Eugene Onegin (Canto. 5)

The Fete 'Oh, do not dream these fearful dreams, O my Svetlana.'—Joukovski 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! II Winter! The peasant blithely goes To labour in his sledge forgot, His pony sniffing the fresh snows Just manages a feeble trot Though deep he sinks into the drift; Forth the kibitka gallops swift,(48) Its driver seated on the rim In scarlet sash and sheepskin trim; Yonder the household lad doth run, Placed in a sledge his terrier black, Himself transformed into a hack; To freeze his finger hath begun, He laughs, although it aches from cold, His mother from the door doth scold. [Note 48: The "kibitka," properly speaking, whether on wheels or runners, is a vehicle with a hood not unlike a big cradle.] III In scenes like these it may be though, Ye feel but little interest, They are all natural and low, Are not with elegance impressed. Another bard with art divine Hath pictured in his gorgeous line The first appearance of the snows And all the joys which Winter knows. He will delight you, I am sure, When he in ardent verse portrays Secret excursions made in sleighs; But competition I abjure Either with him or thee in song, Bard of the Finnish maiden young.(49) [Note 49: The allusions in the foregoing stanza are in the first place to a poem entitled "The First Snow," by Prince Viazemski and secondly to "Eda," by Baratynski, a poem descriptive of life in Finland.] IV Tattiana, Russian to the core, Herself not knowing well the reason, The Russian winter did adore And the cold beauties of the season: On sunny days the glistening rime, Sledging, the snows, which at the time Of sunset glow with rosy light, The misty evenings ere Twelfth Night. These evenings as in days of old The Larinas would celebrate, The servants used to congregate And the young ladies fortunes told, And every year distributed Journeys and warriors to wed. V Tattiana in traditions old Believed, the people's wisdom weird, In dreams and what the moon foretold And what she from the cards inferred. Omens inspired her soul with fear, Mysteriously all objects near A hidden meaning could impart, Presentiments oppressed her heart. Lo! the prim cat upon the stove With one paw strokes her face and purrs, Tattiana certainly infers That guests approach: and when above The new moon's crescent slim she spied, Suddenly to the left hand side, VI She trembled and grew deadly pale. Or a swift meteor, may be, Across the gloom of heaven would sail And disappear in space; then she Would haste in agitation dire To mutter her concealed desire Ere the bright messenger had set. When in her walks abroad she met A friar black approaching near,(50) Or a swift hare from mead to mead Had run across her path at speed, Wholly beside herself with fear, Anticipating woe she pined, Certain misfortune near opined. [Note 50: The Russian clergy are divided into two classes: the white or secular, which is made up of the mass of parish priests, and the black who inhabit the monasteries, furnish the high dignitaries of the Church, and constitute that swarm of useless drones for whom Peter the Great felt such a deep repugnance.] VII Wherefore? She found a secret joy In horror for itself alone, Thus Nature doth our souls alloy, Thus her perversity hath shown. Twelfth Night approaches. Merry eves!(51) When thoughtless youth whom nothing grieves, Before whose inexperienced sight Life lies extended, vast and bright, To peer into the future tries. Old age through spectacles too peers, Although the destined coffin nears, Having lost all in life we prize. It matters not. Hope e'en to these With childlike lisp will lie to please. [Note 51: Refers to the "Sviatki" or Holy Nights between Christmas Eve and Twelfth Night. Divination, or the telling of fortunes by various expedients, is the favourite pastime on these occasions.] VIII Tattiana gazed with curious eye On melted wax in water poured; The clue unto some mystery She deemed its outline might afford. Rings from a dish of water full In order due the maidens pull; But when Tattiana's hand had ta'en A ring she heard the ancient strain: The peasants there are rich as kings, They shovel silver with a spade, He whom we sing to shall be made Happy and glorious. But this brings With sad refrain misfortune near. Girls the kashourka much prefer.(52) [Note 52: During the "sviatki" it is a common custom for the girls to assemble around a table on which is placed a dish or basin of water which contains a ring. Each in her turn extracts the ring from the basin whilst the remainder sing in Chorus the "podbliudni pessni," or "dish songs" before mentioned. These are popularly supposed to indicate the fortunes of the immediate holder of the ring. The first-named lines foreshadow death; the latter, the "kashourka," or "kitten song," indicates approaching marriage. It commences thus: "The cat asked the kitten to sleep on the stove."] IX Frosty the night; the heavens shone; The wondrous host of heavenly spheres Sailed silently in unison— Tattiana in the yard appears In a half-open dressing-gown And bends her mirror on the moon, But trembling on the mirror dark The sad moon only could remark. List! the snow crunches—he draws nigh! The girl on tiptoe forward bounds And her voice sweeter than the sounds Of clarinet or flute doth cry: "What is your name?" The boor looked dazed, And "Agathon" replied, amazed.