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diff --git a/23997-0.txt b/23997-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c697d84 --- /dev/null +++ b/23997-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8041 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Eugene Onéguine [Onegin], by Aleksandr +Sergeevich Pushkin, Translated by Henry Spalding + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Eugene Onéguine [Onegin] + A Romance of Russian Life in Verse + +Author: Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin + +Release Date: December 27, 2007 [eBook #23997] +Last Updated: April 3, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EUGENE ONÉGUINE [ONEGIN]*** + + +E-text prepared by Stephen Leary + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + + EUGENE ONÉGUINE [Onegin]: + + A Romance of Russian Life in Verse + + By Alexander Pushkin + + Translated from the Russian by Lieut.-Col. [Henry] Spalding + + London: Macmillan and Co. + + 1881 + + + + + PREFACE + + + Eugene Onéguine, the chief poetical work of Russia’s greatest poet, having + been translated into all the principal languages of Europe except our own, + I hope that this version may prove an acceptable contribution to + literature. Tastes are various in matters of poetry, but the present work + possesses a more solid claim to attention in the series of faithful + pictures it offers of Russian life and manners. If these be compared with + Mr. Wallace’s book on Russia, it will be seen that social life in that + empire still preserves many of the characteristics which distinguished it + half a century ago—the period of the first publication of the latter + cantos of this poem. + + Many references will be found in it to our own country and its literature. + Russian poets have carefully plagiarized the English— notably + Joukóvski. Pushkin, however, was no plagiarist, though undoubtedly his + mind was greatly influenced by the genius of Byron— more especially + in the earliest part of his career. Indeed, as will be remarked in the + following pages, he scarcely makes an effort to disguise this fact. + + The biographical sketch is of course a mere outline. I did not think a + longer one advisable, as memoirs do not usually excite much interest till + the subjects of them are pretty well known. In the “notes” I have + endeavored to elucidate a somewhat obscure subject. Some of the poet’s + allusions remain enigmatical to the present day. The point of each sarcasm + naturally passed out of mind together with the society against which it + was levelled. If some of the versification is rough and wanting in “go,” I + must plead in excuse the difficult form of the stanza, and in many + instances the inelastic nature of the subject matter to be versified. + Stanza XXXV Canto II forms a good example of the latter difficulty, and is + omitted in the German and French versions to which I have had access. The + translation of foreign verse is comparatively easy so long as it is + confined to conventional poetic subjects, but when it embraces abrupt + scraps of conversation and the description of local customs it becomes a + much more arduous affair. I think I may say that I have adhered closely to + the text of the original. + + The following foreign translations of this poem have appeared: + + 1. French prose. Oeuvres choisis de Pouchekine. H. Dupont. Paris, 1847. + + 2. German verse. A. Puschkin’s poetische Werke. F. Bodenstedt. Berlin, + 1854. + + 3. Polish verse. Eugeniusz Oniegin. Roman Aleksandra Puszkina. A. + Sikorski. Vilnius, 1847. + + 4. Italian prose. Racconti poetici di A. Puschkin, tradotti da A. Delatre. + Firenze, 1856. + + London, May 1881. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PREFACE + + MON PORTRAIT + + A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF ALEXANDER + PUSHKIN. + + + EUGENE ONÉGUINE + + CANTO THE FIRST + + CANTO THE SECOND + + CANTO THE THIRD + + CANTO THE FOURTH + + CANTO THE FIFTH + + CANTO THE SIXTH + + CANTO THE SEVENTH + + CANTO THE EIGHTH + + + + + MON PORTRAIT + + Written by the poet at the age of 15. + + + Vous me demandez mon portrait, + Mais peint d’après nature: + Mon cher, il sera bientot fait, + Quoique en miniature. + + Je suis un jeune polisson + Encore dans les classes; + Point sot, je le dis sans façon, + Et sans fades grimaces. + + Oui! il ne fut babillard + Ni docteur de Sorbonne, + Plus ennuyeux et plus braillard + Que moi-même en personne. + + Ma taille, à celle des plus longs, + Elle n’est point egalée; + J’ai le teint frais, les cheveux blonds, + Et la tete bouclée. + + J’aime et le monde et son fracas, + Je hais la solitude; + J’abhorre et noises et débats, + Et tant soit peu l’étude. + + Spectacles, bals, me plaisent fort, + Et d’après ma pensee, + Je dirais ce que j’aime encore, + Si je n’étais au Lycée. + + Après cela, mon cher ami, + L’on peut me reconnaître, + Oui! tel que le bon Dieu me fit, + Je veux toujours paraître. + + Vrai dé1mon, par l’espiéglerie, + Vrai singe par sa mine, + Beaucoup et trop d’étourderie, + Ma foi! voilà Pouchekine. + + Note: Russian proper names to be pronounced as in French (the nasal sound + of m and n excepted) in the following translation. The accent, which is + very arbitrary in the Russian language, is indicated unmistakably in a + rhythmical composition. + + + + + A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF ALEXANDER PUSHKIN. + + + Alexander Sergévitch Pushkin was born in 1799 at Pskoff, and was a scion + of an ancient Russian family. In one of his letters it is recorded that no + less than six Pushkins signed the Charta declaratory of the election of + the Románoff family to the throne of Russia, and that two more affixed + their marks from inability to write. + + In 1811 he entered the Lyceum, an aristocratic educational establishment + at Tsarskoe Selo, near St. Petersburg, where he was the friend and + schoolmate of Prince Gortchakoff the Russian Chancellor. As a scholar he + displayed no remarkable amount of capacity, but was fond of general + reading and much given to versification. Whilst yet a schoolboy he wrote + many lyrical compositions and commenced _Ruslan and Liudmila_, his + first poem of any magnitude, and, it is asserted, the first readable one + ever produced in the Russian language. During his boyhood he came much + into contact with the poets Dmitrieff and Joukóvski, who were intimate + with his father, and his uncle, Vassili Pushkin, himself an author of no + mean repute. The friendship of the historian Karamzine must have exercised + a still more beneficial influence upon him. + + In 1817 he quitted the Lyceum and obtained an appointment in the Foreign + Office at St. Petersburg. Three years of reckless dissipation in the + capital, where his lyrical talent made him universally popular, resulted + in 1818 in a putrid fever which was near carrying him off. At this period + of his life he scarcely slept at all; worked all day and dissipated at + night. Society was open to him from the palace of the prince to the + officers’ quarters of the Imperial Guard. The reflection of this mode of + life may be noted in the first canto of _Eugene Onéguine_ and the + early dissipations of the “Philosopher just turned eighteen,”— the + exact age of Pushkin when he commenced his career in the Russian capital. + + In 1820 he was transferred to the bureau of Lieutenant-General Inzoff, at + Kishineff in Bessarabia. This event was probably due to his composing and + privately circulating an “Ode to Liberty,” though the attendant + circumstances have never yet been thoroughly brought to light. An + indiscreet admiration for Byron most likely involved the young poet in + this scrape. The tenor of this production, especially its audacious + allusion to the murder of the emperor Paul, father of the then reigning + Tsar, assuredly deserved, according to aristocratic ideas, the deportation + to Siberia which was said to have been prepared for the author. The + intercession of Karamzine and Joukóvski procured a commutation of his + sentence. Strangely enough, Pushkin appeared anxious to deceive the public + as to the real cause of his sudden disappearance from the capital; for in + an Ode to Ovid composed about this time he styles himself a “voluntary + exile.” (See Note 4 to this volume.) + + During the four succeeding years he made numerous excursions amid the + beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine—and amongst + these the Crimea and the Caucasus. A nomad life passed amid the beauties + of nature acted powerfully in developing his poetical genius. To this + period he refers in the final canto of _Eugene Onéguine_ (st. v.), + when enumerating the various influences which had contributed to the + formation of his Muse: + + + “Then, the far capital forgot, + Its splendour and its blandishments, + In poor Moldavia cast her lot, + She visited the humble tents + Of migratory gipsy hordes,” etc. etc. + + During these pleasant years of youth he penned some of his most delightful + poetical works: amongst these, _The Prisoner of the Caucasus, The + Fountain of Baktchiserai_, and the _Gipsies_. Of the two former it + may be said that they are in the true style of the _Giaour_ and the + _Corsair_. In fact, just at that point of time Byron’s fame—like + the setting sun—shone out with dazzling lustre and irresistibly + charmed the mind of Pushkin amongst many others. The _Gipsies_ is + more original; indeed the poet himself has been identified with Aleko, the + hero of the tale, which may well be founded on his own personal adventures + without involving the guilt of a double murder. His undisguised admiration + for Byron doubtless exposed him to imputations similar to those commonly + levelled against that poet. But Pushkin’s talent was too genuine for him + to remain long subservient to that of another, and in a later period of + his career he broke loose from all trammels and selected a line peculiarly + his own. Before leaving this stage in our narrative we may point out the + fact that during the whole of this period of comparative seclusion the + poet was indefatigably occupied in study. Not only were the standard works + of European literature perused, but two more languages—namely + Italian and Spanish—were added to his original stock: French, + English, Latin and German having been acquired at the Lyceum. To this + happy union of literary research with the study of nature we must + attribute the sudden bound by which he soon afterwards attained the + pinnacle of poetic fame amongst his own countrymen. + + In 1824 he once more fell under the imperial displeasure. A letter seized + in the post, and expressive of atheistical sentiments (possibly but a + transient vagary of his youth) was the ostensible cause of his banishment + from Odessa to his paternal estate of Mikhailovskoe in the province of + Pskoff. Some, however, aver that personal pique on the part of Count + Vorontsoff, the Governor of Odessa, played a part in the transaction. Be + this as it may, the consequences were serious for the poet, who was not + only placed under the surveillance of the police, but expelled from the + Foreign Office by express order of the Tsar “for bad conduct.” A letter on + this subject, addressed by Count Vorontsoff to Count Nesselrode, is an + amusing instance of the arrogance with which stolid mediocrity frequently + passes judgment on rising genius. I transcribe a portion thereof: + + + Odessa, 28_th March_ (7_th April_) 1824 + + Count—Your Excellency is aware of the reasons for which, some time + ago, young Pushkin was sent with a letter from Count Capo d’Istria to + General Inzoff. I found him already here when I arrived, the General + having placed him at my disposal, though he himself was at Kishineff. I + have no reason to complain about him. On the contrary, he is much steadier + than formerly. But a desire for the welfare of the young man himself, who + is not wanting in ability, and whose faults proceed more from the head + than from the heart, impels me to urge upon you his removal from Odessa. + Pushkin’s chief failing is ambition. He spent the bathing season here, and + has gathered round him a crowd of adulators who praise his genius. This + maintains in him a baneful delusion which seems to turn his head—namely, + that he is a “distinguished writer;” whereas, in reality he is but a + feeble imitator of an author in whose favour very little can be said + (Byron). This it is which keeps him from a serious study of the great + classical poets, which might exercise a beneficial effect upon his talents—which + cannot be denied him—and which might make of him in course of time a + “distinguished writer.” + + The best thing that can be done for him is to remove him hence.... + + The Emperor Nicholas on his accession pardoned Pushkin and received him + once more into favour. During an interview which took place it is said + that the Tsar promised the poet that he alone would in future be the + censor of his productions. Pushkin was restored to his position in the + Foreign Office and received the appointment of Court Historian. In 1828 he + published one of his finest poems, _Poltava_, which is founded on + incidents familiar to English readers in Byron’s _Mazeppa_. In 1829 + the hardy poet accompanied the Russian army which under Paskevitch + captured Erzeroum. In 1831 he married a beautiful lady of the Gontchareff + family and settled in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburg, where he + remained for the remainder of his life, only occasionally visiting Moscow + and Mikhailovskoe. During this period his chief occupation consisted in + collecting and investigating materials for a projected history of Peter + the Great, which was undertaken at the express desire of the Emperor. He + likewise completed a history of the revolt of Pougatchoff, which occurred + in the reign of Catherine II. [Note: this individual having personated + Peter III, the deceased husband of the Empress, raised the Orenburg + Cossacks in revolt. This revolt was not suppressed without extensive + destruction of life and property.] In 1833 the poet visited Orenburg, the + scene of the dreadful excesses he recorded; the fruit of his journey being + one of the most charming tales ever written, _The Captain’s Daughter_. + [Note: Translated in _Russian Romance_, by Mrs. Telfer, 1875.] + + The remaining years of Pushkin’s life, spent in the midst of domestic + bliss and grateful literary occupation, were what lookers-on style “years + of unclouded happiness.” They were, however, drawing rapidly to a close. + Unrivalled distinction rarely fails to arouse bitter animosity amongst the + envious, and Pushkin’s existence had latterly been embittered by + groundless insinuations against his wife’s reputation in the shape of + anonymous letters addressed to himself and couched in very insulting + language. He fancied he had traced them to one Georges d’Anthés, a + Frenchman in the Cavalier Guard, who had been adopted by the Dutch envoy + Heeckeren. D’Anthés, though he had espoused Madame Pushkin’s sister, had + conducted himself with impropriety towards the former lady. The poet + displayed in this affair a fierce hostility quite characteristic of his + African origin but which drove him to his destruction. D’Anthés, it was + subsequently admitted, was not the author of the anonymous letters; but as + usual when a duel is proposed, an appeal to reason was thought to smack of + cowardice. The encounter took place in February 1837 on one of the islands + of the Neva. The weapons used were pistols, and the combat was of a + determined, nay ferocious character. Pushkin was shot before he had time + to fire, and, in his fall, the barrel of his pistol became clogged with + snow which lay deep upon the ground at the time. Raising himself on his + elbow, the wounded man called for another pistol, crying, “I’ve strength + left to fire my shot!” He fired, and slightly wounded his opponent, + shouting “Bravo!” when he heard him exclaim that he was hit. D’Anthés was, + however, but slightly contused whilst Pushkin was shot through the + abdomen. He was transported to his residence and expired after several + days passed in extreme agony. Thus perished in the thirty-eighth year of + his age this distinguished poet, in a manner and amid surroundings which + make the duel scene in the sixth canto of this poem seem almost prophetic. + His reflections on the premature death of Lenski appear indeed strangely + applicable to his own fate, as generally to the premature extinction of + genius. + + Pushkin was endowed with a powerful physical organisation. He was fond of + long walks, unlike the generality of his countrymen, and at one time of + his career used daily to foot it into St. Petersburg and back, from his + residence in the suburbs, to conduct his investigations in the Government + archives when employed on the History of Peter the Great. He was a good + swordsman, rode well, and at one time aspired to enter the cavalry; but + his father not being able to furnish the necessary funds he declined + serving in the less romantic infantry. Latterly he was regular in his + habits; rose early, retired late, and managed to get along with but very + little sleep. On rising he betook himself forthwith to his literary + occupations, which were continued till afternoon, when they gave place to + physical exercise. Strange as it will appear to many, he preferred the + autumn months, especially when rainy, chill and misty, for the production + of his literary compositions, and was proportionally depressed by the + approach of spring. (Cf. Canto VII st. ii.) + + + “Mournful is thine approach to me, + O Spring, thou chosen time of love,” etc. + + He usually left St. Petersburg about the middle of September and remained + in the country till December. In this space of time it was his custom to + develop and perfect the inspirations of the remaining portion of the year. + He was of an impetuous yet affectionate nature and much beloved by a + numerous circle of friends. An attractive feature in his character was his + unalterable attachment to his aged nurse, a sentiment which we find + reflected in the pages of _Eugene Onéguine_ and elsewhere. + + The preponderating influence which Byron exercised in the formation of his + genius has already been noticed. It is indeed probable that we owe _Onéguine_ + to the combined impressions of _Childe Harold_ and _Don Juan_ + upon his mind. Yet the Russian poem excels these masterpieces of Byron in + a single particular—namely, in completeness of narrative, the plots + of the latter being mere vehicles for the development of the poet’s + general reflections. There is ground for believing that Pushkin likewise + made this poem the record of his own experience. This has doubtless been + the practice of many distinguished authors of fiction whose names will + readily occur to the reader. Indeed, as we are never cognizant of the real + motives which actuate others, it follows that nowhere can the secret + springs of human action be studied to such advantage as within our own + breasts. Thus romance is sometimes but the reflection of the writer’s own + individuality, and he adopts the counsel of the American poet: + + + Look then into thine heart and write! + + But a further consideration of this subject would here be out of place. + Perhaps I cannot more suitably conclude this sketch than by quoting from + his _Ode to the Sea_ the poet’s tribute of admiration to the genius + of Napoleon and Byron, who of all contemporaries seem the most to have + swayed his imagination. + + Farewell, thou pathway of the free, + For the last time thy waves I view + Before me roll disdainfully, + Brilliantly beautiful and blue. + + Why vain regret? Wherever now + My heedless course I may pursue + One object on thy desert brow + I everlastingly shall view— + + A rock, the sepulchre of Fame! + The poor remains of greatness gone + A cold remembrance there became, + There perished great Napoleon. + + In torment dire to sleep he lay; + Then, as a tempest echoing rolls, + Another genius whirled away, + Another sovereign of our souls. + + He perished. Freedom wept her child, + He left the world his garland bright. + Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild, + To sing of thee was his delight. + + Impressed upon him was thy mark, + His genius moulded was by thee; + Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark + And untamed in his majesty. + + Note: It may interest some to know that Georges d’Anthés was tried by + court-martial for his participation in the duel in which Pushkin fell, + found guilty, and reduced to the ranks; but, not being a Russian subject, + he was conducted by a gendarme across the frontier and then set at + liberty. + + + + + EUGENE ONÉGUINE + + + Pétri de vanité, il avait encore plus de cette espèce d’orgueil, qui fait + avouer avec la même indifference les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, + suite d’un sentiment de supériorité, peut-être imaginaire.— _Tiré + d’une lettre particulière_. + + [Note: Written in 1823 at Kishineff and Odessa.] + + + CANTO THE FIRST + + + ‘The Spleen’ + + ‘He rushes at life and exhausts the passions.’ + Prince Viazemski + + Canto the First + + I + + “My uncle’s goodness is extreme, + If seriously he hath disease; + He hath acquired the world’s esteem + And nothing more important sees; + A paragon of virtue he! + But what a nuisance it will be, + Chained to his bedside night and day + Without a chance to slip away. + Ye need dissimulation base + A dying man with art to soothe, + Beneath his head the pillow smooth, + And physic bring with mournful face, + To sigh and meditate alone: + When will the devil take his own!” + + II + + Thus mused a madcap young, who drove + Through clouds of dust at postal pace, + By the decree of Mighty Jove, + Inheritor of all his race. + Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1) + Let me present ye to the man, + Who without more prevarication + The hero is of my narration! + Onéguine, O my gentle readers, + Was born beside the Neva, where + It may be ye were born, or there + Have shone as one of fashion’s leaders. + I also wandered there of old, + But cannot stand the northern cold.(2) + + [Note 1: _Ruslan and Liudmila_, the title of Pushkin’s first + important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures + of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who + has been carried off by a _kaldoon_, or magician.] + + [Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.] + + III + + Having performed his service truly, + Deep into debt his father ran; + Three balls a year he gave ye duly, + At last became a ruined man. + But Eugene was by fate preserved, + For first “madame” his wants observed, + And then “monsieur” supplied her place;(3) + The boy was wild but full of grace. + “Monsieur l’Abbé” a starving Gaul, + Fearing his pupil to annoy, + Instructed jestingly the boy, + Morality taught scarce at all; + Gently for pranks he would reprove + And in the Summer Garden rove. + + [Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly + styled “monsieur” or “madame.”] + + IV + + When youth’s rebellious hour drew near + And my Eugene the path must trace— + The path of hope and tender fear— + Monsieur clean out of doors they chase. + Lo! my Onéguine free as air, + Cropped in the latest style his hair, + Dressed like a London dandy he + The giddy world at last shall see. + He wrote and spoke, so all allowed, + In the French language perfectly, + Danced the mazurka gracefully, + Without the least constraint he bowed. + What more’s required? The world replies, + He is a charming youth and wise. + + V + + We all of us of education + A something somehow have obtained, + Thus, praised be God! a reputation + With us is easily attained. + Onéguine was—so many deemed + [Unerring critics self-esteemed], + Pedantic although scholar like, + In truth he had the happy trick + Without constraint in conversation + Of touching lightly every theme. + Silent, oracular ye’d see him + Amid a serious disputation, + Then suddenly discharge a joke + The ladies’ laughter to provoke. + + VI + + Latin is just now not in vogue, + But if the truth I must relate, + Onéguine knew enough, the rogue + A mild quotation to translate, + A little Juvenal to spout, + With “vale” finish off a note; + Two verses he could recollect + Of the Æneid, but incorrect. + In history he took no pleasure, + The dusty chronicles of earth + For him were but of little worth, + Yet still of anecdotes a treasure + Within his memory there lay, + From Romulus unto our day. + + VII + + For empty sound the rascal swore he + Existence would not make a curse, + Knew not an iamb from a choree, + Although we read him heaps of verse. + Homer, Theocritus, he jeered, + But Adam Smith to read appeared, + And at economy was great; + That is, he could elucidate + How empires store of wealth unfold, + How flourish, why and wherefore less + If the raw product they possess + The medium is required of gold. + The father scarcely understands + His son and mortgages his lands. + + VIII + + But upon all that Eugene knew + I have no leisure here to dwell, + But say he was a genius who + In one thing really did excel. + It occupied him from a boy, + A labour, torment, yet a joy, + It whiled his idle hours away + And wholly occupied his day— + The amatory science warm, + Which Ovid once immortalized, + For which the poet agonized + Laid down his life of sun and storm + On the steppes of Moldavia lone, + Far from his Italy—his own.(4) + + [Note 4: Referring to Tomi, the reputed place of exile of Ovid. + Pushkin, then residing in Bessarabia, was in the same predicament + as his predecessor in song, though he certainly did not plead + guilty to the fact, since he remarks in his ode to Ovid: + To exile _self-consigned_, + With self, society, existence, discontent, + I visit in these days, with melancholy mind, + The country whereunto a mournful age thee sent. + + Ovid thus enumerates the causes which brought about his banishment: + + “Perdiderint quum me _duo_ crimina, carmen et error, + Alterius facti culpa silenda mihi est.” + _Ovidii Nasonis Tristium_, lib. ii. 207.] + + IX + + How soon he learnt deception’s art, + Hope to conceal and jealousy, + False confidence or doubt to impart, + Sombre or glad in turn to be, + Haughty appear, subservient, + Obsequious or indifferent! + What languor would his silence show, + How full of fire his speech would glow! + How artless was the note which spoke + Of love again, and yet again; + How deftly could he transport feign! + How bright and tender was his look, + Modest yet daring! And a tear + Would at the proper time appear. + + X + + How well he played the greenhorn’s part + To cheat the inexperienced fair, + Sometimes by pleasing flattery’s art, + Sometimes by ready-made despair; + The feeble moment would espy + Of tender years the modesty + Conquer by passion and address, + Await the long-delayed caress. + Avowal then ’twas time to pray, + Attentive to the heart’s first beating, + Follow up love—a secret meeting + Arrange without the least delay— + Then, then—well, in some solitude + Lessons to give he understood! + + XI + + How soon he learnt to titillate + The heart of the inveterate flirt! + Desirous to annihilate + His own antagonists expert, + How bitterly he would malign, + With many a snare their pathway line! + But ye, O happy husbands, ye + With him were friends eternally: + The crafty spouse caressed him, who + By Faublas in his youth was schooled,(5) + And the suspicious veteran old, + The pompous, swaggering cuckold too, + Who floats contentedly through life, + Proud of his dinners and his wife! + + [Note 5: _Les Aventures du Chevalier de Faublas_, a romance of a + loose character by Jean Baptiste Louvet de Couvray, b. 1760, + d. 1797, famous for his bold oration denouncing Robespierre, + Marat and Danton.] + + XII + + One morn whilst yet in bed he lay, + His valet brings him letters three. + What, invitations? The same day + As many entertainments be! + A ball here, there a children’s treat, + Whither shall my rapscallion flit? + Whither shall he go first? He’ll see, + Perchance he will to all the three. + Meantime in matutinal dress + And hat surnamed a “Bolivar”(6) + He hies unto the “Boulevard,” + To loiter there in idleness + Until the sleepless Bréguet chime(7) + Announcing to him dinner-time. + + [Note 6: A la “Bolivar,” from the founder of Bolivian independence.] + + [Note 7: M. Bréguet, a celebrated Parisian watchmaker—hence a + slang term for a watch.] + + XIII + + ’Tis dark. He seats him in a sleigh, + “Drive on!” the cheerful cry goes forth, + His furs are powdered on the way + By the fine silver of the north. + He bends his course to Talon’s, where(8) + He knows Kaverine will repair.(9) + He enters. High the cork arose + And Comet champagne foaming flows. + Before him red roast beef is seen + And truffles, dear to youthful eyes, + Flanked by immortal Strasbourg pies, + The choicest flowers of French cuisine, + And Limburg cheese alive and old + Is seen next pine-apples of gold. + + [Note 8: Talon, a famous St. Petersburg restaurateur.] + + [Note 9: Paul Petròvitch Kaverine, a friend for whom Pushkin in + his youth appears to have entertained great respect and + admiration. He was an officer in the Hussars of the Guard, and + a noted “dandy” and man about town. The poet on one occasion + addressed the following impromptu to his friend’s portrait: + + “Within him daily see the the fires of punch and war, + Upon the fields of Mars a gallant warrior, + A faithful friend to friends, of ladies torturer, + But ever the Hussar.”] + + XIV + + Still thirst fresh draughts of wine compels + To cool the cutlets’ seething grease, + When the sonorous Bréguet tells + Of the commencement of the piece. + A critic of the stage malicious, + A slave of actresses capricious, + Onéguine was a citizen + Of the domains of the side-scene. + To the theatre he repairs + Where each young critic ready stands, + Capers applauds with clap of hands, + With hisses Cleopatra scares, + Moina recalls for this alone + That all may hear his voice’s tone. + + XV + + Thou fairy-land! Where formerly + Shone pungent Satire’s dauntless king, + Von Wisine, friend of liberty, + And Kniajnine, apt at copying. + The young Simeonova too there + With Ozeroff was wont to share + Applause, the people’s donative. + There our Katènine did revive + Corneille’s majestic genius, + Sarcastic Shakhovskoi brought out + His comedies, a noisy rout, + There Didelot became glorious, + There, there, beneath the side-scene’s shade + The drama of my youth was played.