Eugene Onegin Part 9

Then supper came and close of day, And so the guests would drive away.

35.

Their peaceful lives went on, retaining The customs of antiquity; At Shrovetide they'd be entertaining With Russian pancakes (or bliny); They fasted twice a year for sinning, They loved round swings that sent them spinning, The choral dances, guessing songs.

On Trinity, among the throngs Of yawning peasants at thanksgiving, They touchingly shed tears, three drops Upon a bunch of b.u.t.tercups;8 They needed kvas9 like air for living; And at their table guests were served With dishes, as their rank deserved.

36.

And thus the two of them grew older Until the grave invited down The husband, squire and erstwhile soldier, And he received a second crown.10 He died an hour before his dinner, Mourned by the neighbour of the manor, By children and a faithful wife, More candidly than many a life.

He was a simple, kindly barin,11 And there, above his last remains, A solemn monument proclaims: The humble sinner, Dmitry Larin, Slave of the Lord and Brigadier Beneath this stone reposeth here.

37.

To his penates12 now returning, Vladimir Lensky visited His neighbour's humble gravestone, mourning, With sighs, the ashes of the dead; Long was his heart with grief afflicted, 'Poor Yorick,' he declared, dejected, 'He used to hold me in his arms.

How, in my childhood, oftentimes, I played with his Ochakov medal!13 He destined Olga for my bride, Shall I be here that day...? he said.'

True sadness put him on his mettle, Vladimir straightway felt a call To write a gravestone madrigal.

38.

And there, in tears, he wrote another To mark the patriarchal dust Of both his father and his mother...

Alas! each generation must By Providence's dispensation Rise, ripen, fall, in quick succession, Upon life's furrows; in its wake Others the selfsame journey take.

So, our light-headed tribe, now roaming, Grows up, gets animated, seethes, Sees off its ancestors with wreaths.

But our time, too, is coming, coming, And one fine day our grandsons will Bundle us out with equal zeal!

39.

Meanwhile, enjoy, friends, till it's ended, This light existence, every dram!

Its nullity I've comprehended And little bound to it I am; I've shut my eyelids now to phantoms; But distant hopes appear and sometimes Continue to disturb my heart.

I'd find it sad now to depart The world without some recognition.

Not courting praise, I live and write, But still, it seems, I should delight In glorifying my sad mission, In having just a single sound Recall me, like a friend that's found.

40.

And someone's heart it will awaken; And this new strophe that I nurse Will not in Lethe14 drown, forsaken, If destiny preserves my verse.

Perhaps some future ignoramus (A flattering hope!), when I am famous, Will point to my ill.u.s.trious portrait And say: now that man was a poet!

I offer you, then, my oblations, Admirer of Aonia's maids,15 O you, whose memory never fades And saves my volatile creations, Whose hand, that favours my renown, Will pat the old man's laurel crown!16

CHAPTER III.

Elle etait fille, elle etait amoureuse.

Malfilatre1

I.

'Where now? How very like a poet!'

'Onegin, I must go, goodbye.'

'By all means, but (I'd like to know it), Where do you spend your evenings?' 'Why, I see the Lairins.' 'That's amazing.

Mercy, does it not drive you crazy To murder every evening thus?'

'Not in the least.' 'I am nonplussed.

From here I picture the occasion: First (listen, am I right?), I see A simple, Russian family, Concern for guests and their provision, Jam, endless chatter with regard To rain and flax and cattle-yard...'

2.

'I do not see why that's so shocking.'

'It's boring, that is why, dear man.'

'I hate your fas.h.i.+onable mocking; I'm happy with a homely clan, Where I...' 'An eclogue's bound to follow!

For G.o.d's sake, that will do, good fellow.

But now, you're off; I'm sorry. Say, Could you devise for me a way Of seeing for myself your Phyllis, The object of your thoughts from far, Your tears, pen, rhymes, etcetera.

Present me.' 'But you're joking.' 'Promise.'

'I'll gladly.' 'When?' 'Why, now's all right.

They will receive us with delight.'

3.

'Let's go, then.' At their destination They're met with the formality, The sometimes onerous ministration Of old-world hospitality.

The order of the fare's habitual: Jam in small dishes2 starts the ritual, Then lingonberry juice is brought And set upon an oil-cloth board.3 .............................................

4.

Returning home, the two are flying At high speed by the shortest way.

Now let us condescend to spying On what our heroes have to say.

'You yawn, Onegin, what's the matter?'