(53) [Note 53: The superstition is that the name of the future husband may thus be discovered.] X Tattiana (nurse the project planned) By night prepared for sorcery, And in the bathroom did command To lay two covers secretly. But sudden fear assailed Tattiana, And I, remembering Svetlana,(54) Become alarmed. So never mind! I'm not for witchcraft now inclined. So she her silken sash unlaced, Undressed herself and went to bed And soon Lel hovered o'er her head.(55) Beneath her downy pillow placed, A little virgin mirror peeps. 'Tis silent all. Tattiana sleeps. [Note 54: See Note 30.] [Note 55: Lel, in Slavonic mythology, corresponds to the Morpheus of the Latins. The word is evidently connected with the verb "leleyat" to fondle or soothe, likewise with our own word "to lull."] XI A dreadful sleep Tattiana sleeps. She dreamt she journeyed o'er a field All covered up with snow in heaps, By melancholy fogs concealed. Amid the snowdrifts which surround A stream, by winter's ice unbound, Impetuously clove its way With boiling torrent dark and gray; Two poles together glued by ice, A fragile bridge and insecure, Spanned the unbridled torrent o'er; Beside the thundering abyss Tattiana in despair unfeigned Rooted unto the spot remained. XII As if against obstruction sore Tattiana o'er the stream complained; To help her to the other shore No one appeared to lend a hand. But suddenly a snowdrift stirs, And what from its recess appears? A bristly bear of monstrous size! He roars, and "Ah!" Tattiana cries. He offers her his murderous paw; She nerves herself from her alarm And leans upon the monster's arm, With footsteps tremulous with awe Passes the torrent But alack! Bruin is marching at her back! XIII She, to turn back her eyes afraid, Accelerates her hasty pace, But cannot anyhow evade Her shaggy myrmidon in chase. The bear rolls on with many a grunt: A forest now she sees in front With fir-trees standing motionless In melancholy loveliness, Their branches by the snow bowed down. Through aspens, limes and birches bare, The shining orbs of night appear; There is no path; the storm hath strewn Both bush and brake, ravine and steep, And all in snow is buried deep. XIV The wood she enters—bear behind,— In snow she sinks up to the knee; Now a long branch itself entwined Around her neck, now violently Away her golden earrings tore; Now the sweet little shoes she wore, Grown clammy, stick fast in the snow; Her handkerchief she loses now; No time to pick it up! afraid, She hears the bear behind her press, Nor dares the skirting of her dress For shame lift up the modest maid. She runs, the bear upon her trail, Until her powers of running fail. XV She sank upon the snow. But Bruin Adroitly seized and carried her; Submissive as if in a swoon, She cannot draw a breath or stir. He dragged her by a forest road Till amid trees a hovel showed, By barren snow heaped up and bound, A tangled wilderness around. Bright blazed the window of the place, Within resounded shriek and shout: "My chum lives here," Bruin grunts out. "Warm yourself here a little space!" Straight for the entrance then he made And her upon the threshold laid. XVI Recovering, Tania gazes round; Bear gone—she at the threshold placed; Inside clink glasses, cries resound As if it were some funeral feast. But deeming all this nonsense pure, She peeped through a chink of the door. What doth she see? Around the board Sit many monstrous shapes abhorred. A canine face with horns thereon, Another with cock's head appeared, Here an old witch with hirsute beard, There an imperious skeleton; A dwarf adorned with tail, again A shape half cat and half a crane. XVII Yet ghastlier, yet more wonderful, A crab upon a spider rides, Perched on a goose's neck a skull In scarlet cap revolving glides. A windmill too a jig performs And wildly waves its arms and storms; Barking, songs, whistling, laughter coarse, The speech of man and tramp of horse. But wide Tattiana oped her eyes When in that company she saw Him who inspired both love and awe, The hero we immortalize. Oneguine sat the table by And viewed the door with cunning eye. XVIII All bustle when he makes a sign: He drinks, all drink and loudly call; He smiles, in laughter all combine; 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; Oneguine 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!" cried Eugene with savage tone. The troop of apparitions fled, And in the frosty night alone Remained with him the youthful maid. With tranquil air Oneguine 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 Oneguine 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 Was uttered, and the cabin shook— Tattiana terrified awoke. She gazed around her—it was day. Lo! through the frozen windows play Aurora's ruddy rays of light— The door flew open—Olga