for much we need
Without disguise ourselves explain.
Without disguise ourselves explain.
Pushkin - Eugene Oneigin
Yes, quite so!
Unto his own Tattiana he,
Incorrigible rogue, doth go.
Her house he enters, ghastly white,
The vestibule finds empty quite--
He enters the saloon. 'Tis blank!
A door he opens. But why shrank
He back as from a sudden blow? --
Alone the princess sitteth there,
Pallid and with dishevelled hair,
Gazing upon a note below.
Her tears flow plentifully and
Her cheek reclines upon her hand.
XL
Oh! who her speechless agonies
Could not in that brief moment guess!
Who now could fail to recognize
Tattiana in the young princess!
Tortured by pangs of wild regret,
Eugene fell prostrate at her feet--
She starts, nor doth a word express,
But gazes on Oneguine's face
Without amaze or wrath displayed:
His sunken eye and aspect faint,
Imploring looks and mute complaint
She comprehends. The simple maid
By fond illusions once possest
Is once again made manifest.
XLI
His kneeling posture he retains--
Calmly her eyes encounter his--
Insensible her hand remains
Beneath his lips' devouring kiss.
What visions then her fancy thronged--
A breathless silence then, prolonged--
But finally she softly said:
"Enough, arise!
for much we need
Without disguise ourselves explain.
Oneguine, hast forgotten yet
The hour when--Fate so willed--we met
In the lone garden and the lane?
How meekly then I heard you preach--
To-day it is my turn to teach.
XLII
"Oneguine, I was younger then,
And better, if I judge aright;
I loved you--what did I obtain?
Affection how did you requite?
But with austerity! --for you
No novelty--is it not true? --
Was the meek love a maiden feels.
But now--my very blood congeals,
Calling to mind your icy look
And sermon--but in that dread hour
I blame not your behaviour--
An honourable course ye took,
Displayed a noble rectitude--
My soul is filled with gratitude!
XLIII
"Then, in the country, is't not true?
And far removed from rumour vain;
I did not please you. Why pursue
Me now, inflict upon me pain? --
Wherefore am I your quarry held? --
Is it that I am now compelled
To move in fashionable life,
That I am rich, a prince's wife? --
Because my lord, in battles maimed,
Is petted by the Emperor? --
That my dishonour would ensure
A notoriety proclaimed,
And in society might shed
A bastard fame prohibited?
Unto his own Tattiana he,
Incorrigible rogue, doth go.
Her house he enters, ghastly white,
The vestibule finds empty quite--
He enters the saloon. 'Tis blank!
A door he opens. But why shrank
He back as from a sudden blow? --
Alone the princess sitteth there,
Pallid and with dishevelled hair,
Gazing upon a note below.
Her tears flow plentifully and
Her cheek reclines upon her hand.
XL
Oh! who her speechless agonies
Could not in that brief moment guess!
Who now could fail to recognize
Tattiana in the young princess!
Tortured by pangs of wild regret,
Eugene fell prostrate at her feet--
She starts, nor doth a word express,
But gazes on Oneguine's face
Without amaze or wrath displayed:
His sunken eye and aspect faint,
Imploring looks and mute complaint
She comprehends. The simple maid
By fond illusions once possest
Is once again made manifest.
XLI
His kneeling posture he retains--
Calmly her eyes encounter his--
Insensible her hand remains
Beneath his lips' devouring kiss.
What visions then her fancy thronged--
A breathless silence then, prolonged--
But finally she softly said:
"Enough, arise!
for much we need
Without disguise ourselves explain.
Oneguine, hast forgotten yet
The hour when--Fate so willed--we met
In the lone garden and the lane?
How meekly then I heard you preach--
To-day it is my turn to teach.
XLII
"Oneguine, I was younger then,
And better, if I judge aright;
I loved you--what did I obtain?
Affection how did you requite?
But with austerity! --for you
No novelty--is it not true? --
Was the meek love a maiden feels.
But now--my very blood congeals,
Calling to mind your icy look
And sermon--but in that dread hour
I blame not your behaviour--
An honourable course ye took,
Displayed a noble rectitude--
My soul is filled with gratitude!
XLIII
"Then, in the country, is't not true?
And far removed from rumour vain;
I did not please you. Why pursue
Me now, inflict upon me pain? --
Wherefore am I your quarry held? --
Is it that I am now compelled
To move in fashionable life,
That I am rich, a prince's wife? --
Because my lord, in battles maimed,
Is petted by the Emperor? --
That my dishonour would ensure
A notoriety proclaimed,
And in society might shed
A bastard fame prohibited?
