No More Learning

There our Katenine did revive
Corneille's majestic genius,
Sarcastic Shakhovskoi brought out
His comedies, a noisy rout,
There Didelot became glorious,
There, there, beneath the side-scene's shade
The drama of my youth was played. (10)

[Note 10: _Denis Von Wisine_ (1741-92), a favourite Russian
dramatist. His first comedy "The Brigadier," procured him the
favour of the second Catherine. His best, however, is the
"Minor" (Niedorosl). Prince Potemkin, after witnessing it,
summoned the author, and greeted him with the exclamation,
"Die now, Denis! " In fact, his subsequent performances were
not of equal merit.

_Jacob Borissovitch Kniajnine_ (1742-91), a clever adapter of
French tragedy.

_Simeonova_, a celebrated tragic actress, who retired from
the stage in early life and married a Prince Gagarine.

_Ozeroff_, one of the best-known Russian dramatists of the
period; he possessed more originality than Kniajnine. "Oedipus
in Athens," "Fingal," "Demetrius Donskoi," and "Polyxena," are
the best known of his tragedies.

_Katenine_ translated Corneille's tragedies into Russian.

_Didelot_, sometime Director of the ballet at the Opera at
St. Petersburg. ]

XVI

My goddesses, where are your shades?
Do ye not hear my mournful sighs?
Are ye replaced by other maids
Who cannot conjure former joys?
Shall I your chorus hear anew,
Russia's Terpsichore review
Again in her ethereal dance?
Or will my melancholy glance
On the dull stage find all things changed,
The disenchanted glass direct
Where I can no more recollect? --
A careless looker-on estranged
In silence shall I sit and yawn
And dream of life's delightful dawn?

XVII

The house is crammed. A thousand lamps
On pit, stalls, boxes, brightly blaze,
Impatiently the gallery stamps,
The curtain now they slowly raise.
Obedient to the magic strings,
Brilliant, ethereal, there springs
Forth from the crowd of nymphs surrounding
Istomina(*) the nimbly-bounding;
With one foot resting on its tip
Slow circling round its fellow swings
And now she skips and now she springs
Like down from Aeolus's lip,
Now her lithe form she arches o'er
And beats with rapid foot the floor.

[Note: Istomina--A celebrated Circassian dancer of the day, with
whom the poet in his extreme youth imagined himself in love. ]

XVIII

Shouts of applause! Oneguine passes
Between the stalls, along the toes;
Seated, a curious look with glasses
On unknown female forms he throws.
Free scope he yields unto his glance,
Reviews both dress and countenance,
With all dissatisfaction shows.
To male acquaintances he bows,
And finally he deigns let fall
Upon the stage his weary glance.
He yawns, averts his countenance,
Exclaiming, "We must change 'em all!
I long by ballets have been bored,
Now Didelot scarce can be endured! "

XIX

Snakes, satyrs, loves with many a shout
Across the stage still madly sweep,
Whilst the tired serving-men without
Wrapped in their sheepskins soundly sleep.
Still the loud stamping doth not cease,
Still they blow noses, cough, and sneeze,
Still everywhere, without, within,
The lamps illuminating shine;
The steed benumbed still pawing stands
And of the irksome harness tires,
And still the coachmen round the fires(11)
Abuse their masters, rub their hands:
But Eugene long hath left the press
To array himself in evening dress.