came, More blooming than the Boreal flame And swifter than the swallow's flight. "Come," she cried, "sister, tell me e'en Whom you in slumber may have seen." XXII But she, her sister never heeding, With book in hand reclined in bed, Page after page continued reading, But no reply unto her made. Although her book did not contain The bard's enthusiastic strain, Nor precepts sage nor pictures e'en, Yet neither Virgil nor Racine Nor Byron, Walter Scott, nor Seneca, Nor the Journal des Modes, I vouch, Ever absorbed a maid so much: Its name, my friends, was Martin Zadeka, The chief of the Chaldean wise, Who dreams expound and prophecies. XXIII Brought by a pedlar vagabond Unto their solitude one day, This monument of thought profound Tattiana purchased with a stray Tome of "Malvina," and but three(56) And a half rubles down gave she; Also, to equalise the scales, She got a book of nursery tales, A grammar, likewise Petriads two, Marmontel also, tome the third; Tattiana every day conferred With Martin Zadeka. In woe She consolation thence obtained— Inseparable they remained. [Note 56: "Malvina," a romance by Madame Cottin.] XXIV The dream left terror in its train. Not knowing its interpretation, Tania the meaning would obtain Of such a dread hallucination. Tattiana to the index flies And alphabetically tries The words bear, bridge, fir, darkness, bog, Raven, snowstorm, tempest, fog, Et cetera; but nothing showed Her Martin Zadeka in aid, Though the foul vision promise made Of a most mournful episode, And many a day thereafter laid A load of care upon the maid. XXV "But lo! forth from the valleys dun With purple hand Aurora leads, Swift following in her wake, the sun,"(57) And a grand festival proceeds. The Larinas were since sunrise O'erwhelmed with guests; by families The neighbours come, in sledge approach, Britzka, kibitka, or in coach. Crush and confusion in the hall, Latest arrivals' salutations, Barking, young ladies' osculations, Shouts, laughter, jamming 'gainst the wall, Bows and the scrape of many feet, Nurses who scream and babes who bleat. [Note 57: The above three lines are a parody on the turgid style of Lomonossoff, a literary man of the second Catherine's era.] XXVI Bringing his partner corpulent Fat Poustiakoff drove to the door; Gvozdine, a landlord excellent, Oppressor of the wretched poor; And the Skatenines, aged pair, With all their progeny were there, Who from two years to thirty tell; Petoushkoff, the provincial swell; Bouyanoff too, my cousin, wore(58) His wadded coat and cap with peak (Surely you know him as I speak); And Flianoff, pensioned councillor, Rogue and extortioner of yore, Now buffoon, glutton, and a bore. [Note 58: Pushkin calls Bouyanoff his cousin because he is a character in the "Dangerous Neighbour," a poem by Vassili Pushkin, the poet's uncle.] XXVII The family of Kharlikoff, Came with Monsieur Triquet, a prig, Who arrived lately from Tamboff, In spectacles and chestnut wig. Like a true Frenchman, couplets wrought In Tania's praise in pouch he brought, Known unto children perfectly: Reveillez-vouz, belle endormie. Among some ancient ballads thrust, He found them in an almanac, And the sagacious Triquet back To light had brought them from their dust, Whilst he "belle Nina" had the face By "belle Tattiana" to replace. XXVIII Lo! from the nearest barrack came, Of old maids the divinity, And comfort of each country dame, The captain of a company. He enters. Ah! good news to-day! The military band will play. The colonel sent it. Oh! delight! So there will be a dance to-night. Girls in anticipation skip! But dinner-time comes. Two and two They hand in hand to table go. The maids beside Tattiana keep— Men opposite. The cross they sign And chattering loud sit down to dine. XXIX Ceased for a space all chattering. Jaws are at work. On every side Plates, knives and forks are clattering And ringing wine-glasses are plied. But by degrees the crowd begin To raise a clamour and a din: They laugh, they argue, and they bawl, They shout and no one lists at all. The doors swing open: Lenski makes His entrance with Oneguine. "Ah! At last the author!" cries Mamma. The guests make room; aside each takes His chair, plate, knife and fork in haste; The friends are called and quickly placed. XXX Right opposite Tattiana placed, She, than the morning moon more pale, More timid than a doe long chased, Lifts not her eyes which swimming fail. Anew the flames of passion start Within her; she is sick at heart; The two friends' compliments she hears Not, and a flood of bitter tears With effort she restrains. Well nigh The poor girl fell into a faint, But strength of mind and self-restraint Prevailed at last. She in reply Said something in an undertone And at the table sat her down. XXXI To tragedy, the fainting fit, And female tears hysterical, Oneguine could not now submit, For long he had endured them all. Our misanthrope was full of ire, At a great feast against desire, And marking Tania's agitation, Cast down his eyes in trepidation And sulked in silent indignation; Swearing how Lenski he would rile, Avenge