Mikhail Lermontov

The Debate
tr. A. Liberman

 

Once it was that Shat, the mountain, [Shat = Elbrus, Lermontov's note]
And Kazbék the Great
In a thunderous encounter
Held a loud debate.
Long they argued with each other;
Said the white-haired Shat,
"You have bowed to man, oh brother,
You will smart for that.
Man will build his smoky hovels
And destroy your pride,
He will cut with heavy shovels
Through your stony side.
Once he comes to you and settles
In your granite core,
He will break your breast for metals,
Mining gold and ore.
Look! Across your summits regal
Camels pass in crowds;
This is where a lonely eagle
Used to fly thorugh clouds.
Men are crafty. The beginning
Took them very long,
But remember: they are winning,
For the East is strong."
Said Kazbék, "The East is hazy;
Drop your groundless fears,
In the East they have been lazy
For a thousand years.
There's a Georgian by the plantain:
In his sunlit land,
He has put aside his lantern,
Dozing, jug in hand.
See the hookahs smoking slowly?
This is Teheran
Dreaming by its fountains holy
On a soft divan.
And the land beyond the Jordan,
Flattened like a shelf,
Is asleep where deserts broaden,
Burnt by God Himself.
Farther on the Nile has tarried,
And its yellow waves
Crawl through acres hot and arid,
Licking royal graves.
Bedouins never raid or ravage,
Never fight for fame:
Nomads' songs are bold and savage--
They themselves are tame.
The decrepit East will slumber,
Full of rosy hopes;
Not such forces will outnumber
My ravines and slopes."

"Brother, this is foolish vaunting"--
Said the mighty Shat--
"Northern forces are not wanting,
Have you noticed that?"

Shat pronounced his admonition,
And Kazbék annoyed,
Cast his glances with suspicion
Through the northern void.
There he noticed in an instant,
Saw with sudden fright
In a country, huge and distant,
Motion, changes, light.
From the Urals' barren ridges
To the Danube's banks,
Crossing valleys, crossing bridges,
Soldiers move in ranks.
Plumes are low on every helmet,
For the wind is strong,
But the uhlans overwhelm it,
Rushing all along.

Bravely marching war battalions
Are resolved to win;
Monted batteries, on stallions,
Ride amid the din.
Old Kazbék is looking puzzled:
Drummers beat with sticks,
heavy cannons, open-muzzled,
Roll with smoking wicks.
The commander, wise and hardened,
Though his head is white,
Is as ever strong and ardent,
With his eyes alight.
Onward crawls the mighty army<
Like a cloud released;
Dark, enveloping, alarming,
heading for the East.

And the great Caucasian mountain,
Gloomy and morose,
Tried but could not finish counting
The advancing rows.
Sad, he glanced where eagles hovered,
Shuddered in dismay,
With his cap his eyebrows covered
And was still for aye. [A cap, in the speech of the mountaineers, is the clouds always lying on Kazbék's summit. Lermontov]

1841