Eugene Oneguine [Onegin] Part 5

On innocent delights I dote, Upon my lake I love to float, For law I _far niente_ take And every morning I awake The child of sloth and liberty.

I slumber much, a little read, Of fleeting glory take no heed.

In former years thus did not I In idleness and tranquil joy The happiest days of life employ?

L

Love, flowers, the country, idleness And fields my joys have ever been; I like the difference to express Between myself and my Eugene, Lest the malicious reader or Some one or other editor Of keen sarcastic intellect Herein my portrait should detect, And impiously should declare, To sketch myself that I have tried Like Byron, bard of scorn and pride, As if impossible it were To write of any other elf Than one's own fascinating self.

LI

Here I remark all poets are Love to idealize inclined; I have dreamed many a vision fair And the recesses of my mind Retained the image, though short-lived, Which afterwards the muse revived.

Thus carelessly I once portrayed Mine own ideal, the mountain maid, The captives of the Salguir's sh.o.r.e.(22) But now a question in this wise Oft upon friendly lips doth rise: Whom doth thy plaintive Muse adore?

To whom amongst the jealous throng Of maids dost thou inscribe thy song?

[Note 22: Refers to two of the most interesting productions of the poet. The former line indicates the _Prisoner of the Caucasus_, the latter, _The Fountain of Baktchiserai_. The Salguir is a river of the Crimea.]

LII

Whose glance reflecting inspiration With tenderness hath recognized Thy meditative incantation-- Whom hath thy strain immortalized?

None, be my witness Heaven above!

The malady of hopeless love I have endured without respite.

Happy who thereto can unite Poetic transport. They impart A double force unto their song Who following Petrarch move along And ease the tortures of the heart-- Perchance they laurels also cull-- But I, in love, was mute and dull.

LIII

The Muse appeared, when love pa.s.sed by And my dark soul to light was brought; Free, I renewed the idolatry Of harmony enshrining thought.

I write, and anguish flies away, Nor doth my absent pen portray Around my stanzas incomplete Young ladies' faces and their feet.

Extinguished ashes do not blaze-- I mourn, but tears I cannot shed-- Soon, of the tempest which hath fled Time will the ravages efface-- When that time comes, a poem I'll strive To write in cantos twenty-five.

LIV

I've thought well o'er the general plan, The hero's name too in advance, Meantime I'll finish whilst I can Canto the First of this romance.

I've scanned it with a jealous eye, Discovered much absurdity, But will not modify a t.i.ttle-- I owe the censorship a little.

For journalistic deglut.i.tion I yield the fruit of work severe.

Go, on the Neva's bank appear, My very latest composition!

Enjoy the meed which Fame bestows-- Misunderstanding, words and blows.

END OF CANTO THE FIRST

CANTO THE SECOND

The Poet

"O Rus!"--Horace

Canto The Second

[Note: Odessa, December 1823.]

I

The village wherein yawned Eugene Was a delightful little spot, There friends of pure delight had been Grateful to Heaven for their lot.

The lonely mansion-house to screen From gales a hill behind was seen; Before it ran a stream. Behold!

Afar, where clothed in green and gold Meadows and cornfields are displayed, Villages in the distance show And herds of oxen wandering low; Whilst nearer, sunk in deeper shade, A thick immense neglected grove Extended--haunt which Dryads love.

II

'Twas built, the venerable pile, As lordly mansions ought to be, In solid, unpretentious style, The style of wise antiquity.

Lofty the chambers one and all, Silk tapestry upon the wall, Imperial portraits hang around And stoves of various shapes abound.

All this I know is out of date, I cannot tell the reason why, But Eugene, incontestably, The matter did not agitate, Because he yawned at the bare view Of drawing-rooms or old or new.

III

He took the room wherein the old Man--forty years long in this wise-- His housekeeper was wont to scold, Look through the window and kill flies.

'Twas plain--an oaken floor ye scan, Two cupboards, table, soft divan, And not a speck of dirt descried.

Oneguine oped the cupboards wide.

In one he doth accounts behold, Here bottles stand in close array, There jars of cider block the way, An almanac but eight years old.

His uncle, busy man indeed, No other book had time to read.

IV

Alone amid possessions great, Eugene at first began to dream, If but to lighten Time's dull rate, Of many an economic scheme; This anchorite amid his waste The ancient _barshtchina_ replaced By an _obrok's_ indulgent rate:(23) The peasant blessed his happy fate.

But this a heinous crime appeared Unto his neighbour, man of thrift, Who secretly denounced the gift, And many another slily sneered; And all with one accord agreed, He was a dangerous fool indeed.

[Note 23: The _barshtchina_ was the corvee, or forced labour of three days per week rendered previous to the emanc.i.p.ation of 1861 by the serfs to their lord.

The _obrok_ was a species of poll-tax paid by a serf, either in lieu of the forced labour or in consideration of being permitted to exercise a trade or profession elsewhere. Very heavy obroks have at times been levied on serfs possessed of skill or accomplishments, or who had ama.s.sed wealth; and circ.u.mstances may be easily imagined which, under such a system, might lead to great abuses.]

V

All visited him at first, of course; But since to the backdoor they led Most usually a Cossack horse Upon the Don's broad pastures bred If they but heard domestic loads Come rumbling up the neighbouring roads, Most by this circ.u.mstance offended All overtures of friendship ended.

"Oh! what a fool our neighbour is!

He's a freemason, so we think.

Alone he doth his claret drink, A lady's hand doth never kiss.

'Tis _yes! no!_ never _madam! sir!_"(24) This was his social character.

[Note 24: The neighbours complained of Oneguine's want of courtesy.

He always replied "da" or "nyet," yes or no, instead of "das"

or "nyets"--the final s being a contraction of "sudar" or "sudarinia," i.e. sir or madam.]

VI

Into the district then to boot A new proprietor arrived, From whose a.n.a.lysis minute The neighbourhood fresh sport derived.

Vladimir Lenski was his name, From Gottingen inspired he came, A worshipper of Kant, a bard, A young and handsome galliard.

He brought from mystic Germany The fruits of learning and combined A fiery and eccentric mind, Idolatry of liberty, A wild enthusiastic tongue, Black curls which to his shoulders hung.

VII