[Pg 268]
THE GYPSIES,
NARRATIVE6 AND DRAMATIC POEM.
A noisy band of gypsies are wandering through. Bessarabia. To-day they will pitch their ragged7 tents on the banks of the river. Sweet as freedom is their nights rest, peaceful their slumber8.
Between the cart wheels, half screened by rugs, burns a fire around which the family is preparing supper. In the open fields graze the horses, and behind the tents a tame bears lies free. In the heart of the desert all is movement with the preparations for the morning's march, with the songs of the women, the cries of the children, and the sound of the itinerant9 anvil10. But soon upon the wandering band falls the silence of sleep, and the stillness of the desert is broken only by the barking of the dogs and the neighing of the horses.
The fires are everywhere extinguished, all is calm; the moon shines solitary in the sky, shedding its light over the silent camp.
In one of the tents is an old man who does not sleep, but remains11 seated by the embers, warming[Pg 269] himself by their last glow. He gazes into the distant steppes, which are now wrapped in the mists of night. His youthful daughter has wandered into the distant plains. She is accustomed to her wild freedom; she will return. But night wears on, and the moon in the distant clouds is about to set. Zemphira tarries, and the old man's supper is getting cold. But here she comes, and, following on her footsteps, a youth, a stranger to the old gypsy.
"Father," says the maiden12, "I bring a guest; I found him beyond the tombs in the steppes, and I have invited him to the camp for the night. He wishes to become a gypsy like us. He is a fugitive13 from the law. But I will be his companion. He is ready to follow wherever I lead."
The Old Gypsy: "I am glad. Stay in the shelter of our camp till morning, or longer it thou wilt14. I am-ready to share with thee both bread and roof. Be one of us. Make trial of our life; of our wandering, poverty, and freedom. To-morrow, at daybreak, in one van, we will go together. Choose thy trade: forge iron, or sing songs, leading the bear from village to village."
Aleko: "I will remain."
Zemphira: "He is mine; who shall take him from me? But it is late.... the young moon has set, the fields are hidden in darkness, and sleep overpowers me."
[Pg 270]
Day breaks. The old man moves softly about the silent camp.
"Wake, Zemphira, the sun is rising; awake, my guest. 'Tis time, tis time! Leave, my children, the couch of slothfulness."
Noisily the clustering crowd expands; the tents are struck; the vans are ready to start. All is movement, and the horde15 advances over the desert.
Asses16 with paniers full of sportive children lead the way; husbands, brothers, wives, daughters, young and old, follow in their wake. What shouting and confusion! Gypsy songs are mingled17 with the growling18 of the bear, impatiently gnawing19 at his chain. What a motley of bright-coloured rags! The naked children! The aged20 men! Dogs bark and howl, the bagpipes21 drone, the carts creak. All is so poor, so wild, so disorderly, but full of the life and movement ever absent from our dead, slothful, idle life, monotonous22 as the songs of slaves.
The youth gazes disheartened over the desert plain. The secret cause of his sadness he admits not even to himself. By his side is the dark-eyed Zemphira. Now he is a free inhabitant of the world, and radiant above him shines the sun in midday glory. Why, then, does the youth's heart tremble—what secret sorrow preys23 upon him?
God's little bird knows neither care nor labour,[Pg 271] Why should it strive to build a lasting24 nest? The night is long, but a branch suffices for its sleeping place. When the sun comes in his glory, birdie hears the voice of God, flutters his plumage, and sings his song. After spring, Nature's fairest time, comes hot summer. Late autumn follows, bringing mist and cold. Poor men and women are sad and dismal25. To distant lands, to warmer climes beyond the blue sea, flies birdie to the spring. Like a little careless bird is the wandering exile. For him there is no abiding26 nest, no home! Every road is his; at each stopping-place is his night's lodging27. Waking at dawn, he leaves his day at God's disposal, and the toil28 of life disturbs not his calm, indolent heart. At times, glory's enchantment29, like a distant star, attracts his gaze; or sudden visions of luxury and pleasure float before him. Sometimes above his solitary head growls31 the thunder, and beneath the thunder, as beneath a peaceful sky, he sleeps serene32. And thus he lives, ignoring the power of blind treacherous33 Fate. But once, oh God! how passion played with his obedient soul! How it raged in his tormented34 breast! Is it long, and for how long, that it has left him calm? It will rage again; let him but wait!