(10) + + [Note 10: _Denis Von Wisine_ (1741-92), a favourite Russian + dramatist. His first comedy “The Brigadier,” procured him the + favour of the second Catherine. His best, however, is the + “Minor” (Niedorosl). Prince Potemkin, after witnessing it, + summoned the author, and greeted him with the exclamation, + “Die now, Denis!” In fact, his subsequent performances were + not of equal merit. + + _Jacob Borissovitch Kniajnine_ (1742-91), a clever adapter of + French tragedy. + + _Simeonova_, a celebrated tragic actress, who retired from + the stage in early life and married a Prince Gagarine. + + _Ozeroff_, one of the best-known Russian dramatists of the + period; he possessed more originality than Kniajnine. “Œdipus + in Athens,” “Fingal,” “Demetrius Donskoi,” and “Polyxena,” are + the best known of his tragedies. + + _Katènine_ translated Corneille’s tragedies into Russian. + + _Didelot_, sometime Director of the ballet at the Opera at + St. Petersburg.] + + XVI + + My goddesses, where are your shades? + Do ye not hear my mournful sighs? + Are ye replaced by other maids + Who cannot conjure former joys? + Shall I your chorus hear anew, + Russia’s Terpsichore review + Again in her ethereal dance? + Or will my melancholy glance + On the dull stage find all things changed, + The disenchanted glass direct + Where I can no more recollect?— + A careless looker-on estranged + In silence shall I sit and yawn + And dream of life’s delightful dawn? + + XVII + + The house is crammed. A thousand lamps + On pit, stalls, boxes, brightly blaze, + Impatiently the gallery stamps, + The curtain now they slowly raise. + Obedient to the magic strings, + Brilliant, ethereal, there springs + Forth from the crowd of nymphs surrounding + Istomina(*) the nimbly-bounding; + With one foot resting on its tip + Slow circling round its fellow swings + And now she skips and now she springs + Like down from Aeolus’s lip, + Now her lithe form she arches o’er + And beats with rapid foot the floor. + + [Note: Istomina—A celebrated Circassian dancer of the day, with + whom the poet in his extreme youth imagined himself in love.] + + XVIII + + Shouts of applause! Onéguine passes + Between the stalls, along the toes; + Seated, a curious look with glasses + On unknown female forms he throws. + Free scope he yields unto his glance, + Reviews both dress and countenance, + With all dissatisfaction shows. + To male acquaintances he bows, + And finally he deigns let fall + Upon the stage his weary glance. + He yawns, averts his countenance, + Exclaiming, “We must change ’em all! + I long by ballets have been bored, + Now Didelot scarce can be endured!” + + XIX + + Snakes, satyrs, loves with many a shout + Across the stage still madly sweep, + Whilst the tired serving-men without + Wrapped in their sheepskins soundly sleep. + Still the loud stamping doth not cease, + Still they blow noses, cough, and sneeze, + Still everywhere, without, within, + The lamps illuminating shine; + The steed benumbed still pawing stands + And of the irksome harness tires, + And still the coachmen round the fires(11) + Abuse their masters, rub their hands: + But Eugene long hath left the press + To array himself in evening dress. + + [Note 11: In Russia large fires are lighted in winter time in front + of the theatres for the benefit of the menials, who, considering + the state of the thermometer, cannot be said to have a jovial + time of it. But in this, as in other cases, “habit” alleviates + their lot, and they bear the cold with a wonderful equanimity.] + + XX + + Faithfully shall I now depict, + Portray the solitary den + Wherein the child of fashion strict + Dressed him, undressed, and dressed again? + All that industrial London brings + For tallow, wood and other things + Across the Baltic’s salt sea waves, + All which caprice and affluence craves, + All which in Paris eager taste, + Choosing a profitable trade, + For our amusement ever made + And ease and fashionable waste,— + Adorned the apartment of Eugene, + Philosopher just turned eighteen. + + XXI + + China and bronze the tables weight, + Amber on pipes from Stamboul glows, + And, joy of souls effeminate, + Phials of crystal scents enclose. + Combs of all sizes, files of steel, + Scissors both straight and curved as well, + Of thirty different sorts, lo! brushes + Both for the nails and for the tushes. + Rousseau, I would remark in passing,(12) + Could not conceive how serious Grimm + Dared calmly cleanse his nails ’fore him, + Eloquent raver all-surpassing,— + The friend of liberty and laws + In this case quite mistaken was. + + [Note 12: “Tout le monde sut qu’il (Grimm) mettait du blanc; et + moi, qui n’en croyait rien, je commençai de le croire, non + seulement par l’embellissement de son teint, et pour avoir trouvé + des tasses de blanc sur la toilette, mais sur ce qu’entrant un + matin dans sa chambre, je le trouvais brossant ses ongles avec + une petite vergette faite exprès, ouvrage qu’il continua fièrement + devant moi. Je jugeai qu’un homme qui passe deux heures tous les + matins à brosser ses ongles peut bien passer quelques instants à + remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau.” + _Confessions de J. J. Rousseau_] + + XXII + + The most industrious man alive + May yet be studious of his nails; + What boots it with the age to strive? + Custom the despot soon prevails. + A new Kaverine Eugene mine, + Dreading the world’s remarks malign, + Was that which we are wont to call + A fop, in dress pedantical. + Three mortal hours per diem he + Would loiter by the looking-glass, + And from his dressing-room would pass + Like Venus when, capriciously, + The goddess would a masquerade + Attend in male attire arrayed. + + XXIII + + On this artistical retreat + Having once fixed your interest, + I might to connoisseurs repeat + The style in which my hero dressed; + Though I confess I hardly dare + Describe in detail the affair, + Since words like pantaloons, vest, coat, + To Russ indigenous are not; + And also that my feeble verse— + Pardon I ask for such a sin— + With words of foreign origin + Too much I’m given to intersperse, + Though to the Academy I come + And oft its Dictionary thumb.(13) + + [Note 13: Refers to Dictionary of the Academy, compiled during the + reign of Catherine II under the supervision of Lomonossoff.] + + XXIV + + But such is not my project now, + So let us to the ball-room haste, + Whither at headlong speed doth go + Eugene in hackney carriage placed. + Past darkened windows and long streets + Of slumbering citizens he fleets, + Till carriage lamps, a double row, + Cast a gay lustre on the snow, + Which shines with iridescent hues. + He nears a spacious mansion’s gate, + By many a lamp illuminate, + And through the lofty windows views + Profiles of lovely dames he knows + And also fashionable beaux. + + XXV + + Our hero stops and doth alight, + Flies past the porter to the stair, + But, ere he mounts the marble flight, + With hurried hand smooths down his hair. + He enters: in the hall a crowd, + No more the music thunders loud, + Some a mazurka occupies, + Crushing and a confusing noise; + Spurs of the Cavalier Guard clash, + The feet of graceful ladies fly, + And following them ye might espy + Full many a glance like lightning flash, + And by the fiddle’s rushing sound + The voice of jealousy is drowned. + + XXVI + + In my young days of wild delight + On balls I madly used to dote, + Fond declarations they invite + Or the delivery of a note. + So hearken, every worthy spouse, + I would your vigilance arouse, + Attentive be unto my rhymes + And due precautions take betimes. + Ye mothers also, caution use, + Upon your daughters keep an eye, + Employ your glasses constantly, + For otherwise—God only knows! + I lift a warning voice because + I long have ceased to offend the laws. + + XXVII + + Alas! life’s hours which swiftly fly + I’ve wasted in amusements vain, + But were it not immoral I + Should dearly like a dance again. + I love its furious delight, + The crowd and merriment and light, + The ladies, their fantastic dress, + Also their feet—yet ne’ertheless + Scarcely in Russia can ye find + Three pairs of handsome female feet; + Ah! I still struggle to forget + A pair; though desolate my mind, + Their memory lingers still and seems + To agitate me in my dreams. + + XXVIII + + When, where, and in what desert land, + Madman, wilt thou from memory raze + Those feet? Alas! on what far strand + Do ye of spring the blossoms graze? + Lapped in your Eastern luxury, + No trace ye left in passing by + Upon the dreary northern snows, + But better loved the soft repose + Of splendid carpets richly wrought. + I once forgot for your sweet cause + The thirst for fame and man’s applause, + My country and an exile’s lot; + My joy in youth was fleeting e’en + As your light footprints on the green. + + XXIX + + Diana’s bosom, Flora’s cheeks, + Are admirable, my dear friend, + But yet Terpsichore bespeaks + Charms more enduring in the end. + For promises her feet reveal + Of untold gain she must conceal, + Their privileged allurements fire + A hidden train of wild desire. + I love them, O my dear Elvine,(14) + Beneath the table-cloth of white, + In winter on the fender bright, + In springtime on the meadows green, + Upon the ball-room’s glassy floor + Or by the ocean’s rocky shore. + + [Note 14: _Elvine_, or _Elvina_, was not improbably the owner of the + seductive feet apostrophized by the poet, since, in 1816, he wrote + an ode, “To Her,” which commences thus: + + “Elvina, my dear, come, give me thine hand,” and so forth.] + + XXX + + Beside the stormy sea one day + I envied sore the billows tall, + Which rushed in eager dense array + Enamoured at her feet to fall. + How like the billow I desired + To kiss the feet which I admired! + No, never in the early blaze + Of fiery youth’s untutored days + So ardently did I desire + A young Armida’s lips to press, + Her cheek of rosy loveliness + Or bosom full of languid fire,— + A gust of passion never tore + My spirit with such pangs before. + + XXXI + + Another time, so willed it Fate, + Immersed in secret thought I stand + And grasp a stirrup fortunate— + Her foot was in my other hand. + Again imagination blazed, + The contact of the foot I raised + Rekindled in my withered heart + The fires of passion and its smart— + Away! and cease to ring their praise + For ever with thy tattling lyre, + The proud ones are not worth the fire + Of passion they so often raise. + The words and looks of charmers sweet + Are oft deceptive—like their feet. + + XXXII + + Where is Onéguine? Half asleep, + Straight from the ball to bed he goes, + Whilst Petersburg from slumber deep + The drum already doth arouse. + The shopman and the pedlar rise + And to the Bourse the cabman plies; + The Okhtenka with pitcher speeds,(15) + Crunching the morning snow she treads; + Morning awakes with joyous sound; + The shutters open; to the skies + In column blue the smoke doth rise; + The German baker looks around + His shop, a night-cap on his head, + And pauses oft to serve out bread. + + [Note 15: i.e. the milkmaid from the Okhta villages, a suburb of St. + Petersburg on the right bank of the Neva chiefly inhabited by the + labouring classes.] + + XXXIII + + But turning morning into night, + Tired by the ball’s incessant noise, + The votary of vain delight + Sleep in the shadowy couch enjoys, + Late in the afternoon to rise, + When the same life before him lies + Till morn—life uniform but gay, + To-morrow just like yesterday. + But was our friend Eugene content, + Free, in the blossom of his spring, + Amidst successes flattering + And pleasure’s daily blandishment, + Or vainly ’mid luxurious fare + Was he in health and void of care?— + + XXXIV + + Even so! His passions soon abated, + Hateful the hollow world became, + Nor long his mind was agitated + By love’s inevitable flame. + For treachery had done its worst; + Friendship and friends he likewise curst, + Because he could not gourmandise + Daily beefsteaks and Strasbourg pies + And irrigate them with champagne; + Nor slander viciously could spread + Whene’er he had an aching head; + And, though a plucky scatterbrain, + He finally lost all delight + In bullets, sabres, and in fight. + + XXXV + + His malady, whose cause I ween + It now to investigate is time, + Was nothing but the British spleen + Transported to our Russian clime. + It gradually possessed his mind; + Though, God be praised! he ne’er designed + To slay himself with blade or ball, + Indifferent he became to all, + And like Childe Harold gloomily + He to the festival repairs, + Nor boston nor the world’s affairs + Nor tender glance nor amorous sigh + Impressed him in the least degree,— + Callous to all he seemed to be. + + XXXVI + + Ye miracles of courtly grace, + He left _you_ first, and I must own + The manners of the highest class + Have latterly vexatious grown; + And though perchance a lady may + Discourse of Bentham or of Say, + Yet as a rule their talk I call + Harmless, but quite nonsensical. + Then they’re so innocent of vice, + So full of piety, correct, + So prudent, and so circumspect + Stately, devoid of prejudice, + So inaccessible to men, + Their looks alone produce the spleen.(16) + + [Note 16: Apropos of this somewhat ungallant sentiment, a Russian + scholiast remarks:—“The whole of this ironical stanza is but a + _refined eulogy_ of the excellent qualities of our countrywomen. + Thus Boileau, in the guise of invective, eulogizes Louis XIV. + Russian ladies unite in their persons great acquirements, + combined with amiability and strict morality; also a species of + Oriental charm which so much captivated Madame de Stael.” It will + occur to most that the apologist of the Russian fair “doth + protest too much.” The poet in all probability wrote the offending + stanza in a fit of Byronic “spleen,” as he would most likely + himself have called it. Indeed, since Byron, poets of his school + seem to assume this virtue if they have it not, and we take their + utterances under its influence for what they are worth.] + + XXXVII + + And you, my youthful damsels fair, + Whom latterly one often meets + Urging your droshkies swift as air + Along Saint Petersburg’s paved streets, + From you too Eugene took to flight, + Abandoning insane delight, + And isolated from all men, + Yawning betook him to a pen. + He thought to write, but labour long + Inspired him with disgust and so + Nought from his pen did ever flow, + And thus he never fell among + That vicious set whom I don’t blame— + Because a member I became. + + XXXVIII + + Once more to idleness consigned, + He felt the laudable desire + From mere vacuity of mind + The wit of others to acquire. + A case of books he doth obtain— + He reads at random, reads in vain. + This nonsense, that dishonest seems, + This wicked, that absurd he deems, + All are constrained and fetters bear, + Antiquity no pleasure gave, + The moderns of the ancients rave— + Books he abandoned like the fair, + His book-shelf instantly doth drape + With taffety instead of crape. + + XXXIX + + Having abjured the haunts of men, + Like him renouncing vanity, + His friendship I acquired just then; + His character attracted me. + An innate love of meditation, + Original imagination, + And cool sagacious mind he had: + I was incensed and he was sad. + Both were of passion satiate + And both of dull existence tired, + Extinct the flame which once had fired; + Both were expectant of the hate + With which blind Fortune oft betrays + The very morning of our days. + + XL + + He who hath lived and living, thinks, + Must e’en despise his kind at last; + He who hath suffered ofttimes shrinks + From shades of the relentless past. + No fond illusions live to soothe, + But memory like a serpent’s tooth + With late repentance gnaws and stings. + All this in many cases brings + A charm with it in conversation. + Onéguine’s speeches I abhorred + At first, but soon became inured + To the sarcastic observation, + To witticisms and taunts half-vicious + And gloomy epigrams malicious. + + XLI + + How oft, when on a summer night + Transparent o’er the Neva beamed + The firmament in mellow light, + And when the watery mirror gleamed + No more with pale Diana’s rays,(17) + We called to mind our youthful days— + The days of love and of romance! + Then would we muse as in a trance, + Impressionable for an hour, + And breathe the balmy breath of night; + And like the prisoner’s our delight + Who for the greenwood quits his tower, + As on the rapid wings of thought + The early days of life we sought. + + [Note 17: The midsummer nights in the latitude of St. Petersburg + are a prolonged twilight.] + + XLII + + Absorbed in melancholy mood + And o’er the granite coping bent, + Onéguine meditative stood, + E’en as the poet says he leant.(18) + ’Tis silent all! Alone the cries + Of the night sentinels arise + And from the Millionaya afar(19) + The sudden rattling of a car. + Lo! on the sleeping river borne, + A boat with splashing oar floats by, + And now we hear delightedly + A jolly song and distant horn; + But sweeter in a midnight dream + Torquato Tasso’s strains I deem. + + [Note 18: Refers to Mouravieff’s “Goddess of the Neva.” At St. + Petersburg the banks of the Neva are lined throughout with + splendid granite quays.] + + [Note 19: + A street running parallel to the Neva, and leading from + the Winter Palace to the Summer Palace and Garden.] + + XLIII + + Ye billows of blue Hadria’s sea, + O Brenta, once more we shall meet + And, inspiration firing me, + Your magic voices I shall greet, + Whose tones Apollo’s sons inspire, + And after Albion’s proud lyre (20) + Possess my love and sympathy. + The nights of golden Italy + I’ll pass beneath the firmament, + Hid in the gondola’s dark shade, + Alone with my Venetian maid, + Now talkative, now reticent; + From her my lips shall learn the tongue + Of love which whilom Petrarch sung. + + [Note 20: The strong influence exercised by Byron’s genius on the + imagination of Pushkin is well known. Shakespeare and other + English dramatists had also their share in influencing his mind, + which, at all events in its earlier developments, was of an + essentially imitative type. As an example of his Shakespearian + tastes, see his poem of “Angelo,” founded upon “Measure for Measure.”] + + XLIV + + When will my hour of freedom come! + Time, I invoke thee! favouring gales + Awaiting on the shore I roam + And beckon to the passing sails. + Upon the highway of the sea + When shall I wing my passage free + On waves by tempests curdled o’er! + ’Tis time to quit this weary shore + So uncongenial to my mind, + To dream upon the sunny strand + Of Africa, ancestral land,(21) + Of dreary Russia left behind, + Wherein I felt love’s fatal dart, + Wherein I buried left my heart. + + [Note 21: The poet was, on his mother’s side, of African extraction, + a circumstance which perhaps accounts for the southern fervour of + his imagination. His great-grandfather, Abraham Petròvitch Hannibal, + was seized on the coast of Africa when eight years of age by a + corsair, and carried a slave to Constantinople. The Russian + Ambassador bought and presented him to Peter the Great who caused + him to be baptized at Vilnius. Subsequently one of Hannibal’s + brothers made his way to Constantinople and thence to St. Petersburg + for the purpose of ransoming him; but Peter would not surrender his + godson who died at the age of ninety-two, having attained the rank + of general in the Russian service.] + + XLV + + Eugene designed with me to start + And visit many a foreign clime, + But Fortune cast our lots apart + For a protracted space of time. + Just at that time his father died, + And soon Onéguine’s door beside + Of creditors a hungry rout + Their claims and explanations shout. + But Eugene, hating litigation + And with his lot in life content, + To a surrender gave consent, + Seeing in this no deprivation, + Or counting on his uncle’s death + And what the old man might bequeath. + + XLVI + + And in reality one day + The steward sent a note to tell + How sick to death his uncle lay + And wished to say to him farewell. + Having this mournful document + Perused, Eugene in postchaise went + And hastened to his uncle’s side, + But in his heart dissatisfied, + Having for money’s sake alone + Sorrow to counterfeit and wail— + Thus we began our little tale— + But, to his uncle’s mansion flown, + He found him on the table laid, + A due which must to earth be paid. + + XLVII + + The courtyard full of serfs he sees, + And from the country all around + Had come both friends and enemies— + Funeral amateurs abound! + The body they consigned to rest, + And then made merry pope and guest, + With serious air then went away + As men who much had done that day. + Lo! my Onéguine rural lord! + Of mines and meadows, woods and lakes, + He now a full possession takes, + He who economy abhorred, + Delighted much his former ways + To vary for a few brief days. + + XLVIII + + For two whole days it seemed a change + To wander through the meadows still, + The cool dark oaken grove to range, + To listen to the rippling rill. + But on the third of grove and mead + He took no more the slightest heed; + They made him feel inclined to doze; + And the conviction soon arose, + Ennui can in the country dwell + Though without palaces and streets, + Cards, balls, routs, poetry or fêtes; + On him spleen mounted sentinel + And like his shadow dogged his life, + Or better,—like a faithful wife. + + XLIX + + I was for calm existence made, + For rural solitude and dreams, + My lyre sings sweeter in the shade + And more imagination teems. + On innocent delights I dote, + Upon my lake I love to float, + For law I _far niente_ take + And every morning I awake + The child of sloth and liberty. + I slumber much, a little read, + Of fleeting glory take no heed. + In former years thus did not I + In idleness and tranquil joy + The happiest days of life employ? + + L + + Love, flowers, the country, idleness + And fields my joys have ever been; + I like the difference to express + Between myself and my Eugene, + Lest the malicious reader or + Some one or other editor + Of keen sarcastic intellect + Herein my portrait should detect, + And impiously should declare, + To sketch myself that I have tried + Like Byron, bard of scorn and pride, + As if impossible it were + To write of any other elf + Than one’s own fascinating self. + + LI + + Here I remark all poets are + Love to idealize inclined; + I have dreamed many a vision fair + And the recesses of my mind + Retained the image, though short-lived, + Which afterwards the muse revived. + Thus carelessly I once portrayed + Mine own ideal, the mountain maid, + The captives of the Salguir’s shore.(22) + But now a question in this wise + Oft upon friendly lips doth rise: + Whom doth thy plaintive Muse adore? + To whom amongst the jealous throng + Of maids dost thou inscribe thy song? + + [Note 22: Refers to two of the most interesting productions of + the poet. The former line indicates the _Prisoner of the + Caucasus_, the latter, _The Fountain of Baktchiserai_. The + Salguir is a river of the Crimea.] + + LII + + Whose glance reflecting inspiration + With tenderness hath recognized + Thy meditative incantation— + Whom hath thy strain immortalized? + None, be my witness Heaven above! + The malady of hopeless love + I have endured without respite. + Happy who thereto can unite + Poetic transport. They impart + A double force unto their song + Who following Petrarch move along + And ease the tortures of the heart— + Perchance they laurels also cull— + But I, in love, was mute and dull. + + LIII + + The Muse appeared, when love passed by + And my dark soul to light was brought; + Free, I renewed the idolatry + Of harmony enshrining thought. + I write, and anguish flies away, + Nor doth my absent pen portray + Around my stanzas incomplete + Young ladies’ faces and their feet. + Extinguished ashes do not blaze— + I mourn, but tears I cannot shed— + Soon, of the tempest which hath fled + Time will the ravages efface— + When that time comes, a poem I’ll strive + To write in cantos twenty-five. + + LIV + + I’ve thought well o’er the general plan, + The hero’s name too in advance, + Meantime I’ll finish whilst I can + Canto the First of this romance. + I’ve scanned it with a jealous eye, + Discovered much absurdity, + But will not modify a tittle— + I owe the censorship a little. + For journalistic deglutition + I yield the fruit of work severe. + Go, on the Neva’s bank appear, + My very latest composition! + Enjoy the meed which Fame bestows— + Misunderstanding, words and blows. + + END OF CANTO THE FIRST + + + + + CANTO THE SECOND + + + The Poet + + “O Rus!”—Horace + + Canto The Second + + [Note: Odessa, December 1823.] + + I + + The village wherein yawned Eugene + Was a delightful little spot, + There friends of pure delight had been + Grateful to Heaven for their lot. + The lonely mansion-house to screen + From gales a hill behind was seen; + Before it ran a stream. Behold! + Afar, where clothed in green and gold + Meadows and cornfields are displayed, + Villages in the distance show + And herds of oxen wandering low; + Whilst nearer, sunk in deeper shade, + A thick immense neglected grove + Extended—haunt which Dryads love. + + II + + ’Twas built, the venerable pile, + As lordly mansions ought to be, + In solid, unpretentious style, + The style of wise antiquity. + Lofty the chambers one and all, + Silk tapestry upon the wall, + Imperial portraits hang around + And stoves of various shapes abound. + All this I know is out of date, + I cannot tell the reason why, + But Eugene, incontestably, + The matter did not agitate, + Because he yawned at the bare view + Of drawing-rooms or old or new. + + III + + He took the room wherein the old + Man—forty years long in this wise— + His housekeeper was wont to scold, + Look through the window and kill flies. + ’Twas plain—an oaken floor ye scan, + Two cupboards, table, soft divan, + And not a speck of dirt descried. + Onéguine oped the cupboards wide. + In one he doth accounts behold, + Here bottles stand in close array, + There jars of cider block the way, + An almanac but eight years old. + His uncle, busy man indeed, + No other book had time to read. + + IV + + Alone amid possessions great, + Eugene at first began to dream, + If but to lighten Time’s dull rate, + Of many an economic scheme; + This anchorite amid his waste + The ancient _barshtchina_ replaced + By an _obrok’s_ indulgent rate:(23) + The peasant blessed his happy fate. + But this a heinous crime appeared + Unto his neighbour, man of thrift, + Who secretly denounced the gift, + And many another slily sneered; + And all with one accord agreed, + He was a dangerous fool indeed. + + [Note 23: The _barshtchina_ was the corvée, or forced labour + of three days per week rendered previous to the emancipation + of 1861 by the serfs to their lord. + + The _obrok_ was a species of poll-tax paid by a serf, either + in lieu of the forced labour or in consideration of being + permitted to exercise a trade or profession elsewhere. Very + heavy obroks have at times been levied on serfs possessed of + skill or accomplishments, or who had amassed wealth; and + circumstances may be easily imagined which, under such a + system, might lead to great abuses.] + + V + + All visited him at first, of course; + But since to the backdoor they led + Most usually a Cossack horse + Upon the Don’s broad pastures bred + If they but heard domestic loads + Come rumbling up the neighbouring roads, + Most by this circumstance offended + All overtures of friendship ended. + “Oh! what a fool our neighbour is! + He’s a freemason, so we think. + Alone he doth his claret drink, + A lady’s hand doth never kiss. + ’Tis _yes! no!_ never _madam! sir!_”(24) + This was his social character. + + [Note 24: The neighbours complained of Onéguine’s want of courtesy. + He always replied “da” or “nyet,” yes or no, instead of “das” + or “nyets”—the final s being a contraction of “sudar” or + “sudarinia,” i.e. sir or madam.] + + VI + + Into the district then to boot + A new proprietor arrived, + From whose analysis minute + The neighbourhood fresh sport derived. + Vladimir Lenski was his name, + From Gottingen inspired he came, + A worshipper of Kant, a bard, + A young and handsome galliard. + He brought from mystic Germany + The fruits of learning and combined + A fiery and eccentric mind, + Idolatry of liberty, + A wild enthusiastic tongue, + Black curls which to his shoulders hung. + + VII + + The pervert world with icy chill + Had not yet withered his young breast. + His heart reciprocated still + When Friendship smiled or Love caressed. + He was a dear delightful fool— + A nursling yet for Hope to school. + The riot of the world and glare + Still sovereigns of his spirit were, + And by a sweet delusion he + Would soothe the doubtings of his soul, + He deemed of human life the goal + To be a charming mystery: + He racked his brains to find its clue + And marvels deemed he thus should view. + + VIII + + This he believed: a kindred spirit + Impelled to union with his own + Lay languishing both day and night— + Waiting his coming—his alone! + He deemed his friends but longed to make + Great sacrifices for his sake! + That a friend’s arm in every case + Felled a calumniator base! + That chosen heroes consecrate, + Friends of the sons of every land, + Exist—that their immortal band + Shall surely, be it soon or late, + Pour on this orb a dazzling light + And bless mankind with full delight. + + IX + + Compassion now or wrath inspires + And now philanthropy his soul, + And now his youthful heart desires + The path which leads to glory’s goal. + His harp beneath that sky had rung + Where sometime Goethe, Schiller sung, + And at the altar of their fame + He kindled his poetic flame. + But from the Muses’ loftiest height + The gifted songster never swerved, + But proudly in his song preserved + An ever transcendental flight; + His transports were quite maidenly, + Charming with grave simplicity. + + X + + He sang of love—to love a slave. + His ditties were as pure and bright + As thoughts which gentle maidens have, + As a babe’s slumber, or the light + Of the moon in the tranquil skies, + Goddess of lovers’ tender sighs. + He sang of separation grim, + Of what not, and of distant dim, + Of roses to romancers dear; + To foreign lands he would allude, + Where long time he in solitude + Had let fall many a bitter tear: + He sang of life’s fresh colours stained + Before he eighteen years attained. + + XI + + Since Eugene in that solitude + Gifts such as these alone could prize, + A scant attendance Lenski showed + At neighbouring hospitalities. + He shunned those parties boisterous; + The conversation tedious + About the crop of hay, the wine, + The kennel or a kindred line, + Was certainly not erudite + Nor sparkled with poetic fire, + Nor wit, nor did the same inspire + A sense of social delight, + But still more stupid did appear + The gossip of their ladies fair. + + XII + + Handsome and rich, the neighbourhood + Lenski as a good match received,— + Such is the country custom good; + All mothers their sweet girls believed + Suitable for this semi-Russian. + He enters: rapidly discussion + Shifts, tacks about, until they prate + The sorrows of a single state. + Perchance where Dunia pours out tea + The young proprietor we find; + To Dunia then they whisper: Mind! + And a guitar produced we see, + And Heavens! warbled forth we hear: + _Come to my golden palace, dear_!