Eugene Onegin
Page 13
In Olga's breast! What shoulders too!
And what a soul! . . . Come visit, do!
You ought to, really . . . they'll be flattered;
Or judge yourself how it must look
You dropped in twice and closed the book;
Since then, it seems, they've hardly mattered.
In fact. . . Good Lord, my wits are bleak!
You've been invited there next week!'
49
'Tatyana's name-day celebration
Is Saturday. Her mother's sent
(And Olga too!) an invitation;
Now don't refuse, it's time you went.'
'There'll be a crush and lots of babble
And all that crowd of local rabble.'
'Why not at all, they just intend
To have the family, that's all, friend;
Come on, let's go, do me the favour!'
'Alright, I'll go.' 'Well done, first class!'
And with these words he drained his glass
In toast to his attractive neighbour . . .
And then waxed voluble once more
In talk of Olga. Love's a bore!
50
So Lensky soared as he awaited
His wedding day two weeks ahead;
With joy his heart anticipated
The mysteries of the marriage bed
And love's sweet crown of jubilations.
But Hymen's cares and tribulations,
The frigid, yawning days to be,
He never pictured once, not he.
While we, the foes of Hymen's banner,
Perceive full well that home life means
But one long string of dreary scenes
In Lafontaine's* insipid manner.
But my poor Lensky, deep at heart,
Was born to play this very part.
51
Yes, he was loved .. . beyond deceiving . . .
Or so at least with joy he thought.
Oh, blest is he who lives believing,
Who takes cold intellect for naught,
Who rests within the heart's sweet places
As does a drunk in sleep's embraces,
Or as, more tenderly I'd say,
A butterfly in blooms of May;
But wretched he who's too far-sighted,
Whose head is never fancy-stirred,
Who hates all gestures, each warm word,
As sentiments to be derided,
Whose heart.. . experience has cooled
And barred from being loved ... or fooled!
Chapter 5
Oh, never know these frightful dreams, My dear Svetlana!
Zhukovsky
1
The fall that year was in no hurry,
And nature seemed to wait and wait
For winter. Then, in January,
The second night, the snow fell late.
Next day as dawn was just advancing,
Tatyana woke and, idly glancing,
Beheld outdoors a wondrous sight:
The roofs, the yard, the fenceall white;
Each pane a fragile pattern showing;
The trees in winter silver dyed,
Gay magpies on the lawn outside,
And all the hilltops soft and glowing
With winter's brilliant rug of snow
The world all fresh and white below.
2
Ah, wintertime! . . . The peasant, cheerful,
Creates a passage with his sleigh;
Aware of snow, his nag is fearful,
But shambles somehow down the way.
A bold kibitka skips and burrows
And ploughs a trail of fluffy furrows;
The driver sits behind the dash
In sheepskin coat and scarlet sash.
And here's a household boy gone sleighing
His Blackie seated on the sled,
While he plays horse and runs ahead;
The rascal froze his fingers, playing,
And laughs out loud between his howls,
While through the glass his mother scowls.
3
But you, perhaps, are not attracted
By pictures of this simple kind,
Where lowly nature is enacted
And nothing grand or more refined.
Warmed by the god of inspiration,
Another bard in exaltation
Has painted us the snow new-laid
And winter's joys in every shade.*
I'm sure you'll find him most engaging
When he, in flaming verse, portrays
Clandestine rides in dashing sleighs;
But I have no intent of waging
A contest for his crown ... or thine,
Thou bard of Finland's maid divine!*
4
Tatyana (with a Russian duty
That held her heart, she knew not why)
Profoundly loved, in its cold beauty,
The Russian winter passing by:
Crisp days when sunlit hoarfrost glimmers,
The sleighs, and rosy snow that shimmers
In sunset's glow, the murky light
That wraps about the Yuletide night.
Those twelfthtide eves, by old tradition,
Were marked at home on their estate:
The servant maids would guess the fate
Of both young girls with superstition;
Each year they promised, as before,
Two soldier husbands and a war.
5
Tatyana heeded with conviction
All ancient folklore night and noon,
Believed in dreams and card prediction,
And read the future by the moon.
All signs and portents quite alarmed her,
All objects either scared or charmed her
With secret meanings they'd impart;
Forebodings filled and pressed her heart.
If her prim tomcat sat protected
Atop the stove to wash and purr,
Then this was certain sign to her
That guests were soon to be expected;
Or if upon her left she'd spy
A waxing crescent moon on high,
6
Her face would pale, her teeth would chatter.
Or when a shooting star flew by
To light the sombre sky and shatter
In fiery dust before her eye,
She'd hurry and, in agitation,
Before the star's disintegration,
Would whisper it her secret prayer.
Or if she happened anywhere
To meet a black-robed monk by error,
Or if amid the fields one day
A fleeing hare would cross her way,
She'd be quite overcome with terror,
As dark forebodings filled her mind
Of some misfortune ill defined.
7
Yet even in these same afflictions
She found a secret charm in part:
For naturefond of contradictions
Has so designed the human heart.
The holy days are here. What gladness! .. .
Bright youth divines, not knowing sadness,
With nothing that it must regret,
With all of life before it yet
A distance luminous and boundless. . . .
