Mikhail Svetlov
To a Worker-Student

The alarming roll of a drum
Stirs the mist of an early morn,
Joan of Arc on a galloping horse
To besieged Orleans is borne.

To the clinking of wine glasses,
To the strains of an old minuet,
In the Petit Trianon* passes
Care-free life of Marie Antoinette...

A small lamp lights the record of ages
Scanned by young worker-student’s eyes.
She is turning the dog-eared pages
In stubborn and hungry surprise...

Bells are tolling and bugles blowing
To announce the “sacred rite” -
Joan of Arc is condemned, flames billow
As the bonfire is set alight.

No qualms the executioner knows
(Human blood gushes forth-a red jet),
As the guillotine’s gleaming steel blade
Seeks the neck of Marie-Antoinette.

Night is passing but still you study,
Tired, sleepy you still read on,
And as time goes confidence grows
That the pass mark shall be won.

Rest, dear girl, let sleep embrace you,
Don’t exert yourself anymore.
See the stars up in pale heaven
Have all gone to some distant shore.

At the window the wind comes peeping
Just to see your own life-story,
All your memories, all your worries,
Humble deeds of eternal glory.

Our girls in coarse-cloth greatcoats,
Tight-belted in army style,
With a song on their lips fell in battle,
Burned to death on a flaming pyre...

And the bells too rang in sorrow,
The wind evil drum-beats carried...
There is many a burial mound
Where our own brave Joans lie buried.

Softly singing, sleep draws ever nearer,
You relax in its arms enfolded...
Your grey dress on a chair at your bedside
By the diligent hand neatly folded.

___
*Petit Trianon, former royal residence in Versailles.

Translated by Valentina Jacque