(25) + + [Note 25: From the lay of the _Russalka_, i.e. mermaid of the Dnieper.] + + XIII + + But Lenski, having no desire + Vows matrimonial to break, + With our Onéguine doth aspire + Acquaintance instantly to make. + They met. Earth, water, prose and verse, + Or ice and flame, are not diverse + If they were similar in aught. + At first such contradictions wrought + Mutual repulsion and ennui, + But grown familiar side by side + On horseback every day they ride— + Inseparable soon they be. + Thus oft—this I myself confess— + Men become friends from idleness. + + XIV + + But even thus not now-a-days! + In spite of common sense we’re wont + As cyphers others to appraise, + Ourselves as unities to count; + And like Napoleons each of us + A million bipeds reckons thus + One instrument for his own use— + Feeling is silly, dangerous. + Eugene, more tolerant than this + (Though certainly mankind he knew + And usually despised it too), + Exceptionless as no rule is, + A few of different temper deemed, + Feeling in others much esteemed. + + XV + + With smiling face he Lenski hears; + The poet’s fervid conversation + And judgment which unsteady veers + And eye which gleams with inspiration— + All this was novel to Eugene. + The cold reply with gloomy mien + He oft upon his lips would curb, + Thinking: ’tis foolish to disturb + This evanescent boyish bliss. + Time without me will lessons give, + So meantime let him joyous live + And deem the world perfection is! + Forgive the fever youth inspires, + And youthful madness, youthful fires. + + XVI + + The gulf between them was so vast, + Debate commanded ample food— + The laws of generations past, + The fruits of science, evil, good, + The prejudices all men have, + The fatal secrets of the grave, + And life and fate in turn selected + Were to analysis subjected. + The fervid poet would recite, + Carried away by ecstasy, + Fragments of northern poetry, + Whilst Eugene condescending quite, + Though scarcely following what was said, + Attentive listened to the lad. + + XVII + + But more the passions occupy + The converse of our hermits twain, + And, heaving a regretful sigh, + An exile from their troublous reign, + Eugene would speak regarding these. + Thrice happy who their agonies + Hath suffered but indifferent grown, + Still happier he who ne’er hath known! + By absence who hath chilled his love, + His hate by slander, and who spends + Existence without wife or friends, + Whom jealous transport cannot move, + And who the rent-roll of his race + Ne’er trusted to the treacherous ace. + + XVIII + + When, wise at length, we seek repose + Beneath the flag of Quietude, + When Passion’s fire no longer glows + And when her violence reviewed— + Each gust of temper, silly word, + Seems so unnatural and absurd: + Reduced with effort unto sense, + We hear with interest intense + The accents wild of other’s woes, + They stir the heart as heretofore. + So ancient warriors, battles o’er, + A curious interest disclose + In yarns of youthful troopers gay, + Lost in the hamlet far away. + + XIX + + And in addition youth is flame + And cannot anything conceal, + Is ever ready to proclaim + The love, hate, sorrow, joy, we feel. + Deeming himself a veteran scarred + In love’s campaigns Onéguine heard + With quite a lachrymose expression + The youthful poet’s fond confession. + He with an innocence extreme + His inner consciousness laid bare, + And Eugene soon discovered there + The story of his young love’s dream, + Where plentifully feelings flow + Which we experienced long ago. + + XX + + Alas! he loved as in our times + Men love no more, as only the + Mad spirit of the man who rhymes + Is still condemned in love to be; + One image occupied his mind, + Constant affection intertwined + And an habitual sense of pain; + And distance interposed in vain, + Nor years of separation all + Nor homage which the Muse demands + Nor beauties of far distant lands + Nor study, banquet, rout nor ball + His constant soul could ever tire, + Which glowed with virginal desire. + + XXI + + When but a boy he Olga loved + Unknown as yet the aching heart, + He witnessed tenderly and moved + Her girlish gaiety and sport. + Beneath the sheltering oak tree’s shade + He with his little maiden played, + Whilst the fond parents, friends thro’ life, + Dreamed in the future man and wife. + And full of innocent delight, + As in a thicket’s humble shade, + Beneath her parents’ eyes the maid + Grew like a lily pure and white, + Unseen in thick and tangled grass + By bee and butterfly which pass. + + XXII + + ’Twas she who first within his breast + Poetic transport did infuse, + And thoughts of Olga first impressed + A mournful temper on his Muse. + Farewell! thou golden days of love! + ’Twas then he loved the tangled grove + And solitude and calm delight, + The moon, the stars, and shining night— + The moon, the lamp of heaven above, + To whom we used to consecrate + A promenade in twilight late + With tears which secret sufferers love— + But now in her effulgence pale + A substitute for lamps we hail! + + XXIII + + Obedient she had ever been + And modest, cheerful as the morn, + As a poetic life serene, + Sweet as the kiss of lovers sworn. + Her eyes were of cerulean blue, + Her locks were of a golden hue, + Her movements, voice and figure slight, + All about Olga—to a light + Romance of love I pray refer, + You’ll find her portrait there, I vouch; + I formerly admired her much + But finally grew bored by her. + But with her elder sister I + Must now my stanzas occupy. + + XXIV + + Tattiana was her appellation. + We are the first who such a name + In pages of a love narration + With such a perversity proclaim. + But wherefore not?—’Tis pleasant, nice, + Euphonious, though I know a spice + It carries of antiquity + And of the attic. Honestly, + We must admit but little taste + Doth in us or our names appear(26) + (I speak not of our poems here), + And education runs to waste, + Endowing us from out her store + With affectation,—nothing more. + + [Note 26: The Russian annotator remarks: “The most euphonious + Greek names, e.g. Agathon, Philotas, Theodora, Thekla, etc., + are used amongst us by the lower classes only.”] + + XXV + + And so Tattiana was her name, + Nor by her sister’s brilliancy + Nor by her beauty she became + The cynosure of every eye. + Shy, silent did the maid appear + As in the timid forest deer, + Even beneath her parents’ roof + Stood as estranged from all aloof, + Nearest and dearest knew not how + To fawn upon and love express; + A child devoid of childishness + To romp and play she ne’er would go: + Oft staring through the window pane + Would she in silence long remain. + + XXVI + + Contemplativeness, her delight, + E’en from her cradle’s earliest dream, + Adorned with many a vision bright + Of rural life the sluggish stream; + Ne’er touched her fingers indolent + The needle nor, o’er framework bent, + Would she the canvas tight enrich + With gay design and silken stitch. + Desire to rule ye may observe + When the obedient doll in sport + An infant maiden doth exhort + Polite demeanour to preserve, + Gravely repeating to another + Recent instructions of its mother. + + XXVII + + But Tania ne’er displayed a passion + For dolls, e’en from her earliest years, + And gossip of the town and fashion + She ne’er repeated unto hers. + Strange unto her each childish game, + But when the winter season came + And dark and drear the evenings were, + Terrible tales she loved to hear. + And when for Olga nurse arrayed + In the broad meadow a gay rout, + All the young people round about, + At prisoner’s base she never played. + Their noisy laugh her soul annoyed, + Their giddy sports she ne’er enjoyed. + + XXVIII + + She loved upon the balcony + To anticipate the break of day, + When on the pallid eastern sky + The starry beacons fade away, + The horizon luminous doth grow, + Morning’s forerunners, breezes blow + And gradually day unfolds. + In winter, when Night longer holds + A hemisphere beneath her sway, + Longer the East inert reclines + Beneath the moon which dimly shines, + And calmly sleeps the hours away, + At the same hour she oped her eyes + And would by candlelight arise. + + XXIX + + Romances pleased her from the first, + Her all in all did constitute; + In love adventures she was versed, + Rousseau and Richardson to boot. + Not a bad fellow was her father + Though superannuated rather; + In books he saw nought to condemn + But, as he never opened them, + Viewed them with not a little scorn, + And gave himself but little pain + His daughter’s book to ascertain + Which ’neath her pillow lay till morn. + His wife was also mad upon + The works of Mr. Richardson. + + XXX + + She was thus fond of Richardson + Not that she had his works perused, + Or that adoring Grandison + That rascal Lovelace she abused; + But that Princess Pauline of old, + Her Moscow cousin, often told + The tale of these romantic men; + Her husband was a bridegroom then, + And she despite herself would waste + Sighs on another than her lord + Whose qualities appeared to afford + More satisfaction to her taste. + Her Grandison was in the Guard, + A noted fop who gambled hard. + + XXXI + + Like his, her dress was always nice, + The height of fashion, fitting tight, + But contrary to her advice + The girl in marriage they unite. + Then, her distraction to allay, + The bridegroom sage without delay + Removed her to his country seat, + Where God alone knows whom she met. + She struggled hard at first thus pent, + Night separated from her spouse, + Then became busy with the house, + First reconciled and then content; + Habit was given us in distress + By Heaven in lieu of happiness. + + XXXII + + Habit alleviates the grief + Inseparable from our lot; + This great discovery relief + And consolation soon begot. + And then she soon ’twixt work and leisure + Found out the secret how at pleasure + To dominate her worthy lord, + And harmony was soon restored. + The workpeople she superintended, + Mushrooms for winter salted down, + Kept the accounts, shaved many a crown,(*) + The bath on Saturdays attended, + When angry beat her maids, I grieve, + And all without her husband’s leave. + + [Note: The serfs destined for military service used to have + a portion of their heads shaved as a distinctive mark.] + + XXXIII + + In her friends’ albums, time had been, + With blood instead of ink she scrawled, + Baptized Prascovia Pauline, + And in her conversation drawled. + She wore her corset tightly bound, + The Russian N with nasal sound + She would pronounce _à la Française_; + But soon she altered all her ways, + Corset and album and Pauline, + Her sentimental verses all, + She soon forgot, began to call + Akulka who was once Celine, + And had with waddling in the end + Her caps and night-dresses to mend. + + XXXIV + + As for her spouse he loved her dearly, + In her affairs ne’er interfered, + Entrusted all to her sincerely, + In dressing-gown at meals appeared. + Existence calmly sped along, + And oft at eventide a throng + Of friends unceremonious would + Assemble from the neighbourhood: + They growl a bit—they scandalise— + They crack a feeble joke and smile— + Thus the time passes and meanwhile + Olga the tea must supervise— + ’Tis time for supper, now for bed, + And soon the friendly troop hath fled. + + XXXV + + They in a peaceful life preserved + Customs by ages sanctified, + Strictly the Carnival observed, + Ate Russian pancakes at Shrovetide, + Twice in the year to fast were bound, + Of whirligigs were very fond, + Of Christmas carols, song and dance; + When people with long countenance + On Trinity Sunday yawned at prayer, + Three tears they dropt with humble mein + Upon a bunch of lovage green; + _Kvass_ needful was to them as air; + On guests their servants used to wait + By rank as settled by the State.(27) + + [Note 27: The foregoing stanza requires explanation. Russian + pancakes or “blinni” are consumed vigorously by the lower + orders during the Carnival. At other times it is difficult + to procure them, at any rate in the large towns. + + The Russian peasants are childishly fond of whirligigs, which + are also much in vogue during the Carnival. + + “Christmas Carols” is not an exact equivalent for the Russian + phrase. “Podbliudni pessni,” are literally “dish songs,” or + songs used with dishes (of water) during the “sviatki” or Holy + Nights, which extend from Christmas to Twelfth Night, for + purposes of divination. Reference will again be made to this + superstitious practice, which is not confined to Russia. See Note 52. + + “Song and dance,” the well-known “khorovod,” in which the dance + proceeds to vocal music. + + “Lovage,” the _Levisticum officinalis_, is a hardy plant growing + very far north, though an inhabitant of our own kitchen gardens. + The passage containing the reference to the three tears and + Trinity Sunday was at first deemed irreligious by the Russian + censors, and consequently expunged. + + _Kvass_ is of various sorts: there is the common _kvass_ of + fermented rye used by the peasantry, and the more expensive + _kvass_ of the restaurants, iced and flavoured with various fruits. + + The final two lines refer to the “Tchin,” or Russian social + hierarchy. There are fourteen grades in the Tchin assigning + relative rank and precedence to the members of the various + departments of the State, civil, military, naval, court, + scientific and educational. The military and naval grades from + the 14th up to the 7th confer personal nobility only, whilst + above the 7th hereditary rank is acquired. In the remaining + departments, civil or otherwise, personal nobility is only + attained with the 9th grade, hereditary with the 4th.] + + XXXVI + + Thus age approached, the common doom, + And death before the husband wide + Opened the portals of the tomb + And a new diadem supplied.(28) + Just before dinner-time he slept, + By neighbouring families bewept, + By children and by faithful wife + With deeper woe than others’ grief. + He was an honest gentleman, + And where at last his bones repose + The epitaph on marble shows: + _Demetrius Larine, sinful man, + Servant of God and brigadier, + Enjoyeth peaceful slumber here_. + + [Note 28: A play upon the word “venetz,” crown, which also + signifies a nimbus or glory, and is the symbol of marriage + from the fact of two gilt crowns being held over the heads + of the bride and bridegroom during the ceremony. The literal + meaning of the passage is therefore: his earthly marriage + was dissolved and a heavenly one was contracted.] + + XXXVII + + To his Penates now returned, + Vladimir Lenski visited + His neighbour’s lowly tomb and mourned + Above the ashes of the dead. + There long time sad at heart he stayed: + “Poor Yorick,” mournfully he said, + “How often in thine arms I lay; + How with thy medal I would play, + The Medal Otchakoff conferred!(29) + To me he would his Olga give, + Would whisper: shall I so long live?”— + And by a genuine sorrow stirred, + Lenski his pencil-case took out + And an elegiac poem wrote. + + [Note 29: The fortress of Otchakoff was taken by storm on the + 18th December 1788 by a Russian army under Prince Potemkin. + Thirty thousand Turks are said to have perished during the + assault and ensuing massacre.] + + XXXVIII + + Likewise an epitaph with tears + He writes upon his parents’ tomb, + And thus ancestral dust reveres. + Oh! on the fields of life how bloom + Harvests of souls unceasingly + By Providence’s dark decree! + They blossom, ripen and they fall + And others rise ephemeral! + Thus our light race grows up and lives, + A moment effervescing stirs, + Then seeks ancestral sepulchres, + The appointed hour arrives, arrives! + And our successors soon shall drive + Us from the world wherein we live. + + XXXIX + + Meantime, drink deeply of the flow + Of frivolous existence, friends; + Its insignificance I know + And care but little for its ends. + To dreams I long have closed mine eyes, + Yet sometimes banished hopes will rise + And agitate my heart again; + And thus it is ’twould cause me pain + Without the faintest trace to leave + This world. I do not praise desire, + Yet still apparently aspire + My mournful fate in verse to weave, + That like a friendly voice its tone + Rescue me from oblivion. + + XL + + Perchance some heart ’twill agitate, + And then the stanzas of my theme + Will not, preserved by kindly Fate, + Perish absorbed by Lethe’s stream. + Then it may be, O flattering tale, + Some future ignoramus shall + My famous portrait indicate + And cry: he was a poet great! + My gratitude do not disdain, + Admirer of the peaceful Muse, + Whose memory doth not refuse + My light productions to retain, + Whose hands indulgently caress + The bays of age and helplessness. + + End of Canto the Second. + + + + + CANTO THE THIRD + + + The Country Damsel + + ‘Elle était fille, elle était amoureuse’—Malfilatre + + Canto The Third + + [Note: Odessa and Mikhailovskoe, 1824.] + + I + + “Whither away? Deuce take the bard!”— + “Good-bye, Onéguine, I must go.”— + “I won’t detain you; but ’tis hard + To guess how you the eve pull through.”— + “At Làrina’s.”—“Hem, that is queer! + Pray is it not a tough affair + Thus to assassinate the eve?”— + “Not at all.”—“That I can’t conceive! + ’Tis something of this sort I deem. + In the first place, say, am I right? + A Russian household simple quite, + Who welcome guests with zeal extreme, + Preserves and an eternal prattle + About the rain and flax and cattle.”— + + II + + “No misery I see in that”— + “Boredom, my friend, behold the ill—” + “Your fashionable world I hate, + Domestic life attracts me still, + Where—”—“What! another eclogue spin? + For God’s sake, Lenski, don’t begin! + What! really going? ’Tis too bad! + But Lenski, I should be so glad + Would you to me this Phyllis show, + Fair source of every fine idea, + Verses and tears et cetera. + Present me.”—“You are joking.”—“No.”— + “Delighted.”—“When?”—“This very night. + They will receive us with delight.” + + III + + Whilst homeward by the nearest route + Our heroes at full gallop sped, + Can we not stealthily make out + What they in conversation said?— + “How now, Onéguine, yawning still?”— + “’Tis habit, Lenski.”—“Is your ill + More troublesome than usual?”—“No! + How dark the night is getting though! + Hallo, Andriushka, onward race! + The drive becomes monotonous— + Well! Làrina appears to us + An ancient lady full of grace.— + That bilberry wine, I’m sore afraid, + The deuce with my inside has played.” + + IV + + “Say, of the two which was Tattiana?” + “She who with melancholy face + And silent as the maid Svetlana(30) + Hard by the window took her place.”— + “The younger, you’re in love with her!” + “Well!”—“I the elder should prefer, + Were I like you a bard by trade— + In Olga’s face no life’s displayed. + ’Tis a Madonna of Vandyk, + An oval countenance and pink, + Yon silly moon upon the brink + Of the horizon she is like!”— + Vladimir something curtly said + Nor further comment that night made. + + [Note 30: “Svetlana,” a short poem by Joukóvski, upon which his + fame mainly rests. Joukóvski was an unblushing plagiarist. Many + eminent English poets have been laid under contribution by him, + often without going through the form of acknowledging the + source of inspiration. Even the poem in question cannot be + pronounced entirely original, though its intrinsic beauty is + unquestionable. It undoubtedly owes its origin to Burger’s poem + “Leonora,” which has found so many English translators. Not + content with a single development of Burger’s ghastly production + the Russian poet has directly paraphrased “Leonora” under its + own title, and also written a poem “Liudmila” in imitation of it. + The principal outlines of these three poems are as follows: A + maiden loses her lover in the wars; she murmurs at Providence + and is vainly reproved for such blasphemy by her mother. + Providence at length loses patience and sends her lover’s spirit, + to all appearances as if in the flesh, who induces the unfortunate + maiden to elope. Instead of riding to a church or bridal chamber + the unpleasant bridegroom resorts to the graveyard and repairs to + his own grave, from which he has recently issued to execute his + errand. It is a repulsive subject. “Svetlana,” however, is more + agreeable than its prototype “Leonora,” inasmuch as the whole + catastrophe turns out a dream brought on by “sorcery,” during the + “sviatki” or Holy Nights (see Canto V. st. x), and the dreamer + awakes to hear the tinkling of her lover’s sledge approaching. + “Svetlana” has been translated by Sir John Bowring.] + + V + + Meantime Onéguine’s apparition + At Làrina’s abode produced + Quite a sensation; the position + To all good neighbours’ sport conduced. + Endless conjectures all propound + And secretly their views expound. + What jokes and guesses now abound, + A beau is for Tattiana found! + In fact, some people were assured + The wedding-day had been arranged, + But the date subsequently changed + Till proper rings could be procured. + On Lenski’s matrimonial fate + They long ago had held debate. + + VI + + Of course Tattiana was annoyed + By such allusions scandalous, + Yet was her inmost soul o’erjoyed + With satisfaction marvellous, + As in her heart the thought sank home, + I am in love, my hour hath come! + Thus in the earth the seed expands + Obedient to warm Spring’s commands. + Long time her young imagination + By indolence and languor fired + The fated nutriment desired; + And long internal agitation + Had filled her youthful breast with gloom, + She waited for—I don’t know whom! + + VII + + The fatal hour had come at last— + She oped her eyes and cried: ’tis he! + Alas! for now before her passed + The same warm vision constantly; + Now all things round about repeat + Ceaselessly to the maiden sweet + His name: the tenderness of home + Tiresome unto her hath become + And the kind-hearted servitors: + Immersed in melancholy thought, + She hears of conversation nought + And hated casual visitors, + Their coming which no man expects, + And stay whose length none recollects. + + VIII + + Now with what eager interest + She the delicious novel reads, + With what avidity and zest + She drinks in those seductive deeds! + All the creations which below + From happy inspiration flow, + The swain of Julia Wolmar, + Malek Adel and De Linar,(31) + Werther, rebellious martyr bold, + And that unrivalled paragon, + The sleep-compelling Grandison, + Our tender dreamer had enrolled + A single being: ’twas in fine + No other than Onéguine mine. + + [Note 31: The heroes of two romances much in vogue in Pushkin’s + time: the former by Madame Cottin, the latter by the famous + Madame Krudener. The frequent mention in the course of this + poem of romances once enjoying a European celebrity but now + consigned to oblivion, will impress the reader with the + transitory nature of merely mediocre literary reputation. One + has now to search for the very names of most of the popular + authors of Pushkin’s day and rummage biographical dictionaries + for the dates of their births and deaths. Yet the poet’s prime + was but fifty years ago, and had he lived to a ripe old age he + would have been amongst us still. He was four years younger + than the late Mr. Thomas Carlyle. The decadence of Richardson’s + popularity amongst his countrymen is a fact familiar to all.] + + IX + + Dreaming herself the heroine + Of the romances she preferred, + Clarissa, Julia, Delphine,—(32) + Tattiana through the forest erred, + And the bad book accompanies. + Upon those pages she descries + Her passion’s faithful counterpart, + Fruit of the yearnings of the heart. + She heaves a sigh and deep intent + On raptures, sorrows not her own, + She murmurs in an undertone + A letter for her hero meant: + That hero, though his merit shone, + Was certainly no Grandison. + + [Note 32: Referring to Richardson’s “Clarissa Harlowe,” “La + Nouvelle Heloise,” and Madame de Stael’s “Delphine.”] + + X + + Alas! my friends, the years flit by + And after them at headlong pace + The evanescent fashions fly + In motley and amusing chase. + The world is ever altering! + Farthingales, patches, were the thing, + And courtier, fop, and usurer + Would once in powdered wig appear; + Time was, the poet’s tender quill + In hopes of everlasting fame + A finished madrigal would frame + Or couplets more ingenious still; + Time was, a valiant general might + Serve who could neither read nor write. + + XI + + Time was, in style magniloquent + Authors replete with sacred fire + Their heroes used to represent + All that perfection could desire; + Ever by adverse fate oppressed, + Their idols they were wont to invest + With intellect, a taste refined, + And handsome countenance combined, + A heart wherein pure passion burnt; + The excited hero in a trice + Was ready for self-sacrifice, + And in the final tome we learnt, + Vice had due punishment awarded, + Virtue was with a bride rewarded. + + XII + + But now our minds are mystified + And Virtue acts as a narcotic, + Vice in romance is glorified + And triumphs in career erotic. + The monsters of the British Muse + Deprive our schoolgirls of repose, + The idols of their adoration + A Vampire fond of meditation, + Or Melmoth, gloomy wanderer he, + The Eternal Jew or the Corsair + Or the mysterious Sbogar.(33) + Byron’s capricious phantasy + Could in romantic mantle drape + E’en hopeless egoism’s dark shape. + + [Note 33: “Melmoth,” a romance by Maturin, and “Jean Sbogar,” by + Ch. Nodier. “The Vampire,” a tale published in 1819, was + erroneously attributed to Lord Byron. “Salathiel; the Eternal + Jew,” a romance by Geo. Croly.] + + XIII + + My friends, what means this odd digression? + May be that I by heaven’s decrees + Shall abdicate the bard’s profession, + And shall adopt some new caprice. + Thus having braved Apollo’s rage + With humble prose I’ll fill my page + And a romance in ancient style + Shall my declining years beguile; + Nor shall my pen paint terribly + The torment born of crime unseen, + But shall depict the touching scene + Of Russian domesticity; + I will descant on love’s sweet dream, + The olden time shall be my theme. + + XIV + + Old people’s simple conversations + My unpretending page shall fill, + Their offspring’s innocent flirtations + By the old lime-tree or the rill, + Their Jealousy and separation + And tears of reconciliation: + Fresh cause of quarrel then I’ll find, + But finally in wedlock bind. + The passionate speeches I’ll repeat, + Accents of rapture or despair + I uttered to my lady fair + Long ago, prostrate at her feet. + Then they came easily enow, + My tongue is somewhat rusty now. + + XV + + Tattiana! sweet Tattiana, see! + What bitter tears with thee I shed! + Thou hast resigned thy destiny + Unto a ruthless tyrant dread. + Thou’lt suffer, dearest, but before, + Hope with her fascinating power + To dire contentment shall give birth + And thou shalt taste the joys of earth. + Thou’lt quaff love’s sweet envenomed stream, + Fantastic images shall swarm + In thy imagination warm, + Of happy meetings thou shalt dream, + And wheresoe’er thy footsteps err, + Confront thy fated torturer! + + XVI + + Love’s pangs Tattiana agonize. + She seeks the garden in her need— + Sudden she stops, casts down her eyes + And cares not farther to proceed; + Her bosom heaves whilst crimson hues + With sudden flush her cheeks suffuse, + Barely to draw her breath she seems, + Her eye with fire unwonted gleams. + And now ’tis night, the guardian moon + Sails her allotted course on high, + And from the misty woodland nigh + The nightingale trills forth her tune; + Restless Tattiana sleepless lay + And thus unto her nurse did say: + + XVII + + “Nurse, ’tis so close I cannot rest. + Open the window—sit by me.” + “What ails thee, dear?”—“I feel depressed. + Relate some ancient history.” + “But which, my dear?—In days of yore + Within my memory I bore + Many an ancient legend which + In monsters and fair dames was rich; + But now my mind is desolate, + What once I knew is clean forgot— + Alas! how wretched now my lot!” + “But tell me, nurse, can you relate + The days which to your youth belong? + Were you in love when you were young?”— + + XVIII + + “Alack! Tattiana,” she replied, + “We never loved in days of old, + My mother-in-law who lately died(34) + Had killed me had the like been told.” + “How came you then to wed a man?”