Eugene Oneguine [Onegin] Part 26

Her features no grimaces bleared; Of affectation innocent, Calm and without embarra.s.sment, A faithful model she appeared Of "comme il faut." s.h.i.+shkoff, forgive!

I can't translate the adjective.(83)

[Note 83: s.h.i.+shkoff was a member of the literary school which cultivated the vernacular as opposed to the _Arzama.s.s_ or Gallic school, to which the poet himself and his uncle Va.s.sili Pushkin belonged. He was admiral, author, and minister of education.]

XV

Ladies in crowds around her close, Her with a smile old women greet, The men salute with lower bows And watch her eye's full glance to meet.

Maidens before her meekly move Along the hall, and high above The crowd doth head and shoulders rise The general who accompanies.

None could her beautiful declare, Yet viewing her from head to foot, None could a trace of that impute, Which in the elevated sphere Of London life is "vulgar" called And ruthless fas.h.i.+on hath blackballed.

XVI

I like this word exceedingly Although it will not bear translation, With us 'tis quite a novelty Not high in general estimation; 'Twould serve ye in an epigram-- But turn we once more to our dame.

Enchanting, but unwittingly, At table she was sitting by The brilliant Nina Voronskoi, The Neva's Cleopatra, and None the conviction could withstand That Nina's marble symmetry, Though dazzling its effulgence white, Could not eclipse her neighbour's light.

XVII

"And is it," meditates Eugene.

"And is it she? It must be--no-- How! from the waste of steppes unseen,"-- And the eternal lorgnette through Frequent and rapid doth his glance Seek the forgotten countenance Familiar to him long ago.

"Inform me, prince, pray dost thou know The lady in the crimson cap Who with the Spanish envoy speaks?"-- The prince's eye Oneguine seeks: "Ah! long the world hath missed thy shape!

But stop! I will present thee, if You choose."--"But who is she?"--"My wife."

XVIII

"So thou art wed! I did not know.

Long ago?"--"'Tis the second year."

"To--?"--"Larina."--"Tattiana?"--"So.

And dost thou know her?"--"We live near."

"Then come with me." The prince proceeds, His wife approaches, with him leads His relative and friend as well.

The lady's glance upon him fell-- And though her soul might be confused, And vehemently though amazed She on the apparition gazed, No signs of trouble her accused, A mien unaltered she preserved, Her bow was easy, unreserved.

XIX

Ah no! no faintness her attacked Nor sudden turned she red or white, Her brow she did not e'en contract Nor yet her lip compressed did bite.

Though he surveyed her at his ease, Not the least trace Oneguine sees Of the Tattiana of times fled.

He conversation would have led-- But could not. Then she questioned him:-- "Had he been long here, and where from?

Straight from their province had he come?"-- Cast upwards then her eyeb.a.l.l.s dim Unto her husband, went away-- Transfixed Oneguine mine doth stay.

XX

Is this the same Tattiana, say, Before whom once in solitude, In the beginning of this lay, Deep in the distant province rude, Impelled by zeal for moral worth, He salutary rules poured forth?

The maid whose note he still possessed Wherein the heart its vows expressed, Where all upon the surface lies,-- That girl--but he must dreaming be-- That girl whom once on a time he Could in a humble sphere despise, Can she have been a moment gone Thus haughty, careless in her tone?

XXI

He quits the fas.h.i.+onable throng And meditative homeward goes, Visions, now sad, now grateful, long Do agitate his late repose.

He wakes--they with a letter come-- The Princess N. will be at home On such a day. O Heavens, 'tis she!

Oh! I accept. And instantly He a polite reply doth scrawl.

What hath he dreamed? What hath occurred?

In the recesses what hath stirred Of a heart cold and cynical?

Vexation? Vanity? or strove Again the plague of boyhood--love?

XXII

The hours once more Oneguine counts, Impatient waits the close of day, But ten strikes and his sledge he mounts And gallops to her house away.

Trembling he seeks the young princess-- Tattiana finds in loneliness.

Together moments one or two They sat, but conversation's flow Deserted Eugene. He, distraught, Sits by her gloomily, desponds, Scarce to her questions he responds, Full of exasperating thought.

He fixedly upon her stares-- She calm and unconcerned appears.

XXIII

The husband comes and interferes With this unpleasant _tete-a-tete_, With Eugene pranks of former years And jests doth recapitulate.

They talked and laughed. The guests arrived.

The conversation was revived By the coa.r.s.e wit of worldly hate; But round the hostess scintillate Light sallies without c.o.xcombry, Awhile sound conversation seems To banish far unworthy themes And plat.i.tudes and pedantry, And never was the ear affright By liberties or loose or light.

XXIV

And yet the city's flower was there, n.o.blesse and models of the mode, Faces which we meet everywhere And necessary fools allowed.

Behold the dames who once were fine With roses, caps and looks malign; Some marriageable maids behold, Blank, unapproachable and cold.

Lo, the amba.s.sador who speaks Economy political, And with gray hair ambrosial The old man who has had his freaks, Renowned for his ac.u.men, wit, But now ridiculous a bit.

XXV

Behold Sabouroff, whom the age For baseness of the spirit scorns, Saint Priest, who every alb.u.m's page With blunted pencil-point adorns.

Another tribune of the ball Hung like a print against the wall, Pink as Palm Sunday cherubim,(84) Motionless, mute, tight-laced and trim.

The traveller, bird of pa.s.sage he, Stiff, overstarched and insolent, Awakens secret merriment By his embarra.s.sed dignity-- Mute glances interchanged aside Meet punishment for him provide.

[Note 84: On Palm Sunday the Russians carry branches, or used to do so. These branches were adorned with little painted pictures of cherubs with the ruddy complexions of tradition. Hence the comparison.]

XXVI

But my Oneguine the whole eve Within his mind Tattiana bore, Not the young timid maid, believe, Enamoured, simple-minded, poor, But the indifferent princess, Divinity without access Of the imperial Neva's sh.o.r.e.

O Men, how very like ye are To Eve the universal mother, Possession hath no power to please, The serpent to unlawful trees Aye bids ye in some way or other-- Unless forbidden fruit we eat, Our paradise is no more sweet.

XXVII

Ah! how Tattiana was transformed, How thoroughly her part she took!

How soon to habits she conformed Which crus.h.i.+ng dignity must brook!

Who would the maiden innocent In the unmoved, magnificent Autocrat of the drawing-room seek?

And he had made her heart beat quick!

'Twas he whom, amid nightly shades, Whilst Morpheus his approach delays, She mourned and to the moon would raise The languid eye of love-sick maids, Dreaming perchance in weal or woe To end with him her path below.

XXVIII

To Love all ages lowly bend, But the young unpolluted heart His gusts should fertilize, amend, As vernal storms the fields athwart.

Youth freshens beneath Pa.s.sion's showers, Develops and matures its powers, And thus in season the rich field Gay flowers and luscious fruit doth yield.

But at a later, sterile age, The solstice of our earthly years, Mournful Love's deadly trace appears As storms which in chill autumn rage And leave a marsh the fertile ground And devastate the woods around.

XXIX