Old age divines with glasses on
And sees the grave before it yawn,
All thoughts of time returninggroundless;
No matter: childish hope appears
To murmur lies in aged ears.
8
Tatyana watches, fascinated,
The molten wax submerge and turn
To wondrous shapes which designated
Some wondrous thing that she would learn.
Then from a basin filled with water
Their rings are drawn in random order;
When Tanya's ring turned up at last,
The song they sang was from the past:
''The
peasants there have hoards of treasure,
They spade up silver from a ditch!
The one we sing to will be rich
And famous!' But the plaintive measure
Foretells a death to come ere long,
And girls prefer 'The Kitty's Song.'*
9
A frosty night, the sky resplendent
As heaven's galaxy shines down
And glidesso peaceful and transcendent. . . .
Tatyana, in her low-cut gown,
Steps out of doors and trains a mirror
Upon the moon to bring it nearer;*
But all that shows in her dark glass
Is just the trembling moon, alas. . . .
What's that... the crunching snow . . . who's coming?!
She flits on tiptoe with a sigh
And asks the stranger passing by,
Her voice more soft than reed pipe's humming:
'Oh, what's your name?' He hurries on,
Looks back and answers: 'Agafon.'*
10
Tatyana, as her nurse suggested,
Prepared to conjure all night through,*
And so in secret she requested
The bathhouse table laid for two.
But then sheer terror seized Tatyana ...
And I, recalling poor Svetlana,*
Feel frightened tooso let it go,
We'll not have Tanya conjure so.
Instead, her silken sash untying,
She just undressed and went to bed.
Sweet Lei* now floats above her head,
While 'neath her downy pillow lying,
A maiden's looking-glass she keeps.
Now all is hushed. Tatyana sleeps.
11
And what an awesome dream she's dreaming:
She walks upon a snowy dale,
And all around her, dully gleaming,
Sad mist and murky gloom prevail;
Amid the drifting, snowbound spaces
A dark and seething torrent races,
A hoary frothing wave that strains
And tears asunder winter's chains;
Two slender, icebound poles lie linking
The chasm's banks atop the ridge:
A perilous and shaky bridge;
And full of doubt, her spirits sinking,
Tatyana stopped in sudden dread
Before the raging gulf ahead.
12
As at a vexing separation,
Tatyana murmured, at a loss;
She saw no friendly soul on station
To lend a hand to help her cross.
But suddenly a snowbank shifted,
And who emerged when it was lifted?
A huge and matted bear appeared!
Tatyana screamed! He growled and reared,
Then stretched a paw . . . sharp claws abhorrent,
To Tanya, who could barely stand;
She took it with a trembling hand
And worked her way across the torrent
With apprehensive step . . . then fled!
The bear just followed where she led.
13
She dare not look to see behind her,
And ever faster on she reels;
At every turn he seems to find her,
That shaggy footman at her heels! . . .
The grunting, loathesome bear still lumbers,
Before them now a forest slumbers;
The pines in all their beauty frown
And barely stir, all weighted down
By clumps of snow; and through the summits
Of naked linden, birch, and ash
The beams from heaven's lanterns flash;
There is no path; the gorge that plummets,
The shrubs, the land ... all lie asleep,
By snowy blizzards buried deep.
14
She's reached the wood, the bear still tracking;
Soft snow, knee-deep, lies all about;
A jutting branch looms up, attacking,
And tears her golden earrings out;
And now another tries to trip her,
And from one charming foot her slipper,
All wet, comes off in crumbly snow;
And now she feels her kerchief go,
She lets it lie, she mustn't linger,
Behind her back she hears the bear,
But shy and frightened, does not dare
To lift her skirt with trembling finger;
She runs . .. but he keeps crashing on . . .
Until at last her strength is gone.
15
She sinks in snow; the bear alertly
Just picks her up and rushes on;
She lies within his arms inertly;
Her breathing stops, all sense is gone.
Along a forest road he surges,
And then, mid trees, a hut emerges;
Dense brush abounds; on every hand
Forlorn and drifting snowbanks stand;
A tiny window glitters brightly,
And from the hut come cries and din;
The bear proclaims: 'My gossip's in.'
'Come warm yourself,' he adds politely,
Then pushes straightway through the door
And lays her down upon the floor.
16
On coming to, she looks around her:
She's in a hall; no bear at least;
The clink of glasses, shouts . . . confound her,
As if it were some funeral feast;
She can't make sense of what she's hearing,
Creeps to the door and, softly peering,
Sees through a crack the strangest thing
A horde of monsters in a ring:
Out of a dog-face horns are sprouting;
One has a rooster's head on top;
A goateed witch is on a mop;
A haughty skeleton sits pouting
Beside a short-tailed dwarf. . . and that
Is half a crane and half a cat.
17
More wondrous still and still more fearful:
A crab upon a spider sat;
On goose's neck a skull seemed cheerful,
While spinning round in bright red hat;
A windmill there was squat-jig dancing
And cracked and waved its sails while prancing;
Guffawing, barking, whistles, claps,
And human speech and hoofbeat taps!
But what was Tanya's stunned reaction