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Eugene Onegin

Page 13

by Alexander Pushkin


  Towards a corner seat he takes her,

  Upon a shaky bench he lays her

  And, bending downward, rests his head

  Upon her shoulder; when a tread

  Discloses Olga, then Vladimir;

  A sudden light, and in alarm

  Onegin stands with upraised arm,

  His eyes roam wildly seeing him here,

  He chides the uninvited pair;

  Tatiana’s lying in despair.

  21

  The argument grows louder quickly,

  Onegin snatches up a knife,

  Frightening shadows gather thickly,

  Onegin’s taken Lensky’s life.

  A piercing cry, the hut is shaking,

  Tatiana, terror-stricken, waking,

  Looks round her room, already bright,

  As through a frozen pane the light

  Of crimson dawn’s already playing;

  The door stirs. Olga flies to her,

  Aurora-like but rosier,

  And lighter than a swallow, saying:

  ‘What did you dream, whom did you see?

  Oh, Tanya, tell, who can it be?’

  22

  But she, not noticing her sister,

  Lay leafing through a book in bed;

  Page after page kept turning faster,

  And to her sister nothing said.

  The book that claimed her rapt attention

  Wanted the poet’s sweet invention,

  No saws or pictures could be seen,

  But neither Virgil nor Racine,

  Not Seneca, not Scott, not Byron,

  Not even Ladies’ Fashion12 could

  Engross so much a woman’s mood:

  What now enticed her like a siren

  Was Martin Zadek,13 Chaldee sage,

  Who solved your dreams on every page.

  23

  This weighty tome a passing trader

  Had brought to Tanya’s solitude,

  And finally managed to persuade her

  To buy it, if he could include

  A few odd volumes of Malvina;14

  She paid three rubles, one poltina,

  He also put into the scales

  A book containing vulgar tales,

  Two Petriads,15 a Russian grammar

  And volume three of Marmontel.16

  Once Martin Zadek casts his spell,

  Tanya surrenders to his glamour…

  He brings her solace when she grieves,

  He sleeps with her and never leaves.

  24

  The dream disturbs her. In confusion,

  Not knowing what it presages,

  She seeks a meaningful solution

  To all its monstrous images.

  Arranged in alphabetic order,

  The index gives the words that awed her:

  A bear, a blizzard, little bridge,

  Dark, fir, a forest, hedgehog, witch

  And so on. Tanya’s reservations

  A Martin Zadek won’t dispel,

  And yet her nightmare does foretell

  A multitude of sad occasions.

  For several days thereafter she

  Keeps thinking of it anxiously.

  25

  But lo, her crimson hand extending,17

  Daybreak, from valleys large and small,

  Leads forth the folk who’ll be attending

  A merry nameday festival.

  From morn the Larin home’s abounding

  With neighbours from estates surrounding;

  Whole families have made their way

  On britska,18 coach, kibitka, sleigh.

  There’s jostling as the hall is filling,

  In the salon new faces, hugs,

  Girls’ smacking kisses, barking pugs,

  Noise, laughter, crush as more folk spill in,

  Guests make their bows and shuffle by,

  Wet-nurses shout and children cry.

  26

  Together with a spouse well nourished,

  There entered portly Pustyakov;19

  Gvozdin, a splendid lord who flourished

  On peasant farmers badly off;

  Then the Skotinins, grey-haired, prospering

  With their innumerable offspring

  From thirty-odd right down to two;

  And Petushkov, our fop, came, too;

  Then my first cousin, one Buyanov,

  In pointed cap and cloaked with fluff

  (But you must know him well enough);

  And councillor-in-retirement, Flyanov,

  A scandalmonger, seasoned cheat,

  And bribe-taker who loved to eat.

  27

  The family of Kharlikov20 had

  Monsieur Triquet within its fold;

  A noted wit, late from Tambov, clad

  In reddish wig, bespectacled.

  Triquet, in truly Gallic manner,

  Had brought a stanza for Tatiana,

  Set to a children’s melody:

  Réveillez-vous, belle endormie.21

  This stanza saw its publication

  In a decrepit almanac;

  Triquet, a poet with a knack,

  Redeemed it from disintegration,

  And in the place of belle Nina

  He boldly put belle Tatiana.

  28

  And now from an adjacent quarter

  A company commander came,

  The idol of each ripened daughter

  And district mothers, all aflame.

  He entered… ah now, what’s he saying?

  The regimental band is playing,

  The colonel has arranged it all,

  What fun! There is to be a ball!

  The young things skip, anticipating;

  But dinner being served brings calm,

  All go to table, arm in arm,

  The grown-up girls near Tanya waiting,

  The men en face; a buzz goes round;

  All cross themselves as seats are found.

