XLIII
Bouyanoff, wrathful cousin mine,
Unto the hero of this lay
Olga and Tania led.
Bouyanoff, wrathful cousin mine,
Unto the hero of this lay
Olga and Tania led.
Pushkin - Eugene Oneigin
(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.
END OF CANTO THE FIFTH
CANTO THE SIXTH
The Duel
'La, sotto giorni nubilosi e brevi,
Nasce una gente a cui 'l morir non duole. '
Petrarch
Canto The Sixth
[Mikhailovskoe, 1826: the two final stanzas were, however,
written at Moscow.
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.
END OF CANTO THE FIFTH
CANTO THE SIXTH
The Duel
'La, sotto giorni nubilosi e brevi,
Nasce una gente a cui 'l morir non duole. '
Petrarch
Canto The Sixth
[Mikhailovskoe, 1826: the two final stanzas were, however,
written at Moscow.