Zemphira: "Friend, tell me, dost thou not regret what thou hast left for ever?"
Aleko: "What have I left?"
[Pg 272]
Zemphira: "Thou knowest; thy people, thy cities."
Aleko: "Regret? If thou knewest, if thou could'st imagine the confinement35 of our stifling36 towns! There people crowded behind walls never breathe the cool breeze of the morning, nor the breath of spring-scented meadows. They are ashamed to love, and chase away the thought. They traffic with liberty, bow their heads to idols37, and beg for money and chains. What have I left? The excitement of treason, the prejudged sentence, the mob's mad persecution38 or splendid infamy39."
Zemphira: "But there thou hadst magnificent palaces, many coloured carpets, entertainments, and loud revels40; and the maiden's dresses are so rich!"
Aleko: "What is there to please in our noisy towns? The genuine love, no veritable joy. The maidens41. How much dost thou surpass them, without their rich apparel, their pearls, or their necklaces! Be true, my gentle friend! My sole wish is to share with thee love, leisure, and this self-sought exile."
The Old Gypsy: "Thou lovest us, though born amongst the rich.. But freedom is not always agreeable to those used to luxury. We have a legend:—
"Once a king banished42 a man from the South to live amongst us—I once knew but have forgotten[Pg 273] his difficult name—though old in years he was youthful, passionate43, and simple-hearted. He had a wondrous44 gift of song, with a voice like running waters. Everyone liked him. He dwelt on the banks of the Danube, harming no one, but pleasing many with his stories. He was helpless, weak, and timid as a child. Strangers brought him game and fish caught in nets. When the rapid river froze and winter storms raged high, they clad the saintly old man in soft warm furs. But he could never be inured45 to the hardships of a poor man's life. He wandered about pale and thin, declaring that an offended God was chastening him for some crime. He waited, hoping for deliverance, and full of sad regret. The wretched man wandered on the banks of the Danube shedding bitter tears, as he remembered his distant home, and, dying, he desired that his unhappy bones should be carried to the South. Even in death the stranger to these parts could find no rest."
Aleko: "Such is thy children's fate, O Borne, O world-famed Empire! Singer of love, singer of the gods, say what is glory? The echo from the tomb, the voice of praise continued from generation to generation, or a tale told by a gypsy in his smoky tent?"
Two years passed. The peaceful gypsy band[Pg 274] still wanders, finding everywhere rest and hospitality. Scorning the fetters46 of civilisation47, Aleko is free, like them; without regret or care he leads a wandering life. He is unchanged, unchanged the gypsy band. Forgetful of his past, he has grown used to a gypsy life. He loves sleeping under their tents, the delight of perpetual idleness, and their poor but sonorous48 tongue. The bear, a deserter from his native haunts, is now a shaggy guest within his tent. In the villages along the deserted49 route that passes in front of some Moldavian dwelling50, the bear dances clumsily before a timid crowd and growls and gnaws51 his tiresome52 chain. Leaning on his staff the old man lazily strikes the tambourine53; Aleko, singing, leads the bear; Zemphira makes the round of the villagers, collecting their voluntary gifts; when night sets in all three prepare the corn they have not reaped, the old man sleeps, and all is still.... The tent is quiet and dark.
In the spring the old man is warming his numbed54 blood; at a cradle his daughter sings of love. Aleko listens, and turns pale.
Zemphira: "Old husband, cruel husband, cut me, burn me, I am firm, and fear neither knife nor fire. I hate thee, despise thee; I love another, and loving him will die."
Aleko: "Silence, thy singing annoys me. I dislike wild songs."
[Pg 275]
Zemphira: "Dislike them? And what do I care! I am singing for myself. Cut me, burn me, I will not complain. Old husband, cruel husband, thou shalt not discover him. He is fresher than the spring, warmer than the summer-day. How young and bold he is! How much he loves me! How I caressed56 him in the stillness of the night! How we laughed together at thy white hair."
Aleko: "Silence, Zemphira. Enough!"
Zemphira: "Then thou hast understood my song."
Aleko: "Zemphira!"
Zemphira: "Be angry if thou wilt.... the song is about thee." (She retires singing, "Old husband, &c.")
The Old Gypsy: "Yes, I remember; that song was made in my time, and has long been sung for folk's amusement. Marioula used; as we wandered over the Kagula Steppes, to sing it in the winter nights. The memory of past years grows fainter hourly, but that song impressed me deeply." . . . . . . . . . . . All is still. It is night, and the moon casts a sheen over the blue of the southern sky. Zemphira has awakened57 the old man.
