Through clouds of dust at postal pace, By the decree of Mighty Jove, Inheritor of all his race. Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1) Let me present ye to the man, Who without more prevarication The hero is of my narration! Onegin, O my gentle readers, Was born beside the Neva, where It may be ye were born, or there Have shone as one of fashion’s leaders. I also wandered there of old, But cannot stand the northern cold.(2) [Note 1: Ruslan and Liudmila, the title of Pushkin’s first important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who has been carried off by a ‘kaldoon’, or magician.] [Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.] III Having performed his service truly, Deep into debt his father ran; Three balls a year he gave ye duly, At last became a ruined man. But Eugene was by fate preserved, For first “madame” his wants observed, And then “monsieur” supplied her place;(3) The boy was wild but full of grace. “Monsieur l’Abbe,” a starving Gaul, Fearing his pupil to annoy, Instructed jestingly the boy, Morality taught scarce at all; Gently for pranks he would reprove And in the Summer Garden rove. [Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly styled ‘monsieur or ‘madame’.] IV When youth’s rebellious hour drew near And my Eugene the path must trace – The path of hope and tender fear – Monsieur clean out of doors they chase. Lo! my Onegin free as air, Cropped in the latest style his hair, Dressed like a London dandy he The giddy world at last shall see. He wrote and spoke, so all allowed,
And wheresoe’er thy footsteps err, Confront thy fated torturer! XVI Love’s pangs Tattiana agonize. She seeks the garden in her need – Sudden she stops, casts down her eyes And cares not farther to proceed; Her bosom heaves whilst crimson hues With sudden flush her cheeks suffuse, Barely to draw her breath she seems, Her eye with fire unwonted gleams. And now ’tis night, the guardian moon Sails her allotted course on high, And from the misty woodland nigh The nightingale trills forth her tune; Restless Tattiana sleepless lay And thus unto her nurse did say: XVII “Nurse, ’tis so close I cannot rest. Open the window – sit by me.” “What ails thee, dear?” – “I feel depressed. Relate some ancient history.” “But which, my dear? – In days of yore Within my memory I bore Many an ancient legend which In monsters and fair dames was rich; But now my mind is desolate, What once I knew is clean forgot – Alas! how wretched now my lot!” “But tell me, nurse, can you relate The days which to your youth belong? Were you in love when you were young?” – XVIII “Alack! Tattiana,” she replied, “We never loved in days of old, My mother-in-law who lately died(34) Had killed me had the like been told.” “How came you then to wed a man?” – “Why, as God ordered! My Ivan Was younger than myself, my light, For I myself was thirteen quite;(35) The matchmaker a fortnight sped, Her suit before my parents pressing: At last my father gave his blessing, And bitter tears of fright I shed. Weeping they loosed my tresses long(36)
Though we, of Hymen foes, meanwhile, In life domestic see a string Of pictures painful harrowing, A novel in Lafontaine’s style, My wretched Lenski’s fate I mourn, He seemed for matrimony born. XLI He was beloved: or say at least, He thought so, and existence charmed. The credulous indeed are blest, And he who, jealousy disarmed, In sensual sweets his soul doth steep As drunken tramps at nightfall sleep, Or, parable more flattering, As butterflies to blossoms cling. But wretched who anticipates, Whose brain no fond illusions daze, Who every gesture, every phrase In true interpretation hates: Whose heart experience icy made And yet oblivion forbade. Canto The Fifth. The Fete “Oh, do not dream these fearful dreams, O my Svetlana.” Joukovski [Mikhailovskoe, 1825-6] I That year the autumn season late Kept lingering on as loath to go, All Nature winter seemed to await, Till January fell no snow – The third at night. Tattiana wakes Betimes, and sees, when morning breaks, Park, garden, palings, yard below And roofs near morn blanched o’er with snow; Upon the windows tracery, The trees in silvery array, Down in the courtyard magpies gay, And the far mountains daintily O’erspread with Winter’s carpet bright, All so distinct, and all so white!
