Part 12 (1/2)

27.

Some would have women reading Russian, A frightful prospect, if applied; Imagine females in discussion With The Well-Meaner19 at their side!

I turn to you, my poets, teach us; Is it not true: those charming creatures For whom, to expiate your wrongs, You wrote, in secret, verse and songs, To whom you pledged your heart's affection, Did they not try, with much travail, Our Russian speech, to no avail, Yet using such a sweet inflection That on their lips a foreign tongue Became their native one ere long?

28.

The Lord forbid my ever meeting A bonneted scholar at a ball Or seminarist with a greeting As she departs in yellow shawl.20 Like rosy lips unused to smiling, Russian, I find, is unbeguiling Without grammatical mistakes.

Perhaps (my head already aches) A crop of exquisite new creatures Will heed the journals, set up school And make us bow to grammar's rule: Verse will acquire more useful features; But I... what matters this to me, I shall respect antiquity.

29.

An incorrect and careless patter, An inexact delivery Will generate a heartfelt flutter Within my breast as formerly.

I've not the strength to be repenting, Since Gallicisms are as tempting As bygone sins of youth, no worse Than Bogdanovich's21 in verse.

But stop. It's time now I translated The letter of my maiden dear, I gave my word, and what? I fear My wish to do so has abated.

I know that tender Parny's22 ways Are out of fas.h.i.+on nowadays.

30.

Bard of The Feasts23 and languid sorrow, If you had still remained with me, I would have troubled you, dear fellow, With a request, immodestly: That you transpose the foreign diction Of an impa.s.sioned maid's affliction Into enchanting melodies.

Where are you? Come: my rights I raze And, with a bow, place in your keeping...

But in a land of mournful stone, His heart forgetting praise, alone, Beneath the Finnish sky escaping, He wanders, and his soul hears not My grief for his unhappy lot.

31.

Before me is Tatiana's letter; Religiously, I treasure it, I read it with a secret shudder And cannot get my fill of it.

Who could have taught such tender writing, Such words so carelessly delighting, Who taught her that affecting rot, Mad conversation of the heart, A captivating, harmful mixture?

I cannot tell. But now you'll meet My version, feeble, incomplete, Pale copy of a vivid picture, Or as Der Freischutz24 might be played By girlish pupils, still afraid.

Tatiana's Letter to Onegin

I write to you a what more is needed?

What else is there that I could say?

It's in your power, I concede it, To punish my naivete.

But if you've even slightly pitied The dismal lot that I endure, You won't abandon me, I'm sure.

At first, I did not want to vex you.

Believe me: you'd have never known The shame I've suffered all alone, Had I been hopeful to expect you Here in our home, where we could speak, If only seldom, once a week, Enough to listen to your greeting And say a word to you, and then For days and nights to wonder when I could enjoy another meeting.

They say, though, you're unsociable; You treat our world with condescension, And we're... in no way fas.h.i.+onable, But welcome you without pretension.

Why ever did you visit us?

Lost in the village where I languish I never would have known you, thus I never would have known this anguish; Time would have taught me to extinguish My naive longings (but who knows?); I would have found a friend for life, Would have become a faithful wife And virtuous mother, if I chose.

Another!... No, I'd not have given My heart to anyone on earth!

It has been foreordained in heaven...

I was marked out for you from birth; My life has been a precondition For our encounter a which I crave; I know you're sent by G.o.d's provision, And you're my guardian till the grave...

You came in dreams that soon abounded, Even unseen, I treasured you.