Eugene Onegin Part 30

Is he the same or more pacific?

Has he returned in novel style?

Or does he still play the eccentric?

What will he stage for us meanwhile?

As what will he appear now? Melmoth?

A cosmopolitan, a patriot, A Harold, Quaker, Pharisee14 Or else some other jeu d'esprit Or simply as a decent fellow, Like you and me and everyone?

A fas.h.i.+on that is past and done I say you should not try to follow.

We've had enough of all his show.

'You know him, then?' 'Well, yes and no.'

9.

'Then tell me why you're so begrudging, When talking of him. Might it be Because we never tire of judging The world around us ceaselessly, Because a rash and fiery spirit, To smug nonent.i.ties that near it, Seems insolent and out of place, And men of wit constrain your s.p.a.ce?

Because we're wont to talk forever Instead of acting or because Stupidity wins our applause?

Because grave men delight in trivia, And only mediocrity Will make us feel at liberty?'

10.

Blest who in youth was truly youthful, Blest who matured in proper time, Who, step by step, remaining truthful, Could weather, yearly, life's bleak clime, To curious dreams was not addicted, Nor by the social mob constricted, At twenty was a blade or swell And then at thirty married well; Ridding himself, on reaching fifty, Of debts and other bills to foot, Then calmly gaining rank, repute And money, too, by being thrifty; Of whom the world's opinion ran: NN's an estimable man.

11.

How sad, however, if we're given Our youth as something to betray, And what if youth in turn is driven To cheat on us, each hour, each day, If our most precious aspirations, Our freshest dreams, imaginations In fast succession have decayed, As leaves, in putrid autumn, fade.

It is too much to see before one Nothing but dinners in a row, Behind the seemly crowd to go, Regarding life as mere decorum, Having no common views to share, Nor pa.s.sions that one might declare.

12.

When noisy comments start to plague you, You won't endure it (you'll agree), If people of good sense should take you For someone feigning oddity, A melancholy, crazed impostor Or maybe a satanic monster Or even my own Demon.15 Thus, Onegin once more busies us.

He'd killed his friend; bereft of pleasure, He lived with neither work nor goal Till twenty-six, and still his soul Languished in unproductive leisure; He lacked employment and a wife And any purpose in his life.

13.

A restless spirit took him over, A wish to travel, anywhere (An inclination like a fever Or cross that few will gladly bear).

And so he came to the conclusion To leave the fields' and woods' seclusion, Where every day a bloodstained shade Appeared to him and would not fade, And sallied forth without direction, With one sensation in his mind; And, as with all he'd left behind, So travel, too fed his dejection.

He found his way back after all, Like Chatsky, leaving boat for ball.16

14.

But look at how the crowd is clearing, How whispers speed around the hall...

The hostess sees a lady nearing, In tow a weighty general.

She is unhurried, not loquacious, Not cold, standoffish, not ungracious, She does not stare with insolence, And to success makes no pretence; Reveals no petty affectation Or imitative artifice, She shows a quiet, simple grace, And seems a faithful ill.u.s.tration Of comme il faut (a phrase which I, s.h.i.+shkov17 forgive, can't Russify).

15.

The ladies gathered closer to her; Old women smiled as she pa.s.sed by, The gentlemen were bowing lower, Endeavouring to catch her eye.

In front of her, the girls stopped chasing Across the room, while gravely raising Shoulders and nose above them all, The general impressed the hall.

None could have said she was a beauty, Nevertheless, from head to foot, None could have found in her what would, In fas.h.i.+onable London city, In that high autocratic court, Be known as vulgar (I can not...

16.

I' m very fond of this expression, But own, I can't translate it yet, It still feels like an innovation And hardly suits our etiquette; An epigram might serve it better...) But let me turn now to our matter.

With carefree charm, our lady sat, Engaged in amicable chat With Nina Voronskoy, at table, The Cleopatra of Neva,18 Who, though more beautiful by far, With cla.s.sic features, smooth like marble, Could not eclipse her fellow guest, For all the dazzle she possessed.

17.

'Can it be possible?' thinks Eugene 'Can it be she? But no... and yet...

What! From the steppes, that outback region...?'

He keeps his resolute lorgnette Directed at her every minute And dimly sees, reflected in it, Looks he'd forgotten long ago.

'Excuse me, Prince, but do you know That lady in the crimson beret Talking with Spain's amba.s.sador?'19 The Prince looks at Onegin: 'Ah!

You've been away a long time a very, Wait, I'll present you, when they end.'

'But who is she?' 'My wife, dear friend.'

18.

'You're married.' 'Oh, you did not know then?'

'How long?' 'About two years.' 'To whom?'

'To Larina.' 'Tatiana!' 'Oh then, She knows you.' 'I live near her home.'

'In that case, come,'the Prince says, taking His relative and friend, Onegin, To meet his wife. The Princess looks At him... and whatsoever shakes Her soul, whatever her impression Of him or the astonishment She feels or the bewilderment, Nothing betrays her self-possession.

Her tone remains as it had been, Her bow is equally serene.

19.

Not only did she not take flight now, Or suddenly turn crimson, white...

She never even moved an eyebrow, Nor pursed her lips a bit too tight.

Although Onegin looked most closely, He found no trace in her that loosely Recalled the girl that he had met.

He wanted to address her... yet He could not... She then spoke, inquiring How long had he been here, and whence, And was it from their parts perchance; Then to her husband turned, retiring.

With weary look she glided hence...