"Oh, father! Aleko is terrible; listen to him! In his heavy sleep he groans59 and sobs60."
The Old Gypsy: "Do not disturb him, keep[Pg 276] quiet. I have heard a Russian saying that at this time, at midnight, the house spirit often oppresses a sleeper's breathing, and before dawn quits him again. Stay with me."
Zemphira: "Father, he murmurs61 Zemphira!"
The Old Gypsy: "He seeks thee even in his sleep. Thou art dearer to him than all the world."
Zemphira: "I care no longer for his love; I am weary, my heart wants freedom. I have already—But hush62! dost thou hear? He repeats another name."
The Old Gypsy: "Whose name?"
Zemphira: "Dost thou not hear? The hoarse63 groan58, the savage64 grinding of his teeth! How terrible! I will rouse him."
The Old Gypsy: "No, don't chase away the night spirit; it will leave him of its own accord!"
Zemphira: "He has turned, and raised himself; he calls me, he is awake. I will go to him. Good night, and sleep."
Aleko: "Where hast thou been?"
Zemphira: "With my father. Some spirit has oppressed thee. In sleep thy soul has suffered tortures. Thou didst frighten me; grinding thy teeth and calling out to me."
Aleko: "I dreamt of thee, and saw as if between us.... I had horrible thoughts."
[Pg 277]
Zemphira: "Put no faith in treacherous dreams."
Aleko: "Alas65! I believe in nothing Neither in dreams, nor in sweet assurances, nor in thy heart."
The Old Gypsy: "Young madman. Why dost thou sigh so often? We here are free. The sky is clean, the women famous for their beauty. Weep not. Grief will destroy thee."
Aleko: "Father! she loves me no more."
The Old Gypsy: "Be comforted, friend. She is but a child. Thy sadness is unreasonable66. Thou lovest anxiously and earnestly, but a woman's heart loves playfully. Behold67, through the distant vault68 the full moon wanders free, throwing her light equally over all the world. First she peeps into one cloud, lights it brilliantly, and then glides69 to another, making to each a rapid visit. Who shall point out to her one spot in the heavens and say, 'There shalt thou stay'? Who to the young girl's heart shall say, 'Love only once and change not'? Be pacified70."
Aleko: "How she loved me! How tenderly she leant upon me in the silent desert when we were together in the hours of night! Full of child-like gaiety, how often, with her pleasant prattle71 or intoxicating72 caress55, has she in an instant chased away my gloom! And now, Zemphira is false! My Zemphira is cold!"
The Old Gypsy: "Listen, and I will tell thee a[Pg 278] story about myself. Long, long ago, before the Danube was threatened by the Muscovite (thou seest, Aleko, I speak of an ancient sorrow), at a time when we feared the Sultan who, through Boodjak Pasha, ruled the country from the lofty towers of Ackerman. I was young then, and my bosom73 throbbed74 with the passion of youth. My curly locks were not streaked75 with white. Among the young beauties there was one.... To whom I turned as to the sun, till at last I called her mine. Alas! like a falling star, my youth swiftly sped. Still briefer was our love. Marioula loved me but one year."
"One day, by the waters of Kagula, we encountered a strange band of gypsies, who pitched their tents near ours at the foot of the hill. Two nights we passed together. On the third, they left, and Marioula forsook76 her little daughter and followed them. I slept peacefully. Day broke, and I awoke; my companion was not there. I searched, I called—no trace remained. Zemphira cried, I wept too! From that moment I became indifferent to all womankind. Never since has my gaze sought amongst them a new companion. My dreary77 hours I have spent alone."
Aleko: "What! Didst thou not instantly pursue the ingrate78 and her paramour, to plunge79 thy dagger80 in their false hearts?"
The Old Gypsy: "Why should I? Youth is[Pg 279] freer than the birds. Who can restrain love? Everyone has his turn of happiness. Once fled, it will never return."
Aleko: "No, I am different. Without a struggle never would I yield my rights. At least, I would enjoy revenge. Ah, no! Even if I were to find my enemy lying asleep over the abyss of the sea, I declare that even then my foot should not spare him, but should unflinchingly kick the helpless villain81 into the depths of the ocean, and mock his sudden terrible awakening82 with a savage laugh of exultation83. Long would his fall resound84 a sweet and merry echo in my ears." . . . . . . . A Young Gypsy: "One kiss, just one more embrace."