  29

  A sudden ceasing of the chatter;

  Mouths chew; and, meanwhile, all about,

  Crockery, plates and covers clatter

  And clinking wine-glasses ring out.

  But soon the guests by small gradations

  Revive their deafening conversations.

  They shout, laugh, argue through the meal,

  Nobody listens, ladies squeal.

  The doors fly open, Lensky enters,

  With him Onegin. ‘Lord, at last!’

  Cries out Dame Larina, and fast

  The guests make room, as each one ventures

  To move a cover or a chair;

  They seat the two young friends with care.

  30

  They sit right opposite Tatiana;

  She, paler than the moon at morn,

  More agitated in her manner

  Than hunted doe, stays looking down

  With darkening eyes; a glow pervades her,

  A surge of passion suffocates her;

  She does not hear from our two friends

  The salutation each extends;

  About to cry, poor thing, she’s ready

  To fall into a swoon or faint;

  But will and reason bring restraint;

  Clenching her teeth, remaining steady,

  She quietly utters just a word

  And from the table has not stirred.

  31

  With tragi-nervous demonstrations,

  With maidens’ fainting fits and tears

  Eugene had long since lost all patience:

  He’d had enough of them for years.

  Finding himself at this huge banquet,

  The oddball was already angry.

  But noticing the languid maid’s

  Disquiet, he, with lowered gaze,

  Fell sulking and, with indignation,

  Swore he would madden Lensky and

  Avenge himself on every hand.

  Rejoicing in anticipation,

  He in his soul began to s
ketch

  Caricatures of every guest.

  32

  Of course, it was not just Onegin

  Who could detect Tatiana’s plight,

  But at that moment all were taking

  Cognizance of a pie22 in sight

  (Alas, too salty for the throttle).

  Meanwhile, inside a pitch-sealed bottle

  Between the meat and blanc-manger23

  Tsimlyansky24 wine goes on display,

  Followed by long and narrow glasses,

  So like your waist, Zizi,25 so small,

  The crystal pattern of my soul,

  The object of my guiltless verses,

  The vial of love’s enticing brew –

  How often I got drunk on you!

  33

  The damp cork pops, the bottle’s emptied,

  The glasses fizz with ancient wine;

  Then, by his stanza long tormented,

  Triquet with ceremonial sign

  Stands up; and all the guests before him

  Are still. Unable to ignore him,

  Tatiana’s scarce alive; Triquet,

  Holding a paper, turns her way

  And starts his song, off-key. He’s fêted

  With shouts and calls, the guests clap hard,

  She owes a curtsey to the bard;

  The poet, great but underrated,

  Is first to drink her health, and she

  Accepts his stanza gracefully.

  34

  Homage, congratulations greet her;

  In turn Tatiana thanks each guest.

  Then, as Onegin comes to meet her,

  The maiden’s air, her lack of zest,

  Her discomposure, tired expression

  Engender in his soul compassion:

  He simply bows, yet in his eyes

  Tatiana catches with surprise

  A look miraculously tender.

  Whether indeed he feels regret

  Or plays with her like a coquette,

  This wondrous look appears to mend her:

  True tenderness in it she sees,

  It puts Tatiana’s heart at ease.

  35

  The chairs are pushed back in a clatter,

  The drawing-room receives the crowd,

  So bees from honied hives will scatter

  To cornfields in a noisy cloud.

  Contented with their festive labours,

  The locals snuffle to their neighbours;

  Ladies sit by the chimney-place;

  Girls whisper in a corner space;

  The men unfold the green baize tables,

  Boston and ancient omber26 call

  The ardent players to their thrall,

  Whist too, still one of players’ staples –

  But what a dull consortium,

  All sons of avid tedium!

  36

  Whist’s gallant heroes have completed

  Eight rubbers; and as many times,

  Having changed places, are reseated;

  Now tea is served. We hear no chimes:

  I like to time repasts at leisure

  With dinner, supper, tea my measure.

  We countryfolk make little fuss

  Without Bréguet to govern us:

  Our stomach is our faultless timer;

  And, by the way, I like to talk

  As much of dishes, feasts and cork,

  In my capacity as rhymer,

  As you did, Homer, bard divine

  Whom thirty centuries enshrine.

  [37, 38]

  39

  But tea is brought; the dainty maidens

  Have scarce their saucers in their hand,

  When from the hall they hear the cadence

  Of flute, bassoon – the army band.

  By music’s thunder animated,

  His tea-and-rum cup relegated,

  Our Paris of the towns about,

  Our Petushkov seeks Olga out,

  Then Lensky Tanya; Kharlikova,

  A seasoned maid, not married off,

  Falls to our poet from Tambov,

  Buyanov whirls off Pustyakova,

  And all have spilled into the hall,

  And in full glory shines the ball.