— + “Why, as God ordered! My Ivan + Was younger than myself, my light, + For I myself was thirteen quite;(35) + The matchmaker a fortnight sped, + Her suit before my parents pressing: + At last my father gave his blessing, + And bitter tears of fright I shed. + Weeping they loosed my tresses long(36) + And led me off to church with song.” + + [Note 34: A young married couple amongst Russian peasants + reside in the house of the bridegroom’s father till the + “tiaglo,” or family circle is broken up by his death.] + + [Note 35: Marriages amongst Russian serfs used formerly to + take place at ridiculously early ages. Haxthausen asserts + that strong hearty peasant women were to be seen at work + in the fields with their infant husbands in their arms. The + inducement lay in the fact that the “tiaglo” (see previous + note) received an additional lot of the communal land for + every male added to its number, though this could have formed + an inducement in the southern and fertile provinces of Russia + only, as it is believed that agriculture in the north is so + unremunerative that land has often to be forced upon the + peasants, in order that the taxes, for which the whole Commune + is responsible to Government, may be paid. The abuse of early + marriages was regulated by Tsar Nicholas.] + + [Note 36: Courtships were not unfrequently carried on in the + larger villages, which alone could support such an individual, + by means of a “svakha,” or matchmaker. In Russia unmarried + girls wear their hair in a single long plait or tail, “kossa;” + the married women, on the other hand, in two, which are twisted + into the head-gear.] + + XIX + + “Then amongst strangers I was left— + But I perceive thou dost not heed—” + “Alas! dear nurse, my heart is cleft, + Mortally sick I am indeed. + Behold, my sobs I scarce restrain—” + “My darling child, thou art in pain.— + The Lord deliver her and save! + Tell me at once what wilt thou have? + I’ll sprinkle thee with holy water.— + How thy hands burn!”—“Dear nurse, I’m well. + I am—in love—you know—don’t tell!” + “The Lord be with thee, O my daughter!”— + And the old nurse a brief prayer said + And crossed with trembling hand the maid. + + XX + + “I am in love,” her whispers tell + The aged woman in her woe: + “My heart’s delight, thou art not well.”— + “I am in love, nurse! leave me now.” + Behold! the moon was shining bright + And showed with an uncertain light + Tattiana’s beauty, pale with care, + Her tears and her dishevelled hair; + And on the footstool sitting down + Beside our youthful heroine fair, + A kerchief round her silver hair + The aged nurse in ample gown,(37) + Whilst all creation seemed to dream + Enchanted by the moon’s pale beam. + + [Note 37: It is thus that I am compelled to render a female + garment not known, so far as I am aware, to Western Europe. + It is called by the natives “doushegreika,” that is to say, + “warmer of the soul”—in French, chaufferette de l’âme. It + is a species of thick pelisse worn over the “sarafan,” or + gown.] + + XXI + + But borne in spirit far away + Tattiana gazes on the moon, + And starting suddenly doth say: + “Nurse, leave me. I would be alone. + Pen, paper bring: the table too + Draw near. I soon to sleep shall go— + Good-night.” Behold! she is alone! + ’Tis silent—on her shines the moon— + Upon her elbow she reclines, + And Eugene ever in her soul + Indites an inconsiderate scroll + Wherein love innocently pines. + Now it is ready to be sent— + For whom, Tattiana, is it meant? + + XXII + + I have known beauties cold and raw + As Winter in their purity, + Striking the intellect with awe + By dull insensibility, + And I admired their common sense + And natural benevolence, + But, I acknowledge, from them fled; + For on their brows I trembling read + The inscription o’er the gates of Hell + “Abandon hope for ever here!”(38) + Love to inspire doth woe appear + To such—delightful to repel. + Perchance upon the Neva e’en + Similar dames ye may have seen. + + [Note 38: A Russian annotator complains that the poet has + mutilated Dante’s famous line.] + + XXIII + + Amid submissive herds of men + Virgins miraculous I see, + Who selfishly unmoved remain + Alike by sighs and flattery. + But what astonished do I find + When harsh demeanour hath consigned + A timid love to banishment?— + On fresh allurements they are bent, + At least by show of sympathy; + At least their accents and their words + Appear attuned to softer chords; + And then with blind credulity + The youthful lover once again + Pursues phantasmagoria vain. + + XXIV + + Why is Tattiana guiltier deemed?— + Because in singleness of thought + She never of deception dreamed + But trusted the ideal she wrought?— + Because her passion wanted art, + Obeyed the impulses of heart?— + Because she was so innocent, + That Heaven her character had blent + With an imagination wild, + With intellect and strong volition + And a determined disposition, + An ardent heart and yet so mild?— + Doth love’s incautiousness in her + So irremissible appear? + + XXV + + O ye whom tender love hath pained + Without the ken of parents both, + Whose hearts responsive have remained + To the impressions of our youth, + The all-entrancing joys of love— + Young ladies, if ye ever strove + The mystic lines to tear away + A lover’s letter might convey, + Or into bold hands anxiously + Have e’er a precious tress consigned, + Or even, silent and resigned, + When separation’s hour drew nigh, + Have felt love’s agitated kiss + With tears, confused emotions, bliss,— + + XXVI + + With unanimity complete, + Condemn not weak Tattiana mine; + Do not cold-bloodedly repeat + The sneers of critics superfine; + And you, O maids immaculate, + Whom vice, if named, doth agitate + E’en as the presence of a snake, + I the same admonition make. + Who knows? with love’s consuming flame + Perchance you also soon may burn, + Then to some gallant in your turn + Will be ascribed by treacherous Fame + The triumph of a conquest new. + The God of Love is after you! + + XXVII + + A coquette loves by calculation, + Tattiana’s love was quite sincere, + A love which knew no limitation, + Even as the love of children dear. + She did not think “procrastination + Enhances love in estimation + And thus secures the prey we seek. + His vanity first let us pique + With hope and then perplexity, + Excruciate the heart and late + With jealous fire resuscitate, + Lest jaded with satiety, + The artful prisoner should seek + Incessantly his chains to break.” + + XXVIII + + I still a complication view, + My country’s honour and repute + Demands that I translate for you + The letter which Tattiana wrote. + At Russ she was by no means clever + And read our newspapers scarce ever, + And in her native language she + Possessed nor ease nor fluency, + So she in French herself expressed. + I cannot help it I declare, + Though hitherto a lady ne’er + In Russ her love made manifest, + And never hath our language proud + In correspondence been allowed.(39) + + [Note 39: It is well known that until the reign of the late Tsar + French was the language of the Russian court and of Russian + fashionable society. It should be borne in mind that at the time + this poem was written literary warfare more or less open was + being waged between two hostile schools of Russian men of + letters. These consisted of the _Arzamass_, or French school, to + which Pushkin himself together with his uncle Vassili Pushkin + the “Nestor of the Arzamass” belonged, and their opponents who + devoted themselves to the cultivation of the vernacular.] + + XXIX + + They wish that ladies should, I hear, + Learn Russian, but the Lord defend! + I can’t conceive a little dear + With the “Well-Wisher” in her hand!(40) + I ask, all ye who poets are, + Is it not true? the objects fair, + To whom ye for unnumbered crimes + Had to compose in secret rhymes, + To whom your hearts were consecrate,— + Did they not all the Russian tongue + With little knowledge and that wrong + In charming fashion mutilate? + Did not their lips with foreign speech + The native Russian tongue impeach? + + [Note 40: The “Blago-Namièrenni,” or “Well-Wisher,” was an + inferior Russian newspaper of the day, much scoffed at by + contemporaries. The editor once excused himself for some + gross error by pleading that he had been “on the loose.”] + + XXX + + God grant I meet not at a ball + Or at a promenade mayhap, + A schoolmaster in yellow shawl + Or a professor in tulle cap. + As rosy lips without a smile, + The Russian language I deem vile + Without grammatical mistakes. + May be, and this my terror wakes, + The fair of the next generation, + As every journal now entreats, + Will teach grammatical conceits, + Introduce verse in conversation. + But I—what is all this to me? + Will to the old times faithful be. + + XXXI + + Speech careless, incorrect, but soft, + With inexact pronunciation + Raises within my breast as oft + As formerly much agitation. + Repentance wields not now her spell + And gallicisms I love as well + As the sins of my youthful days + Or Bogdanovitch’s sweet lays.(41) + But I must now employ my Muse + With the epistle of my fair; + I promised!—Did I so?—Well, there! + Now I am ready to refuse. + I know that Parny’s tender pen(42) + Is no more cherished amongst men. + + [Note 41: Hippolyte Bogdanovitch—b. 1743, d. 1803—though + possessing considerable poetical talent was like many other + Russian authors more remarkable for successful imitation + than for original genius. His most remarkable production + is “Doushenka,” “The Darling,” a composition somewhat in + the style of La Fontaine’s “Psyche.” Its merit consists in + graceful phraseology, and a strong pervading sense of humour.] + + [Note 42: Parny—a French poet of the era of the first Napoleon, + b. 1753, d. 1814. Introduced to the aged Voltaire during + his last visit to Paris, the patriarch laid his hands upon + the youth’s head and exclaimed: “Mon cher Tibulle.” He is + chiefly known for his erotic poetry which attracted the + affectionate regard of the youthful Pushkin when a student + at the Lyceum. We regret to add that, having accepted a + pension from Napoleon, Parny forthwith proceeded to damage + his literary reputation by inditing an “epic” poem entitled + “Goddam! Goddam! par un French—Dog.” It is descriptive + of the approaching conquest of Britain by Napoleon, and + treats the embryo enterprise as if already conducted to a + successful conclusion and become matter of history. A good + account of the bard and his creations will be found in the + _Saturday Review_ of the 2d August 1879.] + + XXXII + + Bard of the “Feasts,” and mournful breast,(43) + If thou wert sitting by my side, + With this immoderate request + I should alarm our friendship tried: + In one of thine enchanting lays + To russify the foreign phrase + Of my impassioned heroine. + Where art thou? Come! pretensions mine + I yield with a low reverence; + But lonely beneath Finnish skies + Where melancholy rocks arise + He wanders in his indolence; + Careless of fame his spirit high + Hears not my importunity! + + [Note 43: Evgeny Baratynski, a contemporary of Pushkin and a + lyric poet of some originality and talent. The “Feasts” is + a short brilliant poem in praise of conviviality. Pushkin + is therein praised as the best of companions “beside the + bottle.”] + + XXXIII + + Tattiana’s letter I possess, + I guard it as a holy thing, + And though I read it with distress, + I’m o’er it ever pondering. + Inspired by whom this tenderness, + This gentle daring who could guess? + Who this soft nonsense could impart, + Imprudent prattle of the heart, + Attractive in its banefulness? + I cannot understand. But lo! + A feeble version read below, + A print without the picture’s grace, + Or, as it were, the Freischutz’ score + Strummed by a timid schoolgirl o’er. + + Tattiana’s Letter to Onéguine + + I write to you! Is more required? + Can lower depths beyond remain? + ’Tis in your power now, if desired, + To crush me with a just disdain. + But if my lot unfortunate + You in the least commiserate + You will not all abandon me. + At first, I clung to secrecy: + Believe me, of my present shame + You never would have heard the name, + If the fond hope I could have fanned + At times, if only once a week, + To see you by our fireside stand, + To listen to the words you speak, + Address to you one single phrase + And then to meditate for days + Of one thing till again we met. + ’Tis said you are a misanthrope, + In country solitude you mope, + And we—an unattractive set— + Can hearty welcome give alone. + Why did you visit our poor place? + Forgotten in the village lone, + I never should have seen your face + And bitter torment never known. + The untutored spirit’s pangs calmed down + By time (who can anticipate?) + I had found my predestinate, + Become a faithful wife and e’en + A fond and careful mother been. + + Another! to none other I + My heart’s allegiance can resign, + My doom has been pronounced on high, + ’Tis Heaven’s will and I am thine. + The sum of my existence gone + But promise of our meeting gave, + I feel thou wast by God sent down + My guardian angel to the grave. + Thou didst to me in dreams appear, + Unseen thou wast already dear. + Thine eye subdued me with strange glance, + I heard thy voice’s resonance + Long ago. Dream it cannot be! + Scarce hadst thou entered thee I knew, + I flushed up, stupefied I grew, + And cried within myself: ’tis he! + Is it not truth? in tones suppressed + With thee I conversed when I bore + Comfort and succour to the poor, + And when I prayer to Heaven addressed + To ease the anguish of my breast. + Nay! even as this instant fled, + Was it not thou, O vision bright, + That glimmered through the radiant night + And gently hovered o’er my head? + Was it not thou who thus didst stoop + To whisper comfort, love and hope? + Who art thou? Guardian angel sent + Or torturer malevolent? + Doubt and uncertainty decide: + All this may be an empty dream, + Delusions of a mind untried, + Providence otherwise may deem— + Then be it so! My destiny + From henceforth I confide to thee! + Lo! at thy feet my tears I pour + And thy protection I implore. + Imagine! Here alone am I! + No one my anguish comprehends, + At times my reason almost bends, + And silently I here must die— + But I await thee: scarce alive + My heart with but one look revive; + Or to disturb my dreams approach + Alas! with merited reproach. + + ’Tis finished. Horrible to read! + With shame I shudder and with dread— + But boldly I myself resign: + Thine honour is my countersign! + + XXXIV + + Tattiana moans and now she sighs + And in her grasp the letter shakes, + Even the rosy wafer dries + Upon her tongue which fever bakes. + Her head upon her breast declines + And an enchanting shoulder shines + From her half-open vest of night. + But lo! already the moon’s light + Is waning. Yonder valley deep + Looms gray behind the mist and morn + Silvers the brook; the shepherd’s horn + Arouses rustics from their sleep. + ’Tis day, the family downstairs, + But nought for this Tattiana cares. + + XXXV + + The break of day she doth not see, + But sits in bed with air depressed, + Nor on the letter yet hath she + The image of her seal impressed. + But gray Phillippevna the door + Opened with care, and entering bore + A cup of tea upon a tray. + “’Tis time, my child, arise, I pray! + My beauty, thou art ready too. + My morning birdie, yesternight + I was half silly with affright. + But praised be God! in health art thou! + The pains of night have wholly fled, + Thy cheek is as a poppy red!” + + XXXVI + + “Ah! nurse, a favour do for me!”— + “Command me, darling, what you choose”— + “Do not—you might—suspicious be; + But look you—ah! do not refuse.” + “I call to witness God on high—” + “Then send your grandson quietly + To take this letter to O— Well! + Unto our neighbour. Mind you tell— + Command him not to say a word— + I mean my name not to repeat.” + “To whom is it to go, my sweet? + Of late I have been quite absurd,— + So many neighbours here exist— + Am I to go through the whole list?” + + XXXVII + + “How dull you are this morning, nurse!” + “My darling, growing old am I! + In age the memory gets worse, + But I was sharp in times gone by. + In times gone by thy bare command—” + “Oh! nurse, nurse, you don’t understand! + What is thy cleverness to me? + The letter is the thing, you see,— + Onéguine’s letter!”—“Ah! the thing! + Now don’t be cross with me, my soul, + You know that I am now a fool— + But why are your cheeks whitening?” + “Nothing, good nurse, there’s nothing wrong, + But send your grandson before long.” + + XXXVIII + + No answer all that day was borne. + Another passed; ’twas just the same. + Pale as a ghost and dressed since morn + Tattiana waits. No answer came! + Olga’s admirer came that day: + “Tell me, why doth your comrade stay?” + The hostess doth interrogate: + “He hath neglected us of late.”— + Tattiana blushed, her heart beat quick— + “He promised here this day to ride,” + Lenski unto the dame replied, + “The post hath kept him, it is like.” + Shamefaced, Tattiana downward looked + As if he cruelly had joked! + + XXXIX + + ’Twas dusk! Upon the table bright + Shrill sang the _samovar_ at eve,(44) + The china teapot too ye might + In clouds of steam above perceive. + Into the cups already sped + By Olga’s hand distributed + The fragrant tea in darkling stream, + And a boy handed round the cream. + Tania doth by the casement linger + And breathes upon the chilly glass, + Dreaming of what not, pretty lass, + And traces with a slender finger + Upon its damp opacity, + The mystic monogram, O. E. + + [Note 44: The _samovar_, i.e. “self-boiler,” is merely an + urn for hot water having a fire in the center. We may observe + a similar contrivance in our own old-fashioned tea-urns which + are provided with a receptacle for a red-hot iron cylinder in + center. The tea-pot is usually placed on the top of the + _samovar_.] + + XL + + In the meantime her spirit sinks, + Her weary eyes are filled with tears— + A horse’s hoofs she hears—She shrinks! + Nearer they come—Eugene appears! + Ah! than a spectre from the dead + More swift the room Tattiana fled, + From hall to yard and garden flies, + Not daring to cast back her eyes. + She fears and like an arrow rushes + Through park and meadow, wood and brake, + The bridge and alley to the lake, + Brambles she snaps and lilacs crushes, + The flowerbeds skirts, the brook doth meet, + Till out of breath upon a seat + + XLI + + She sank.— + “He’s here! Eugene is here! + Merciful God, what will he deem?” + Yet still her heart, which torments tear, + Guards fondly hope’s uncertain dream. + She waits, on fire her trembling frame— + Will he pursue?—But no one came. + She heard of servant-maids the note, + Who in the orchards gathered fruit, + Singing in chorus all the while. + (This by command; for it was found, + However cherries might abound, + They disappeared by stealth and guile, + So mouths they stopt with song, not fruit— + Device of rural minds acute!) + + The Maidens’ Song + + Young maidens, fair maidens, + Friends and companions, + Disport yourselves, maidens, + Arouse yourselves, fair ones. + Come sing we in chorus + The secrets of maidens. + Allure the young gallant + With dance and with song. + As we lure the young gallant, + Espy him approaching, + Disperse yourselves, darlings, + And pelt him with cherries, + With cherries, red currants, + With raspberries, cherries. + Approach not to hearken + To secrets of virgins, + Approach not to gaze at + The frolics of maidens. + + XLII + + They sang, whilst negligently seated, + Attentive to the echoing sound, + Tattiana with impatience waited + Until her heart less high should bound— + Till the fire in her cheek decreased; + But tremor still her frame possessed, + Nor did her blushes fade away, + More crimson every moment they. + Thus shines the wretched butterfly, + With iridescent wing doth flap + When captured in a schoolboy’s cap; + Thus shakes the hare when suddenly + She from the winter corn espies + A sportsman who in covert lies. + + XLIII + + But finally she heaves a sigh, + And rising from her bench proceeds; + But scarce had turned the corner nigh, + Which to the neighbouring alley leads, + When Eugene like a ghost did rise + Before her straight with roguish eyes. + Tattiana faltered, and became + Scarlet as burnt by inward flame. + But this adventure’s consequence + To-day, my friends, at any rate, + I am not strong enough to state; + I, after so much eloquence, + Must take a walk and rest a bit— + Some day I’ll somehow finish it. + + End of Canto the Third + + + + + CANTO THE FOURTH + + + Rural Life + + ‘La Morale est dans la nature des choses.’—Necker + + Canto The Fourth + + [Mikhailovskoe, 1825] + + I + + The less we love a lady fair + The easier ’tis to gain her grace, + And the more surely we ensnare + Her in the pitfalls which we place. + Time was when cold seduction strove + To swagger as the art of love, + Everywhere trumpeting its feats, + Not seeking love but sensual sweets. + But this amusement delicate + Was worthy of that old baboon, + Our fathers used to dote upon; + The Lovelaces are out of date, + Their glory with their heels of red + And long perukes hath vanishèd. + + II + + For who imposture can endure, + A constant harping on one tune, + Serious endeavours to assure + What everybody long has known; + Ever to hear the same replies + And overcome antipathies + Which never have existed, e’en + In little maidens of thirteen? + And what like menaces fatigues, + Entreaties, oaths, fictitious fear, + Epistles of six sheets or near, + Rings, tears, deceptions and intrigues, + Aunts, mothers and their scrutiny, + And husbands’ tedious amity? + + III + + Such were the musings of Eugene. + He in the early years of life + Had a deluded victim been + Of error and the passions’ strife. + By daily life deteriorated, + Awhile this beauty captivated, + And that no longer could inspire. + Slowly exhausted by desire, + Yet satiated with success, + In solitude or worldly din, + He heard his soul’s complaint within, + With laughter smothered weariness: + And thus he spent eight years of time, + Destroyed the blossom of his prime. + + IV + + Though beauty he no more adored, + He still made love in a queer way; + Rebuffed—as quickly reassured, + Jilted—glad of a holiday. + Without enthusiasm he met + The fair, nor parted with regret, + Scarce mindful of their love and guile. + Thus a guest with composure will + To take a hand at whist oft come: + He takes his seat, concludes his game, + And straight returning whence he came, + Tranquilly goes to sleep at home, + And in the morning doth not know + Whither that evening he will go. + + V + + However, Tania’s letter reading, + Eugene was touched with sympathy; + The language of her girlish pleading + Aroused in him sweet reverie. + He called to mind Tattiana’s grace, + Pallid and melancholy face, + And in a vision, sinless, bright, + His spirit sank with strange delight. + May be the empire of the sense, + Regained authority awhile, + But he desired not to beguile + Such open-hearted innocence. + But to the garden once again + Wherein we lately left the twain. + + VI + + Two minutes they in silence spent, + Onéguine then approached and said: + “You have a letter to me sent. + Do not excuse yourself. I read + Confessions which a trusting heart + May well in innocence impart. + Charming is your sincerity, + Feelings which long had ceased to be + It wakens in my breast again. + But I came not to adulate: + Your frankness I shall compensate + By an avowal just as plain. + An ear to my confession lend; + To thy decree my will I bend. + + VII + + “If the domestic hearth could bless— + My sum of happiness contained; + If wife and children to possess + A happy destiny ordained: + If in the scenes of home I might + E’en for an instant find delight, + Then, I say truly, none but thee + I would desire my bride to be— + I say without poetic phrase, + Found the ideal of my youth, + Thee only would I choose, in truth, + As partner of my mournful days, + Thee only, pledge of all things bright, + And be as happy—as I might. + + VIII + + “But strange am I to happiness; + ’Tis foreign to my cast of thought; + Me your perfections would not bless; + I am not worthy them in aught; + And honestly ’tis my belief + Our union would produce but grief. + Though now my love might be intense, + Habit would bring indifference. + I see you weep. Those tears of yours + Tend not my heart to mitigate, + But merely to exasperate; + Judge then what roses would be ours, + What pleasures Hymen would prepare + For us, may be for many a year. + + IX + + “What can be drearier than the house, + Wherein the miserable wife + Deplores a most unworthy spouse + And leads a solitary life? + The tiresome man, her value knowing, + Yet curses on his fate bestowing, + Is full of frigid jealousy, + Mute, solemn, frowning gloomily. + Such am I. This did ye expect, + When in simplicity ye wrote + Your innocent and charming note + With so much warmth and intellect? + Hath fate apportioned unto thee + This lot in life with stern decree? + + X + + “Ideas and time ne’er backward move; + My soul I cannot renovate— + I love you with a brother’s love, + Perchance one more affectionate. + Listen to me without disdain. + A maid hath oft, may yet again + Replace the visions fancy drew; + Thus trees in spring their leaves renew + As in their turn the seasons roll. + ’Tis evidently Heaven’s will + You fall in love again. But still— + Learn to possess more self-control. + Not all will like myself proceed— + And thoughtlessness to woe might lead.” + + XI + + Thus did our friend Onéguine preach: + Tattiana, dim with tears her eyes, + Attentive listened to his speech, + All breathless and without replies. + His arm he offers. Mute and sad + (_Mechanically_, let us add), + Tattiana doth accept his aid; + And, hanging down her head, the maid + Around the garden homeward hies. + Together they returned, nor word + Of censure for the same incurred; + The country hath its liberties + And privileges nice allowed, + Even as Moscow, city proud. + + XII + + Confess, O ye who this peruse, + Onéguine acted very well + By poor Tattiana in the blues; + ’Twas not the first time, I can tell + You, he a noble mind disclosed, + Though some men, evilly disposed, + Spared him not their asperities. + His friends and also enemies + (One and the same thing it may be) + Esteemed him much as the world goes. + Yes! every one must have his foes, + But Lord! from friends deliver me! + The deuce take friends, my friends, amends + I’ve had to make for having friends! + + XIII + + But how? Quite so. Though I dismiss + Dark, unavailing reverie, + I just hint, in parenthesis, + There is no stupid calumny + Born of a babbler in a loft + And by the world repeated oft, + There is no fishmarket retort + And no ridiculous report, + Which your true friend with a sweet smile + Where fashionable circles meet + A hundred times will not repeat, + Quite inadvertently meanwhile; + And yet he in your cause would strive + And loves you as—a relative! + + XIV + + Ahem! Ahem! My reader noble, + Are all your relatives quite well? + Permit me; is it worth the trouble + For your instruction here to tell + What I by relatives conceive? + These are your relatives, believe: + Those whom we ought to love, caress, + With spiritual tenderness; + Whom, as the custom is of men, + We visit about Christmas Day, + Or by a card our homage pay, + That until Christmas comes again + They may forget that we exist. + And so—God bless them, if He list. + + XV + + In this the love of the fair sex + Beats that of friends and relatives: + In love, although its tempests vex, + Our liberty at least survives: + Agreed! but then the whirl of fashion, + The natural fickleness of passion, + The torrent of opinion, + And the fair sex as light as down! + Besides the hobbies of a spouse + Should be respected throughout life + By every proper-minded wife, + And this the faithful one allows, + When in as instant she is lost,— + Satan will jest, and at love’s cost. + + XVI + + Oh! where bestow our love? Whom trust? + Where is he who doth not deceive? + Who words and actions will adjust + To standards in which we believe? + Oh! who is not calumnious? + Who labours hard to humour us? + To whom are our misfortunes grief + And who is not a tiresome thief? + My venerated reader, oh! + Cease the pursuit of shadows vain, + Spare yourself unavailing pain + And all your love on self bestow; + A worthy object ’tis, and well + I know there’s none more amiable. + + XVII + + But from the interview what flowed? + Alas! It is not hard to guess. + The insensate fire of love still glowed + Nor discontinued to distress + A spirit which for sorrow yearned. + Tattiana more than ever burned + With hopeless passion: from her bed + Sweet slumber winged its way and fled. + Her health, life’s sweetness and its bloom, + Her smile and maidenly repose, + All vanished as an echo goes. + Across her youth a shade had come, + As when the tempest’s veil is drawn + Across the smiling face of dawn. + + XVIII + + Alas! Tattiana fades away, + Grows pale and sinks, but nothing says; + Listless is she the livelong day + Nor interest in aught betrays. + Shaking with serious air the head, + In whispers low the neighbours said: + ’Tis time she to the altar went! + But enough! Now, ’tis my intent + The imagination to enliven + With love which happiness extends; + Against my inclination, friends, + By sympathy I have been driven. + Forgive me! Such the love I bear + My heroine, Tattiana dear. + + XIX + + Vladimir, hourly more a slave + To youthful Olga’s beauty bright, + Into delicious bondage gave + His ardent soul with full delight. + Always together, eventide + Found them in darkness side by side, + At morn, hand clasped in hand, they rove + Around the meadow and the grove. + And what resulted? Drunk with love, + But with confused and bashful air, + Lenski at intervals would dare, + If Olga smilingly approve, + Dally with a dishevelled tress + Or kiss the border of her dress. + + XX + + To Olga frequently he would + Some nice instructive novel read, + Whose author nature understood + Better than Chateaubriand did + Yet sometimes pages two or three + (Nonsense and pure absurdity, + For maiden’s hearing deemed unfit), + He somewhat blushing would omit: + Far from the rest the pair would creep + And (elbows on the table) they + A game of chess would often play, + Buried in meditation deep, + Till absently Vladimir took + With his own pawn alas! his rook! + + XXI + + Homeward returning, he at home + Is occupied with Olga fair, + An album, fly-leaf of the tome, + He leisurely adorns for her. + Landscapes thereon he would design, + A tombstone, Aphrodite’s shrine, + Or, with a pen and colours fit, + A dove which on a lyre doth sit; + The “in memoriam” pages sought, + Where many another hand had signed + A tender couplet he combined, + A register of fleeting thought, + A flimsy trace of musings past + Which might for many ages last. + + XXII + + Surely ye all have overhauled + A country damsel’s album trim, + Which all her darling friends have scrawled + From first to last page to the rim. + Behold! orthography despising, + Metreless verses recognizing + By friendship how they were abused, + Hewn, hacked, and otherwise ill-used. + Upon the opening page ye find: + _Qu’ecrirer-vouz sur ces tablettes?