When mid the guests she recognized
The one she feared, the one she prized
The hero of our novel's action!
Onegin sits amid the roar
And glances slyly through the door.
18
He gives a signthe others hustle;
He drinksall drink and all grow shrill;
He laughsthey all guffaw and bustle;
He frownsand all of them grow still.
He's master here, there's no mistaking;
And Tanya, now no longer quaking,
Turns curious to see still more
And pushes slightly on the door. . . .
The sudden gust of wind surprises
The band of goblins, putting out
The night-time lanterns all about;
His eyes aflame, Onegin rises
And strikes his chair against the floor;
All rise; he marches to the door.
19
And fear assails her; in a panic
She tries to flee . . . but feels too weak;
In anguished writhing, almost manic,
She wants to scream . . . but cannot speak;
Eugene throws wide the door, revealing
To monstrous looks and hellish squealing
Her slender form; fierce cackles sound
In savage glee; all eyes turn round,
All hooves and trunksgrotesque and curving,
And whiskers, tusks, and tufted tails,
Red bloody tongues and snouts and nails,
Huge horns and bony fingers swerving
All point at her and all combine
To shout as one: 'She's mine! She's mine!'
20
'She's mine!' announced Eugene, commanding;
And all the monsters fled the room;
The maid alone was left there standing
With him amid the frosty gloom.
Onegin stares at her intently,
Then draws her to a corner gently
And lays her on a makeshift bed,
And on her shoulder rests his head. . . .
Then Olga enters in confusion,
And Lensky too; a light shines out;
Onegin lifts an arm to rout
Unbidden guests for their intrusion;
He rants at them, his eyes turn dread;
Tatyana lies there nearly dead.
21
The heated words grow louder, quicken;
Onegin snatches up a knife,
And Lensky falls; the shadows thicken;
A rending cry amid the strife
Reverberates ... the cabin quivers;
Gone numb with terror, Tanya shivers . . .
And wakes to find her room alight,
The frozen windows sparkling bright,
Where dawn's vermilion rays are playing;
Then Olga pushes through the door,
More rosy than the dawn before
And lighter than a swallow, saying:
'Oh, tell me, do, Tatyana love,
Who was it you were dreaming of?'
22
But she ignores her sister's pleading,
Just lies in bed without a word,
Keeps leafing through some book she's reading,
So wrapt in thought she hasn't heard.
Although the book she read presented
No lines a poet had invented,
No sapient truths, no pretty scenes
Yet neither Virgil's, nor Racine's,
Nor Seneca's, nor Byron's pages,
Nor even Fashion Plates Displayed
Had ever so engrossed a maid:
She read, my friends, that king of sages
Martyn Zadck,* Chaldean seer
And analyst of dreams unclear.
23
This noble and profound creation
A roving pedlar one day brought
To show them in their isolation,
And finally left it when they bought
Malvina* for three roubles fifty
(A broken set, but he was thrifty);
And in exchange he also took
Two Petriads,* a grammar book,
Some fables he could sell tomorrow,
Plus Marmontel*just volume three.
Martyn Zadck soon came to be
Tatyana's favourite. Now when sorrow
Assails her heart, he brings her light,
And sleeps beside her through the night.
24
Her dream disturbs her, and not knowing
What secret message she'd been sent,
Tatyana seeks some passage showing
Just what the dreadful vision meant.
She finds in alphabetic order
What clues the index can afford her:
There's bear and blizzard, bridge, and crow,
Fir, forest, hedgehog, night, and snow,
And many more. But her confusion
Martyn Zadck cannot dispel;
The frightful vision must foretell
Sad times to come and disillusion.
For several days she couldn't find
A way to calm her troubled mind.
25
But lo! . . . with crimson hand
Aurora Leads forth from morning dales the sun*
And brings in merry mood before her
The name-day feast that's just begun.
Since dawn Dame Larin's near relations
Have filled the house; whole congregations
Of neighbour clans have come in drays,
Kibitkas, britzkas, coaches, sleighs.
The hall is full of crowds and bustle;
The drawing room explodes with noise,
With bark of pugs and maidens' joys,
With laughter, kisses, din and hustle;
The guests all bow and scrape their feet,
Wet nurses shout and babies bleat.
26
Fat Pustyakv, the local charmer,
Has come and brought his portly wife;
Gvozdin as well, that model farmer,
Whose peasants lead a wretched life;
The two Skotinins, grey as sages,
With children of all shapes and ages
From two to thirty at the top;
Here's Petushkv, the district fop;
And my first cousin, good Buynov,*
Lint-covered, in his visored cap
(As you, of course, well know the chap);
And former couns'lor, old man Flynov,
A rogue and gossip night and noon,
A glutton, grafter, and buffoon.
27
The Harlikvs were feeling mellow
And brought along Monsieur Triquet,
Late from Tambv, a witty fellow
In russet wig and fine pince-nez.
True Gaul, Triquet in pocket carried
A verse to warn that Tanya tarried,
Set to a children's melody:
Rveillez-vous, belle endormie*
The printed verse had lain neglected
In some old tattered almanac
Until Triquet, who had a knack
For rhyme, saw fit to resurrect it
And boldly put for 'belle Nina'
The charming line: 'belle Tatyan.'*
28
And now from nearby quarters, brothers,
That idol whom ripe misses cheer,
The joy and hope of district mothers
The company commander's here!