He knits his brows – ’tis silent all. He there is master – that is plain; Tattiana courage doth regain And grown more curious by far Just placed the entrance door ajar. The wind rose instantly, blew out The fire of the nocturnal lights; A trouble fell upon the sprites; Onegin lightning glances shot; Furious he from the table rose; All arise. To the door he goes. XIX Terror assails her. Hastily Tattiana would attempt to fly, She cannot – then impatiently She strains her throat to force a cry – She cannot – Eugene oped the door And the young girl appeared before Those hellish phantoms. Peals arise Of frantic laughter, and all eyes And hoofs and crooked snouts and paws, Tails which a bushy tuft adorns, Whiskers and bloody tongues and horns, Sharp rows of tushes, bony claws, Are turned upon her. All combine In one great shout: she’s mine! she’s mine! XX “Mine!” Eugene with savage tone. The troop of apparitions fled, And in the frosty night alone Remained with him the youthful maid. With tranquil air Onegin leads Tattiana to a corner, bids Her on a shaky bench sit down; His head sinks slowly, rests upon Her shoulder – Olga swiftly came – And Lenski followed – a light broke – His fist Onegin fiercely shook And gazed around with eyes of flame; The unbidden guests he roughly chides – Tattiana motionless abides. XXI The strife grew furious and Eugene Grasped a long knife and instantly Struck Lenski dead – across the scene Dark shadows thicken – a dread cry
XXXIX The tea, as I remarked, appeared, But scarce had maids their saucers ta’en When in the grand saloon was heard Of bassoons and of flutes the strain. His soul by crash of music fired, His tea with rum no more desired, The Paris of those country parts To Olga Petoushkova darts: To Tania Lenski; Kharlikova, A marriageable maid matured, The poet from Tamboff secured, Bouyanoff whisked off Poustiakova. All to the grand saloon are gone – The ball in all its splendour shone. XL I tried when I began this tale, (See the first canto if ye will), A ball in Peter’s capital, To sketch ye in Albano’s style.(60) But by fantastic dreams distraught, My memory wandered wide and sought The feet of my dear lady friends. O feet, where’er your path extends I long enough deceived have erred. The perfidies I recollect Should make me much more circumspect, Reform me both in deed and word, And this fifth canto ought to be From such digressions wholly free. [Note 60: Francesco Albano, a celebrated painter, styled the “Anacreon of Painting,” was born at Bologna 1578, and died in the year 1666.] XLI The whirlwind of the sweeps by, Undeviating and insane As giddy youth’s hilarity – Pair after pair the race sustain. The moment for revenge, meanwhile, Espying, Eugene with a smile Approaches Olga and the pair Amid the company career. Soon the maid on a chair he seats, Begins to talk of this and that, But when two minutes she had sat, Again the giddy waltz repeats.
He enters: to the mill he drives: Descends, the order Guillot gives, The fatal tubes Lepage contrived(65) To bring behind: the triple steeds To two young oaks the coachman leads. [Note 65: Lepage – a celebrated gunmaker of former days.] XXIV Lenski the foeman’s apparition Leaning against the dam expects, Zaretski, village mechanician, In the meantime the mill inspects. Onegin his excuses says; “But,” Zaretski in amaze, “Your second you have left behind!” A duellist of classic mind, Method was dear unto his heart He would not that a man ye slay In a lax or informal way, But followed the strict rules of art, And ancient usages observed (For which our praise he hath deserved). XXV “My second!” cried in turn Eugene, “Behold my friend Monsieur Guillot; To this arrangement can be seen, No obstacle of which I know. Although unknown to fame mayhap, He’s a straightforward little chap.” Zaretski bit his lip in wrath, But to Vladimir Eugene saith: “Shall we commence?” – “Let it be so,” Lenski replied, and soon they be Behind the mill. Meantime ye see Zaretski and Monsieur Guillot In consultation stand aside – The foes with downcast eyes abide. XXVI Foes! Is it long friendship rent Asunder was and hate prepared? Since leisure was together spent, Meals, secrets, occupations shared? Now, like hereditary foes, Malignant fury they disclose, As in some frenzied dream of fear These friends cold-bloodedly draw near
The prince’s eye Onegin 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 Onegin 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 eyeballs dim Unto her husband, went away – Transfixed Onegin 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
He enters the saloon. ’Tis blank! A door he opens. But why shrank He back as from a sudden blow? – Alone the princess sitteth there, Pallid and with dishevelled hair, Gazing upon a note below. Her tears flow plentifully and Her cheek reclines upon her hand. XL Oh! who her speechless agonies Could not in that brief moment guess! Who now could fail to recognize Tattiana in the young princess! Tortured by pangs of wild regret, Eugene fell prostrate at her feet – She starts, nor doth a word express, But gazes on Onegin's face Without amaze or wrath displayed: His sunken eye and aspect faint, Imploring looks and mute complaint She comprehends. The simple maid By fond illusions once possest Is once again made manifest. XLI His kneeling posture he retains – Calmly her eyes encounter his – Insensible her hand remains Beneath his lips’ devouring kiss. What visions then her fancy thronged – A breathless silence then, prolonged – But finally she softly said: »Enough, arise! for much we need Without disguise ourselves explain. Onegin, hast forgotten yet The hour when – Fate so willed – we met In the lone garden and the lane? How meekly then I heard you preach – To-day it is my turn to teach. XLII “Onegin, I was younger then, And better, if I judge aright; I loved you – what did I obtain? Affection how did you requite? But with austerity! – for you No novelty – is it not true? – Was the meek love a maiden feels.