_ + Subscribed, _toujours à vous, Annette;_ + And on the last one, underlined: + _Who in thy love finds more delight + Beyond this may attempt to write_. + + XXIII + + Infallibly you there will find + Two hearts, a torch, of flowers a wreath, + And vows will probably be signed: + _Affectionately yours till death_. + Some army poet therein may + Have smuggled his flagitious lay. + In such an album with delight + I would, my friends, inscriptions write, + Because I should be sure, meanwhile, + My verses, kindly meant, would earn + Delighted glances in return; + That afterwards with evil smile + They would not solemnly debate + If cleverly or not I prate. + + XXIV + + But, O ye tomes without compare, + Which from the devil’s bookcase start, + Albums magnificent which scare + The fashionable rhymester’s heart! + Yea! although rendered beauteous + By Tolstoy’s pencil marvellous, + Though Baratynski verses penned,(45) + The thunderbolt on you descend! + Whene’er a brilliant courtly dame + Presents her quarto amiably, + Despair and anger seize on me, + And a malicious epigram + Trembles upon my lips from spite,— + And madrigals I’m asked to write! + + [Note 45: Count Tolstoy, a celebrated artist who subsequently + became Vice-President of the Academy of Arts at St. Petersburg. + Baratynski, see Note 43.] + + XXV + + But Lenski madrigals ne’er wrote + In Olga’s album, youthful maid, + To purest love he tuned his note + Nor frigid adulation paid. + What never was remarked or heard + Of Olga he in song averred; + His elegies, which plenteous streamed, + Both natural and truthful seemed. + Thus thou, Yazykoff, dost arise(46) + In amorous flights when so inspired, + Singing God knows what maid admired, + And all thy precious elegies, + Sometime collected, shall relate + The story of thy life and fate. + + [Note 46: Yazykoff, a poet contemporary with Pushkin. He was + an author of promise—unfulfilled.] + + XXVI + + Since Fame and Freedom he adored, + Incited by his stormy Muse + Odes Lenski also had outpoured, + But Olga would not such peruse. + When poets lachrymose recite + Beneath the eyes of ladies bright + Their own productions, some insist + No greater pleasure can exist + Just so! that modest swain is blest + Who reads his visionary theme + To the fair object of his dream, + A beauty languidly at rest, + Yes, happy—though she at his side + By other thoughts be occupied. + + XXVII + + But I the products of my Muse, + Consisting of harmonious lays, + To my old nurse alone peruse, + Companion of my childhood’s days. + Or, after dinner’s dull repast, + I by the button-hole seize fast + My neighbour, who by chance drew near, + And breathe a drama in his ear. + Or else (I deal not here in jokes), + Exhausted by my woes and rhymes, + I sail upon my lake at times + And terrify a swarm of ducks, + Who, heard the music of my lay, + Take to their wings and fly away. + + XXVIII + + But to Onéguine! _A propos!_ + Friends, I must your indulgence pray. + His daily occupations, lo! + Minutely I will now portray. + A hermit’s life Onéguine led, + At seven in summer rose from bed, + And clad in airy costume took + His course unto the running brook. + There, aping Gulnare’s bard, he spanned + His Hellespont from bank to bank, + And then a cup of coffee drank, + Some wretched journal in his hand; + Then dressed himself...(*) + + [Note: Stanza left unfinished by the author.] + + XXIX + + Sound sleep, books, walking, were his bliss, + The murmuring brook, the woodland shade, + The uncontaminated kiss + Of a young dark-eyed country maid, + A fiery, yet well-broken horse, + A dinner, whimsical each course, + A bottle of a vintage white + And solitude and calm delight. + Such was Onéguine’s sainted life, + And such unconsciously he led, + Nor marked how summer’s prime had fled + In aimless ease and far from strife, + The curse of commonplace delight. + And town and friends forgotten quite. + + XXX + + This northern summer of our own, + On winters of the south a skit, + Glimmers and dies. This is well known, + Though we will not acknowledge it. + Already Autumn chilled the sky, + The tiny sun shone less on high + And shorter had the days become. + The forests in mysterious gloom + Were stripped with melancholy sound, + Upon the earth a mist did lie + And many a caravan on high + Of clamorous geese flew southward bound. + A weary season was at hand— + November at the gate did stand. + + XXXI + + The morn arises foggy, cold, + The silent fields no peasant nears, + The wolf upon the highways bold + With his ferocious mate appears. + Detecting him the passing horse + Snorts, and his rider bends his course + And wisely gallops to the hill. + No more at dawn the shepherd will + Drive out the cattle from their shed, + Nor at the hour of noon with sound + Of horn in circle call them round. + Singing inside her hut the maid + Spins, whilst the friend of wintry night, + The pine-torch, by her crackles bright. + + XXXII + + Already crisp hoar frosts impose + O’er all a sheet of silvery dust + (Readers expect the rhyme of _rose_, + There! take it quickly, if ye must). + Behold! than polished floor more nice + The shining river clothed in ice; + A joyous troop of little boys + Engrave the ice with strident noise. + A heavy goose on scarlet feet, + Thinking to float upon the stream, + Descends the bank with care extreme, + But staggers, slips, and falls. We greet + The first bright wreathing storm of snow + Which falls in starry flakes below. + + XXXIII + + How in the country pass this time? + Walking? The landscape tires the eye + In winter by its blank and dim + And naked uniformity. + On horseback gallop o’er the steppe! + Your steed, though rough-shod, cannot keep + His footing on the treacherous rime + And may fall headlong any time. + Alone beneath your rooftree stay + And read De Pradt or Walter Scott!(47) + Keep your accounts! You’d rather not? + Then get mad drunk or wroth; the day + Will pass; the same to-morrow try— + You’ll spend your winter famously! + + [Note 47: The Abbé de Pradt: b. 1759, d. 1837. A political + pamphleteer of the French Revolution: was at first an emigre, + but made his peace with Napoleon and was appointed Archbishop + of Malines.] + + XXXIV + + A true Childe Harold my Eugene + To idle musing was a prey; + At morn an icy bath within + He sat, and then the livelong day, + Alone within his habitation + And buried deep in meditation, + He round the billiard-table stalked, + The balls impelled, the blunt cue chalked; + When evening o’er the landscape looms, + Billiards abandoned, cue forgot, + A table to the fire is brought, + And he waits dinner. Lenski comes, + Driving abreast three horses gray. + “Bring dinner now without delay!” + + XXXV + + Upon the table in a trice + Of widow Clicquot or Moet + A blessed bottle, placed in ice, + For the young poet they display. + Like Hippocrene it scatters light, + Its ebullition foaming white + (Like other things I could relate) + My heart of old would captivate. + The last poor obol I was worth— + Was it not so?—for thee I gave, + And thy inebriating wave + Full many a foolish prank brought forth; + And oh! what verses, what delights, + Delicious visions, jests and fights! + + XXXVI + + Alas! my stomach it betrays + With its exhilarating flow, + And I confess that now-a-days + I prefer sensible Bordeaux. + To cope with Ay no more I dare, + For Ay is like a mistress fair, + Seductive, animated, bright, + But wilful, frivolous, and light. + But thou, Bordeaux, art like the friend + Who in the agony of grief + Is ever ready with relief, + Assistance ever will extend, + Or quietly partake our woe. + All hail! my good old friend Bordeaux! + + XXXVII + + The fire sinks low. An ashy cloak + The golden ember now enshrines, + And barely visible the smoke + Upward in a thin stream inclines. + But little warmth the fireplace lends, + Tobacco smoke the flue ascends, + The goblet still is bubbling bright— + Outside descend the mists of night. + How pleasantly the evening jogs + When o’er a glass with friends we prate + Just at the hour we designate + The time between the wolf and dogs— + I cannot tell on what pretence— + But lo! the friends to chat commence. + + XXXVIII + + “How are our neighbours fair, pray tell, + Tattiana, saucy Olga thine?”— + “The family are all quite well— + Give me just half a glass of wine— + They sent their compliments—but oh! + How charming Olga’s shoulders grow! + Her figure perfect grows with time! + She is an angel! We sometime + Must visit them. Come! you must own, + My friend, ’tis but to pay a debt, + For twice you came to them and yet + You never since your nose have shown. + But stay! A dolt am I who speak! + They have invited you this week.” + + XXXIX + + “Me?”—“Yes! It is Tattiana’s fête + Next Saturday. The Làrina + Told me to ask you. Ere that date + Make up your mind to go there.”—“Ah! + It will be by a mob beset + Of every sort and every set!”— + “Not in the least, assured am I!”— + “Who will be there?”—“The family. + Do me a favour and appear. + Will you?”—“Agreed.”—“I thank you, friend,” + And saying this Vladimir drained + His cup unto his maiden dear. + Then touching Olga they depart + In fresh discourse. Such, love, thou art! + + XL + + He was most gay. The happy date + In three weeks would arrive for them; + The secrets of the marriage state + And love’s delicious diadem + With rapturous longing he awaits, + Nor in his dreams anticipates + Hymen’s embarrassments, distress, + And freezing fits of weariness. + Though we, of Hymen foes, meanwhile, + In life domestic see a string + Of pictures painful harrowing, + A novel in Lafontaine’s style, + My wretched Lenski’s fate I mourn, + He seemed for matrimony born. + + XLI + + He was beloved: or say at least, + He thought so, and existence charmed. + The credulous indeed are blest, + And he who, jealousy disarmed, + In sensual sweets his soul doth steep + As drunken tramps at nightfall sleep, + Or, parable more flattering, + As butterflies to blossoms cling. + But wretched who anticipates, + Whose brain no fond illusions daze, + Who every gesture, every phrase + In true interpretation hates: + Whose heart experience icy made + And yet oblivion forbade. + + End of Canto The Fourth + + + + + CANTO THE FIFTH + + + The Fête + + ‘Oh, do not dream these fearful dreams, + O my Svetlana.’—Joukóvski + + Canto The Fifth + + [Note: Mikhailovskoe, 1825-6] + + I + + That year the autumn season late + Kept lingering on as loath to go, + All Nature winter seemed to await, + Till January fell no snow— + The third at night. Tattiana wakes + Betimes, and sees, when morning breaks, + Park, garden, palings, yard below + And roofs near morn blanched o’er with snow; + Upon the windows tracery, + The trees in silvery array, + Down in the courtyard magpies gay, + And the far mountains daintily + O’erspread with Winter’s carpet bright, + All so distinct, and all so white! + + II + + Winter! The peasant blithely goes + To labour in his sledge forgot, + His pony sniffing the fresh snows + Just manages a feeble trot + Though deep he sinks into the drift; + Forth the _kibitka_ gallops swift,(48) + Its driver seated on the rim + In scarlet sash and sheepskin trim; + Yonder the household lad doth run, + Placed in a sledge his terrier black, + Himself transformed into a hack; + To freeze his finger hath begun, + He laughs, although it aches from cold, + His mother from the door doth scold. + + [Note 48: The “kibitka,” properly speaking, whether on wheels + or runners, is a vehicle with a hood not unlike a big cradle.] + + III + + In scenes like these it may be though, + Ye feel but little interest, + They are all natural and low, + Are not with elegance impressed. + Another bard with art divine + Hath pictured in his gorgeous line + The first appearance of the snows + And all the joys which Winter knows. + He will delight you, I am sure, + When he in ardent verse portrays + Secret excursions made in sleighs; + But competition I abjure + Either with him or thee in song, + Bard of the Finnish maiden young.(49) + + [Note 49: The allusions in the foregoing stanza are in the first + place to a poem entitled “The First Snow,” by Prince Viazemski + and secondly to “Eda,” by Baratynski, a poem descriptive of life + in Finland.] + + IV + + Tattiana, Russian to the core, + Herself not knowing well the reason, + The Russian winter did adore + And the cold beauties of the season: + On sunny days the glistening rime, + Sledging, the snows, which at the time + Of sunset glow with rosy light, + The misty evenings ere Twelfth Night. + These evenings as in days of old + The Làrinas would celebrate, + The servants used to congregate + And the young ladies fortunes told, + And every year distributed + Journeys and warriors to wed. + + V + + Tattiana in traditions old + Believed, the people’s wisdom weird, + In dreams and what the moon foretold + And what she from the cards inferred. + Omens inspired her soul with fear, + Mysteriously all objects near + A hidden meaning could impart, + Presentiments oppressed her heart. + Lo! the prim cat upon the stove + With one paw strokes her face and purrs, + Tattiana certainly infers + That guests approach: and when above + The new moon’s crescent slim she spied, + Suddenly to the left hand side, + + VI + + She trembled and grew deadly pale. + Or a swift meteor, may be, + Across the gloom of heaven would sail + And disappear in space; then she + Would haste in agitation dire + To mutter her concealed desire + Ere the bright messenger had set. + When in her walks abroad she met + A friar black approaching near,(50) + Or a swift hare from mead to mead + Had run across her path at speed, + Wholly beside herself with fear, + Anticipating woe she pined, + Certain misfortune near opined. + + [Note 50: The Russian clergy are divided into two classes: + the white or secular, which is made up of the mass of parish + priests, and the black who inhabit the monasteries, furnish + the high dignitaries of the Church, and constitute that swarm + of useless drones for whom Peter the Great felt such a deep + repugnance.] + + VII + + Wherefore? She found a secret joy + In horror for itself alone, + Thus Nature doth our souls alloy, + Thus her perversity hath shown. + Twelfth Night approaches. Merry eves!(51) + When thoughtless youth whom nothing grieves, + Before whose inexperienced sight + Life lies extended, vast and bright, + To peer into the future tries. + Old age through spectacles too peers, + Although the destined coffin nears, + Having lost all in life we prize. + It matters not. Hope e’en to these + With childlike lisp will lie to please. + + [Note 51: Refers to the “Sviatki” or Holy Nights between Christmas + Eve and Twelfth Night. Divination, or the telling of fortunes + by various expedients, is the favourite pastime on these + occasions.] + + VIII + + Tattiana gazed with curious eye + On melted wax in water poured; + The clue unto some mystery + She deemed its outline might afford. + Rings from a dish of water full + In order due the maidens pull; + But when Tattiana’s hand had ta’en + A ring she heard the ancient strain: + _The peasants there are rich as kings, + They shovel silver with a spade, + He whom we sing to shall be made + Happy and glorious_. But this brings + With sad refrain misfortune near. + Girls the _kashourka_ much prefer.(52) + + [Note 52: During the “sviatki” it is a common custom for the girls + to assemble around a table on which is placed a dish or basin of + water which contains a ring. Each in her turn extracts the ring + from the basin whilst the remainder sing in chorus the “podbliudni + pessni,” or “dish songs” before mentioned. These are popularly + supposed to indicate the fortunes of the immediate holder of the + ring. The first-named lines foreshadow death; the latter, the + “kashourka,” or “kitten song,” indicates approaching marriage. It + commences thus: “The cat asked the kitten to sleep on the stove.”] + + IX + + Frosty the night; the heavens shone; + The wondrous host of heavenly spheres + Sailed silently in unison— + Tattiana in the yard appears + In a half-open dressing-gown + And bends her mirror on the moon, + But trembling on the mirror dark + The sad moon only could remark. + List! the snow crunches—he draws nigh! + The girl on tiptoe forward bounds + And her voice sweeter than the sounds + Of clarinet or flute doth cry: + “What is your name?” The boor looked dazed, + And “Agathon” replied, amazed.(53) + + [Note 53: The superstition is that the name of the future husband + may thus be discovered.] + + X + + Tattiana (nurse the project planned) + By night prepared for sorcery, + And in the bathroom did command + To lay two covers secretly. + But sudden fear assailed Tattiana, + And I, remembering Svetlana,(54) + Become alarmed. So never mind! + I’m not for witchcraft now inclined. + So she her silken sash unlaced, + Undressed herself and went to bed + And soon Lel hovered o’er her head.(55) + Beneath her downy pillow placed, + A little virgin mirror peeps. + ’Tis silent all. Tattiana sleeps. + + [Note 54: See Note 30.] + + [Note 55: Lel, in Slavonic mythology, corresponds to the Morpheus + of the Latins. The word is evidently connected with the verb + “leleyat” to fondle or soothe, likewise with our own word + “to lull.”] + + XI + + A dreadful sleep Tattiana sleeps. + She dreamt she journeyed o’er a field + All covered up with snow in heaps, + By melancholy fogs concealed. + Amid the snowdrifts which surround + A stream, by winter’s ice unbound, + Impetuously clove its way + With boiling torrent dark and gray; + Two poles together glued by ice, + A fragile bridge and insecure, + Spanned the unbridled torrent o’er; + Beside the thundering abyss + Tattiana in despair unfeigned + Rooted unto the spot remained. + + XII + + As if against obstruction sore + Tattiana o’er the stream complained; + To help her to the other shore + No one appeared to lend a hand. + But suddenly a snowdrift stirs, + And what from its recess appears? + A bristly bear of monstrous size! + He roars, and “Ah!” Tattiana cries. + He offers her his murderous paw; + She nerves herself from her alarm + And leans upon the monster’s arm, + With footsteps tremulous with awe + Passes the torrent But alack! + Bruin is marching at her back! + + XIII + + She, to turn back her eyes afraid, + Accelerates her hasty pace, + But cannot anyhow evade + Her shaggy myrmidon in chase. + The bear rolls on with many a grunt: + A forest now she sees in front + With fir-trees standing motionless + In melancholy loveliness, + Their branches by the snow bowed down. + Through aspens, limes and birches bare, + The shining orbs of night appear; + There is no path; the storm hath strewn + Both bush and brake, ravine and steep, + And all in snow is buried deep. + + XIV + + The wood she enters—bear behind,— + In snow she sinks up to the knee; + Now a long branch itself entwined + Around her neck, now violently + Away her golden earrings tore; + Now the sweet little shoes she wore, + Grown clammy, stick fast in the snow; + Her handkerchief she loses now; + No time to pick it up! afraid, + She hears the bear behind her press, + Nor dares the skirting of her dress + For shame lift up the modest maid. + She runs, the bear upon her trail, + Until her powers of running fail. + + XV + + She sank upon the snow. But Bruin + Adroitly seized and carried her; + Submissive as if in a swoon, + She cannot draw a breath or stir. + He dragged her by a forest road + Till amid trees a hovel showed, + By barren snow heaped up and bound, + A tangled wilderness around. + Bright blazed the window of the place, + Within resounded shriek and shout: + “My chum lives here,” Bruin grunts out. + “Warm yourself here a little space!” + Straight for the entrance then he made + And her upon the threshold laid. + + XVI + + Recovering, Tania gazes round; + Bear gone—she at the threshold placed; + Inside clink glasses, cries resound + As if it were some funeral feast. + But deeming all this nonsense pure, + She peeped through a chink of the door. + What doth she see? Around the board + Sit many monstrous shapes abhorred. + A canine face with horns thereon, + Another with cock’s head appeared, + Here an old witch with hirsute beard, + There an imperious skeleton; + A dwarf adorned with tail, again + A shape half cat and half a crane. + + XVII + + Yet ghastlier, yet more wonderful, + A crab upon a spider rides, + Perched on a goose’s neck a skull + In scarlet cap revolving glides. + A windmill too a jig performs + And wildly waves its arms and storms; + Barking, songs, whistling, laughter coarse, + The speech of man and tramp of horse. + But wide Tattiana oped her eyes + When in that company she saw + Him who inspired both love and awe, + The hero we immortalize. + Onéguine sat the table by + And viewed the door with cunning eye. + + XVIII + + All bustle when he makes a sign: + He drinks, all drink and loudly call; + He smiles, in laughter all combine; + He knits his brows—’tis silent all. + He there is master—that is plain; + Tattiana courage doth regain + And grown more curious by far + Just placed the entrance door ajar. + The wind rose instantly, blew out + The fire of the nocturnal lights; + A trouble fell upon the sprites; + Onéguine lightning glances shot; + Furious he from the table rose; + All arise. To the door he goes. + + XIX + + Terror assails her. Hastily + Tattiana would attempt to fly, + She cannot—then impatiently + She strains her throat to force a cry— + She cannot—Eugene oped the door + And the young girl appeared before + Those hellish phantoms. Peals arise + Of frantic laughter, and all eyes + And hoofs and crooked snouts and paws, + Tails which a bushy tuft adorns, + Whiskers and bloody tongues and horns, + Sharp rows of tushes, bony claws, + Are turned upon her. All combine + In one great shout: she’s mine! she’s mine! + + XX + + “Mine!” cried Eugene with savage tone. + The troop of apparitions fled, + And in the frosty night alone + Remained with him the youthful maid. + With tranquil air Onéguine leads + Tattiana to a corner, bids + Her on a shaky bench sit down; + His head sinks slowly, rests upon + Her shoulder—Olga swiftly came— + And Lenski followed—a light broke— + His fist Onéguine fiercely shook + And gazed around with eyes of flame; + The unbidden guests he roughly chides— + Tattiana motionless abides. + + XXI + + The strife grew furious and Eugene + Grasped a long knife and instantly + Struck Lenski dead—across the scene + Dark shadows thicken—a dread cry + Was uttered, and the cabin shook— + Tattiana terrified awoke. + She gazed around her—it was day. + Lo! through the frozen windows play + Aurora’s ruddy rays of light— + The door flew open—Olga came, + More blooming than the Boreal flame + And swifter than the swallow’s flight. + “Come,” she cried, “sister, tell me e’en + Whom you in slumber may have seen.” + + XXII + + But she, her sister never heeding, + With book in hand reclined in bed, + Page after page continued reading, + But no reply unto her made. + Although her book did not contain + The bard’s enthusiastic strain, + Nor precepts sage nor pictures e’en, + Yet neither Virgil nor Racine + Nor Byron, Walter Scott, nor Seneca, + Nor the _Journal des Modes_, I vouch, + Ever absorbed a maid so much: + Its name, my friends, was Martin Zadeka, + The chief of the Chaldean wise, + Who dreams expound and prophecies. + + XXIII + + Brought by a pedlar vagabond + Unto their solitude one day, + This monument of thought profound + Tattiana purchased with a stray + Tome of “Malvina,” and but three(56) + And a half rubles down gave she; + Also, to equalise the scales, + She got a book of nursery tales, + A grammar, likewise Petriads two, + Marmontel also, tome the third; + Tattiana every day conferred + With Martin Zadeka. In woe + She consolation thence obtained— + Inseparable they remained. + + [Note 56: “Malvina,” a romance by Madame Cottin.] + + XXIV + + The dream left terror in its train. + Not knowing its interpretation, + Tania the meaning would obtain + Of such a dread hallucination. + Tattiana to the index flies + And alphabetically tries + The words _bear, bridge, fir, darkness, bog, + Raven, snowstorm, tempest, fog, + Et cetera_; but nothing showed + Her Martin Zadeka in aid, + Though the foul vision promise made + Of a most mournful episode, + And many a day thereafter laid + A load of care upon the maid. + + XXV + + “But lo! forth from the valleys dun + With purple hand Aurora leads, + Swift following in her wake, the sun,”(57) + And a grand festival proceeds. + The Làrinas were since sunrise + O’erwhelmed with guests; by families + The neighbours come, in sledge approach, + Britzka, kibitka, or in coach. + Crush and confusion in the hall, + Latest arrivals’ salutations, + Barking, young ladies’ osculations, + Shouts, laughter, jamming ’gainst the wall, + Bows and the scrape of many feet, + Nurses who scream and babes who bleat. + + [Note 57: The above three lines are a parody on the turgid + style of Lomonossoff, a literary man of the second Catherine’s + era.] + + XXVI + + Bringing his partner corpulent + Fat Poustiakoff drove to the door; + Gvozdine, a landlord excellent, + Oppressor of the wretched poor; + And the Skatènines, aged pair, + With all their progeny were there, + Who from two years to thirty tell; + Pétòushkoff, the provincial swell; + Bouyànoff too, my cousin, wore(58) + His wadded coat and cap with peak + (Surely you know him as I speak); + And Fliànoff, pensioned councillor, + Rogue and extortioner of yore, + Now buffoon, glutton, and a bore. + + [Note 58: Pushkin calls Bouyànoff his cousin because he is a + character in the “Dangerous Neighbour,” a poem by Vassili + Pushkin, the poet’s uncle.] + + XXVII + + The family of Kharlikoff, + Came with Monsieur Triquet, a prig, + Who arrived lately from Tamboff, + In spectacles and chestnut wig. + Like a true Frenchman, couplets wrought + In Tania’s praise in pouch he brought, + Known unto children perfectly: + _Reveillez-vouz, belle endormie_. + Among some ancient ballads thrust, + He found them in an almanac, + And the sagacious Triquet back + To light had brought them from their dust, + Whilst he “belle Nina” had the face + By “belle Tattiana” to replace. + + XXVIII + + Lo! from the nearest barrack came, + Of old maids the divinity, + And comfort of each country dame, + The captain of a company. + He enters. Ah! good news to-day! + The military band will play. + The colonel sent it. Oh! delight! + So there will be a dance to-night. + Girls in anticipation skip! + But dinner-time comes. Two and two + They hand in hand to table go. + The maids beside Tattiana keep— + Men opposite. The cross they sign + And chattering loud sit down to dine. + + XXIX + + Ceased for a space all chattering. + Jaws are at work. On every side + Plates, knives and forks are clattering + And ringing wine-glasses are plied. + But by degrees the crowd begin + To raise a clamour and a din: + They laugh, they argue, and they bawl, + They shout and no one lists at all. + The doors swing open: Lenski makes + His entrance with Onéguine. “Ah! + At last the author!” cries Mamma. + The guests make room; aside each takes + His chair, plate, knife and fork in haste; + The friends are called and quickly placed. + + XXX + + Right opposite Tattiana placed, + She, than the morning moon more pale, + More timid than a doe long chased, + Lifts not her eyes which swimming fail. + Anew the flames of passion start + Within her; she is sick at heart; + The two friends’ compliments she hears + Not, and a flood of bitter tears + With effort she restrains. Well nigh + The poor girl fell into a faint, + But strength of mind and self-restraint + Prevailed at last. She in reply + Said something in an undertone + And at the table sat her down. + + XXXI + + To tragedy, the fainting fit, + And female tears hysterical, + Onéguine could not now submit, + For long he had endured them all. + Our misanthrope was full of ire, + At a great feast against desire, + And marking Tania’s agitation, + Cast down his eyes in trepidation + And sulked in silent indignation; + Swearing how Lenski he would rile, + Avenge himself in proper style. + Triumphant by anticipation, + Caricatures he now designed + Of all the guests within his mind. + + XXXII + + Certainly not Eugene alone + Tattiana’s trouble might have spied, + But that the eyes of every one + By a rich pie were occupied— + Unhappily too salt by far; + And that a bottle sealed with tar + Appeared, Don’s effervescing boast,(59) + Between the blanc-mange and the roast; + Behind, of glasses an array, + Tall, slender, like thy form designed, + Zizi, thou mirror of my mind, + Fair object of my guileless lay, + Seductive cup of love, whose flow + Made me so tipsy long ago! + + [Note 59: The _Donskoe Champanskoe_ is a species of sparkling wine + manufactured in the vicinity of the river Don.] + + XXXIII + + From the moist cork the bottle freed + With loud explosion, the bright wine + Hissed forth. With serious air indeed, + Long tortured by his lay divine, + Triquet arose, and for the bard + The company deep silence guard. + Tania well nigh expired when he + Turned to her and discordantly + Intoned it, manuscript in hand. + Voices and hands applaud, and she + Must bow in common courtesy; + The poet, modest though so grand, + Drank to her health in the first place, + Then handed her the song with grace. + + XXXIV + + Congratulations, toasts resound, + Tattiana thanks to all returned, + But, when Onéguine’s turn came round, + The maiden’s weary eye which yearned, + Her agitation and distress + Aroused in him some tenderness. + He bowed to her nor silence broke, + But somehow there shone in his look + The witching light of sympathy; + I know not if his heart felt pain + Or if he meant to flirt again, + From habit or maliciously, + But kindness from his eye had beamed + And to revive Tattiana seemed. + + XXXV + + The chairs are thrust back with a roar, + The crowd unto the drawing-room speeds, + As bees who leave their dainty store + And seek in buzzing swarms the meads. + Contented and with victuals stored, + Neighbour by neighbour sat and snored, + Matrons unto the fireplace go, + Maids in the corner whisper low; + Behold! green tables are brought forth, + And testy gamesters do engage + In boston and the game of age, + Ombre, and whist all others worth: + A strong resemblance these possess— + All sons of mental weariness. + + XXXVI + + Eight rubbers were already played, + Eight times the heroes of the fight + Change of position had essayed, + When tea was brought. ’Tis my delight + Time to denote by dinner, tea, + And supper. In the country we + Can count the time without much fuss— + The stomach doth admonish us. + And, by the way, I here assert + That for that matter in my verse + As many dinners I rehearse, + As oft to meat and drink advert, + As thou, great Homer, didst of yore, + Whom thirty centuries adore. + + XXXVII + + I will with thy divinity + Contend with knife and fork and platter, + But grant with magnanimity + I’m beaten in another matter; + Thy heroes, sanguinary wights, + Also thy rough-and-tumble fights, + Thy Venus and thy Jupiter, + More advantageously appear + Than cold Onéguine’s oddities, + The aspect of a landscape drear. + Or e’en Istomina, my dear, + And fashion’s gay frivolities; + But my Tattiana, on my soul, + Is sweeter than thy Helen foul. + + XXXVIII + + No one the contrary will urge, + Though for his Helen Menelaus + Again a century should scourge + Us, and like Trojan warriors slay us; + Though around honoured Priam’s throne + Troy’s sages should in concert own + Once more, when she appeared in sight, + Paris and Menelaus right. + But as to fighting—’twill appear! + For patience, reader, I must plead! + A little farther please to read + And be not in advance severe. + There’ll be a fight. I do not lie. + My word of honour given have I. + + XXXIX + + The tea, as I remarked, appeared, + But scarce had maids their saucers ta’en + When in the grand saloon was heard + Of bassoons and of flutes the strain. + His soul by crash of music fired, + His tea with rum no more desired, + The Paris of those country parts + To Olga Petoushkova darts: + To Tania Lenski; Kharlikova, + A marriageable maid matured, + The poet from Tamboff secured, + Bouyànoff whisked off Poustiakova. + All to the grand saloon are gone— + The ball in all its splendour shone. + + XL + + I tried when I began this tale, + (See the first canto if ye will), + A ball in Peter’s capital, + To sketch ye in Albano’s style.