Eugene Onegin Part 14

Who is the man not bored by feigning, Repeating things in other ways, In all solemnity maintaining What people think in any case, By hearing all the same objections, By undermining predilections, Such as a girl of mere thirteen Is free from and has always been!

Who will not tire of the denials, The threats, the vows, the put-on fear, The notelets of six pages sheer, The gossip, rings, the tears, betrayals, Surveillances by mothers, aunts And husbands with their friendly stance!

9.

My Eugene drew the same conclusions.

In his first youth he'd fallen prey To stormy errors and delusions And pa.s.sion's unrestricted play.

Spoiled by the life he had been granted, By one thing for a while enchanted, Another disenchanting him, Thwarted desire tormenting him, Tormented, too, by quick successes, Hearing amid the noise and lull The timeless mutter of the soul, A yawn with laughter he suppresses: Precisely so, eight years he killed, His prime thus pa.s.sing, unfulfilled.

10.

Beauties no longer claimed his pa.s.sion, He wooed them with insouciance; Refusal was a consolation, Betrayal a deliverance.

He sought them with no great affection And left them, feeling no connection, Barely recalled their love and spite.

Just so a casual guest one night Will visit friends for some distraction; Sits down to whist; concludes the game: He sets off on the journey home, Falling asleep with satisfaction, And, in the morning, does not know Himself that evening where he'll go.

11.

But, on receiving Tanya's letter, Onegin was profoundly stirred; The girlish daydreams that beset her Roused thoughts in him he'd long interred; And he recalled the mournful manner And pale complexion of Tatiana; And plunged into a reverie, A sweet and sinless fantasy.

Perhaps a glow of old emotion Returned to him in his decline, But he'd no wish to undermine Her trustfulness, her pure devotion.

We'll fly now to the garden where Tatiana met him, in despair.

12.

For two long minutes they were quiet, Onegin then approached her, said: 'You wrote to me, do not deny it.

The letter that you sent I've read.

I read a trusting soul's confession, A pure, effusive declaration; Your openness appeals to me; It roused into activity A heart that long ago turned heartless; But I've no wish to praise you; I Shall recompense your candour by My own confession, just as artless; Listen to my avowal now; And to your judgement I shall bow.

13.

'If I had wanted life restricted To living in domestic bliss; If I, by kindly fate conscripted, Were destined to be father, spouse, If I could ever without stricture Be charmed by a familial picture, I'd doubtless choose no other bride Than you to cherish at my side.

I'd say, without poetic glitter, That I had found my past ideal, With you my destiny I'd seal And cleave to you when times were bitter, A pledge of beauty and the good, And would be happy... if I could!

14.

'But happiness I never aimed for, It is a stranger to my soul; Alas, the virtues you are famed for, I do not merit them at all.

Upon my conscience: do believe me, Wedlock would make you want to leave me.

Once used to you, I'd cease to love The bride I could not love enough; The tears that surely you'd be shedding Would fail to touch my heart and would Only infuriate my mood.

Judge, then, what roses for our wedding Would Hymen pluck, how many more To mark the days we have in store.

15.

'What in a family's more depressing Than when a poor wife wastes her tears Over a spouse who keeps her guessing And day and evening disappears; Where this dull man, pleased with his treasure (Yet cursing fate in equal measure), Is always silent, angry, grim And coldly jealous. I'm like him.

And is it this you were awaiting With such impa.s.sioned innocence, When you with such intelligence And such simplicity were writing?

Is this the lot that you deserve, That fate keeps for you in reserve?

16.

'Our dreams and years we can't recover, I shall not renovate my soul...

I love you like an elder brother And, it may be, more gently still.

So, don't be angry with me, listen: A youthful maid will always hasten From dream to dream, she no more grieves Than when a sapling sheds its leaves, Exchanging them each spring for fresh ones, Heaven no doubt has ruled it so.

You'll fall in love again, I know, But... learn to govern your confessions; Not all, like me, will understand, Naivete risks a dangerous end.'

17.

Thus Eugene preached. Tatiana, crying, Saw nothing through her tears, but she, Scarce breathing and without replying, Listened to Eugene's homily.

He gave his arm with some compa.s.sion.

Mechanically (the word in fashion) She leaned upon it, silent, sad, Bending her languid little head; Returning round the kitchen garden, Together they arrived, and none With disapproval looked thereon: The country has its rules regarding A person's liberty and rights No less than haughty Muscovites.

18.

You will agree with me, my reader, Our friend respected Tanya's plight And was not tempted to mislead her; His soul showed here in n.o.ble light Not for the first time; though ill-wishers Were unreservedly malicious, Finding him wholly dissolute: His enemies, and friends to boot, (Perhaps there's not so great a difference) Upbraided him that way and this.

I fear those friends who seek to please.

Oh give me enemies in preference!

What friends are these, if friends at all, Whom for good reason I recall!

19.

What then? Oh nothing. I'm just laying Empty and gloomy dreams to rest; It's only by the by I'm saying That once a slander gets expressed By some foul liar in a garret To whom the monde awards a carrot, That there is no absurdity, No epigram's vulgarity, That those good folk whom you've befriended Would not repeat a hundred times, With errors and distasteful rhymes, And smile with malice unintended; Yet they are yours through thick and thin, They love you... like your kith and kin.

20.

Hm! Hm! I ask you, n.o.ble reader, Are all your kindred healthy, well?

Allow me: you perhaps may need a Lesson from me on how to tell Just what is meant by kinsfolk really.

By kinsfolk, then, is meant ideally: The folk whom we do not neglect, But love and cosset with respect, And, following the rules obtaining, At Christmas visit or, if not, By post congratulate the lot, So that throughout the year remaining They will not think of us... and may G.o.d grant them life for many a day!