The skull, signifying death and the grave, is a common theme in Russian poetry. The grave appears in Pushkin's 1816 'Elegy', for example,
and here in this particular poem the grave also stands as the entrance to other worlds. The grave is a 'shrine' for the hero, moreover, where the living cannot go, allowing
Baratynsky to refer in stanzas 1 and 3 to the sin of his companions have committed in trespassing on a sacred realm. {3}
Baratynsky’s poem goes back, of course, to the grave-digger scene in Shakespeare's Hamlet, where the prince holds the skull of the poor fool Yorick, his old jester acquaintance.
Hamlet reflects on the futility of mundane matters: both slave and ruler become the same after after death, which equalizes everything.
Though respect for the dead does not extend to others, Baratynsky creates an air of solemnity in referring to this departed soul, employing oratorical words of the high style ('holy', 'descended'),
words a little outdated ('mature') and old Slavonisms ('visit'). So a conventional poem would have ended, as a simple elegy to a romantic hero.
But, though Baratynsky possessed a certain cool skepticism
in everyday matters, by stanza 5 he is returning to the importance of customs, the mystery of death, and then to Christ's injunction: 'let the dead bury the dead' Many of
Baratynky's poems end on this note, summarized by the penultimate line as: 'let life give joy to the living'.
Even the text-to-speech recording should give some
idea of the beauty of Baratynsky's verse.
Череп
Усопший брат! кто сон твой возмутил?
Кто пренебрег святынею могильной?
В разрытый дом к тебе я нисходил,
Я в руки брал твой череп желтый, пыльный!
Еще носил волос остатки он;
Я зрел на нем ход постепенный тленья.
Ужасный вид! Как сильно поражен
Им мыслящий наследник разрушенья!
Со мной толпа безумцев молодых
Над ямою безумно хохотала;
Когда б тогда, когда б в руках моих
Глава твоя внезапно провещала!
Когда б она цветущим, пылким нам
И каждый час грозимым смертным часом
Все истины, известные гробам,
Произнесла своим бесстрастным гласом!
Что говорю? Стократно благ закон,
Молчаньем ей уста запечатлевший;
Обычай прав, усопших важный сон
Нам почитать издревле повелевший.
Живи живой, спокойно тлей мертвец!
Всесильного ничтожное созданье,
О человек! Уверься наконец:
Не для тебя ни мудрость, ни всезнанье!
Нам надобны и страсти и мечты,
В них бытия условие и пища:
Не подчинишь одним законам ты
И света шум и тишину кладбища!
Природных чувств мудрец не заглушит
И от гробов ответа не получит:
Пусть радости живущим жизнь дарит,
А смерть сама их умереть научит.
1824
The poem is written in simple tetrameters, rhymed aBaB, etc:
Усо́пший брат! кто сон твой возмути́л? 5a
Кто пренебре́г святы́нею моги́льной? 5B
В разры́тый дом к тебе́ я нисходи́л, 5a
Я в ру́ки брал твой че́реп жёлтый, пы́льный! 5B
Ещё носи́л воло́с оста́тки он; 5c
Я зрел на нем ход постепе́нный тле́нья. 5D
Ужа́сный вид! Как си́льно поражён 5c
Им мы́слящий насле́дник разруше́нья! 5D
A TTS Audio Recording of the opening stanzas:
Ruverses have an unrhymed version by Ilya Bernstein. I give his
first two stanzas:
Departed brother, who has disturbed your sleep
And trampled on the sanctity of the tomb?
Into your house, all dug up, I stepped down —
I took your skull in my hands, dusty and yellow.
The remnants of your hair — it wore them still.
I saw the slow course of decay upon it.
Horrible sight! How powerfully it struck
The sensible inheritor of that ruin.
As usual with longer poems, we should first construct a rough draft:
Skull
Departed brother: who disturbed your sleep,
and wrecked the sanctity of resting place?
that I must desecrate the house you keep
and with pale hands display your dusty face.
Here are the remnants of the hair you had
that showed the slothful course of your decay.
And terrible to see, once strong, now sad
is that destruction I receive today.
I have a crowd of youths about me, who
in mindless reverie race round this pit:
But were my hands to hold this head of you
alive: what prophecies would come from it!
If only it had taught us, rash in blooms,
and menaced hourly by approaching death,
what truths there lie within the ken of tombs,
and uttered them with sovereign breath.
So then? The law a hundred times will tell
us have our mouths to solemn silence wed,
and righteous too the customs that compel
us keep a sacred stillness for the dead.
Let the living live, let the dead decay,
that all acknowledge the Lord’s magnificence.
And puny man, the creature of a day
knows neither wisdom nor omniscience!
We need both passions and our dreams,
they are the law and nourishment we crave.
But futile also are the holding schemes
of noisy world and silence of the grave
The wise will not refuse what feelings give
which are not answers that our graves supply.
Let life give happiness to those who live,
and death instruct the dying how they die.
And then refine this, ironing out the verse wrinkles and bringing the sense closer to the Russian:
Skull
Departed brother: who disturbed your sleep,
ignored the sanctity of your small shrine?
That I, descending to the house you keep,
can hold your wan, dry skull in hands of mine?
Here are the remnants of the hair you had,
which shows the downhill course of your decay.
How terrible to know, and passing mad,
that I'm the heir of all your thoughts today.
I have a crowd of youths about me, who
in mindless reverie race round this pit:
But were my hands to lift this head of you
alive: what prophecies would come from it!
If only it had taught us, rich in blooms,
but menaced hourly by approaching death,
what truths can lie within the shade of tombs,
but speak out soberly with level breath.
That says? A hundred times the law will tell
us hold our mouths to what is left unsaid,
and right the ancient customs that compel
us keep to dreams commanded of the dead.
Let the living live; let the dead decay;
let all accept the Lord’s omnipotence.
And know, O man, at last, speak as you may,
you've neither wisdom nor omniscience!
We need both passions and our dreams;
they are the law and nourishment we crave.
One law for both we can't obey, nor seems
the noisy world to serve for silent grave.
The wise will not discount what feelings give,
though not the answers that our graves supply.
Let life give happiness to those who live,
and death instruct the leaving how to die.
1. Mirsky, D.S., A History of Russian Literature (Knopf 1926 / Vintage Books 1958) 104-7.
2. Bristol, E., A History of Russian Poetry (O.U.P.) 116-18.
3. Раскрытие темы истины и ее связь с темой смерти в стихотворении «Череп» (Disclosure of the theme of truth and its connection
with the theme of death in the poem "Skull") Poem text,
extended article and references in Russian. Google..
Russian poem translations on this site: listing.