(60) + But by fantastic dreams distraught, + My memory wandered wide and sought + The feet of my dear lady friends. + O feet, where’er your path extends + I long enough deceived have erred. + The perfidies I recollect + Should make me much more circumspect, + Reform me both in deed and word, + And this fifth canto ought to be + From such digressions wholly free. + + [Note 60: Francesco Albano, a celebrated painter, styled the “Anacreon + of Painting,” was born at Bologna 1578, and died in the year 1666.] + + XLI + + The whirlwind of the waltz sweeps by, + Undeviating and insane + As giddy youth’s hilarity— + Pair after pair the race sustain. + The moment for revenge, meanwhile, + Espying, Eugene with a smile + Approaches Olga and the pair + Amid the company career. + Soon the maid on a chair he seats, + Begins to talk of this and that, + But when two minutes she had sat, + Again the giddy waltz repeats. + All are amazed; but Lenski he + Scarce credits what his eyes can see. + + XLII + + Hark! the mazurka. In times past, + When the mazurka used to peal, + All rattled in the ball-room vast, + The parquet cracked beneath the heel, + And jolting jarred the window-frames. + ’Tis not so now. Like gentle dames + We glide along a floor of wax. + However, the mazurka lacks + Nought of its charms original + In country towns, where still it keeps + Its stamping, capers and high leaps. + Fashion is there immutable, + Who tyrannizes us with ease, + Of modern Russians the disease. + + XLIII + + Bouyànoff, wrathful cousin mine, + Unto the hero of this lay + Olga and Tania led. Malign, + Onéguine Olga bore away. + Gliding in negligent career, + He bending whispered in her ear + Some madrigal not worth a rush, + And pressed her hand—the crimson blush + Upon her cheek by adulation + Grew brighter still. But Lenski hath + Seen all, beside himself with wrath, + And hot with jealous indignation, + Till the mazurka’s close he stays, + Her hand for the cotillon prays. + + XLIV + + She fears she cannot.—Cannot? Why?— + She promised Eugene, or she would + With great delight.—O God on high! + Heard he the truth? And thus she could— + And can it be? But late a child + And now a fickle flirt and wild, + Cunning already to display + And well-instructed to betray! + Lenski the stroke could not sustain, + At womankind he growled a curse, + Departed, ordered out his horse + And galloped home. But pistols twain, + A pair of bullets—nought beside— + His fate shall presently decide. + + END OF CANTO THE FIFTH + + + CANTO THE SIXTH + + + The Duel + + ‘La, sotto giorni nubilosi e brevi, + Nasce una gente a cui ’l morir non duole.’ + Petrarch + + Canto The Sixth + + [Mikhailovskoe, 1826: the two final stanzas were, however, + written at Moscow.] + + I + + Having remarked Vladimir’s flight, + Onéguine, bored to death again, + By Olga stood, dejected quite + And satisfied with vengeance ta’en. + Olga began to long likewise + For Lenski, sought him with her eyes, + And endless the cotillon seemed + As if some troubled dream she dreamed. + ’Tis done. To supper they proceed. + Bedding is laid out and to all + Assigned a lodging, from the hall(61) + Up to the attic, and all need + Tranquil repose. Eugene alone + To pass the night at home hath gone. + + [Note 61: Hospitality is a national virtue of the Russians. On + festal occasions in the country the whole party is usually + accommodated for the night, or indeed for as many nights + as desired, within the house of the entertainer. This of + course is rendered necessary by the great distances which + separate the residences of the gentry. Still, the alacrity with + which a Russian hostess will turn her house topsy-turvy for + the accommodation of forty or fifty guests would somewhat + astonish the mistress of a modern Belgravian mansion.] + + II + + All slumber. In the drawing-room + Loud snores the cumbrous Poustiakoff + With better half as cumbersome; + Gvozdine, Bouyànoff, Pétòushkoff + And Fliànoff, somewhat indisposed, + On chairs in the saloon reposed, + Whilst on the floor Monsieur Triquet + In jersey and in nightcap lay. + In Olga’s and Tattiana’s rooms + Lay all the girls by sleep embraced, + Except one by the window placed + Whom pale Diana’s ray illumes— + My poor Tattiana cannot sleep + But stares into the darkness deep. + + III + + His visit she had not awaited, + His momentary loving glance + Her inmost soul had penetrated, + And his strange conduct at the dance + With Olga; nor of this appeared + An explanation: she was scared, + Alarmed by jealous agonies: + A hand of ice appeared to seize(62) + Her heart: it seemed a darksome pit + Beneath her roaring opened wide: + “I shall expire,” Tattiana cried, + “But death from him will be delight. + I murmur not! Why mournfulness? + He _cannot_ give me happiness.” + + [Note 62: There must be a peculiar appropriateness in this expression + as descriptive of the sensation of extreme cold. Mr. Wallace + makes use of an identical phrase in describing an occasion + when he was frostbitten whilst sledging in Russia. He says + (vol. i. p. 33): “My fur cloak flew open, the cold seemed to + _grasp me in the region of the heart_, and I fell insensible.”] + + IV + + Haste, haste thy lagging pace, my story! + A new acquaintance we must scan. + There dwells five versts from Krasnogory, + Vladimir’s property, a man + Who thrives this moment as I write, + A philosophic anchorite: + Zaretski, once a bully bold, + A gambling troop when he controlled, + Chief rascal, pot-house president, + Now of a family the head, + Simple and kindly and unwed, + True friend, landlord benevolent, + Yea! and a man of honour, lo! + How perfect doth our epoch grow! + + V + + Time was the flattering voice of fame, + His ruffian bravery adored, + And true, his pistol’s faultless aim + An ace at fifteen paces bored. + But I must add to what I write + That, tipsy once in actual fight, + He from his Kalmuck horse did leap + In mud and mire to wallow deep, + Drunk as a fly; and thus the French + A valuable hostage gained, + A modern Regulus unchained, + Who to surrender did not blench + That every morn at Verrey’s cost + Three flasks of wine he might exhaust. + + VI + + Time was, his raillery was gay, + He loved the simpleton to mock, + To make wise men the idiot play + Openly or ’neath decent cloak. + Yet sometimes this or that deceit + Encountered punishment complete, + And sometimes into snares as well + Himself just like a greenhorn fell. + He could in disputation shine + With pungent or obtuse retort, + At times to silence would resort, + At times talk nonsense with design; + Quarrels among young friends he bred + And to the field of honour led; + + VII + + Or reconciled them, it may be, + And all the three to breakfast went; + Then he’d malign them secretly + With jest and gossip gaily blent. + _Sed alia tempora_. And bravery + (Like love, another sort of knavery!) + Diminishes as years decline. + But, as I said, Zaretski mine + Beneath acacias, cherry-trees, + From storms protection having sought, + Lived as a really wise man ought, + Like Horace, planted cabbages, + Both ducks and geese in plenty bred + And lessons to his children read. + + VIII + + He was no fool, and Eugene mine, + To friendship making no pretence, + Admired his judgment, which was fine, + Pervaded with much common sense. + He usually was glad to see + The man and liked his company, + So, when he came next day to call, + Was not surprised thereby at all. + But, after mutual compliments, + Zaretski with a knowing grin, + Ere conversation could begin, + The epistle from the bard presents. + Onéguine to the window went + And scanned in silence its content. + + IX + + It was a cheery, generous + Cartel, or challenge to a fight, + Whereto in language courteous + Lenski his comrade did invite. + Onéguine, by first impulse moved, + Turned and replied as it behoved, + Curtly announcing for the fray + That he was “ready any day.” + Zaretski rose, nor would explain, + He cared no longer there to stay, + Had much to do at home that day, + And so departed. But Eugene, + The matter by his conscience tried, + Was with himself dissatisfied. + + X + + In fact, the subject analysed, + Within that secret court discussed, + In much his conduct stigmatized; + For, from the outset, ’twas unjust + To jest as he had done last eve, + A timid, shrinking love to grieve. + And ought he not to disregard + The poet’s madness? for ’tis hard + At eighteen not to play the fool! + Sincerely loving him, Eugene + Assuredly should not have been + Conventionality’s dull tool— + Not a mere hot, pugnacious boy, + But man of sense and probity. + + XI + + He might his motives have narrated, + Not bristled up like a wild beast, + He ought to have conciliated + That youthful heart—“But, now at least, + The opportunity is flown. + Besides, a duellist well-known + Hath mixed himself in the affair, + Malicious and a slanderer. + Undoubtedly, disdain alone + Should recompense his idle jeers, + But fools—their calumnies and sneers”— + Behold! the world’s opinion!(63) + Our idol, Honour’s motive force, + Round which revolves the universe. + + [Note 63: A line of Griboyédoff’s. (Woe from Wit.)] + + XII + + Impatient, boiling o’er with wrath, + The bard his answer waits at home, + But lo! his braggart neighbour hath + Triumphant with the answer come. + Now for the jealous youth what joy! + He feared the criminal might try + To treat the matter as a jest, + Use subterfuge, and thus his breast + From the dread pistol turn away. + But now all doubt was set aside, + Unto the windmill he must ride + To-morrow before break of day, + To cock the pistol; barrel bend + On thigh or temple, friend on friend. + + XIII + + Resolved the flirt to cast away, + The foaming Lenski would refuse, + To see his Olga ere the fray— + His watch, the sun in turn he views— + Finally tost his arms in air + And lo! he is already there! + He deemed his coming would inspire + Olga with trepidation dire. + He was deceived. Just as before + The miserable bard to meet, + As hope uncertain and as sweet, + Olga ran skipping from the door. + She was as heedless and as gay— + Well! just as she was yesterday. + + XIV + + “Why did you leave last night so soon?” + Was the first question Olga made, + Lenski, into confusion thrown, + All silently hung down his head. + Jealousy and vexation took + To flight before her radiant look, + Before such fond simplicity + And mental elasticity. + He eyed her with a fond concern, + Perceived that he was still beloved, + Already by repentance moved + To ask forgiveness seemed to yearn; + But trembles, words he cannot find, + Delighted, almost sane in mind. + + XV + + But once more pensive and distressed + Beside his Olga doth he grieve, + Nor enough strength of mind possessed + To mention the foregoing eve, + He mused: “I will her saviour be! + With ardent sighs and flattery + The vile seducer shall not dare + The freshness of her heart impair, + Nor shall the caterpillar come + The lily’s stem to eat away, + Nor shall the bud of yesterday + Perish when half disclosed its bloom!”— + All this, my friends, translate aright: + “I with my friend intend to fight!” + + XVI + + If he had only known the wound + Which rankled in Tattiana’s breast, + And if Tattiana mine had found— + If the poor maiden could have guessed + That the two friends with morning’s light + Above the yawning grave would fight,— + Ah! it may be, affection true + Had reconciled the pair anew! + But of this love, e’en casually, + As yet none had discovered aught; + Eugene of course related nought, + Tattiana suffered secretly; + Her nurse, who could have made a guess, + Was famous for thick-headedness. + + XVII + + Lenski that eve in thought immersed, + Now gloomy seemed and cheerful now, + But he who by the Muse was nursed + Is ever thus. With frowning brow + To the pianoforte he moves + And various chords upon it proves, + Then, eyeing Olga, whispers low: + “I’m happy, say, is it not so?”— + But it grew late; he must not stay; + Heavy his heart with anguish grew; + To the young girl he said adieu, + As it were, tore himself away. + Gazing into his face, she said: + “What ails thee?”—“Nothing.”—He is fled. + + XVIII + + At home arriving he addressed + His care unto his pistols’ plight, + Replaced them in their box, undressed + And Schiller read by candlelight. + But one thought only filled his mind, + His mournful heart no peace could find, + Olga he sees before his eyes + Miraculously fair arise, + Vladimir closes up his book, + And grasps a pen: his verse, albeit + With lovers’ rubbish filled, was neat + And flowed harmoniously. He took + And spouted it with lyric fire— + Like D[elvig] when dinner doth inspire. + + XIX + + Destiny hath preserved his lay. + I have it. Lo! the very thing! + “Oh! whither have ye winged your way, + Ye golden days of my young spring? + What will the coming dawn reveal? + In vain my anxious eyes appeal; + In mist profound all yet is hid. + So be it! Just the laws which bid + The fatal bullet penetrate, + Or innocently past me fly. + Good governs all! The hour draws nigh + Of life or death predestinate. + Blest be the labours of the light, + And blest the shadows of the night. + + XX + + “To-morrow’s dawn will glimmer gray, + Bright day will then begin to burn, + But the dark sepulchre I may + Have entered never to return. + The memory of the bard, a dream, + Will be absorbed by Lethe’s stream; + Men will forget me, but my urn + To visit, lovely maid, return, + O’er my remains to drop a tear, + And think: here lies who loved me well, + For consecrate to me he fell + In the dawn of existence drear. + Maid whom my heart desires alone, + Approach, approach; I am thine own.” + + XXI + + Thus in a style _obscure_ and _stale_,(64) + He wrote (’tis the romantic style, + Though of romance therein I fail + To see aught—never mind meanwhile) + And about dawn upon his breast + His weary head declined at rest, + For o’er a word to fashion known, + “Ideal,” he had drowsy grown. + But scarce had sleep’s soft witchery + Subdued him, when his neighbour stept + Into the chamber where he slept + And wakened him with the loud cry: + “’Tis time to get up! Seven doth strike. + Onéguine waits on us, ’tis like.” + + [Note 64: The fact of the above words being italicised suggests + the idea that the poet is here firing a Parthian shot at some + unfriendly critic.] + + XXII + + He was in error; for Eugene + Was sleeping then a sleep like death; + The pall of night was growing thin, + To Lucifer the cock must breathe + His song, when still he slumbered deep, + The sun had mounted high his steep, + A passing snowstorm wreathed away + With pallid light, but Eugene lay + Upon his couch insensibly; + Slumber still o’er him lingering flies. + But finally he oped his eyes + And turned aside the drapery; + He gazed upon the clock which showed + He long should have been on the road. + + XXIII + + He rings in haste; in haste arrives + His Frenchman, good Monsieur Guillot, + Who dressing-gown and slippers gives + And linen on him doth bestow. + Dressing as quickly as he can, + Eugene directs the trusty man + To accompany him and to escort + A box of terrible import. + Harnessed the rapid sledge arrived: + He enters: to the mill he drives: + Descends, the order Guillot gives, + The fatal tubes Lepage contrived(65) + To bring behind: the triple steeds + To two young oaks the coachman leads. + + [Note 65: Lepage—a celebrated gunmaker of former days.] + + XXIV + + Lenski the foeman’s apparition + Leaning against the dam expects, + Zaretski, village mechanician, + In the meantime the mill inspects. + Onéguine his excuses says; + “But,” cried Zaretski in amaze, + “Your second you have left behind!” + A duellist of classic mind, + Method was dear unto his heart + He would not that a man ye slay + In a lax or informal way, + But followed the strict rules of art, + And ancient usages observed + (For which our praise he hath deserved). + + XXV + + “My second!” cried in turn Eugene, + “Behold my friend Monsieur Guillot; + To this arrangement can be seen, + No obstacle of which I know. + Although unknown to fame mayhap, + He’s a straightforward little chap.” + Zaretski bit his lip in wrath, + But to Vladimir Eugene saith: + “Shall we commence?”—“Let it be so,” + Lenski replied, and soon they be + Behind the mill. Meantime ye see + Zaretski and Monsieur Guillot + In consultation stand aside— + The foes with downcast eyes abide. + + XXVI + + Foes! Is it long since friendship rent + Asunder was and hate prepared? + Since leisure was together spent, + Meals, secrets, occupations shared? + Now, like hereditary foes, + Malignant fury they disclose, + As in some frenzied dream of fear + These friends cold-bloodedly draw near + Mutual destruction to contrive. + Cannot they amicably smile + Ere crimson stains their hands defile, + Depart in peace and friendly live? + But fashionable hatred’s flame + Trembles at artificial shame. + + XXVII + + The shining pistols are uncased, + The mallet loud the ramrod strikes, + Bullets are down the barrels pressed, + For the first time the hammer clicks. + Lo! poured in a thin gray cascade, + The powder in the pan is laid, + The sharp flint, screwed securely on, + Is cocked once more. Uneasy grown, + Guillot behind a pollard stood; + Aside the foes their mantles threw, + Zaretski paces thirty-two + Measured with great exactitude. + At each extreme one takes his stand, + A loaded pistol in his hand. + + XXVIII + + “Advance!”— + Indifferent and sedate, + The foes, as yet not taking aim, + With measured step and even gait + Athwart the snow four paces came— + Four deadly paces do they span; + Onéguine slowly then began + To raise his pistol to his eye, + Though he advanced unceasingly. + And lo! five paces more they pass, + And Lenski, closing his left eye, + Took aim—but as immediately + Onéguine fired—Alas! alas! + The poet’s hour hath sounded—See! + He drops his pistol silently. + + XXIX + + He on his bosom gently placed + His hand, and fell. His clouded eye + Not agony, but death expressed. + So from the mountain lazily + The avalanche of snow first bends, + Then glittering in the sun descends. + The cold sweat bursting from his brow, + To the youth Eugene hurried now— + Gazed on him, called him. Useless care! + He was no more! The youthful bard + For evermore had disappeared. + The storm was hushed. The blossom fair + Was withered ere the morning light— + The altar flame was quenched in night. + + XXX + + Tranquil he lay, and strange to view + The peace which on his forehead beamed, + His breast was riddled through and through, + The blood gushed from the wound and steamed + Ere this but one brief moment beat + That heart with inspiration sweet + And enmity and hope and love— + The blood boiled and the passions strove. + Now, as in a deserted house, + All dark and silent hath become; + The inmate is for ever dumb, + The windows whitened, shutters close— + Whither departed is the host? + God knows! The very trace is lost. + + XXXI + + ’Tis sweet the foe to aggravate + With epigrams impertinent, + Sweet to behold him obstinate, + His butting horns in anger bent, + The glass unwittingly inspect + And blush to own himself reflect. + Sweeter it is, my friends, if he + Howl like a dolt: ’tis meant for me! + But sweeter still it is to arrange + For him an honourable grave, + At his pale brow a shot to have, + Placed at the customary range; + But home his body to despatch + Can scarce in sweetness be a match. + + XXXII + + Well, if your pistol ball by chance + The comrade of your youth should strike, + Who by a haughty word or glance + Or any trifle else ye like + You o’er your wine insulted hath— + Or even overcome by wrath + Scornfully challenged you afield— + Tell me, of sentiments concealed + Which in your spirit dominates, + When motionless your gaze beneath + He lies, upon his forehead death, + And slowly life coagulates— + When deaf and silent he doth lie + Heedless of your despairing cry? + + XXXIII + + Eugene, his pistol yet in hand + And with remorseful anguish filled, + Gazing on Lenski’s corse did stand— + Zaretski shouted: “Why, he’s killed!”— + Killed! at this dreadful exclamation + Onéguine went with trepidation + And the attendants called in haste. + Most carefully Zaretski placed + Within his sledge the stiffened corse, + And hurried home his awful freight. + Conscious of death approximate, + Loud paws the earth each panting horse, + His bit with foam besprinkled o’er, + And homeward like an arrow tore. + + XXXIV + + My friends, the poet ye regret! + When hope’s delightful flower but bloomed + In bud of promise incomplete, + The manly toga scarce assumed, + He perished. Where his troubled dreams, + And where the admirable streams + Of youthful impulse, reverie, + Tender and elevated, free? + And where tempestuous love’s desires, + The thirst of knowledge and of fame, + Horror of sinfulness and shame, + Imagination’s sacred fires, + Ye shadows of a life more high, + Ye dreams of heavenly poesy? + + XXXV + + Perchance to benefit mankind, + Or but for fame he saw the light; + His lyre, to silence now consigned, + Resounding through all ages might + Have echoed to eternity. + With worldly honours, it may be, + Fortune the poet had repaid. + It may be that his martyred shade + Carried a truth divine away; + That, for the century designed, + Had perished a creative mind, + And past the threshold of decay, + He ne’er shall hear Time’s eulogy, + The blessings of humanity. + + XXXVI + + Or, it may be, the bard had passed + A life in common with the rest; + Vanished his youthful years at last, + The fire extinguished in his breast, + In many things had changed his life— + The Muse abandoned, ta’en a wife, + Inhabited the country, clad + In dressing-gown, a cuckold glad: + A life of fact, not fiction, led— + At forty suffered from the gout, + Eaten, drunk, gossiped and grown stout: + And finally, upon his bed + Had finished life amid his sons, + Doctors and women, sobs and groans. + + XXXVII + + But, howsoe’er his lot were cast, + Alas! the youthful lover slain, + Poetical enthusiast, + A friendly hand thy life hath ta’en! + There is a spot the village near + Where dwelt the Muses’ worshipper, + Two pines have joined their tangled roots, + A rivulet beneath them shoots + Its waters to the neighbouring vale. + There the tired ploughman loves to lie, + The reaping girls approach and ply + Within its wave the sounding pail, + And by that shady rivulet + A simple tombstone hath been set. + + XXXVIII + + There, when the rains of spring we mark + Upon the meadows showering, + The shepherd plaits his shoe of bark,(66) + Of Volga fishermen doth sing, + And the young damsel from the town, + For summer to the country flown, + Whene’er across the plain at speed + Alone she gallops on her steed, + Stops at the tomb in passing by; + The tightened leathern rein she draws, + Aside she casts her veil of gauze + And reads with rapid eager eye + The simple epitaph—a tear + Doth in her gentle eye appear. + + [Note 66: In Russia and other northern countries rude shoes are + made of the inner bark of the lime tree.] + + XXXIX + + And meditative from the spot + She leisurely away doth ride, + Spite of herself with Lenski’s lot + Longtime her mind is occupied. + She muses: “What was Olga’s fate? + Longtime was her heart desolate + Or did her tears soon cease to flow? + And where may be her sister now? + Where is the outlaw, banned by men, + Of fashionable dames the foe, + The misanthrope of gloomy brow, + By whom the youthful bard was slain?”— + In time I’ll give ye without fail + A true account and in detail. + + XL + + But not at present, though sincerely + I on my chosen hero dote; + Though I’ll return to him right early, + Just at this moment I cannot. + Years have inclined me to stern prose, + Years to light rhyme themselves oppose, + And now, I mournfully confess, + In rhyming I show laziness. + As once, to fill the rapid page + My pen no longer finds delight, + Other and colder thoughts affright, + Sterner solicitudes engage, + In worldly din or solitude + Upon my visions such intrude. + + XLI + + Fresh aspirations I have known, + I am acquainted with fresh care, + Hopeless are all the first, I own, + Yet still remains the old despair. + Illusions, dream, where, where your sweetness? + Where youth (the proper rhyme is fleetness)? + And is it true her garland bright + At last is shrunk and withered quite? + And is it true and not a jest, + Not even a poetic phrase, + That vanished are my youthful days + (This joking I used to protest), + Never for me to reappear— + That soon I reach my thirtieth year? + + XLII + + And so my noon hath come! If so, + I must resign myself, in sooth; + Yet let us part in friendship, O + My frivolous and jolly youth. + I thank thee for thy joyfulness, + Love’s tender transports and distress, + For riot, frolics, mighty feeds, + And all that from thy hand proceeds— + I thank thee. In thy company, + With tumult or contentment still + Of thy delights I drank my fill, + Enough! with tranquil spirit I + Commence a new career in life + And rest from bygone days of strife. + + XLIII + + But pause! Thou calm retreats, farewell, + Where my days in the wilderness + Of languor and of love did tell + And contemplative dreaminess; + And thou, youth’s early inspiration, + Invigorate imagination + And spur my spirit’s torpid mood! + Fly frequent to my solitude, + Let not the poet’s spirit freeze, + Grow harsh and cruel, dead and dry, + Eventually petrify + In the world’s mortal revelries, + Amid the soulless sons of pride + And glittering simpletons beside; + + XLIV + + Amid sly, pusillanimous + Spoiled children most degenerate + And tiresome rogues ridiculous + And stupid censors passionate; + Amid coquettes who pray to God + And abject slaves who kiss the rod; + In haunts of fashion where each day + All with urbanity betray, + Where harsh frivolity proclaims + Its cold unfeeling sentences; + Amid the awful emptiness + Of conversation, thought and aims— + In that morass where you and I + Wallow, my friends, in company! + + END OF CANTO THE SIXTH + + + + + CANTO THE SEVENTH + + + Moscow + + Moscow, Russia’s darling daughter, + Where thine equal shall we find? + Dmitrieff + + Who can help loving mother Moscow? + Baratynski (_Feasts_) + + A journey to Moscow! To see the world! + Where better? + Where man is not. + Griboyédoff (_Woe from Wit_) + + Canto The Seventh + + [Written 1827-1828 at Moscow, Mikhailovskoe, St. Petersburg + and Malinniki.] + + I + + Impelled by Spring’s dissolving beams, + The snows from off the hills around + Descended swift in turbid streams + And flooded all the level ground. + A smile from slumbering nature clear + Did seem to greet the youthful year; + The heavens shone in deeper blue, + The woods, still naked to the view, + Seemed in a haze of green embowered. + The bee forth from his cell of wax + Flew to collect his rural tax; + The valleys dried and gaily flowered; + Herds low, and under night’s dark veil + Already sings the nightingale. + + II + + Mournful is thine approach to me, + O Spring, thou chosen time of love! + What agitation languidly + My spirit and my blood doth move, + What sad emotions o’er me steal + When first upon my cheek I feel + The breath of Spring again renewed, + Secure in rural quietude— + Or, strange to me is happiness? + Do all things which to mirth incline. + And make a dark existence shine + Inflict annoyance and distress + Upon a soul inert and cloyed?