Prepares in play for protocol,
For every social admonition;
And to her doll, without demur,
Repeats what mama taught to her.
27
But dolls were never Tanya's passion,
When she was small she didn't choose
To talk to them of clothes or fashion
Or tell them all the city news.
And she was not the sort who glories
In girlish pranks; but grisly stories
Quite charmed her heart when they were told
On winter nights all dark and cold.
Whenever nanny brought together
Young Olga's friends to spend the day,
Tatyana never joined their play
Or games of tag upon the heather;
For she was bored by all their noise,
Their laughing shouts and giddy joys.
28
Upon her balcony appearing,
She loved to greet Aurora's show,
When dancing stars are disappearing
Against the heavens' pallid glow,
When earth's horizon softly blushes,
And wind, the morning's herald, rushes,
And slowly day begins its flight.
In winter, when the shade of night
Still longer half the globe encumbers,
And 'neath the misty moon on high
An idle stillness rules the sky,
And late the lazy East still slumbers
Awakened early none the less,
By candlelight she'd rise and dress.
29
From early youth she read romances,
And novels set her heart aglow;
She loved the fictions and the fancies
Of Richardson and of Rousseau.
Her father was a kindly fellow
Lost in a past he found more mellow;
But still, in books he saw no harm,
And, though immune to reading's charm,
Deemed it a minor peccadillo;
Nor did he care what secret tome
His daughter read or kept at home
Asleep till morn beneath her pillow;
His wife herself, we ought to add,
For Richardson was simply mad.
30
It wasn't that she'd read him, really,
Nor was it that she much preferred
To Lovelace Grandison, but merely
That long ago she'd often heard
Her Moscow cousin, Princess Laura,
Go on about their special aura.
Her husband at the time was still
Her fiancagainst her will!
For she, in spite of family feeling,
Had someone else for whom she pined
A man whose heart and soul and mind
She found a great deal more appealing;
This Grandison was fashion's pet,
A gambler and a guards cadet.
31
About her clothes one couldn't fault her;
Like him, she dressed as taste decreed.
But then they led her to the altar
And never asked if she agreed.
The clever husband chose correctly
To take his grieving bride directly
To his estate, where first she cried
(With God knows whom on every side),
Then tossed about and seemed demented;
And almost even left her spouse;
But then she took to keeping house
And settled down and grew contented.
Thus heaven's gift to us is this:
32
'Twas only habit then that taught her
The way to master rampant grief;
And soon a great discovery brought her
A final and complete relief.
Betwixt her chores and idle hours
She learned to use her woman's powers
To rule the house as autocrat,
And life went smoothly after that.
She'd drive around to check the workers,
She pickled mushrooms for the fall,
She made her weekly bathhouse call,
She kept the books, she shaved the shirkers,*
She beat the maids when she was cross
And left her husband at a loss.
33
She used to write, with blood, quotations
In maidens' albums, thought it keen
To speak in singsong intonations,
Would call Praskvya 'chre Pauline'.
She laced her corset very tightly,
Pronounced a Russian n as slightly
As n in French .. . and through the nose;
But soon she dropped her city pose:
The corset, albums, chic relations,
The sentimental verses too,
Were quite forgot; she bid adieu
To all her foreign affectations,
And took at last to coming down
In just her cap and quilted gown.
34
And yet her husband loved her dearly;
In all her schemes he'd never probe;
He trusted all she did sincerely
And ate and drank in just his robe.
His life flowed onquite calm and pleasant
With kindly neighbours sometimes present
For hearty talk at evenfall,
Just casual friends who'd often call
To shake their heads, to prate and prattle,
To laugh a bit at something new;
And time would pass, till Olga'd brew
Some tea to whet their tittle-tattle;
Then supper came, then time for bed,
And off the guests would drive, well fed.
35
Amid this peaceful life they cherished,
They held all ancient customs dear;
At Shrovetide feasts their table flourished
With Russian pancakes, Russian cheer;
Twice yearly too they did their fasting;
Were fond of songs for fortune-casting,
Of choral dances, garden swings.
At Trinity, when service brings
The people, yawning, in for prayer,
They'd shed a tender tear or two
Upon their buttercups of rue.
They needed kvas no less than air,
And at their table guests were served
By rank in turn as each deserved.*
36
And thus they aged, as do all mortals.
Until at last the husband found
That death had opened wide its portals,
Through which he entered, newly crowned.
He died at midday's break from labour,
Lamented much by friend and neighbour,
By children and by faithful wife
Far more than some who part this life.
He was a kind and simple barin,
And there where now his ashes lie
A tombstone tells the passer-by:
The humble sinner Dmitry Larin
A slave of God and Brigadier
Beneath this stone now resteth here.
37
Restored to home and its safekeeping,
Upon his neighbour's place of sleeping,
And mourned his ashes with a sigh.