  40

  When I began this composition

  (My Chapter One you will recall),

  I wanted with Albani’s27 vision

  To paint a Petersburgian ball.

  But, by an empty dream’s deflection,

  I got engrossed in recollection

  Of once-familiar little feet

  Along whose narrow tracks so neat

  I swear I’ll go no more a-roving!28

  With youth betrayed, its time for me

  To learn to live more sensibly,

  My deeds and diction need improving,

  And this Fifth Chapter I shall cleanse

  Of its digressions, when it ends.

  41

  Monotonous and madly whirling,

  Like young life’s whirl, when spirits soar,

  The waltz revolves, the music swirling,

  The couples flick across the floor.

  The moment for revenge arriving,

  Onegin, chuckling and reviving,

  Approaches Olga. Rapidly,

  He twirls her near the company,

  Then seats her on a chair, proceeding

  To talk to her of this or that;

  One or two minutes spent on chat,

  And they rejoin the waltz, unheeding;

  The guests are taken by surprise,

  Poor Lensky can’t believe his eyes.

  42

  Now the mazurka has resounded.

  Once, when you heard its thunder peal,

  A giant ballroom shook and pounded,

  The parquet cracking under heel.

  The very window-frames vibrated;

  Today, like ladies, understated,

  We glide across the lacquered boards;

  But in small towns and country wards

  There the mazurka thrives, retaining

  Its pristine charms: the leap and dash,

  The play of heel, and the moustache;

  These have not changed at all, remaining

  Immune to wanton fashion’s sway,

  The Russian sickness of today.

  [43]

  44

  My irrepressible Buyanov

  Took Olga and Tatiana then

  To meet Eugene, who promptly ran off

  With Olga to the ball again.

  He guides her, nonchalantly gliding,

  And in a whisper, bends, confiding

  A madrigal, the merest slush,

  Squeezes her hand – her rosy flush

  Takes on a brighter coloration,

  Infusing her complacent face.

  My Lensky, watching this take place,

  Flares up with jealous indignation

  And by the long mazurka vexed,

  Solicits the cotillion next.

  45

  It isn’t possible, she tells him,

  Eugene already has her word.

  Not possible? Ah, she repels him,

  She could… good God, what has he heard?

  Scarce out of swaddling, always mild,

  Now a coquette, a giddy child!

  Already versed in artful play,

  She’s learned already to betray!

  The blow’s too much for Lensky; cursing

  The sex’s tricks, he leaves the hall,

  Calls for a horse, and, full of gall,

  Gallops away, in thought rehearsing:

  A brace of pistols, bullets two –

  Enough for fate to take its due.

  CHAPTER VI

  La, sotto i giorni nubilosi e brevi,

  Nasce una gente a cui ‘l morir non dole.1

  Petrarch

  1

  On noticing his friend had vanished,

  Onegin stayed at Olga’s side,

  Pensive, again to boredom banished,


  Content with vengeance satisfied,

  Now Olen’ka like him was yawning,

  Her eyes in search of Lensky turning,

  While the cotillion’s endless stream

  Oppressed her like a grievous dream.

  But it has ended. Supper’s ready.

  The beds are made. The guests are all

  Assigned their place from entrance-hall

  To housemaids’ quarters. All are needy

  Of restful sleep. Alone Eugene

  Drives home from this domestic scene.

  2

  All’s calm: from the salon ascended

  The snores of heavy Pustyakov,

  Beside his heavy wife extended.

  Gvozdin, Buyanov, Petushkov

  And Flyanov (somewhat over-sated)

  Were on the dinner chairs located,

  And on the floor Monsieur Triquet

  In vest and ancient nightcap lay.

  The rooms of Olga and Tatiana

  Were full of sleeping girls. Alone

  And sad, Tatiana shone,

  Illuminated by Diana;

  To sleep, poor thing, she could not yield

  And gazed upon the darkened field.

  3

  Tatiana to her soul is riven

  By Eugene’s unexpected call,

  The sudden tender look he’d given,

  His strange approach to Olga – all

  Distresses her and makes her wonder,

  To understand him’s quite beyond her:

  A jealous anguish makes her start,

  As if a cold hand pressed her heart,

  As if a chasm, black and frightful,

  Had opened, roaring, under her.

  ‘I’ll die,’ she says, but does not stir,

  ‘To die from him will be delightful.2

  I shan’t complain, for I confess

  He cannot bring me happiness.’

  4

  But onward, onward with my story!

  Another character arrives.

  Five versts away from Krasnogorye

  (Lensky’s estate) there lives and thrives

  In philosophical seclusion

  Still to this day, without intrusion,

 

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