Eugene Oneguine [Onegin]
“Who would have thought it? As of yore!
Is it for long?”—“Ma chère cousine!”
“Sit down. How funny, to be sure!
’Tis a scene of romance, I vow!”
“Tania, my eldest child, you know”—
“Ah! come, Tattiana, come to me!
Is it a dream, and can it be?
Cousin, rememb’rest Grandison?”
“What! Grandison?”—“Yes, certainly!”
“Oh! I remember, where is he?”—
“Here, he resides with Simeon.
He called upon me Christmas Eve—
His son is married, just conceive!”
XXXIX
“And he—but of him presently—
To-morrow Tania we will show,
What say you? to the family—
Alas! abroad I cannot go.
See, I can hardly crawl about—
But you must both be quite tired out!
Let us go seek a little rest—
Ah! I’m so weak—my throbbing breast!
Oppressive now is happiness,
Not only sorrow—Ah! my dear,
Now I am fit for nothing here.
In old age life is weariness!”
Then weeping she sank back distressed
And fits of coughing racked her chest.
XL
By the sick lady’s gaiety
And kindness Tania was impressed,
But, her own room in memory,
The strange apartment her oppressed:
Repose her silken curtains fled,
She could not sleep in her new bed.
The early tinkling of the bells
Which of approaching labour tells
Aroused Tattiana from her bed.
The maiden at her casement sits
As daylight glimmers, darkness flits,
But ah! discerns nor wood nor mead—
Beneath her lay a strange courtyard,
A stable, kitchen, fence appeared.
XLI
To consanguineous dinners they
Conduct Tattiana constantly,
That grandmothers and grandsires may
Contemplate her sad reverie.
We Russians, friends from distant parts
Ever receive with kindly hearts
And exclamations and good cheer.
“How Tania grows! Doth it appear
Long since I held thee at the font—
Since in these arms I thee did bear—
And since I pulled thee by the ear—
And I to give thee cakes was wont?”—
Then the old dames in chorus sing,
“Oh! how our years are vanishing!”
XLII
But nothing changed in them is seen,
All in the good old style appears,
Our dear old aunt, Princess Helène,
Her cap of tulle still ever wears:
Luceria Lvovna paint applies,
Amy Petrovna utters lies,
Ivan Petròvitch still a gaby,
Simeon Petròvitch just as shabby;
Pélagie Nikolavna has
Her friend Monsieur Finemouche the same,
Her wolf-dog and her husband tame;
Still of his club he member was—
As deaf and silly doth remain,
Still eats and drinks enough for twain.
XLIII
Their daughters kiss Tattiana fair.
In the beginning, cold and mute,
Moscow’s young Graces at her stare,
Examine her from head to foot.
They deem her somewhat finical,
Outlandish and provincial,
A trifle pale, a trifle lean,
But plainer girls they oft had seen.
Obedient then to Nature’s law,
With her they did associate,
Squeeze tiny hands and osculate;
Her tresses curled in fashion saw,
And oft in whispers would impart
A maiden’s secrets—of the heart.
XLIV
Triumphs—their own or those of friends—
Hopes, frolics, dreams and sentiment
Their harmless conversation blends
With scandal’s trivial ornament.
Then to reward such confidence
Her amorous experience
With mute appeal to ask they seem—
But Tania just as in a dream
Without participation hears,
Their voices nought to her impart
And the lone secret of her heart,
Her sacred hoard of joy and tears,
She buries deep within her breast
Nor aught confides unto the rest.
XLV
Tattiana would have gladly heard
The converse of the world polite,
But in the drawing-room all appeared
To find in gossip such delight,
Speech was so tame and colourless
Their slander e’en was weariness;
In their sterility of prattle,
Questions and news and tittle-tattle,
No sense was ever manifest
Though by an error and unsought—
The languid mind could smile at nought,
Heart would not throb albeit in jest—
Even amusing fools we miss
In thee, thou world of empty bliss.
XLVI
In groups, official striplings glance
Conceitedly on Tania fair,
And views amongst themselves advance
Unfavourable unto her.
But one buffoon unhappy deemed
Her the ideal which he dreamed,
And leaning ’gainst the portal closed
To her an elegy composed.
Also one Viázemski, remarking
Tattiana by a poor aunt’s side,
Successfully to please her tried,
And an old gent the poet marking
By Tania, smoothing his peruke,
To ask her name the trouble took.(76)
[Note 76: One of the obscure satirical allusions contained in this
poem. Doubtless the joke was perfectly intelligible to the
_habitués_ of contemporary St. Petersburg society. Viazemski of
course is the poet and prince, Pushkin’s friend.]
XLVII
But where Melpomene doth rave
With lengthened howl and accent loud,
And her bespangled robe doth wave
Before a cold indifferent crowd,
And where Thalia softly dreams
And heedless of approval seems,
Terpsichore alone among
Her sisterhood delights the young
(So ’twas with us in former years,
In your young days and also mine),
Never upon my heroine
The jealous dame her lorgnette veers,
The connoisseur his glances throws
From boxes or from stalls in rows.
XLVIII
To the assembly her they bear.
There the confusion, pressure, heat,
The crash of music, candles’ glare
And rapid whirl of many feet,
The ladies’ dresses airy, light,
The motley moving mass and bright,
Young ladies in a vasty curve,
To strike imagination serve.
