XXXVIII
And meantime her soul ached,
and full of tears was her languorous gaze.
Suddenly, hoof thuds! Her blood froze.
4 Now nearer! Coming fast... and in the yard
is Eugene! “Ach!” — and lighter than a shade
Tatiana skips into another hallway,
from porch outdoors, and straight into the garden;
8 she flies, flies — dares not
glance backward; in a moment has traversed
the platbands, little bridges, lawn,
the avenue to the lake, the bosquet;
12 she breaks the lilac bushes as she flies
across the flower plots to the brook,
and, panting, on a bench
she drops. “He's here! Eugene is here!
Good God, what did he think!”
Her heart, full of torments, retains
4 an obscure dream of hope;
she trembles, and she hotly glows, and waits:
does he not come? But hears not. In the orchard
girl servants, on the beds,
8 were picking berries in the bushes
and singing by decree in chorus
(a decree based on that
sly mouths would not in secret
12 eat the seignioral berry
and would be occupied by singing; a device
of rural wit!):
Maidens, pretty maidens,
darling girl companions,
romp unhindered, maidens,
4 have your fling, my dears!
Start to sing a ditty,
sing our private ditty,
and allure a fellow
8 to our choral dance.
When we lure a fellow,
when afar we see him,
let us scatter, dearies,
12 pelting him with cherries,
cherries and raspberries,
and red currants too.
“Do not come eavesdropping
16 on our private ditties,
do not come a-spying
on our girlish games!”
They sing; and carelessly
attending to their ringing voice,
Tatiana with impatience waits
4 for the heart's tremor to subside in her,
for her cheeks to cease flaming;
but in her breasts there's the same trepidation,
nor ceases the glow of her cheeks:
8 yet brighter, brighter do they burn.
Thus a poor butterfly both flashes
and beats an iridescent wing,
captured by a school prankster; thus
12 a small hare trembles in the winter corn
upon suddenly seeing from afar
the shotman in the bushes crouch.
But finally she sighed
and from her bench arose;
started to go; but hardly had she turned
4 into the avenue when straight before her,
eyes blazing, Eugene
stood, similar to some grim shade,
and as one seared by fire
8 she stopped.
But to detail the consequences
of this unlooked-for meeting I, dear friends,
have not the strength today;
12 after this long discourse I need
a little jaunt, a little rest;
some other time I'll tell the rest.
La morale est dans la nature des choses.
Necker
The less we love a woman
the easier 'tis to be liked by her,
and thus more surely we undo her
4 among bewitching toils.
Time was when cool debauch
was lauded as the art of love,
trumpeting everywhere about itself,
8 taking its pleasure without loving.
But that grand game
is worthy of old sapajous
of our forefathers' vaunted times;
12 the fame of Lovelaces has faded
with the fame of red heels
and of majestic periwigs.
Who does not find it tedious to dissemble;
diversely to repeat the same;
try gravely to convince one
4 of what all have been long convinced;
to hear the same objections,
annihilate the prejudices
which never had and hasn't
8 a little girl of thirteen years!
Who will not grow weary of threats,
entreaties, vows, feigned fear,
notes running to six pages,
12 betrayals, gossiping, rings, tears,
surveillances of aunts, of mothers,
and the onerous friendship of husbands!
Exactly thus my Eugene thought.
In his first youth
he had been victim of tempestuous errings
4 and of unbridled passions.
Spoiled by a habitude of life,
with one thing for a while
enchanted, disenchanted with another,
8 irked slowly by desire,
irked, too, by volatile success,
hearkening in the hubbub and the hush
to the eternal mutter of his soul,
12 smothering yawns with laughter:
this was the way he killed eight years,
having lost life's best bloom.
With belles no longer did he fall in love,
but dangled after them just anyhow;
when they refused, he solaced in a twinkle;
4 when they betrayed, was glad to rest.
He sought them without rapture,
while he left them without regret,
hardly remembering their love and spite.
8 Exactly thus does an indifferent guest
drive up for evening whist:
sits down; then, when the game is over,
he drives off from the place,
12 at home falls peacefully asleep,
and in the morning does not know himself
where he will drive to in the evening.
But on receiving Tanya's missive,
Onegin was profoundly touched:
the language of a maiden's daydreams
4 stirred up in him a swarm of thoughts;
and he recalled winsome Tatiana's
pale color, mournful air;
and in a sweet and sinless dream
8 his soul became absorbed.
Perhaps an ancient glow of feelings
possessed him for a minute;
but he did not wish to deceive
12 an innocent soul's trustfulness.
Now we'll flit over to the garden where Tatiana
encountered him.
For a few seconds they were silent;
Onegin then went up to her
and quoth: “You wrote to me.
4 Do not deny it. I have read
a trustful soul's avowals,
an innocent love's outpourings;
your candidness appeals to me,
8 in me it has excited
emotions long grown silent.
But I don't want to praise you —
I will repay you for it
12 with an avowal likewise void of art;
hear my confession;
unto your judgment I submit.
“If I by the domestic circle
had wanted to bound life;
if to be father, husband,
4 a pleasant lot had ordered me;
if with the familistic picture
I were but for one moment captivated;
then, doubtlessly, save you alone
8 no other bride I'd seek.
I'll say without madrigal spangles:
my past ideal having found,
I'd doubtlessly have chosen you alone
12 for mate of my sad days, in gage
of all that's beautiful, and would have been
happy — in so far as I could!
“But I'm not made for bliss;
my soul is strange to it;
in vain are your perfections:
4 I'm not at all worthy of them.
Believe me (conscience is thereof the pledge),
wedlock to us would be a torment.
However much I loved you,
8 having grown used, I'd cease to love at once;
you would begin to weep; your tears
would fail to touch my heart —
they merely would exasperate it.
12 Judge, then, what roses
Hymen would lay in store for us —
and, possibly, for many days!
“What in the world can be
worse than a family where the poor wife frets
over an undeserving husband
4 and day and evening is alone;
where the dull husband,
knowing her worth (yet cursing fate),
is always sullen, silent, cross,
8 and coldly jealous?
Thus I. And is it
this you sought
with pure flaming soul when
with such simplicity,
12 with such intelligence, to me you wrote?
Can it be true that such a portion
is by stern fate assigned to you?
