Eugene Onegin. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

"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 Oneguine 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,

Oneguine 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