And long he stood in sorrow aching;
'Poor Yorick!' then he murmured, shaking,
'How oft within his arms I lay,
How oft in childhood days
I'd play
With his Ochkov decoration!*
He destined Olga for my wife
And used to say: "Oh grant me, life,
To see the day!" ' ... In lamentation,
Right then and there Vladimir penned
A funeral verse for his old friend.
38
And then with verse of quickened sadness
He honour
ed too, in tears and pain,
His parents' dust. . . their memory's gladness . . .
Alas! Upon life's furrowed plain
A harvest brief, each generation,
By fate's mysterious dispensation,
Arises, ripens, and must fall;
Then others too must heed the call.
For thus our giddy race gains power:
It waxes, stirs, turns seething wave,
Then crowds its forebears toward the grave.
And we as well shall face that hour
When one fine day our grandsons true
Straight out of life will crowd us too!
39
So meanwhile, friends, enjoy your blessing:
This fragile life that hurries so!
Its worthlessness needs no professing,
And I'm not loathe to let it go;
I've closed my eyes to phantoms gleaming,
Yet distant hopes within me dreaming
Still stir my heart at times to flight:
I'd grieve to quit this world's dim light
And leave no trace, however slender.
I live, I writenot seeking fame;
And yet, I think, I'd wish to claim
For my sad lot its share of splendour
At least one note to linger long,
Recalling, like some friend, my song.
40
And it may touch some heart with fire;
And thus preserved by fate's decree,
The stanza fashioned by my lyre
May yet not drown in Lethe's sea;
Perhaps (a flattering hope's illusion!)
Some future dunce with warm effusion
Will point my portrait out and plead:
'This was a poet, yes indeed!'
Accept my thanks and admiration,
You lover of the Muse's art, #62038;
you whose mind shall know by heart
The fleeting works of my creation,
Whose cordial hand shall then be led
To pat the old man's laurelled head!
Chapter 3
Elle tait fille, elle tait amoureuse.*
Malfiltre
1
'Ah me, these poets . . . such a hurry!'
'Goodbye, Onegin . . . time I went.'
'Well, I won't keep you, have no worry,
But where are all your evenings spent?'
'The Larin place.''What reckless daring!
Good God, man, don't you find it wearing
Just killing time that way each night?'
'Why not at all.''Well, serves you right;
I've got the scene in mind so clearly:
For starters (tell me if I'm wrong),
A simple Russian family throng;
The guests all treated so sincerely;
With lots of jam and talk to spare.
On rain and flax and cattle care. . . .'
2
'Well, where's the harm ... the evening passes.'
'The boredom, brother, there's the harm.'
'Well, I despise your upper classes
And like the family circle's charm;
It's where I find . . .''More pastoral singing!
Enough, old boy, my ears are ringing!
And so you're off. . . forgive me then.
But tell me Lensky, how and when
I'll see this Phyllis so provoking
Who haunts your thoughts and writer's quill,
Your tears and rhymes and what-you-will?
Present me, do.''You must be joking!'
'I'm not.''Well then, why not tonight?
They'll welcome us with great delight.'
3
'Let's go.'
And so the friends departed
And on arrival duly meet
That sometimes heavy, but good-hearted,
Old-fashioned Russian welcome treat.
The social ritual never changes:
The hostess artfully arranges
On little dishes her preserves,
And on her covered table serves
A drink of lingonberry flavour.
With folded arms, along the hall,
The maids have gathered, one and all,
To glimpse the Larins' brand new neighbour;
While in the yard their men reproach
Onegin's taste in horse and coach.*
4
Now home's our heroes' destination,
As down the shortest road they fly;
Let's listen to their conversation
And use a furtive ear to spy.
'Why all these yawns, Onegin? Really!'
'Mere habit, Lensky.''But you're clearly
More bored than usual.''No, the same.
The fields are dark now, what a shame.
Come on, Andryushka, faster, matey!
These stupid woods and fields and streams!
Oh, by the way, Dame Larin seems
A simple but a nice old lady;
I fear that lingonberry brew
May do me in before it's through.'
5
'But tell me, which one was Tatyana?'
'Why, she who with a wistful air
All sad and silent like Svetlana*
Came in and took the window chair.'
'And really you prefer the other?'
'Why not?''Were I the poet, brother,
I'd choose the elder one instead
Your Olga's look is cold and dead,
As in some dull, Van Dyck madonna;
So round and fair of face is she,
She's like that stupid moon you see,
Up in that stupid sky you honour.'
Vladimir gave a curt reply
And let the conversation die.
6
Meanwhile . . . Onegin's presentation
At Madame Larin's country seat
Produced at large a great sensation
And gave the neighbours quite a treat.
They all began to gossip slyly,
To joke and comment (rather wryly);
And soon the general verdict ran,
That Tanya'd finally found a man;
Some even knowingly conceded
That wedding plans had long been set,
And then postponed till they could get
The stylish rings the couple needed.
As far as Lensky's wedding stood,
They knew they'd settled that for good.
7