Eugene Onegin Part 6

57.

Poets, I'll note, in this connection Are friends of amorous reverie.

It used to be my predilection To dream of objects dear to me; My soul retained their secret image Until the Muse gave them a language: Carefree, I'd sing of my ideal, Maid of the mountains, and of all The captive maids of Salgir's65 waters.

Now, friends, I hear you put to me, The question not infrequently: For whom among these jealous daughters Sighs most your lyre? To which of these Did you devote its melodies?

58.

'Whose gaze, exciting inspiration, Rewarded with caressing eyes Your pensive song and adoration?

Whom did your verses idolize?'

Friends, not a single one, believe me!

Love's mad alarms will not deceive me, I've been through them with little joy.

Happy is he who can alloy Them with a fevered rhyme: he doubles The poet's sacred frenzy, strides In Petrarch's footsteps, and besides Relieves the heart of all its troubles, And captures glory's palm to boot; But I, in love, was stupid, mute.

59.

Love pa.s.sed, the Muse resumed dominion And cleared the darkness from my mind, Free now, I seek again the union Of feelings, thoughts and magic sound.

I write, my heart's no longer pining, My pen no longer wanders, making Sketches of female heads or feet Alongside verses incomplete.

Dead ashes cannot be replenished, I'm sad still, but the tears are gone, And soon, soon when the storm is done And in my soul all trace has vanished, Then will I start a poem a oh, In cantos, twenty-five or so.

60.

I have a plan already for it, And how the hero will be known; But for the moment I'll ignore it, Having completed Chapter One.

I've scrutinized it all for any Discrepancies a and there are many, But I've no wish to change them yet; I'll pay the censorship my debt; My labour's fruits I shall deliver To the reviewers to devour; Depart then, newborn work this hour, Off to the banks of Nevsky river And earn for me the prize of fame: Falsification, noise and blame!

CHAPTER II.

O rus!

Horace

O Rus'!

I.

The country place where Eugene suffered Was a delightful little spot; The innocent might there have offered Blessings to heaven for their lot.

The manor house stood in seclusion, Screened by a hill from wind's intrusion, Above a stream. Far off, there stretched Meadows and golden cornfields, patched With dazzling, multi-coloured flowers; Small hamlets could be glimpsed around, Herds wandered through the meadow ground, And, in its thick, entangled bowers A vast, neglected garden nursed Dryads, in pensive mood immersed.

2.

The n.o.ble castle was constructed As castles should be: solid-based, Designed for comfort, unaffected, In sensible and ancient taste, With lofty rooms throughout the dwelling A salon damasked floor to ceiling, Portraits of Tsars upon the walls And stoves with multi-coloured tiles.

Today all this is antiquated, I really cannot fathom why; My friend, however, walked right by, Unable to appreciate it, Since he would yawn, indifferent to An old interior or a new.

3.

Into that very room he settled, Where, forty years, till his demise, With housekeeper the old man battled, Looked through the window, swatted flies.

All was quite simple; oaken floorboards, Table, divan of down, two cupboards, And not an ink stain anywhere; He opened up the cupboards there: The first housed an expenses manual, The second rows of fruit liqueurs And eau-de-pomme in jugs and jars Beside an 1808 annual: The old man, by much work perplexed, Consulted not another text.

4.

Alone among his acquisitions, Merely to while away the time, At first, our Eugene made provisions To introduce a new regime.

A sage in rural isolation, He eased the peasant yoke, replacing The old corvee with light quit-rent; The serf blessed fate for what it sent.

But Eugene's thrifty neighbour, flurried, Sat sulking; in his corner he Envisaged some catastrophe; Another slyly smiled, unworried, But they were all unanimous: Here was a crank most dangerous.

5.

At first, they all rode up to greet him; But at the back porch every day A stallion from the Don would meet him As soon as on the carriage way Their country carts could be detected, When off he'd gallop, undeflected.

Outraged by this behaviour, they Withdrew their friendship straightaway.

'Our neighbour is a boor, as mad as A freemason, a crack-brained a.s.s; Drinks only red wine by the gla.s.s; Won't stoop to kiss the hands of ladies; It's "yes" and "no", not "yes, sir", "no, sir".' All agreed this was de trop.

6.

A new landowner, at that moment, Had driven down to his estate And offered equal cause for comment And stringent neighbourhood debate.

By name Vladimir Lensky, wholly Endowed with Gottingenian soul,1 he Was handsome, in his youthful prime, A devotee of Kant2 and rhyme.

He brought with him the fruits of learning From mist-enveloped Germany: Those dreams extolling liberty, That fervent spirit, oddly yearning, That language with its ardent flair And curling, shoulder-length black hair.

7.

By chill corruption not yet blighted, Not having fallen yet from grace, In friendly greetings he delighted And in a maiden's sweet embrace.

Of heart's affairs he had no knowledge, Hope nursed his feelings, gave him courage, And worldly noise and glitter still Lent his young mind a novel thrill.

With a sweet fancy he would cradle His doubting heart's uncertainty; For him our life and destiny Appeared as an enticing riddle, To solve which he would rack his mind, Suspecting wonders of mankind.

8.