Part 22 (1/2)

Detesting a coquette so cruel, Still seething, Lensky sought to shun A rendezvous before the duel, He kept consulting watch and sun.

The wish to meet, though, was compelling, Soon Lensky's at the sisters' dwelling.

Olga, he thought, would be upset And agitated when they met; But not a bit of it: on spying The desolate bard, as in the past She skipped down from the porch as fast As giddy hope, towards him flying, Light-hearted, free of care, serene a In fact, as she had always been.

14.

'Last night, why did you leave so early?'

Was what his Olen'ka first said.

His senses clouded, and he merely, Without replying, hung his head.

Vexation, jealousy were banished, Before her s.h.i.+ning look they vanished, Before her soft simplicity, Before her soul's vivacity!

He gazes with sweet feeling, heartened To see that he's still loved; and longs Already, burdened by his wrongs, To ask her whether he'll be pardoned, He trembles, can't think what to say, He's happy, almost well today...

[15, 16]13.

17.

Pensive again, again dejected, Vladimir, under Olga's sway, Is not sufficiently collected To speak to her of yesterday; 'I,' he reflects, 'will be her saviour.

I shall not suffer that depraver To tempt a maiden's innocence With fiery sighs and compliments; Nor let a worm with venom slither A lily's stalklet to enfold, Nor see a flower two days old, Half-opened still, condemned to wither.'

All this, friends, signified: I shall Soon fire a bullet at my pal.

18.

If he had known what wound was burning My dear Tatiana's heart! If she Had been aware, in some way learning, If she'd been able to foresee That Lensky, Eugene would be vying To find a grave for one to lie in; Who knows, her love perhaps might then Have reconciled the friends again!

But no one had as yet discovered, Even by chance, their angry feud.

On everything Eugene was mute, Tatiana quietly pined and suffered; The nurse might just have known of it, But she, alas, was slow of wit.

19.

All evening Lensky was abstracted, Now taciturn, now gay. Somehow, A person by the Muse protected, Is always thus: with knitted brow, To the clavier he'd wander, playing A string of chords, no more a.s.saying, Or whisper, seeing Olga near, 'I'm happy, am I not, my dear?'

But it was late, his heart was aching, He must depart, yet as he bade Goodbye to her, his youthful maid, His heart was on the point of breaking.

She looks at him: 'What is it?' 'Oh, It's nothing, Olga, I must go.'

20.

Arriving home, he first inspected His pistols, ready for the fight, Put them away, undressed, reflected On Schiller's verse by candlelight.

But by one thought he's overtaken, His melancholy does not slacken: He sees before him Olga full Of beauty inexplicable.

Vladimir closes Schiller's verses, Takes up his pen and writes his own a Nonsense to which a lover's p.r.o.ne; It sings and flows. And he rehea.r.s.es His lines aloud, by fervour seized, Like drunken Delvig14 at a feast.

21.