Eugene Onegin. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

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)

Oneguine—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 Griboyedoff'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." Shishkoff, forgive!

I can't translate the adjective.(83)

[Note 83: Shishkoff 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 Oneguine 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—?"—"Larina."—"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 Oneguine sees

Of the Tattiana of times fled.

He conversation would have led—