Zemphira: "My husband is jealous and angry. I must go!"
The Young Gypsy: "Once more.... a longer one.... at parting."
Zemphira: "Good-bye. Here he comes."
The Young Gypsy: "Tell me. When shall we meet again?"
Zemphira: "To-night, when the moon rises over the hill beyond the tombs."
The Young Gypsy: "She is deceiving me; she will not come."
[Pg 280]
Zemphira: "Run—there he is! I will be there, beloved!"
Aleko sleeps, and in his mind dim visions play. With a cry he wakes in the dark, and, stretching out his jealous arm, clutches with a startled hand the cold bed. His companion is far away..... Trembling he sits up and listens.... All is quiet! Fear comes upon him. He shivers, then grows hot. Rising from his bed, he leaves the tent, and, terribly pale, wanders round the vans. All is silent, the fields are still, and it is dark. The moon has risen in a mist, and the twinkling stars are scarcely seen. But on the dewy grass slight footprints can be discovered, leading to the tombs. With hurried tread he follows on the path made by the ill-omened footmarks.
In the distance, on the road side, a tomb shines white before him. Carried along by his hesitating feet, full of dread85 presentiment86, his lips quivering, his knees trembling ... he proceeds ... when suddenly ... can it be a dream? Suddenly he perceives two shadows close together, and hears two voices whispering over the desecrated87 grave.
The First Voice: "'Tis time."
The Second Voice: "Wait."
The First Voice: "'Tis time, my love."
The Second Voice: "No, no! We will wait till morning."
[Pg 281]The First Voice: "'Tis late already."
The Second Voice "How timidly thou lovest! One moment more."
The First Voice: "Thou wilt destroy me!"
The Second Voice: "One moment!"
The First Voice: "If my husband wakes and I am not——"
Aleko: "I am awake. Whither are you going? Don't hurry; you both are well here—by the grave."
Zemphira: "Run, run, my friend."
Aleko: "Stop! Whither goest thou, my beautiful youth? Lie there!" (He plunges88 his knife into him.)
Zemphira: "Aleko!"
The Young Gypsy: "I am dying!"
Zemphira: "Aleko, thou wouldst kill him! Look, thou art covered with blood! Oh, what hast thou done?"
Aleko: "Nothing; thou canst now enjoy his love."
Zemphira: "Enough, I do not fear thee! Thy threats I despise, and thy deed of murder I curse."
Aleko: "Then die thyself!"
Zemphira: "I die, loving him." . . . . . . . From the east the light of day is shining. Beyond the hill Aleko, besmeared with blood, sits on the grave-stone, knife in hand. Two corpses89 lie before him. The murderer's face is terrible. An excited crowd of timid gypsies surrounds him. A grave is being dug. A procession of sorrowing women approaches, and each in turn kisses the eyes of the dead. The old father sits apart, staring at his dead daughter in dumb despair. The corpses are then raised, and into the cold bosom of the earth the young couple are lowered. From a distance Aleko looks on. When they are buried, and the last handful of earth thrown over them, without a word he slowly rolls from off the stone on to the grass. Then the old man approaches him, and says:
"Leave us, proud man. We area wild people and have no laws. We neither torture nor execute. We exact neither tears nor blood, but with a murderer we cannot live. Thou art not born to our wild life. Thou wouldst have freedom for thyself alone. The sight of thee would be intolerable to us; we are a timid, gentle folk. Thou art fierce and bold. Depart, then; forgive us, and peace be with thee!"
He ended, and with great clamour all the wandering band arose, and at once quitted the ill-fated camp and quickly vanished into the distant desert tract30. But one van, covered with old rugs, remained in the fatal plain standing90 alone.
So, at the coming of winter and its morning mists, a flock of belated cranes rise from a field loudly shrieking91 and flying to the distant South, while one sad bird, struck by a fatal shot, with wounded drooping92 wing, remains behind. Evening came. By the melancholy93 van no fire was lighted; and no one slept beneath its covering of rugs that night.
The End
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1
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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bagpipes
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| n.风笛；风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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preys
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| v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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44
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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46
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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49
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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50
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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gnaws
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| 咬( gnaw的第三人称单数 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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ingrate
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| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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91
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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92
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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93
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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