— + And is all light within destroyed? + + III + + Or, heedless of the leaves’ return + Which Autumn late to earth consigned, + Do we alone our losses mourn + Of which the rustling woods remind? + Or, when anew all Nature teems, + Do we foresee in troubled dreams + The coming of life’s Autumn drear. + For which no springtime shall appear? + Or, it may be, we inly seek, + Wafted upon poetic wing, + Some other long-departed Spring, + Whose memories make the heart beat quick + With thoughts of a far distant land, + Of a strange night when the moon and— + + IV + + ’Tis now the season! Idlers all, + Epicurean philosophers, + Ye men of fashion cynical, + Of Levshin’s school ye followers,(67) + Priams of country populations + And dames of fine organisations, + Spring summons you to her green bowers, + ’Tis the warm time of labour, flowers; + The time for mystic strolls which late + Into the starry night extend. + Quick to the country let us wend + In vehicles surcharged with freight; + In coach or post-cart duly placed + Beyond the city-barriers haste. + + [Note 67: Levshin—a contemporary writer on political economy.] + + V + + Thou also, reader generous, + The chaise long ordered please employ, + Abandon cities riotous, + Which in the winter were a joy: + The Muse capricious let us coax, + Go hear the rustling of the oaks + Beside a nameless rivulet, + Where in the country Eugene yet, + An idle anchorite and sad, + A while ago the winter spent, + Near young Tattiana resident, + My pretty self-deceiving maid— + No more the village knows his face, + For there he left a mournful trace. + + VI + + Let us proceed unto a rill, + Which in a hilly neighbourhood + Seeks, winding amid meadows still, + The river through the linden wood. + The nightingale there all night long, + Spring’s paramour, pours forth her song + The fountain brawls, sweetbriers bloom, + And lo! where lies a marble tomb + And two old pines their branches spread— + “_Vladimir Lenski lies beneath, + Who early died a gallant death_,” + Thereon the passing traveller read: + “_The date, his fleeting years how long— + Repose in peace, thou child of song_.” + + VII + + Time was, the breath of early dawn + Would agitate a mystic wreath + Hung on a pine branch earthward drawn + Above the humble urn of death. + Time was, two maidens from their home + At eventide would hither come, + And, by the light the moonbeams gave, + Lament, embrace upon that grave. + But now—none heeds the monument + Of woe: effaced the pathway now: + There is no wreath upon the bough: + Alone beside it, gray and bent, + As formerly the shepherd sits + And his poor basten sandal knits. + + VIII + + My poor Vladimir, bitter tears + Thee but a little space bewept, + Faithless, alas! thy maid appears, + Nor true unto her sorrow kept. + Another could her heart engage, + Another could her woe assuage + By flattery and lover’s art— + A lancer captivates her heart! + A lancer her soul dotes upon: + Before the altar, lo! the pair, + Mark ye with what a modest air + She bows her head beneath the crown;(68) + Behold her downcast eyes which glow, + Her lips where light smiles come and go! + + [Note 68: The crown used in celebrating marriages in Russia + according to the forms of the Eastern Church. See Note 28.] + + IX + + My poor Vladimir! In the tomb, + Passed into dull eternity, + Was the sad poet filled with gloom, + Hearing the fatal perfidy? + Or, beyond Lethe lulled to rest, + Hath the bard, by indifference blest, + Callous to all on earth become— + Is the world to him sealed and dumb? + The same unmoved oblivion + On us beyond the grave attends, + The voice of lovers, foes and friends, + Dies suddenly: of heirs alone + Remains on earth the unseemly rage, + Whilst struggling for the heritage. + + X + + Soon Olga’s accents shrill resound + No longer through her former home; + The lancer, to his calling bound, + Back to his regiment must roam. + The aged mother, bathed in tears, + Distracted by her grief appears + When the hour came to bid good-bye— + But my Tattiana’s eyes were dry. + Only her countenance assumed + A deadly pallor, air distressed; + When all around the entrance pressed, + To say farewell, and fussed and fumed + Around the carriage of the pair— + Tattiana gently led them there. + + XI + + And long her eyes as through a haze + After the wedded couple strain; + Alas! the friend of childish days + Away, Tattiana, hath been ta’en. + Thy dove, thy darling little pet + On whom a sister’s heart was set + Afar is borne by cruel fate, + For evermore is separate. + She wanders aimless as a sprite, + Into the tangled garden goes + But nowhere can she find repose, + Nor even tears afford respite, + Of consolation all bereft— + Well nigh her heart in twain was cleft. + + XII + + In cruel solitude each day + With flame more ardent passion burns, + And to Onéguine far away + Her heart importunately turns. + She never more his face may view, + For was it not her duty to + Detest him for a brother slain? + The poet fell; already men + No more remembered him; unto + Another his betrothed was given; + The memory of the bard was driven + Like smoke athwart the heaven blue; + Two hearts perchance were desolate + And mourned him still. Why mourn his fate? + + XIII + + ’Twas eve. ’Twas dusk. The river speeds + In tranquil flow. The beetle hums. + Already dance to song proceeds; + The fisher’s fire afar illumes + The river’s bank. Tattiana lone + Beneath the silver of the moon + Long time in meditation deep + Her path across the plain doth keep— + Proceeds, until she from a hill + Sees where a noble mansion stood, + A village and beneath, a wood, + A garden by a shining rill. + She gazed thereon, and instant beat + Her heart more loudly and more fleet. + + XIV + + She hesitates, in doubt is thrown— + “Shall I proceed, or homeward flee? + He is not there: I am not known: + The house and garden I would see.” + Tattiana from the hill descends + With bated breath, around she bends + A countenance perplexed and scared. + She enters a deserted yard— + Yelping, a pack of dogs rush out, + But at her shriek ran forth with noise + The household troop of little boys, + Who with a scuffle and a shout + The curs away to kennel chase, + The damsel under escort place. + + XV + + “Can I inspect the mansion, please?” + Tattiana asks, and hurriedly + Unto Anicia for the keys + The family of children hie. + Anicia soon appears, the door + Opens unto her visitor. + Into the lonely house she went, + Wherein a space Onéguine spent. + She gazed—a cue, forgotten long, + Doth on the billiard table rest, + Upon the tumbled sofa placed, + A riding whip. She strolls along. + The beldam saith: “The hearth, by it + The master always used to sit. + + XVI + + “Departed Lenski here to dine + In winter time would often come. + Please follow this way, lady mine, + This is my master’s sitting-room. + ’Tis here he slept, his coffee took, + Into accounts would sometimes look, + A book at early morn perused. + The room my former master used. + On Sundays by yon window he, + Spectacles upon nose, all day + Was wont with me at cards to play. + God save his soul eternally + And grant his weary bones their rest + Deep in our mother Earth’s chill breast!” + + XVII + + Tattiana’s eyes with tender gleam + On everything around her gaze, + Of priceless value all things seem + And in her languid bosom raise + A pleasure though with sorrow knit: + The table with its lamp unlit, + The pile of books, with carpet spread + Beneath the window-sill his bed, + The landscape which the moonbeams fret, + The twilight pale which softens all, + Lord Byron’s portrait on the wall + And the cast-iron statuette + With folded arms and eyes bent low, + Cocked hat and melancholy brow.(69) + + [Note 69: The Russians not unfrequently adorn their apartments + with effigies of the great Napoleon.] + + XVIII + + Long in this fashionable cell + Tattiana as enchanted stood; + But it grew late; cold blew the gale; + Dark was the valley and the wood + Slept o’er the river misty grown. + Behind the mountain sank the moon. + Long, long the hour had past when home + Our youthful wanderer should roam. + She hid the trouble of her breast, + Heaved an involuntary sigh + And turned to leave immediately, + But first permission did request + Thither in future to proceed + That certain volumes she might read. + + XIX + + Adieu she to the matron said + At the front gates, but in brief space + At early morn returns the maid + To the abandoned dwelling-place. + When in the study’s calm retreat, + Wrapt in oblivion complete, + She found herself alone at last, + Longtime her tears flowed thick and fast; + But presently she tried to read; + At first for books was disinclined, + But soon their choice seemed to her mind + Remarkable. She then indeed + Devoured them with an eager zest. + A new world was made manifest! + + XX + + Although we know that Eugene had + Long ceased to be a reading man, + Still certain authors, I may add, + He had excepted from the ban: + The bard of Juan and the Giaour, + With it may be a couple more; + Romances three, in which ye scan + Portrayed contemporary man + As the reflection of his age, + His immorality of mind + To arid selfishness resigned, + A visionary personage + With his exasperated sense, + His energy and impotence. + + XXI + + And numerous pages had preserved + The sharp incisions of his nail, + And these the attentive maid observed + With eye precise and without fail. + Tattiana saw with trepidation + By what idea or observation + Onéguine was the most impressed, + In what he merely acquiesced. + Upon those margins she perceived + Onéguine’s pencillings. His mind + Made revelations undesigned, + Of what he thought and what believed, + A dagger, asterisk, or note + Interrogation to denote. + + XXII + + And my Tattiana now began + To understand by slow degrees + More clearly, God be praised, the man, + Whom autocratic fate’s decrees + Had bid her sigh for without hope— + A dangerous, gloomy misanthrope, + Being from hell or heaven sent, + Angel or fiend malevolent. + Which is he? or an imitation, + A bogy conjured up in joke, + A Russian in Childe Harold’s cloak, + Of foreign whims the impersonation— + Handbook of fashionable phrase + Or parody of modern ways? + + XXIII + + Hath she found out the riddle yet? + Hath she a fitting phrase selected? + But time flies and she doth forget + They long at home have her expected— + Whither two neighbouring dames have walked + And a long time about her talked. + “What can be done? She is no child!” + Cried the old dame with anguish filled: + “Olinka is her junior, see. + ’Tis time to marry her, ’tis true, + But tell me what am I to do? + To all she answers cruelly— + I will not wed, and ever weeps + And lonely through the forest creeps.” + + XXIV + + “Is she in love?” quoth one. “With whom? + Bouyànoff courted. She refused. + Pétòushkoff met the selfsame doom. + The hussar Pykhtin was accused. + How the young imp on Tania doted! + To captivate her how devoted! + I mused: perhaps the matter’s squared— + O yes! my hopes soon disappeared.” + “But, _mátushka_, to Moscow you(70) + Should go, the market for a maid, + With many a vacancy, ’tis said.”— + “Alas! my friend, no revenue!” + “Enough to see one winter’s end; + If not, the money I will lend.” + + [Note 70: “Mátushka,” or “little mother,” a term of endearment + in constant use amongst Russian females.] + + XXV + + The venerable dame opined + The counsel good and full of reason, + Her money counted, and designed + To visit Moscow in the season. + Tattiana learns the intelligence— + Of her provincial innocence + The unaffected traits she now + Unto a carping world must show— + Her toilette’s antiquated style, + Her antiquated mode of speech, + For Moscow fops and Circes each + To mark with a contemptuous smile. + Horror! had she not better stay + Deep in the greenwood far away? + + XXVI + + Arising with the morning’s light, + Unto the fields she makes her way, + And with emotional delight + Surveying them, she thus doth say: + “Ye peaceful valleys all, good-bye! + Ye well-known mountain summits high, + Ye groves whose depths I know so well, + Thou beauteous sky above, farewell! + Delicious nature, thee I fly, + The calm existence which I prize + I yield for splendid vanities, + Thou too farewell, my liberty! + Whither and wherefore do I speed + And what will Destiny concede?” + + XXVII + + Farther Tattiana’s walks extend— + ’Tis now the hillock now the rill + Their natural attractions lend + To stay the maid against her will. + She the acquaintances she loves, + Her spacious fields and shady groves, + Another visit hastes to pay. + But Summer swiftly fades away + And golden Autumn draweth nigh, + And pallid nature trembling grieves, + A victim decked with golden leaves; + Dark clouds before the north wind fly; + It blew: it howled: till winter e’en + Came forth in all her magic sheen. + + XXVIII + + The snow descends and buries all, + Hangs heavy on the oaken boughs, + A white and undulating pall + O’er hillock and o’er meadow throws. + The channel of the river stilled + As if with eider-down is filled. + The hoar-frost glitters: all rejoice + In mother Winter’s strange caprice. + But Tania’s heart is not at ease, + Winter’s approach she doth not hail + Nor the frost particles inhale + Nor the first snow of winter seize + Her shoulders, breast and face to lave— + Alarm the winter journey gave. + + XXIX + + The date was fixed though oft postponed, + But ultimately doth approach. + Examined, mended, newly found + Was the old and forgotten coach; + Kibitkas three, the accustomed train,(71) + The household property contain: + Saucepans and mattresses and chairs, + Portmanteaus and preserves in jars, + Feather-beds, also poultry-coops, + Basins and jugs—well! everything + To happiness contributing. + Behold! beside their dwelling groups + Of serfs the farewell wail have given. + Nags eighteen to the door are driven. + + [Note 71: In former times, and to some extent the practice still + continues to the present day, Russian families were wont to + travel with every necessary of life, and, in the case of the + wealthy, all its luxuries following in their train. As the + poet complains in a subsequent stanza there were no inns; + and if the simple Làrinas required such ample store of creature + comforts the impediments accompanying a great noble on his + journeys may be easily conceived.] + + XXX + + These to the coach of state are bound, + Breakfast the busy cooks prepare, + Baggage is heaped up in a mound, + Old women at the coachmen swear. + A bearded postillion astride + A lean and shaggy nag doth ride, + Unto the gates the servants fly + To bid the gentlefolk good-bye. + These take their seats; the coach of state + Leisurely through the gateway glides. + “Adieu! thou home where peace abides, + Where turmoil cannot penetrate, + Shall I behold thee once again?”— + Tattiana tears cannot restrain. + + XXXI + + The limits of enlightenment + When to enlarge we shall succeed, + In course of time (the whole extent + Will not five centuries exceed + By computation) it is like + Our roads transformed the eye will strike; + Highways all Russia will unite + And form a network left and right; + On iron bridges we shall gaze + Which o’er the waters boldly leap, + Mountains we’ll level and through deep + Streams excavate subaqueous ways, + And Christian folk will, I expect, + An inn at every stage erect. + + XXXII + + But now, what wretched roads one sees, + Our bridges long neglected rot, + And at the stages bugs and fleas + One moment’s slumber suffer not. + Inns there are none. Pretentious but + Meagre, within a draughty hut, + A bill of fare hangs full in sight + And irritates the appetite. + Meantime a Cyclops of those parts + Before a fire which feebly glows + Mends with the Russian hammer’s blows + The flimsy wares of Western marts, + With blessings on the ditches and + The ruts of his own fatherland. + + XXXIII + + Yet on a frosty winter day + The journey in a sledge doth please, + No senseless fashionable lay + Glides with a more luxurious ease; + For our Automedons are fire + And our swift troikas never tire; + The verst posts catch the vacant eye + And like a palisade flit by.(72) + The Làrinas unwisely went, + From apprehension of the cost, + By their own horses, not the post— + So Tania to her heart’s content + Could taste the pleasures of the road. + Seven days and nights the travellers plod. + + [Note 72: This somewhat musty joke has appeared in more than one + national costume. Most Englishmen, if we were to replace + verst-posts with milestones and substitute a graveyard for + a palisade, would instantly recognize its Yankee extraction. + In Russia however its origin is as ancient at least as the + reign of Catherine the Second. The witticism ran thus: A + courier sent by Prince Potemkin to the Empress drove so + fast that his sword, projecting from the vehicle, rattled + against the verst-posts as if against a palisade!] + + XXXIV + + But they draw near. Before them, lo! + White Moscow raises her old spires, + Whose countless golden crosses glow + As with innumerable fires.(73) + Ah! brethren, what was my delight + When I yon semicircle bright + Of churches, gardens, belfries high + Descried before me suddenly! + Moscow, how oft in evil days, + Condemned to exile dire by fate, + On thee I used to meditate! + Moscow! How much is in the phrase + For every loyal Russian breast! + How much is in that word expressed! + + [Note 73: The aspect of Moscow, especially as seen from the Sparrow + Hills, a low range bordering the river Moskva at a short distance + from the city, is unique and splendid. It possesses several domes + completely plated with gold and some twelve hundred spires most of + which are surmounted by a golden cross. At the time of sunset they + seem literally tipped with flame. It was from this memorable spot + that Napoleon and the Grand Army first obtained a glimpse at the + city of the Tsars. There are three hundred and seventy churches in + Moscow. The Kremlin itself is however by far the most interesting + object to the stranger.] + + XXXV + + Lo! compassed by his grove of oaks, + Petrovski Palace! Gloomily + His recent glory he invokes. + Here, drunk with his late victory, + Napoleon tarried till it please + Moscow approach on bended knees, + Time-honoured Kremlin’s keys present. + Not so! My Moscow never went + To seek him out with bended head. + No gift she bears, no feast proclaims, + But lights incendiary flames + For the impatient chief instead. + From hence engrossed in thought profound + He on the conflagration frowned.(74) + + [Note 74: Napoleon on his arrival in Moscow on the 14th September + took up his quarters in the Kremlin, but on the 16th had to + remove to the Petrovski Palace or Castle on account of the + conflagration which broke out in all quarters of the city. He + however returned to the Kremlin on the 19th September. The Palace + itself is placed in the midst of extensive grounds just outside + the city, on the road to Tver, i.e. to the northwest. It is + perhaps worthy of remark, as one amongst numerous circumstances + proving how extensively the poet interwove his own life-experiences + with the plot of this poem, that it was by this road that he + himself must have been in the habit of approaching Moscow from his + favourite country residence of Mikhailovskoe, in the province of + Pskoff.] + + XXXVI + + Adieu, thou witness of our glory, + Petrovski Palace; come, astir! + Drive on! the city barriers hoary + Appear; along the road of Tver + The coach is borne o’er ruts and holes, + Past women, sentry-boxes, rolls, + Past palaces and nunneries, + Lamp-posts, shops, sledges, families, + Bokharians, peasants, beds of greens, + Boulevards, belfries, milliners, + Huts, chemists, Cossacks, shopkeepers + And fashionable magazines, + Balconies, lion’s heads on doors, + Jackdaws on every spire—in scores.(75) + + [Note 75: The first line refers to the prevailing shape of the + cast-iron handles which adorn the _porte cochères_. The + Russians are fond of tame birds—jackdaws, pigeons, starlings, + etc., abound in Moscow and elsewhere.] + + XXXVII + + The weary way still incomplete, + An hour passed by—another—till, + Near Khariton’s in a side street + The coach before a house stood still. + At an old aunt’s they had arrived + Who had for four long years survived + An invalid from lung complaint. + A Kalmuck gray, in caftan rent + And spectacles, his knitting staid + And the saloon threw open wide; + The princess from the sofa cried + And the newcomers welcome bade. + The two old ladies then embraced + And exclamations interlaced. + + XXXVIII + + “Princesse, mon ange!”—“Pachette!”— + “Aline!” + “Who would have thought it? As of yore! + Is it for long?”—“Ma chère cousine!” + “Sit down. How funny, to be sure! + ’Tis a scene of romance, I vow!” + “Tania, my eldest child, you know”— + “Ah! come, Tattiana, come to me! + Is it a dream, and can it be? + Cousin, rememb’rest Grandison?” + “What! Grandison?”—“Yes, certainly!” + “Oh! I remember, where is he?”— + “Here, he resides with Simeon. + He called upon me Christmas Eve— + His son is married, just conceive!” + + XXXIX + + “And he—but of him presently— + To-morrow Tania we will show, + What say you? to the family— + Alas! abroad I cannot go. + See, I can hardly crawl about— + But you must both be quite tired out! + Let us go seek a little rest— + Ah! I’m so weak—my throbbing breast! + Oppressive now is happiness, + Not only sorrow—Ah! my dear, + Now I am fit for nothing here. + In old age life is weariness!” + Then weeping she sank back distressed + And fits of coughing racked her chest. + + XL + + By the sick lady’s gaiety + And kindness Tania was impressed, + But, her own room in memory, + The strange apartment her oppressed: + Repose her silken curtains fled, + She could not sleep in her new bed. + The early tinkling of the bells + Which of approaching labour tells + Aroused Tattiana from her bed. + The maiden at her casement sits + As daylight glimmers, darkness flits, + But ah! discerns nor wood nor mead— + Beneath her lay a strange courtyard, + A stable, kitchen, fence appeared. + + XLI + + To consanguineous dinners they + Conduct Tattiana constantly, + That grandmothers and grandsires may + Contemplate her sad reverie. + We Russians, friends from distant parts + Ever receive with kindly hearts + And exclamations and good cheer. + “How Tania grows! Doth it appear + Long since I held thee at the font— + Since in these arms I thee did bear— + And since I pulled thee by the ear— + And I to give thee cakes was wont?”— + Then the old dames in chorus sing, + “Oh! how our years are vanishing!” + + XLII + + But nothing changed in them is seen, + All in the good old style appears, + Our dear old aunt, Princess Helène, + Her cap of tulle still ever wears: + Luceria Lvovna paint applies, + Amy Petrovna utters lies, + Ivan Petròvitch still a gaby, + Simeon Petròvitch just as shabby; + Pélagie Nikolavna has + Her friend Monsieur Finemouche the same, + Her wolf-dog and her husband tame; + Still of his club he member was— + As deaf and silly doth remain, + Still eats and drinks enough for twain. + + XLIII + + Their daughters kiss Tattiana fair. + In the beginning, cold and mute, + Moscow’s young Graces at her stare, + Examine her from head to foot. + They deem her somewhat finical, + Outlandish and provincial, + A trifle pale, a trifle lean, + But plainer girls they oft had seen. + Obedient then to Nature’s law, + With her they did associate, + Squeeze tiny hands and osculate; + Her tresses curled in fashion saw, + And oft in whispers would impart + A maiden’s secrets—of the heart. + + XLIV + + Triumphs—their own or those of friends— + Hopes, frolics, dreams and sentiment + Their harmless conversation blends + With scandal’s trivial ornament. + Then to reward such confidence + Her amorous experience + With mute appeal to ask they seem— + But Tania just as in a dream + Without participation hears, + Their voices nought to her impart + And the lone secret of her heart, + Her sacred hoard of joy and tears, + She buries deep within her breast + Nor aught confides unto the rest. + + XLV + + Tattiana would have gladly heard + The converse of the world polite, + But in the drawing-room all appeared + To find in gossip such delight, + Speech was so tame and colourless + Their slander e’en was weariness; + In their sterility of prattle, + Questions and news and tittle-tattle, + No sense was ever manifest + Though by an error and unsought— + The languid mind could smile at nought, + Heart would not throb albeit in jest— + Even amusing fools we miss + In thee, thou world of empty bliss. + + XLVI + + In groups, official striplings glance + Conceitedly on Tania fair, + And views amongst themselves advance + Unfavourable unto her. + But one buffoon unhappy deemed + Her the ideal which he dreamed, + And leaning ’gainst the portal closed + To her an elegy composed. + Also one Viázemski, remarking + Tattiana by a poor aunt’s side, + Successfully to please her tried, + And an old gent the poet marking + By Tania, smoothing his peruke, + To ask her name the trouble took.(76) + + [Note 76: One of the obscure satirical allusions contained in this + poem. Doubtless the joke was perfectly intelligible to the + _habitués_ of contemporary St. Petersburg society. Viazemski of + course is the poet and prince, Pushkin’s friend.] + + XLVII + + But where Melpomene doth rave + With lengthened howl and accent loud, + And her bespangled robe doth wave + Before a cold indifferent crowd, + And where Thalia softly dreams + And heedless of approval seems, + Terpsichore alone among + Her sisterhood delights the young + (So ’twas with us in former years, + In your young days and also mine), + Never upon my heroine + The jealous dame her lorgnette veers, + The connoisseur his glances throws + From boxes or from stalls in rows. + + XLVIII + + To the assembly her they bear. + There the confusion, pressure, heat, + The crash of music, candles’ glare + And rapid whirl of many feet, + The ladies’ dresses airy, light, + The motley moving mass and bright, + Young ladies in a vasty curve, + To strike imagination serve. + ’Tis there that arrant fops display + Their insolence and waistcoats white + And glasses unemployed all night; + Thither hussars on leave will stray + To clank the spur, delight the fair— + And vanish like a bird in air. + + XLIX + + Full many a lovely star hath night + And Moscow many a beauty fair: + Yet clearer shines than every light + The moon in the blue atmosphere. + And she to whom my lyre would fain, + Yet dares not, dedicate its strain, + Shines in the female firmament + Like a full moon magnificent. + Lo! with what pride celestial + Her feet the earth beneath her press! + Her heart how full of gentleness, + Her glance how wild yet genial! + Enough, enough, conclude thy lay— + For folly’s dues thou hadst to pay. + + L + + Noise, laughter, bowing, hurrying mixt, + Gallop, mazurka, waltzing—see! + A pillar by, two aunts betwixt, + Tania, observed by nobody, + Looks upon all with absent gaze + And hates the world’s discordant ways. + ’Tis noisome to her there: in thought + Again her rural life she sought, + The hamlet, the poor villagers, + The little solitary nook + Where shining runs the tiny brook, + Her garden, and those books of hers, + And the lime alley’s twilight dim + Where the first time she met with _him_. + + LI + + Thus widely meditation erred, + Forgot the world, the noisy ball, + Whilst from her countenance ne’er stirred + The eyes of a grave general. + Both aunts looked knowing as a judge, + Each gave Tattiana’s arm a nudge + And in a whisper did repeat: + “Look quickly to your left, my sweet!” + “The left? Why, what on earth is there?”— + “No matter, look immediately. + There, in that knot of company, + Two dressed in uniform appear— + Ah! he has gone the other way”— + “Who? Is it that stout general, pray?”— + + LII + + Let us congratulations pay + To our Tattiana conquering, + And for a time our course delay, + That I forget not whom I sing. + Let me explain that in my song + “I celebrate a comrade young + And the extent of his caprice; + O epic Muse, my powers increase + And grant success to labour long; + Having a trusty staff bestowed, + Grant that I err not on the road.” + Enough! my pack is now unslung— + To classicism I’ve homage paid, + Though late, have a beginning made.(77) + + [Note 77: Many will consider this mode of bringing the canto + to a conclusion of more than doubtful taste. The poet evidently + aims a stroke at the pedantic and narrow-minded criticism to + which original genius, emancipated from the strait-waistcoat of + conventionality, is not unfrequently subjected.] + + End of Canto The Seventh + + + + + CANTO THE EIGHTH + + + The Great World + + ‘Fare thee well, and if for ever, + Still for ever fare thee well.’—Byron + + Canto the Eighth + + [St. Petersburg, Boldino, Tsarskoe Selo, 1880-1881] + + I + + In the Lyceum’s noiseless shade + As in a garden when I grew, + I Apuleius gladly read + But would not look at Cicero. + ’Twas then in valleys lone, remote, + In spring-time, heard the cygnet’s note + By waters shining tranquilly, + That first the Muse appeared to me. + Into the study of the boy + There came a sudden flash of light, + The Muse revealed her first delight, + Sang childhood’s pastimes and its joy, + Glory with which our history teems + And the heart’s agitated dreams. + + II + + And the world met her smilingly, + A first success light pinions gave, + The old Derjavine noticed me, + And blest me, sinking to the grave.