He's brought some news to set them cheering:
The regimental band's appearing!
'The colonel's sending it tonight.'
There'll be a ball! What sheer delight!
The girls all jump and grow excited.
But dinner's served. And so by pairs,
And arm in arm, they seek their chairs:
The girls near Tanya; men delighted
To face them; and amid the din,
All cross themselves and dig right in.
29
As mouths start chewing.
All around
The clink of plates and forks increases,
The glasses jingle and resound.
But soon the guests are somewhat sated;
The hubbub grows more animated . . .
But no one hears his neighbour out;
All laugh and argue, squeal and shout.
The doors fly back; two figures enter
It's Lensky . . . with Eugene! 'Oh dear!'
The hostess cries, 'At last you're here!'
The guests all squeeze toward the centre,
Each moves his setting, shifts his chair,
And in a trice they seat the pair.
30
Across from Tanyathere they place them;
And paler than the moon at dawn,
She cannot raise her eyes to face them
And trembles like a hunted fawn.
Inside her, stormy passion's seething;
The wretched girl is scarcely breathing;
The two friends' greetings pass unheard;
Her tears well up without a word
And almost fall; the poor thing's ready
To faint; but deep within her, will
And strength of mind were working still,
And they prevailed. Her lips more steady,
She murmured something through her pain
And managed somehow to remain.
31
All tragico-hysteric moaning,
All girlish fainting-fits and tears,
Had long since set Eugene to groaning:
He'd borne enough in former years.
Already cross and irritated
By being at this feast he hated,
And noting how poor Tanya shook,
He barely hid his angry look
And fumed in sullen indignation;
He swore that he'd make Lensky pay
And be avenged that very day.
Exulting in anticipation,
He inwardly began to draw
Caricatures of those he saw.
32
Some others too might well have noted
Poor Tanya's plight; but every eye
Was at the time in full devoted
To sizing up a lavish pie*
(Alas, too salty); now they're bringing,
In bottle with the pitch still clinging,
Between the meat and blancmanger,
Tsimlynsky wine ... a whole array
Of long-stemmed glasses . . . (quite as slender
As your dear waist, my sweet Zizi,*
Fair crystal of my soul and key
To all my youthful verses tender,
Love's luring phial, you who once
Made me a drunken, love-filled dunce!)
33
The bottle pops as cork goes flying;
The fizzing wine comes gushing fast;
And now with solemn mien, and dying
To have his couplet heard at last,
Triquet stands up; the congregation
Falls silent in anticipation.
Tatyana's scarce alive; Triquet,
With verse in hand, looks Tanya's way
And starts to sing, off-key. Loud cheering
And claps salute him. Tanya feels
Constrained to curtsey . . . almost reels.
The bard, whose modesty's endearing,
Is first to toast her where he stands,
Then puts his couplet in her hands.
34
Now greetings come, congratulations;
Tatyana thanks them for the day;
But when Eugene's felicitations
Came due in turn, the girl's dismay,
Her weariness and helpless languor,
Evoked his pity more than anger:
He bowed to her in silence, grave . . .
But somehow just the look he gave
Was wondrous tender. If asserting
Some feeling for Tatyana's lot,
Or if, unconsciously or not,
He'd only teased her with some flirting,
His look was still a tender dart:
It reawakened Tanya's heart.
35
The chairs, pushed back, give out a clatter;
The crowd moves on to drawing room:
Thus bees from luscious hive will scatter,
A noisy swarm, to meadow bloom.
Their festive dinner all too pleasing,
The squires face each other wheezing;
The ladies to the hearth repair;
The maidens whisper by the stair;
At green-baize tables players settle,
As Boston, ombre (old men's play),
And whist, which reigns supreme today,
Call out for men to try their mettle:
A family with a single creed,
All sons of boredom's endless greed.
36
Whist's heroes have by now completed
Eight rubbers; and eight times as well
They've shifted round and been reseated;
Now tea is brought. I like to tell
The time of day by teas and dinners,
By supper's call. We country sinners
Can tell the time without great fuss:
The stomach serves as clock for us;
And apropos, I might make mention
In passing that I speak as much
Of feasts and foods and corks and such
In these odd lines of my invention
As you, great Homer, you whose song
Has lasted thirty centuries long!
(37-8) 39
But tea is brought: the girls demurely
Have scarcely taken cups in hand,
When suddenly from ballroom doorway
Bassoon and flute announce the band.
Elated by the music's bouncing,
His tea and rum at once renouncing,
That Paris of the local towns,
Good Petushkv, to Olga bounds;
To Tanya, Lensky; Harlikva,
A maiden somewhat ripe in glow,
My Tambov poet takes in tow;
Buynov whirls off Pustyakva;
Then all the crowd comes pouring in
To watch the brilliant ballroom spin.
40
At the beginning of my story
(In Chapter One, if you recall),
I wanted with Albani's glory*
Eugene Onegin Page 14