Part 20 (1/2)

31.

With tragi-nervous demonstrations, With maidens' fainting fits and tears Eugene had long since lost all patience: He'd had enough of them for years.

Finding himself at this huge banquet, The oddball was already angry.

But noticing the languid maid's Disquiet, he, with lowered gaze, Fell sulking and, with indignation, Swore he would madden Lensky and Avenge himself on every hand.

Rejoicing in antic.i.p.ation, He in his soul began to sketch Caricatures of every guest.

32.

Of course, it was not just Onegin Who could detect Tatiana's plight, But at that moment all were taking Cognizance of a pie22 in sight (Alas, too salty for the throttle).

Meanwhile, inside a pitch-sealed bottle Between the meat and blanc-manger23 Tsimlyansky24 wine goes on display, Followed by long and narrow gla.s.ses, So like your waist, Zizi,25 so small, The crystal pattern of my soul, The object of my guiltless verses, The vial of love's enticing brew a How often I got drunk on you!

33.

The damp cork pops, the bottle's emptied, The gla.s.ses fizz with ancient wine; Then, by his stanza long tormented, Triquet with ceremonial sign Stands up; and all the guests before him Are still. Unable to ignore him, Tatiana's scarce alive; Triquet, Holding a paper, turns her way And starts his song, off-key. He's feted With shouts and calls, the guests clap hard, She owes a curtsey to the bard; The poet, great but underrated, Is first to drink her health, and she Accepts his stanza gracefully.

34.

Homage, congratulations greet her; In turn Tatiana thanks each guest.

Then, as Onegin comes to meet her, The maiden's air, her lack of zest, Her discomposure, tired expression Engender in his soul compa.s.sion: He simply bows, yet in his eyes Tatiana catches with surprise A look miraculously tender.

Whether indeed he feels regret Or plays with her like a coquette, This wondrous look appears to mend her: True tenderness in it she sees, It puts Tatiana's heart at ease.

35.

The chairs are pushed back in a clatter, The drawing-room receives the crowd, So bees from honied hives will scatter To cornfields in a noisy cloud.

Contented with their festive labours, The locals snuffle to their neighbours; Ladies sit by the chimney-place; Girls whisper in a corner s.p.a.ce; The men unfold the green baize tables, Boston and ancient omber26 call The ardent players to their thrall, Whist too, still one of players' staples a But what a dull consortium, All sons of avid tedium!

36.

Whist's gallant heroes have completed Eight rubbers; and as many times, Having changed places, are reseated; Now tea is served. We hear no chimes: I like to time repasts at leisure With dinner, supper, tea my measure.

We countryfolk make little fuss Without Breguet to govern us: Our stomach is our faultless timer; And, by the way, I like to talk As much of dishes, feasts and cork, In my capacity as rhymer, As you did, Homer, bard divine Whom thirty centuries enshrine.

[37, 38].

39.

But tea is brought; the dainty maidens Have scarce their saucers in their hand, When from the hall they hear the cadence Of flute, ba.s.soon a the army band.

By music's thunder animated, His tea-and-rum cup relegated, Our Paris of the towns about, Our Petushkov seeks Olga out, Then Lensky Tanya; Kharlikova, A seasoned maid, not married off, Falls to our poet from Tambov, Buyanov whirls off Pustyakova, And all have spilled into the hall, And in full glory s.h.i.+nes the ball.