
A Chechen lurks across the stream.' anguish. A whistling gust of wind fwisted aside her veil. 'My
{ear friend', he cried out, 'I belong to you for ever, I am
J
yours till death. Let us leave this terrible country together;
Along the hallowed river's strand escapewithme...'
the cossack hamlets rich are growing; 'No, Russian, no! My enjoyment of life - it's finished. I've
light-hearted dancers kick the sand known all there is to know; I've known happiness. It's all
and sing - 'But, cossack girls, get going; passed now; there's nothing left, not a trace. It's no good: you
yes, hurqr homeward, preffy team: have given your love to someone else . . . Find her, love her.
a Chechen lurks across the stream.' Why should I now feel pain or grief? . . . Goodbye! The
blessings of love will be sith you each hour. Goodbye -
While the girls sang, the Russian sat on the river bank and my anguish. Give me your hand . . . for the last dme.'
dreamt of escape; but his prisoner's chain was heavy, and the ' He held out his arms to the Circassian girl; life retumed to
river deep and fast-flowitg . . . his heart, and he rushed to her. With a long kiss of parting
Meanwhile, the steppe grew dark and slumbrous. Shadows ey set the seal on their mutual love. Then hand in hand, full
enveloped the tops of the crags. The moon's wan light sadness, they quietly walked together to the river bank.
glimmered among the white huts of the village. Deer stood : The Russian was already swimrning through the deep
trancelike above the waters. The last late eagle's cry died nts that roared around him, tuming the waves to foam
away. The distant gallop of horses still echoed dully through as he went; he had already reached the rocks on the other
the mountains. ide, was already clutching them . . . when suddenly he heard
Then he heard a noise: someone was coming. A girl's veil e dull splash in the water, and a distant cry. He climbed out
glimmered for a moment, and there, sad and pale, was shc, the tangled bank and looked back. The farther shore
quite near him. The lovely creature's lips were searching for clear to see, white with spray; but there was no young
words; her eyes were full of pain; and her hair fell in a black ircassian girl, neither by the shore nor on the mountain
wave down onto her shoulden and breast. In one hand pe. Everything was still as death on the river's
glistened a file, in the other an inlaid knife. It was as if she was mbering banks there was only the faint sound of a breeze,
on her way to some secret combat or martial exploit. on the splashing waters just a vanishing circle of ripples
The mountain girl looked up at the prisoner. 'Escape,' she the moonlight.
said. 'You won't meet a Circassian man anywhere. Hurry; He understood it all. With a farewell glance he took in for
you mustn't waste the hours of night. Take the knife: no one last time the empry village with its palisade; the fields
will track you in the dark.' here as prisoner he had looked after the cattle; the crags up
Holding the file in her trembling hand, she knelt at his feet. hich he had dragged his chains; and the stream where he
The iron screeched beneath the file; she shed a tear, she could rested at noonday and heard the rough Circassians
not help it - and the chain fell apart with a clatter. 'You're ing their songs of freedom in the hills.
free', she said. 'Make your escape!' The deep darkness was dispersing high above; daylight was
146 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS A PRIS6NER IN THE CAUCASUS

returning to the shadowed valley; the dawn had risen. The And then I shall celebrate the glorious time
freed prisoner was striding along the distant path; in front of when our two-headec'l eagle,r0 scenting bloody combat,
him Russian bayonets already glinted in the haze, and cossack rose up high against the disaffected Caucasus,
sentries were calling to each other from their guardposts. when the roar ofbattle and the thunder ofRussian drums
first broke out along the foam-flecked River Terek,
and our daring general TsitsiSnov,rr head held high,
himself took part in llre carnage;
EPILOGUE
I shall celebrate our hero Kotlyar6vsky,r2
scourge of the Caucasus:
So the goddess who inspires me,
wherever his thunderous presence loomed,
light-winged companion of my dreams,
his coming, like the black death,
has flown to the frontiers of Asia;
brought havoc and destruction to the mountain tribes . . .
she has picked herself a garland
Now he has put down his avenging sword,
of wild Caucasian flowers. he no longer takes pleasure in war:
Fascinated by the austere dress of the tribes there,
tired of the world, overloaded with honours,
who live their lives at war, he is enjoying a peaceful leisure
she has often come to me, in her enchanting way, in the quiet of the valleys of his home.
in this new costume; But after him - a deafening uproar in the East! . . .
she has roamed the crags at last it was time for the Caucasus
around empry Circassian villages, to bend its snowy head in self-abasement:
and eavesdropped on the songs Yerm6lovl3 was on the march!
of the girls left behind there.
She has taken a liking too Hushed now are the furious shouts of war:
to the war camps of the fearless cossacks, all is in subjection to Russian arms.
their calls to arms, their watchposts, The proud sons of the Caucasus fought on,
their quiet graveyards, they suflered dreadful losses;
but nothing could save them -
and the restless neighing of their horses.
not the carnage they inflicted on us,
Patroness of poetry and storytelling, not their fabled weaponry,
with so much to remember - not their mountains, nor their spirited horses,
perhaps next she will recount nor their devotion to an untamed freedom.
grim legends of the Caucasus; Like the Mongol hordes,
perhaps she will tell a tale of distant lands, the mountain folk of the Caucasus
of the ancient duel of Mstislav,e will not stay true to their ancestral ways:
of how the Russians were betrayed and slaughtered they'll forget the call of hungry conflict
as they lay with vengeful Georgian girls. and put aside the arrows of war.
I48 A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS

The traveller will ride without fear

up to the mountain fastnesses where they used to lurk;
and sombre tales will be told
of how their murderous raids were punished. TRAVELS IN THE CAUCASUS
AND THE CRIMEA

I EXTRACT FROM A PRIVATE LETTER FROM

ATExaNnER PUSHKIN To HIS BRoTHER LEV
PusnrrN oF 24Tr. SEprEunER r 82o

On my arrival in Yekaterinosliv, I had nothing to do, so I

went boating on the Dnieper, took a bathe, and caught a
fever - in my usual way. General Ray6vsky,r who was
travelling to the Caucasus with his son and two daughters,
found me lodged in a poorJewish home, delirious, without a
,doctor, behind a jug of iced lemonade. The General's son . . .
sted to me a journey to the Caucasian waters; the
'doctor who was travelling with them promised not to do me
in on the way; Inzovz gave me his blessing and wished me a
trip. I lay in the carriage, I was so ill. After a week I
vered.
' I stayed for two months in the Caucasus; the waters were
ry necessary for me, and helped me exceedingly, especially
hot sulphurous ones. As well, I bathed in the warm acid-
urous waters, and in the cold iron and cold acidic
ers. All these medicinal springs are ro be found at no
distance from each other, in the outerrnost foothills of
Caucasian mountains. I am sorry, my friend, that you
were not with me to see that splendid range of mountains
-
their frozen peaks, which in the clear light of dawn look from
I distance like strange clouds, varicoloured and stationary. I
arn sorry that you could not go up with me onto the