(78) + Then my companions young with pleasure + In the unfettered hours of leisure + Her utterances ever heard, + And by a partial temper stirred + And boiling o’er with friendly heat, + They first of all my brow did wreathe + And an encouragement did breathe + That my coy Muse might sing more sweet. + O triumphs of my guileless days, + How sweet a dream your memories raise! + + [Note 78: This touching scene produced a lasting impression on + Pushkin’s mind. It took place at a public examination at + the Lyceum, on which occasion the boy poet produced a poem. The + incident recalls the “Mon cher Tibulle” of Voltaire and the + youthful Parny (see Note 42). Derjavine flourished during the + reigns of Catherine the Second and Alexander the First. His + poems are stiff and formal in style and are not much thought of + by contemporary Russians. But a century back a very infinitesimal + endowment of literary ability was sufficient to secure imperial + reward and protection, owing to the backward state of the empire. + Stanza II properly concludes with this line, the remainder having + been expunged either by the author himself or the censors. I have + filled up the void with lines from a fragment left by the author + having reference to this canto.] + + III + + Passion’s wild sway I then allowed, + Her promptings unto law did make, + Pursuits I followed of the crowd, + My sportive Muse I used to take + To many a noisy feast and fight, + Terror of guardians of the night; + And wild festivities among + She brought with her the gift of song. + Like a Bacchante in her sport + Beside the cup she sang her rhymes + And the young revellers of past times + Vociferously paid her court, + And I, amid the friendly crowd, + Of my light paramour was proud. + + IV + + But I abandoned their array, + And fled afar—she followed me. + How oft the kindly Muse away + Hath whiled the road’s monotony, + Entranced me by some mystic tale. + How oft beneath the moonbeams pale + Like Leonora did she ride(79) + With me Caucasian rocks beside! + How oft to the Crimean shore + She led me through nocturnal mist + Unto the sounding sea to list, + Where Nereids murmur evermore, + And where the billows hoarsely raise + To God eternal hymns of praise. + + [Note 79: See Note 30, “Leonora,” a poem by Gottfried Augustus + Burger, b. 1748, d. 1794.] + + V + + Then, the far capital forgot, + Its splendour and its blandishments, + In poor Moldavia cast her lot, + She visited the humble tents + Of migratory gipsy hordes— + And wild among them grew her words— + Our godlike tongue she could exchange + For savage speech, uncouth and strange, + And ditties of the steppe she loved. + But suddenly all changed around! + Lo! in my garden was she found + And as a country damsel roved, + A pensive sorrow in her glance + And in her hand a French romance. + + VI + + Now for the first time I my Muse + Lead into good society, + Her steppe-like beauties I peruse + With jealous fear, anxiety. + Through dense aristocratic rows + Of diplomats and warlike beaux + And supercilious dames she glides, + Sits down and gazes on all sides— + Amazed at the confusing crowd, + Variety of speech and vests, + Deliberate approach of guests + Who to the youthful hostess bowed, + And the dark fringe of men, like frames + Enclosing pictures of fair dames. + + VII + + Assemblies oligarchical + Please her by their decorum fixed, + The rigour of cold pride and all + Titles and ages intermixed. + But who in that choice company + With clouded brow stands silently? + Unknown to all he doth appear, + A vision desolate and drear + Doth seem to him the festal scene. + Doth his brow wretchedness declare + Or suffering pride? Why is he there? + Who may he be? Is it Eugene? + Pray is it he? It is the same. + “And is it long since back he came? + + VIII + + “Is he the same or grown more wise? + Still doth the misanthrope appear? + He has returned, say in what guise? + What is his latest character? + What doth he act? Is it Melmoth,(80) + Philanthropist or patriot, + Childe Harold, quaker, devotee, + Or other mask donned playfully? + Or a good fellow for the nonce, + Like you and me and all the rest?— + But this is my advice, ’twere best + Not to behave as he did once— + Society he duped enow.” + “Is he known to you?”—“Yes and No.” + + [Note 80: A romance by Maturin.] + + IX + + Wherefore regarding him express + Perverse, unfavourable views? + Is it that human restlessness + For ever carps, condemns, pursues? + Is it that ardent souls of flame + By recklessness amuse or shame + Selfish nonentities around? + That mind which yearns for space is bound? + And that too often we receive + Professions eagerly for deeds, + That crass stupidity misleads, + That we by cant ourselves deceive, + That mediocrity alone + Without disgust we look upon? + + X + + Happy he who in youth was young, + Happy who timely grew mature, + He who life’s frosts which early wrung + Hath gradually learnt to endure; + By visions who was ne’er deranged + Nor from the mob polite estranged, + At twenty who was prig or swell, + At thirty who was married well, + At fifty who relief obtained + From public and from private ties, + Who glory, wealth and dignities + Hath tranquilly in turn attained, + And unto whom we all allude + As to a worthy man and good! + + XI + + But sad is the reflection made, + In vain was youth by us received, + That we her constantly betrayed + And she at last hath us deceived; + That our desires which noblest seemed, + The purest of the dreams we dreamed, + Have one by one all withered grown + Like rotten leaves by Autumn strown— + ’Tis fearful to anticipate + Nought but of dinners a long row, + To look on life as on a show, + Eternally to imitate + The seemly crowd, partaking nought + Its passions and its modes of thought. + + XII + + The butt of scandal having been, + ’Tis dreadful—ye agree, I hope— + To pass with reasonable men + For a fictitious misanthrope, + A visionary mortified, + Or monster of Satanic pride, + Or e’en the “Demon” of my strain.(81) + Onéguine—take him up again— + In duel having killed his friend + And reached, with nought his mind to engage, + The twenty-sixth year of his age, + Wearied of leisure in the end, + Without profession, business, wife, + He knew not how to spend his life. + + [Note 81: The “Demon,” a short poem by Pushkin which at its first + appearance created some excitement in Russian society. A more + appropriate, or at any rate explanatory title, would have been + the _Tempter_. It is descriptive of the first manifestation of + doubt and cynicism in his youthful mind, allegorically as the + visits of a “demon.” Russian society was moved to embody this + imaginary demon in the person of a certain friend of Pushkin’s. + This must not be confounded with Lermontoff’s poem bearing the + same title upon which Rubinstein’s new opera, “Il Demonio,” is + founded.] + + XIII + + Him a disquietude did seize, + A wish from place to place to roam, + A very troublesome disease, + In some a willing martyrdom. + Abandoned he his country seat, + Of woods and fields the calm retreat, + Where every day before his eyes + A blood-bespattered shade would rise, + And aimless journeys did commence— + But still remembrance to him clings, + His travels like all other things + Inspired but weariness intense; + Returning, from his ship amid + A ball he fell as Tchatzki did.(82) + + [Note 82: Tchatzki, one of the principal characters in Griboyédoff’s + celebrated comedy “Woe from Wit” (_Gore ot Ouma_).] + + XIV + + Behold, the crowd begins to stir, + A whisper runs along the hall, + A lady draws the hostess near, + Behind her a grave general. + Her manners were deliberate, + Reserved, but not inanimate, + Her eyes no saucy glance address, + There was no angling for success. + Her features no grimaces bleared; + Of affectation innocent, + Calm and without embarrassment, + A faithful model she appeared + Of “comme il faut.” Shishkòff, forgive! + I can’t translate the adjective.(83) + + [Note 83: Shishkòff was a member of the literary school which + cultivated the vernacular as opposed to the _Arzamass_ or + Gallic school, to which the poet himself and his uncle Vassili + Pushkin belonged. He was admiral, author, and minister of + education.] + + XV + + Ladies in crowds around her close, + Her with a smile old women greet, + The men salute with lower bows + And watch her eye’s full glance to meet. + Maidens before her meekly move + Along the hall, and high above + The crowd doth head and shoulders rise + The general who accompanies. + None could her beautiful declare, + Yet viewing her from head to foot, + None could a trace of that impute, + Which in the elevated sphere + Of London life is “vulgar” called + And ruthless fashion hath blackballed. + + XVI + + I like this word exceedingly + Although it will not bear translation, + With us ’tis quite a novelty + Not high in general estimation; + ’Twould serve ye in an epigram— + But turn we once more to our dame. + Enchanting, but unwittingly, + At table she was sitting by + The brilliant Nina Voronskoi, + The Neva’s Cleopatra, and + None the conviction could withstand + That Nina’s marble symmetry, + Though dazzling its effulgence white, + Could not eclipse her neighbour’s light. + + XVII + + “And is it,” meditates Eugene. + “And is it she? It must be—no— + How! from the waste of steppes unseen,”— + And the eternal lorgnette through + Frequent and rapid doth his glance + Seek the forgotten countenance + Familiar to him long ago. + “Inform me, prince, pray dost thou know + The lady in the crimson cap + Who with the Spanish envoy speaks?”— + The prince’s eye Onéguine seeks: + “Ah! long the world hath missed thy shape! + But stop! I will present thee, if + You choose.”—“But who is she?”—“My wife.” + + XVIII + + “So thou art wed! I did not know. + Long ago?”—“’Tis the second year.” + “To—?”—“Làrina.”—“Tattiana?”—“So. + And dost thou know her?”—“We live near.” + “Then come with me.” The prince proceeds, + His wife approaches, with him leads + His relative and friend as well. + The lady’s glance upon him fell— + And though her soul might be confused, + And vehemently though amazed + She on the apparition gazed, + No signs of trouble her accused, + A mien unaltered she preserved, + Her bow was easy, unreserved. + + XIX + + Ah no! no faintness her attacked + Nor sudden turned she red or white, + Her brow she did not e’en contract + Nor yet her lip compressed did bite. + Though he surveyed her at his ease, + Not the least trace Onéguine sees + Of the Tattiana of times fled. + He conversation would have led— + But could not. Then she questioned him:— + “Had he been long here, and where from? + Straight from their province had he come?”— + Cast upwards then her eyeballs dim + Unto her husband, went away— + Transfixed Onéguine mine doth stay. + + XX + + Is this the same Tattiana, say, + Before whom once in solitude, + In the beginning of this lay, + Deep in the distant province rude, + Impelled by zeal for moral worth, + He salutary rules poured forth? + The maid whose note he still possessed + Wherein the heart its vows expressed, + Where all upon the surface lies,— + That girl—but he must dreaming be— + That girl whom once on a time he + Could in a humble sphere despise, + Can she have been a moment gone + Thus haughty, careless in her tone? + + XXI + + He quits the fashionable throng + And meditative homeward goes, + Visions, now sad, now grateful, long + Do agitate his late repose. + He wakes—they with a letter come— + The Princess N. will be at home + On such a day. O Heavens, ’tis she! + Oh! I accept. And instantly + He a polite reply doth scrawl. + What hath he dreamed? What hath occurred? + In the recesses what hath stirred + Of a heart cold and cynical? + Vexation? Vanity? or strove + Again the plague of boyhood—love? + + XXII + + The hours once more Onéguine counts, + Impatient waits the close of day, + But ten strikes and his sledge he mounts + And gallops to her house away. + Trembling he seeks the young princess— + Tattiana finds in loneliness. + Together moments one or two + They sat, but conversation’s flow + Deserted Eugene. He, distraught, + Sits by her gloomily, desponds, + Scarce to her questions he responds, + Full of exasperating thought. + He fixedly upon her stares— + She calm and unconcerned appears. + + XXIII + + The husband comes and interferes + With this unpleasant _tête-à-tête_, + With Eugene pranks of former years + And jests doth recapitulate. + They talked and laughed. The guests arrived. + The conversation was revived + By the coarse wit of worldly hate; + But round the hostess scintillate + Light sallies without coxcombry, + Awhile sound conversation seems + To banish far unworthy themes + And platitudes and pedantry, + And never was the ear affright + By liberties or loose or light. + + XXIV + + And yet the city’s flower was there, + Noblesse and models of the mode, + Faces which we meet everywhere + And necessary fools allowed. + Behold the dames who once were fine + With roses, caps and looks malign; + Some marriageable maids behold, + Blank, unapproachable and cold. + Lo, the ambassador who speaks + Economy political, + And with gray hair ambrosial + The old man who has had his freaks, + Renowned for his acumen, wit, + But now ridiculous a bit. + + XXV + + Behold Sabouroff, whom the age + For baseness of the spirit scorns, + Saint Priest, who every album’s page + With blunted pencil-point adorns. + Another tribune of the ball + Hung like a print against the wall, + Pink as Palm Sunday cherubim,(84) + Motionless, mute, tight-laced and trim. + The traveller, bird of passage he, + Stiff, overstarched and insolent, + Awakens secret merriment + By his embarrassed dignity— + Mute glances interchanged aside + Meet punishment for him provide. + + [Note 84: On Palm Sunday the Russians carry branches, or used to + do so. These branches were adorned with little painted pictures + of cherubs with the ruddy complexions of tradition. Hence the + comparison.] + + XXVI + + But my Onéguine the whole eve + Within his mind Tattiana bore, + Not the young timid maid, believe, + Enamoured, simple-minded, poor, + But the indifferent princess, + Divinity without access + Of the imperial Neva’s shore. + O Men, how very like ye are + To Eve the universal mother, + Possession hath no power to please, + The serpent to unlawful trees + Aye bids ye in some way or other— + Unless forbidden fruit we eat, + Our paradise is no more sweet. + + XXVII + + Ah! how Tattiana was transformed, + How thoroughly her part she took! + How soon to habits she conformed + Which crushing dignity must brook! + Who would the maiden innocent + In the unmoved, magnificent + Autocrat of the drawing-room seek? + And he had made her heart beat quick! + ’Twas he whom, amid nightly shades, + Whilst Morpheus his approach delays, + She mourned and to the moon would raise + The languid eye of love-sick maids, + Dreaming perchance in weal or woe + To end with him her path below. + + XXVIII + + To Love all ages lowly bend, + But the young unpolluted heart + His gusts should fertilize, amend, + As vernal storms the fields athwart. + Youth freshens beneath Passion’s showers, + Develops and matures its powers, + And thus in season the rich field + Gay flowers and luscious fruit doth yield. + But at a later, sterile age, + The solstice of our earthly years, + Mournful Love’s deadly trace appears + As storms which in chill autumn rage + And leave a marsh the fertile ground + And devastate the woods around. + + XXIX + + There was no doubt! Eugene, alas! + Tattiana loved as when a lad, + Both day and night he now must pass + In love-lorn meditation sad. + Careless of every social rule, + The crystals of her vestibule + He daily in his drives drew near + And like a shadow haunted her. + Enraptured was he if allowed + To swathe her shoulders in the furs, + If his hot hand encountered hers, + Or he dispersed the motley crowd + Of lackeys in her pathway grouped, + Or to pick up her kerchief stooped. + + XXX + + She seemed of him oblivious, + Despite the anguish of his breast, + Received him freely at her house, + At times three words to him addressed + In company, or simply bowed, + Or recognized not in the crowd. + No coquetry was there, I vouch— + Society endures not such! + Onéguine’s cheek grew ashy pale, + Either she saw not or ignored; + Onéguine wasted; on my word, + Already he grew phthisical. + All to the doctors Eugene send, + And they the waters recommend. + + XXXI + + He went not—sooner was prepared + To write his forefathers to warn + Of his approach; but nothing cared + Tattiana—thus the sex is born.— + He obstinately will remain, + Still hopes, endeavours, though in vain. + Sickness more courage doth command + Than health, so with a trembling hand + A love epistle he doth scrawl. + Though correspondence as a rule + He used to hate—and was no fool— + Yet suffering emotional + Had rendered him an invalid; + But word for word his letter read. + + Onéguine’s Letter to Tattiana + + All is foreseen. My secret drear + Will sound an insult in your ear. + What acrimonious scorn I trace + Depicted on your haughty face! + What do I ask? What cause assigned + That I to you reveal my mind? + To what malicious merriment, + It may be, I yield nutriment! + + Meeting you in times past by chance, + Warmth I imagined in your glance, + But, knowing not the actual truth, + Restrained the impulses of youth; + Also my wretched liberty + I would not part with finally; + This separated us as well— + Lenski, unhappy victim, fell, + From everything the heart held dear + I then resolved my heart to tear; + Unknown to all, without a tie, + I thought—retirement, liberty, + Will happiness replace. My God! + How I have erred and felt the rod! + + No, ever to behold your face, + To follow you in every place, + Your smiling lips, your beaming eyes, + To watch with lovers’ ecstasies, + Long listen, comprehend the whole + Of your perfections in my soul, + Before you agonized to die— + This, this were true felicity! + + But such is not for me. I brood + Daily of love in solitude. + My days of life approach their end, + Yet I in idleness expend + The remnant destiny concedes, + And thus each stubbornly proceeds. + I feel, allotted is my span; + But, that life longer may remain, + At morn I must assuredly + Know that thy face that day I see. + + I tremble lest my humble prayer + You with stern countenance declare + The artifice of villany— + I hear your harsh, reproachful cry. + If ye but knew how dreadful ’tis + To bear love’s parching agonies— + To burn, yet reason keep awake + The fever of the blood to slake— + A passionate desire to bend + And, sobbing at your feet, to blend + Entreaties, woes and prayers, confess + All that the heart would fain express— + Yet with a feigned frigidity + To arm the tongue and e’en the eye, + To be in conversation clear + And happy unto you appear. + + So be it! But internal strife + I cannot longer wage concealed. + The die is cast! Thine is my life! + Into thy hands my fate I yield! + + XXXII + + No answer! He another sent. + Epistle second, note the third, + Remained unnoticed. Once he went + To an assembly—she appeared + Just as he entered. How severe! + She will not see, she will not hear. + Alas! she is as hard, behold, + And frosty as a Twelfth Night cold. + Oh, how her lips compressed restrain + The indignation of her heart! + A sidelong look doth Eugene dart: + Where, where, remorse, compassion, pain? + Where, where, the trace of tears? None, none! + Upon her brow sits wrath alone— + + XXXIII + + And it may be a secret dread + Lest the world or her lord divine + A certain little escapade + Well known unto Onéguine mine. + ’Tis hopeless! Homeward doth he flee + Cursing his own stupidity, + And brooding o’er the ills he bore, + Society renounced once more. + Then in the silent cabinet + He in imagination saw + The time when Melancholy’s claw + ’Mid worldly pleasures chased him yet, + Caught him and by the collar took + And shut him in a lonely nook. + + XXXIV + + He read as vainly as before, + Perusing Gibbon and Rousseau, + Manzoni, Herder and Chamfort,(85) + Madame de Stael, Bichat, Tissot: + He read the unbelieving Bayle, + Also the works of Fontenelle, + Some Russian authors he perused— + Nought in the universe refused: + Nor almanacs nor newspapers, + Which lessons unto us repeat, + Wherein I castigation get; + And where a madrigal occurs + Writ in my honour now and then— + _E sempre bene_, gentlemen! + + [Note 85: Owing to the unstable nature of fame the names of some + of the above literary worthies necessitate reference at this + period in the nineteenth century. + + Johann Gottfried von Herder, b. 1744, d. 1803, a German + philosopher, philanthropist and author, was the personal friend + of Goethe and held the poet of court chaplain at Weimar. His chief + work is entitled, “Ideas for a Philosophy of the History of + Mankind,” in 4 vols. + + Sebastien Roch Nicholas Chamfort, b. 1741, d. 1794, was a French + novelist and dramatist of the Revolution, who contrary to his + real wishes became entangled in its meshes. He exercised a + considerable influence over certain of its leaders, notably + Mirabeau and Sieyès. He is said to have originated the title of + the celebrated tract from the pen of the latter. “What is the + Tiers Etat? Nothing. What ought it to be? Everything.” He + ultimately experienced the common destiny in those days, was thrown + into prison and though shortly afterwards released, his + incarceration had such an effect upon his mind that he committed + suicide. + + Marie Francois Xavier Bichat, b. 1771, d. 1802, a French anatomist + and physiologist of eminence. His principal works are a “Traité + des Membranes,” “Anatomie générale appliquée à la Physiologie et à + la Médecine,” and “Recherches Physiologiques sur la Vie et la + Mort.” He died at an early age from constant exposure to noxious + exhalations during his researches. + + Pierre Francois Tissot, b. 1768, d. 1864, a French writer of the + Revolution and Empire. In 1812 he was appointed by Napoleon editor + of the _Gazette de France_. He wrote histories of the Revolution, + of Napoleon and of France. He was likewise a poet and author of a + work entitled “Les trois Irlandais Conjurés, ou l’ombre d’Emmet,” + and is believed to have edited Foy’s “History of the Peninsular + War.” + + The above catalogue by its heterogeneous composition gives a fair + idea of the intellectual movement in Russia from the Empress + Catherine the Second downwards. It is characterized by a feverish + thirst for encyclopaedic knowledge without a corresponding power + of assimilation.] + + XXXV + + But what results? His eyes peruse + But thoughts meander far away— + Ideas, desires and woes confuse + His intellect in close array. + His eyes, the printed lines betwixt, + On lines invisible are fixt; + ’Twas these he read and these alone + His spirit was intent upon. + They were the wonderful traditions + Of kindly, dim antiquity, + Dreams with no continuity, + Prophecies, threats and apparitions, + The lively trash of stories long + Or letters of a maiden young. + + XXXVI + + And by degrees upon him grew + A lethargy of sense, a trance, + And soon imagination threw + Before him her wild game of chance. + And now upon the snow in thaw + A young man motionless he saw, + As one who bivouacs afield, + And heard a voice cry—_Why! He’s killed!_— + And now he views forgotten foes, + Poltroons and men of slanderous tongue, + Bevies of treacherous maidens young; + Of thankless friends the circle rose, + A mansion—by the window, see! + She sits alone—’tis ever _she!_ + + XXXVII + + So frequently his mind would stray + He well-nigh lost the use of sense, + Almost became a poet say— + Oh! what had been his eminence! + Indeed, by force of magnetism + A Russian poem’s mechanism + My scholar without aptitude + At this time almost understood. + How like a poet was my chum + When, sitting by his fire alone + Whilst cheerily the embers shone, + He “Benedetta” used to hum, + Or “Idol mio,” and in the grate + Would lose his slippers or gazette. + + XXXVIII + + Time flies! a genial air abroad, + Winter resigned her empire white, + Onéguine ne’er as poet showed + Nor died nor lost his senses quite. + Spring cheered him up, and he resigned + His chambers close wherein confined + He marmot-like did hibernate, + His double sashes and his grate, + And sallied forth one brilliant morn— + Along the Neva’s bank he sleighs, + On the blue blocks of ice the rays + Of the sun glisten; muddy, worn, + The snow upon the streets doth melt— + Whither along them doth he pelt? + + XXXIX + + Onéguine whither gallops? Ye + Have guessed already. Yes, quite so! + Unto his own Tattiana he, + Incorrigible rogue, doth go. + Her house he enters, ghastly white, + The vestibule finds empty quite— + He enters the saloon. ’Tis blank! + A door he opens. But why shrank + He back as from a sudden blow?— + Alone the princess sitteth there, + Pallid and with dishevelled hair, + Gazing upon a note below. + Her tears flow plentifully and + Her cheek reclines upon her hand. + + XL + + Oh! who her speechless agonies + Could not in that brief moment guess! + Who now could fail to recognize + Tattiana in the young princess! + Tortured by pangs of wild regret, + Eugene fell prostrate at her feet— + She starts, nor doth a word express, + But gazes on Onéguine’s face + Without amaze or wrath displayed: + His sunken eye and aspect faint, + Imploring looks and mute complaint + She comprehends. The simple maid + By fond illusions once possest + Is once again made manifest. + + XLI + + His kneeling posture he retains— + Calmly her eyes encounter his— + Insensible her hand remains + Beneath his lips’ devouring kiss. + What visions then her fancy thronged— + A breathless silence then, prolonged— + But finally she softly said: + “Enough, arise! for much we need + Without disguise ourselves explain. + Onéguine, hast forgotten yet + The hour when—Fate so willed—we met + In the lone garden and the lane? + How meekly then I heard you preach— + To-day it is my turn to teach. + + XLII + + “Onéguine, I was younger then, + And better, if I judge aright; + I loved you—what did I obtain? + Affection how did you requite? + But with austerity!—for you + No novelty—is it not true?— + Was the meek love a maiden feels. + But now—my very blood congeals, + Calling to mind your icy look + And sermon—but in that dread hour + I blame not your behaviour— + An honourable course ye took, + Displayed a noble rectitude— + My soul is filled with gratitude! + + XLIII + + “Then, in the country, is’t not true? + And far removed from rumour vain; + I did not please you. Why pursue + Me now, inflict upon me pain?— + Wherefore am I your quarry held?— + Is it that I am now compelled + To move in fashionable life, + That I am rich, a prince’s wife?— + Because my lord, in battles maimed, + Is petted by the Emperor?— + That my dishonour would ensure + A notoriety proclaimed, + And in society might shed + A bastard fame prohibited? + + XLIV + + “I weep. And if within your breast + My image hath not disappeared, + Know that your sarcasm ill-suppressed, + Your conversation cold and hard, + If the choice in my power were, + To lawless love I should prefer— + And to these letters and these tears. + For visions of my childish years + Then ye were barely generous, + Age immature averse to cheat— + But now—what brings you to my feet?— + How mean, how pusillanimous! + A prudent man like you and brave + To shallow sentiment a slave! + + XLV + + “Onéguine, all this sumptuousness, + The gilding of life’s vanities, + In the world’s vortex my success, + My splendid house and gaieties— + What are they? Gladly would I yield + This life in masquerade concealed, + This glitter, riot, emptiness, + For my wild garden and bookcase,— + Yes! for our unpretending home, + Onéguine—the beloved place + Where the first time I saw your face,— + Or for the solitary tomb + Wherein my poor old nurse doth lie + Beneath a cross and shrubbery. + + XLVI + + “’Twas possible then, happiness— + Nay, near—but destiny decreed— + My lot is fixed—with thoughtlessness + It may be that I did proceed— + With bitter tears my mother prayed, + And for Tattiana, mournful maid, + Indifferent was her future fate. + I married—now, I supplicate— + For ever your Tattiana leave. + Your heart possesses, I know well, + Honour and pride inflexible. + I love you—to what end deceive?— + But I am now another’s bride— + For ever faithful will abide.” + + XLVII + + She rose—departed. But Eugene + Stood as if struck by lightning fire. + What a storm of emotions keen + Raged round him and of balked desire! + And hark! the clank of spurs is heard + And Tania’s husband soon appeared.— + But now our hero we must leave + Just at a moment which I grieve + Must be pronounced unfortunate— + For long—for ever. To be sure + Together we have wandered o’er + The world enough. Congratulate + Each other as the shore we climb! + Hurrah! it long ago was time! + + XLVIII + + Reader, whoever thou mayst be, + Foeman or friend, I do aspire + To part in amity with thee! + Adieu! whate’er thou didst desire + From careless stanzas such as these, + Of passion reminiscences, + Pictures of the amusing scene, + Repose from labour, satire keen, + Or faults of grammar on its page— + God grant that all who herein glance, + In serious mood or dalliance + Or in a squabble to engage, + May find a crumb to satisfy. + Now we must separate. Good-bye! + + XLIX + + And farewell thou, my gloomy friend, + Thou also, my ideal true, + And thou, persistent to the end, + My little book. With thee I knew + All that a poet could desire, + Oblivion of life’s tempest dire, + Of friends the grateful intercourse— + Oh, many a year hath run its course + Since I beheld Eugene and young + Tattiana in a misty dream, + And my romance’s open theme + Glittered in a perspective long, + And I discerned through Fancy’s prism + Distinctly not its mechanism. + + L + + But ye to whom, when friendship heard, + The first-fruits of my tale I read, + As Saadi anciently averred—(86) + Some are afar and some are dead. + Without them Eugene is complete; + And thou, from whom Tattiana sweet; + Was drawn, ideal of my lay— + Ah! what hath fate not torn away! + Happy who quit life’s banquet seat + Before the dregs they shall divine + Of the cup brimming o’er with wine— + Who the romance do not complete, + But who abandon it—as I + Have my Onéguine—suddenly. + + [Note 86: The celebrated Persian poet. Pushkin uses the passage + referred to as an epigraph to the “Fountain of Baktchiserai.” It + runs thus: “Many, even as I, visited that fountain, but some of + these are dead and some have journeyed afar.” Saadi was born in + 1189 at Shiraz and was a reputed descendant from Ali, Mahomet’s + son-in-law. In his youth he was a soldier, was taken prisoner by + the Crusaders and forced to work in the ditches of Tripoli, + whence he was ransomed by a merchant whose daughter he subsequently + married. He did not commence writing till an advanced age. His + principal work is the “Gulistan,” or “Rose Garden,” a work which + has been translated into almost every European tongue.] + + End of Canto The Eighth + + + + The End + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EUGENE ONÉGUINE [ONEGIN]*** + + +******* This file should be named 23997-0.txt or 23997-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/9/9/23997 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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