[Note 72: This somewhat musty joke has
appeared
in more than one
national costume.
national costume.
Pushkin - Eugene Oneigin
As the
poet complains in a subsequent stanza there were no inns;
and if the simple Larinas required such ample store of creature
comforts the impediments accompanying a great noble on his
journeys may be easily conceived. ]
XXX
These to the coach of state are bound,
Breakfast the busy cooks prepare,
Baggage is heaped up in a mound,
Old women at the coachmen swear.
A bearded postillion astride
A lean and shaggy nag doth ride,
Unto the gates the servants fly
To bid the gentlefolk good-bye.
These take their seats; the coach of state
Leisurely through the gateway glides.
"Adieu! thou home where peace abides,
Where turmoil cannot penetrate,
Shall I behold thee once again? "--
Tattiana tears cannot restrain.
XXXI
The limits of enlightenment
When to enlarge we shall succeed,
In course of time (the whole extent
Will not five centuries exceed
By computation) it is like
Our roads transformed the eye will strike;
Highways all Russia will unite
And form a network left and right;
On iron bridges we shall gaze
Which o'er the waters boldly leap,
Mountains we'll level and through deep
Streams excavate subaqueous ways,
And Christian folk will, I expect,
An inn at every stage erect.
XXXII
But now, what wretched roads one sees,
Our bridges long neglected rot,
And at the stages bugs and fleas
One moment's slumber suffer not.
Inns there are none. Pretentious but
Meagre, within a draughty hut,
A bill of fare hangs full in sight
And irritates the appetite.
Meantime a Cyclops of those parts
Before a fire which feebly glows
Mends with the Russian hammer's blows
The flimsy wares of Western marts,
With blessings on the ditches and
The ruts of his own fatherland.
XXXIII
Yet on a frosty winter day
The journey in a sledge doth please,
No senseless fashionable lay
Glides with a more luxurious ease;
For our Automedons are fire
And our swift troikas never tire;
The verst posts catch the vacant eye
And like a palisade flit by. (72)
The Larinas unwisely went,
From apprehension of the cost,
By their own horses, not the post--
So Tania to her heart's content
Could taste the pleasures of the road.
Seven days and nights the travellers plod.
[Note 72: This somewhat musty joke has appeared in more than one
national costume. Most Englishmen, if we were to replace
verst-posts with milestones and substitute a graveyard for
a palisade, would instantly recognize its Yankee extraction.
In Russia however its origin is as ancient at least as the
reign of Catherine the Second. The witticism ran thus: A
courier sent by Prince Potemkin to the Empress drove so
fast that his sword, projecting from the vehicle, rattled
against the verst-posts as if against a palisade! ]
XXXIV
But they draw near. Before them, lo!
White Moscow raises her old spires,
Whose countless golden crosses glow
As with innumerable fires. (73)
Ah! brethren, what was my delight
When I yon semicircle bright
Of churches, gardens, belfries high
Descried before me suddenly!
Moscow, how oft in evil days,
Condemned to exile dire by fate,
On thee I used to meditate!
Moscow! How much is in the phrase
For every loyal Russian breast!
How much is in that word expressed!
[Note 73: The aspect of Moscow, especially as seen from the Sparrow
Hills, a low range bordering the river Moskva at a short distance
from the city, is unique and splendid. It possesses several domes
completely plated with gold and some twelve hundred spires most of
which are surmounted by a golden cross. At the time of sunset they
seem literally tipped with flame.
poet complains in a subsequent stanza there were no inns;
and if the simple Larinas required such ample store of creature
comforts the impediments accompanying a great noble on his
journeys may be easily conceived. ]
XXX
These to the coach of state are bound,
Breakfast the busy cooks prepare,
Baggage is heaped up in a mound,
Old women at the coachmen swear.
A bearded postillion astride
A lean and shaggy nag doth ride,
Unto the gates the servants fly
To bid the gentlefolk good-bye.
These take their seats; the coach of state
Leisurely through the gateway glides.
"Adieu! thou home where peace abides,
Where turmoil cannot penetrate,
Shall I behold thee once again? "--
Tattiana tears cannot restrain.
XXXI
The limits of enlightenment
When to enlarge we shall succeed,
In course of time (the whole extent
Will not five centuries exceed
By computation) it is like
Our roads transformed the eye will strike;
Highways all Russia will unite
And form a network left and right;
On iron bridges we shall gaze
Which o'er the waters boldly leap,
Mountains we'll level and through deep
Streams excavate subaqueous ways,
And Christian folk will, I expect,
An inn at every stage erect.
XXXII
But now, what wretched roads one sees,
Our bridges long neglected rot,
And at the stages bugs and fleas
One moment's slumber suffer not.
Inns there are none. Pretentious but
Meagre, within a draughty hut,
A bill of fare hangs full in sight
And irritates the appetite.
Meantime a Cyclops of those parts
Before a fire which feebly glows
Mends with the Russian hammer's blows
The flimsy wares of Western marts,
With blessings on the ditches and
The ruts of his own fatherland.
XXXIII
Yet on a frosty winter day
The journey in a sledge doth please,
No senseless fashionable lay
Glides with a more luxurious ease;
For our Automedons are fire
And our swift troikas never tire;
The verst posts catch the vacant eye
And like a palisade flit by. (72)
The Larinas unwisely went,
From apprehension of the cost,
By their own horses, not the post--
So Tania to her heart's content
Could taste the pleasures of the road.
Seven days and nights the travellers plod.
[Note 72: This somewhat musty joke has appeared in more than one
national costume. Most Englishmen, if we were to replace
verst-posts with milestones and substitute a graveyard for
a palisade, would instantly recognize its Yankee extraction.
In Russia however its origin is as ancient at least as the
reign of Catherine the Second. The witticism ran thus: A
courier sent by Prince Potemkin to the Empress drove so
fast that his sword, projecting from the vehicle, rattled
against the verst-posts as if against a palisade! ]
XXXIV
But they draw near. Before them, lo!
White Moscow raises her old spires,
Whose countless golden crosses glow
As with innumerable fires. (73)
Ah! brethren, what was my delight
When I yon semicircle bright
Of churches, gardens, belfries high
Descried before me suddenly!
Moscow, how oft in evil days,
Condemned to exile dire by fate,
On thee I used to meditate!
Moscow! How much is in the phrase
For every loyal Russian breast!
How much is in that word expressed!
[Note 73: The aspect of Moscow, especially as seen from the Sparrow
Hills, a low range bordering the river Moskva at a short distance
from the city, is unique and splendid. It possesses several domes
completely plated with gold and some twelve hundred spires most of
which are surmounted by a golden cross. At the time of sunset they
seem literally tipped with flame.