’Tis there that arrant fops display
Their insolence and waistcoats white
And glasses unemployed all night;
Thither hussars on leave will stray
To clank the spur, delight the fair—
And vanish like a bird in air.
XLIX
Full many a lovely star hath night
And Moscow many a beauty fair:
Yet clearer shines than every light
The moon in the blue atmosphere.
And she to whom my lyre would fain,
Yet dares not, dedicate its strain,
Shines in the female firmament
Like a full moon magnificent.
Lo! with what pride celestial
Her feet the earth beneath her press!
Her heart how full of gentleness,
Her glance how wild yet genial!
Enough, enough, conclude thy lay—
For folly’s dues thou hadst to pay.
L
Noise, laughter, bowing, hurrying mixt,
Gallop, mazurka, waltzing—see!
A pillar by, two aunts betwixt,
Tania, observed by nobody,
Looks upon all with absent gaze
And hates the world’s discordant ways.
’Tis noisome to her there: in thought
Again her rural life she sought,
The hamlet, the poor villagers,
The little solitary nook
Where shining runs the tiny brook,
Her garden, and those books of hers,
And the lime alley’s twilight dim
Where the first time she met with _him_.
LI
Thus widely meditation erred,
Forgot the world, the noisy ball,
Whilst from her countenance ne’er stirred
The eyes of a grave general.
Both aunts looked knowing as a judge,
Each gave Tattiana’s arm a nudge
And in a whisper did repeat:
“Look quickly to your left, my sweet!”
“The left? Why, what on earth is there?”—
“No matter, look immediately.
There, in that knot of company,
Two dressed in uniform appear—
Ah! he has gone the other way”—
“Who? Is it that stout general, pray?”—
LII
Let us congratulations pay
To our Tattiana conquering,
And for a time our course delay,
That I forget not whom I sing.
Let me explain that in my song
“I celebrate a comrade young
And the extent of his caprice;
O epic Muse, my powers increase
And grant success to labour long;
Having a trusty staff bestowed,
Grant that I err not on the road.”
Enough! my pack is now unslung—
To classicism I’ve homage paid,
Though late, have a beginning made.(77)
[Note 77: Many will consider this mode of bringing the canto
to a conclusion of more than doubtful taste. The poet evidently
aims a stroke at the pedantic and narrow-minded criticism to
which original genius, emancipated from the strait-waistcoat of
conventionality, is not unfrequently subjected.]
End of Canto The Seventh
CANTO THE EIGHTH
The Great World
‘Fare thee well, and if for ever,
Still for ever fare thee well.’—Byron
Canto the Eighth
[St. Petersburg, Boldino, Tsarskoe Selo, 1880-1881]
I
In the Lyceum’s noiseless shade
As in a garden when I grew,
I Apuleius gladly read
But would not look at Cicero.
’Twas then in valleys lone, remote,
In spring-time, heard the cygnet’s note
By waters shining tranquilly,
That first the Muse appeared to me.
Into the study of the boy
There came a sudden flash of light,
The Muse revealed her first delight,
Sang childhood’s pastimes and its joy,
Glory with which our history teems
And the heart’s agitated dreams.
II
And the world met her smilingly,
A first success light pinions gave,
The old Derjavine noticed me,
And blest me, sinking to the grave.(78)
Then my companions young with pleasure
In the unfettered hours of leisure
Her utterances ever heard,
And by a partial temper stirred
And boiling o’er with friendly heat,
They first of all my brow did wreathe
And an encouragement did breathe
That my coy Muse might sing more sweet.
O triumphs of my guileless days,
How sweet a dream your memories raise!
[Note 78: This touching scene produced a lasting impression on
Pushkin’s mind. It took place at a public examination at
the Lyceum, on which occasion the boy poet produced a poem. The
incident recalls the “Mon cher Tibulle” of Voltaire and the
youthful Parny (see Note 42). Derjavine flourished during the
reigns of Catherine the Second and Alexander the First. His
poems are stiff and formal in style and are not much thought of
by contemporary Russians. But a century back a very infinitesimal
endowment of literary ability was sufficient to secure imperial
reward and protection, owing to the backward state of the empire.
Stanza II properly concludes with this line, the remainder having
been expunged either by the author himself or the censors. I have
filled up the void with lines from a fragment left by the author
having reference to this canto.]
III
Passion’s wild sway I then allowed,
Her promptings unto law did make,
Pursuits I followed of the crowd,
My sportive Muse I used to take
To many a noisy feast and fight,
Terror of guardians of the night;
And wild festivities among
She brought with her the gift of song.
Like a Bacchante in her sport
Beside the cup she sang her rhymes
And the young revellers of past times
Vociferously paid her court,
And I, amid the friendly crowd,
Of my light paramour was proud.
IV
But I abandoned their array,
And fled afar—she followed me.
How oft the kindly Muse away
Hath whiled the road’s monotony,
Entranced me by some mystic tale.
How oft beneath the moonbeams pale
Like Leonora did she ride(79)
With me Caucasian rocks beside!
How oft to the Crimean shore
She led me through nocturnal mist
Unto the sounding sea to list,
Where Nereids murmur evermore,
And where the billows hoarsely raise
To God eternal hymns of praise.
[Note 79: See Note 30, “Leonora,” a poem by Gottfried Augustus
Burger, b. 1748, d. 1794.]
V
Then, the far capital forgot,