THE CAUCASUS
Clarence Augustus Manning translation
During the early part of the nineteenth century, Russia was occupied with the conquest of the Mohammedan mountaineers of the Caucasus who defended themselves long and ably especially during the time when Shamyl was in charge of their resistance. Pushkin glorified the Russian victories. Lermontov and Count Leo Tolstoy took a personal part in the conquest in behalf of the civilizing mission of Russia among the wild and untutored mountaineers.
Count Yakov de Balmen, a friend of Shevchenko at this time, had entered the Russian army and had been killed in the fighting in the Caucasus. His death deeply affected Shevchenko and the latter wrote this poem in which he expresses his sympathy with the mountaineers who were struggling for their liberty and caustically comments on the blessings of civilization which they could receive from Russia. The hitherto free peoples would become as Ukraine, they would become ruined serfs, and they would see only a travesty of the Christian religion and not its essence.
The poem expresses again Shevchenko’s friendship with the foes of Russian tyranny and his sincere admiration for all peoples who are struggling for a real liberty. The loss of this, the loss of human dignity, cannot be counterbalanced by the extension of the vices of civilization and the creation of a sterile advanced culture.
The Caucasus
Dedicated to my Yakov de Balmen
Oh that my head were tears, and mine eyes a fountain of waters, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my People!
—Jeremiah, 9, 1
High mountains on mountains with clouds e’er surrounded, Illumined by sorrow, with blood ever watered. On Prometheus an eagle Feasts throughout the ages. Every day it’s tearing, rending Both his heart and body, Rending but it ne’er drains fully All his living blood, For again he is revived And again he’s smiling. And our human spirit dies not And our freedom dies not; And the greedy man ploughs never Fields beneath the ocean, Does not bind the human spirit And the living word, Does not carry off the glory Of Almighty God. ’Tis not for us to quarrel with Thee, ’Tis not for us to judge Thy deeds. It is for us to keep on weeping And mix each day our daily bread With bloody sweat and bitter tears. The hangmen jest and mock about us And truth sleeps on in drunken sleep! When will it awake to action? When will God be weary And lie down to slumber peaceful, Give us leave to live? We believe Thy strength and power And Thy living spirit,— Truth will rise! And so will freedom! And to Thee, Almighty, Every tongue will pray unceasing Ever and for ever! And meanwhile the streams are flowing, Streams of blood are flowing. High mountains on mountains, with clouds e’er surrounded Illumined by sorrow, with blood ever watered. From there we in our Mercy boundless Have drawn our heartfelt liberty, Unfed and naked as it was, And tracked it down. It lies ’mid bones Of men once mustered in the army. And tears? And blood? Enough is shed To give their fill to all the rulers, And drown them with their sons and scions In widow’s tears.... And those of maidens Shed secretly the whole night long! The hot and blazing tears of mothers. The aged bloody tears of fathers! Not rivers—seas have poured apace! A sea of fire! Glory! Glory! To dogs and hunters and to trainers And to the tsars, our dearest fathers! Glory! Glory be to you, blue mountains, Girded with your ice, And to you, ye aged heroes By God not forgotten! Struggle on—and you will conquer! God is helping you! On your side is truth and glory And the sacred freedom! “The bread and hut—they are your own. They were not begged, they were not given; No one has seized them as their own, No one has led you off in chains! And we! But we are trained to write And we can read the word of God, But from the prison’s lowest cell Unto the highest throne above We’re all in gold—but naked too. And knowledge! We all learn too well The cost of bread, the price of salt. And we are Christians,—churches, schools, All good there is and God are ours! But yet your hut allures our eyes! Why does it stand in your domain Without our sanction? Why do we Not throw to you, if we so please, Your bread as to a dog? You owe To us the price for your clear sun! And only that! We are not pagans, But we are really Christians true— We’re satisfied with little.... So, If you would really be our friends, You could learn much of many things! We have a world and what is more— Siberia that none can leave. And prisons? People? Without end! From the Moldavian to Finn On every tongue there is a seal. For—there is happiness!... With us The holy monk the Bible reads And teaches us to realize, A tsar who once did pasture swine And took another’s wife to him And killed a friend—is now in heaven! And so you see, what people we Regard in heaven! You are dull And not enlightened with the cross! So learn from us!... Come join us now, Pay us and so To heaven go, E’en though your family is destroyed! Join us! What is there we don’t know! We count the stars, we sow buckwheat, We curse the French, and we can sell Or lose at will, when we play cards, Real people—they’re not negroes—no, They’re Christians too—but ‘simple men.’ We are not Spaniards—Keep us, God, From buying any stolen goods, As do the Jews! We live ‘by law!’” By the law of the apostle Do you love your brothers? Hypocrites and idle talkers, Cursed by the Lord! For you love your brother’s carcase, Care not for his spirit! And you rob him “by the law,” For a coat for daughter, For a dowry for a bastard, For a wife’s new footwear, For yourselves for many reasons Wife and children know not. For whom wast Thou crucified, Christ, the Son of God? For us good folk or the word Of the truth? Perhaps ’tis so, That we mock at Thee, forever? Is that why it happened? The churches, chapels, and the ikons, The candles and the incense smoke, The endless, ever endless bowings Before Thy image in the church For stealing, for a war, for blood— They pray to shed a brother’s blood. And then they bring Thee as a gift A shirt they’ve stolen in the fire! We’re enlightened. So we’re seeking Others to enlighten. To reveal the sun of justice To the blinded children! We will show all! Only let us Take you in our power! How to build and fill the prisons, How to forge the fetters. How to wear them, how to fashion Narrow, useful lashes,— We’ll teach all! But give us only Your own high blue mountains. That is all—the rest we’ve taken, All the land and ocean! They banished you cruelly, friend so beloved, My Yakov so dear! But not for Ukraina But for its harsh hangmen you had to pour out Good blood, not the bad, and they forced you to drink The poison of Moscow from Muscovite cup. O friend, my good friend, whom I’ll never forget, Come with your live soul to my dear Ukraina; Fly with the brave Kozaks above its broad banks And see on the steppe the old ruins of tombs, And weep with the Kozaks their salt, bitter tears, And look with me out on the steppes from a prison. Meanwhile I will sow to aid you All my verse and sorrow. Let them grow until that moment And speak with the breezes; And the quiet wind from Ukraine Will bear with the dewdrops All my verses, bring them to you! With a brother’s sorrow You, my friend, will meet and greet them, You will read them softly, And the tombs and steppes and blue sea, Yes, and me remember.