Part 23 (1/2)

'My second? Yes, let me present him, He's here: Monsieur Guillot, my friend, I do not see what should prevent him, He's someone I can recommend.

Although he's not a well-known figure, He is an honest guy and eager.'

Zaretsky bit his lip, appalled.

Onegin then to Lensky called: 'Shall we not start now?' 'If you're willing,'

Vladimir said. Behind the mill They went. At some remove, meanwhile, Zaretsky solemnly is sealing A contract with the 'honest guy'.

The two foes stand with lowered eye.

28.

How long since they from one another Were parted by a thirst to kill?

How long since, each to each a brother, They'd shared their leisure time, a meal And thoughts? But now with grim impatience, As in a feud of generations Or frightful dream that makes no sense Each, cool and silent, must commence To wreak the other one's destruction...

Should they not stop and laugh instead Before their hands have turned blood red, Should they not spurn the duel's seduction?...

But what the world cannot abide Are bogus shame and lack of pride.

29.

The pistols glistened; soon the mallets Resoundingly on ramrods flicked, Through cut-steel barrels went the bullets, The c.o.c.k has for the first time clicked.

A greyish powder was decanted Into the pan, and the indented, Securely screwed-in flint raised high Once more. Behind a stump nearby Guillot was standing, disconcerted.

The foes cast off their cloaks, meanwhile Zaretsky measured off in style Thirty-two steps and then diverted His friends towards the farthest pace, Each took his pistol to the place.18

30.

'Now march,' came the command. And readily, As if the two had never met, The erstwhile comrades slowly, steadily Advanced four steps, not aiming yet, Four fatal steps the two had taken.

And then, advancing still, Onegin Raised by degrees his pistol first.

Five further paces they traversed.

And likewise Lensky calculated, Closed his left eye, as he took aim a But, with a sudden burst of flame, Onegin fired... the moment fated Had struck: the poet, with no sound, Let drop his pistol to the ground.

31.

His hand upon his breast he presses Softly, and falls, as, misty-eyed, His gaze not pain, but death expresses.

Thus, slowly, on a mountain-side A mound of snow, already teetering, Descends with sunny sparkles glittering.

Onegin, shuddering, swiftly flies To where the young Vladimir lies, He looks and calls... but there's no power Can bring him back. The youthful bard Has met an end untimely. Hard The storm has blown, the finest flower Has withered at the morning's dawn, The fire upon the altar's gone.

32.