The aim of our life--is an aim for peace
We go along this path
So that we can rest from dirt and heat
Under the cover of night.
We are met, here, by precipices,
There, by thorns, there by shady streams;
There, soft meadows, plains,
There, overcast, there, clear days;
One falls from a hill into an abyss,
Another rushes up a hill.
Whom then, does reason regard
Most truly happy
Of all those walking this path?
Is it those who with their forehead raised to the stars
Put on proud airs,
And dream of being equal to the gods;
Who in purple garb, on the throne
Sit down, higher than mortals?
Or is it those who in a humble hut, in a vale
Humbly sleep on straw?
Oh, no! neither the ones nor the others
Are the clear favorites of the heavens,
Neither those who are tormented by evil fears
Nor those who are captivated by pleasant reveries,--
But happy is he who is not afraid
To lose his Fortuna,
Who does not scramble after her to her heights
But walks a middle path,
And who under any circumstance
Sprinkles his traces with flowers;
Who at the end of his wanderings
In the distance can see behind him
An avenue of beautiful deeds;
Who has given his conscience account
Of light as of foul moments
And does not smugly count those moments,
When he himself was enjoying bliss,
When he saved others from misfortune, from need,
When he tried to be good to everyone,
Far from repentance and sighs.
Oh, young leader! You who on campaigns
Passed through the Caucasus with an army
Saw the horrors, the beauty of nature:
How, flowing from terrible mountain ridges
Angry rivers roared into the darkness of abysses;
How from their foreheads, snows thundering
Fell down, after lying idle for whole centuries;
How chamois, lowering their horns,
Saw calmly in the mists below
The birth of lightning and thunder.
You saw, how on a clear day,
Sun rays among the ices
Reflecting, playing in the waters,
Displayed a magnificent view;
Or how, in varicolored spray, dispersed
A fine rain was burning;
How there a greyish-amber block
Suspended, looked into the dark forest;
And there, the golden-crimson dawn
Through the woods, gladdened the gaze.
You saw: The Caspian, stretching out,
As if lying in the reeds, in the sand,
Grinned with a jolly face,
Beckoned swimmers to swim;
And how suddenly, having angered the storms,
Rose, his wings into the wind,
Now leapt into the firmament, now aimed for hell,
Beat the ships with his trident;
His hair standing on end
And his voice roaring in the mountains.
You saw, how in the darkness, thunder
Intersected thunder in the clouds,
How the abysses erupted in flames,
How in the stormclouds the flame from the furrows roared
How in the air steams were burning off
How rows of candles burned in the woods.
You saw, how in the steppes in the heat
The ricks teemed with giant snakes,
How they glimmered with their motley scales
And hissing, poured poison into each other.
You saw houses of tsars, the universe--
Below you, above you, you saw it all; 1)
A fallen cog, raised anew
Of the wheel turning the world.
You also saw-- how on the Iron Gates 2)
(Oh! do remember this hour!)
For the spirit of the troups you led
For your youth, your beauty,
For your rapid subjugation of the Persians
I honored the Alexander in you! 3)
Oh! remember, how in that rapture,
Prophesying, I praised you:
"Behold,--I said,--the triumph of the moment,
But virtue lives forever."
It came to pass! The daily game of cruel happiness
How it turned its back to you
With a threatening laughter
You see, --see the glimmer of dreams
Around you fell asleep
Went past,--and only you remained.
You remained!--and that beautiful
Spirit will be honored forever,
With which you bore unhappiness
And with which, while a potentate, you remained a human being,
Who with open heart
Received both your own people and strangers,
Did not embitter your superiors
With haughty views.
You were what you are,--and don't fear
The embraces of your friends.
You, come to them! Or decline
To learn the wisdom of other lands. 4)
It is never too late to learn,
Correct the deeds of youthful years; 5)
That heart is truly noble,
That seeks victory over itself.
See, how on a clear day, as in a storm
Suvorov was firm, always great!
Follow his footsteps!--in the azure heavens
His star still shines.
Whosoever was in thousands of battles,
Unbeatable, victorious,
Does not need finery, decorations
Whosoever subjugated a kingdom!
Only know how to gain fame
According to your virtues
And don't grieve over charming dreams,
Appearing before your eyes:
They passed--and will return;
They may again leave--and come back.
Like a wanderer on a path, one must
Meet with much, and move,
Both uphill and downhill,
Experience luxury and suffer hunger,--
So it is with all of us,
It is our duty to behold fate's changes.
But whosoever was brave in spirit,
Walked this path with equanimity
Is closer to that peace,
To which we all are headed.
Notes:
Valerii Zubov (1771-1804) was the younger brother of Catherine the Great's favorite, P. A. Zubov. In 1796 he was sent with the army to the Caucasus, to open for Russia the path to India. The ode was written after Paul I removed Zubov from the command and ordered him to live on his estates under police supervision. The occasion for this ode was presumably the following. . . Prince S. F. Golitsyn reproached Derzhavin for another ode he had composed to Zubov on the occasion of the taking of Derbent, saying that its hero is no longer an Alexander, and flattering him will bring him, Derzhavin, no good. Derzhavin responded that his judgement of virtue remains firm and that he flatters nobody, and writes the truth as his heart feels it. Golitsyn challenged him and pointed out that Derzhavin will not write another ode to Zubov now. Derzhavin took up the challenge and after he went home, he composed this ode at a time when Zubov was entirely in disfavor. This ode, although not published at that time, circulated freely in manuscript. It was finally published on the occasion of Zubov's death.