Part 14 (1/2)

Who is the man not bored by feigning, Repeating things in other ways, In all solemnity maintaining What people think in any case, By hearing all the same objections, By undermining predilections, Such as a girl of mere thirteen Is free from and has always been!

Who will not tire of the denials, The threats, the vows, the put-on fear, The notelets of six pages sheer, The gossip, rings, the tears, betrayals, Surveillances by mothers, aunts And husbands with their friendly stance!

9.

My Eugene drew the same conclusions.

In his first youth he'd fallen prey To stormy errors and delusions And pa.s.sion's unrestricted play.

Spoiled by the life he had been granted, By one thing for a while enchanted, Another disenchanting him, Thwarted desire tormenting him, Tormented, too, by quick successes, Hearing amid the noise and lull The timeless mutter of the soul, A yawn with laughter he suppresses: Precisely so, eight years he killed, His prime thus pa.s.sing, unfulfilled.

10.

Beauties no longer claimed his pa.s.sion, He wooed them with insouciance; Refusal was a consolation, Betrayal a deliverance.

He sought them with no great affection And left them, feeling no connection, Barely recalled their love and spite.

Just so a casual guest one night Will visit friends for some distraction; Sits down to whist; concludes the game: He sets off on the journey home, Falling asleep with satisfaction, And, in the morning, does not know Himself that evening where he'll go.

11.

But, on receiving Tanya's letter, Onegin was profoundly stirred; The girlish daydreams that beset her Roused thoughts in him he'd long interred; And he recalled the mournful manner And pale complexion of Tatiana; And plunged into a reverie, A sweet and sinless fantasy.

Perhaps a glow of old emotion Returned to him in his decline, But he'd no wish to undermine Her trustfulness, her pure devotion.

We'll fly now to the garden where Tatiana met him, in despair.

12.

For two long minutes they were quiet, Onegin then approached her, said: 'You wrote to me, do not deny it.

The letter that you sent I've read.

I read a trusting soul's confession, A pure, effusive declaration; Your openness appeals to me; It roused into activity A heart that long ago turned heartless; But I've no wish to praise you; I Shall recompense your candour by My own confession, just as artless; Listen to my avowal now; And to your judgement I shall bow.

13.

'If I had wanted life restricted To living in domestic bliss; If I, by kindly fate conscripted, Were destined to be father, spouse, If I could ever without stricture Be charmed by a familial picture, I'd doubtless choose no other bride Than you to cherish at my side.

I'd say, without poetic glitter, That I had found my past ideal, With you my destiny I'd seal And cleave to you when times were bitter, A pledge of beauty and the good, And would be happy... if I could!

14.

'But happiness I never aimed for, It is a stranger to my soul; Alas, the virtues you are famed for, I do not merit them at all.

Upon my conscience: do believe me, Wedlock would make you want to leave me.

Once used to you, I'd cease to love The bride I could not love enough; The tears that surely you'd be shedding Would fail to touch my heart and would Only infuriate my mood.

Judge, then, what roses for our wedding Would Hymen pluck, how many more To mark the days we have in store.