Part 2 (1/2)

CHAPTER I.

And it hurries to live and it hastens to feel.

Prince Vyazemsky1.

I.

My uncle is a man of honour, When in good earnest he fell ill, He won respect by his demeanour And found the role he best could fill.

Let others profit by his lesson, But, oh my G.o.d, what desolation To tend a sick man day and night And not to venture from his sight!

What shameful cunning to be cheerful With someone who is halfway dead, To prop up pillows by his head, To bring him medicine, looking tearful, To sigh a while inwardly you think: When will the devil let him sink?

2.

Reflecting thus, a youthful scapegrace, By lofty Zeus's2 will the heir Of all his kinsfolk, in a post-chaise, Flew headlong through the dusty air.

Friends of Ruslan and of Lyudmila3 Let me acquaint you with this fellow, The hero of my novel, pray, Without preamble or delay: My friend Onegin was begotten By the Neva, where maybe you Originated, reader, too Or where your l.u.s.tre's not forgotten: I liked to stroll there formerly, But now the North's unsafe for me.4

3.

Having retired from n.o.ble service, His father lived on borrowed cash, He gave three b.a.l.l.s a year, impervious And lost all in a final crash.

Eugene was saved by fate's decision: Madame took on his supervision, Then to Monsieur pa.s.sed on her trust.5 The child had charm, though boisterous.

Monsieur l'Abbe, a threadbare Frenchman, Made light of everything he taught For fear of getting Eugene fraught; Of stern morality no henchman, He'd mildly check a boyish lark And walked him in the Summer Park.6

4.

But when young Eugene reached the morrow Of adolescent turbulence, Season of hopes and tender sorrow, Monsieur was straightway driven hence.

Behold my Eugene's liberation: With hair trimmed to the latest fas.h.i.+on, Dressed like a London dandy, he At last saw high society.

In French, which he'd by now perfected, He could express himself and write, Dance the mazurka, treading light And bow in manner unaffected.

What more? Society opined: Here was a youth with charm and mind.

5.

We've all learned through our education Some few things in some random way; Thank G.o.d, then, it's no tribulation To put our knowledge on display.

Onegin was to many people (Who judged him by the strictest scruple) A pedant, yet an able lad.

He was by fortune talented At seeming always to be curious, At touching lightly on a thing, At looking wise and listening, When argument became too serious, And, with a sudden epigram, At setting ladies' smiles aflame.

6.

Custom no longer favours Latin: The truth, therefore, was plain enough a That he was able with a smattering To puzzle out an epigraph, To talk of Juvenal7 or set a Concluding vale to a letter; From the Aeneid8 a verse or two, Not without fault, he also knew.