himself in proper style. Triumphant by anticipation, Caricatures he now designed Of all the guests within his mind. XXXII Certainly not Eugene alone Tattiana's trouble might have spied, But that the eyes of every one By a rich pie were occupied— Unhappily too salt by far; And that a bottle sealed with tar Appeared, Don's effervescing boast,(59) Between the blanc-mange and the roast; Behind, of glasses an array, Tall, slender, like thy form designed, Zizi, thou mirror of my mind, Fair object of my guileless lay, Seductive cup of love, whose flow Made me so tipsy long ago! [Note 59: The Donskoe Champanskoe is a species of sparkling wine manufactured in the vicinity of the river Don.] XXXIII From the moist cork the bottle freed With loud explosion, the bright wine Hissed forth. With serious air indeed, Long tortured by his lay divine, Triquet arose, and for the bard The company deep silence guard. Tania well nigh expired when he Turned to her and discordantly Intoned it, manuscript in hand. Voices and hands applaud, and she Must bow in common courtesy; The poet, modest though so grand, Drank to her health in the first place, Then handed her the song with grace. XXXIV Congratulations, toasts resound, Tattiana thanks to all returned, But, when Oneguine's turn came round, The maiden's weary eye which yearned, Her agitation and distress Aroused in him some tenderness. He bowed to her nor silence broke, But somehow there shone in his look The witching light of sympathy; I know not if his heart felt pain Or if he meant to flirt again, From habit or maliciously, But kindness from his eye had beamed And to revive Tattiana seemed. XXXV The chairs are thrust back with a roar, The crowd unto the drawing-room speeds, As bees who leave their dainty store And seek in buzzing swarms the meads. Contented and with victuals stored, Neighbour by neighbour sat and snored, Matrons unto the fireplace go, Maids in the corner whisper low; Behold! green tables are brought forth, And testy gamesters do engage In boston and the game of age, Ombre, and whist all others worth: A strong resemblance these possess— All sons of mental weariness. XXXVI Eight rubbers were already played, Eight times the heroes of the fight Change of position had essayed, When tea was brought. 'Tis my delight Time to denote by dinner, tea, And supper. In the country we Can count the time without much fuss— The stomach doth admonish us. And, by the way, I here assert That for that matter in my verse As many dinners I rehearse, As oft to meat and drink advert, As thou, great Homer, didst of yore, Whom thirty centuries adore. XXXVII I will with thy divinity Contend with knife and fork and platter, But grant with magnanimity I'm beaten in another matter; Thy heroes, sanguinary wights, Also thy rough-and-tumble fights, Thy Venus and thy Jupiter, More advantageously appear Than cold Oneguine's oddities, The aspect of a landscape drear. Or e'en Istomina, my dear, And fashion's gay frivolities; But my Tattiana, on my soul, Is sweeter than thy Helen foul. XXXVIII No one the contrary will urge, Though for his Helen Menelaus Again a century should scourge Us, and like Trojan warriors slay us; Though around honoured Priam's throne Troy's sages should in concert own Once more, when she appeared in sight, Paris and Menelaus right. But as to fighting—'twill appear! For patience, reader, I must plead! A little farther please to read And be not in advance severe. There'll be a fight. I do not lie. My word of honour given have I. 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 waltz 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. All are amazed; but Lenski he Scarce credits what his eyes can see. XLII Hark! the mazurka. In times past, When the mazurka used to peal, All rattled in the ball-room vast, The parquet cracked beneath the heel, And jolting jarred the window-frames. 'Tis not so now. Like gentle dames We glide along a floor of wax. However, the mazurka lacks Nought of its charms original In country towns, where still it keeps Its stamping, capers and high leaps. Fashion is there immutable, Who tyrannizes us with ease, Of modern Russians the disease. XLIII Bouyanoff, wrathful cousin mine, Unto the hero of this lay Olga and Tania led. Malign, Oneguine Olga bore away. Gliding in negligent career, He bending whispered in her ear Some madrigal not worth a rush, And pressed her hand—the crimson blush Upon her cheek by adulation Grew brighter still. But Lenski hath Seen all, beside himself with wrath, And hot with jealous indignation, Till the mazurka's close he stays, Her hand for the cotillon prays. XLIV She fears she cannot.—Cannot? Why?— She promised Eugene, or she would With great delight.—O God on high! Heard he the truth? And thus she could— And can it be? But late a child And now a fickle flirt and wild, Cunning already to display And well-instructed to betray! Lenski the stroke could not sustain, At womankind he growled a curse, Departed, ordered out his horse And galloped home. But pistols twain, A pair of bullets—nought beside— His fate shall presently decide.