Part 27 (1/2)

29.

Her walks continue, lasting longer.

Now at a hillock, now a stream Tatiana cannot help but linger, Arrested by their special charm.

As with old friends Tatiana hastens To carry on her conversations With every meadow, grove in sight, But short-lived summer's taking flight.

And golden autumn is arriving.

Nature, now pale and tremulous, Is richly dressed for sacrifice.

Here is the North now, storm clouds driving, It blows, it howls a and winter then, The sorceress arrives again.

30.

She's come, herself she scatters, weighting The oaken boughs with flocks of snow; Lies down in carpets undulating Over the hills and fields below; Spreads out a puffy shroud to cover The trace of banks and frozen river; Frost gleams. And we take pleasure in Old Mother Winter's frolicking.

But Tanya finds her antics galling.

She shuns the winter, cannot bear To take a breath of frosty air, Or at the bath with new snow falling To wash her face, her shoulders, breast.

Tatiana dreads this winter's quest.

31.

Departure has been long extended, The final date is almost gone.

The coach has been inspected, mended, Recovered from oblivion.

The usual three kibitkas manage The plethora of goods and baggage: Pans, jars of jam, and chairs and chests And feather beds and mattresses, Roosters in cages, pots and basins, Etcetera a for so much more Is wrested from the family store.

And in the log hut, losing patience The servants weep, farewell is hard: And eighteen nags invade the yard.

32.

They're harnessed to the master carriage, The cooks prepare a lunch for all, The three kibitkas teem with baggage, While household women, coachmen brawl.

A bearded outrider is seated Upon a jade, unkempt, depleted.

Up at the gate retainers vie To bid their mistresses goodbye.

The venerable carriage, gliding, Has crept beyond the gate. 'Farewell, You peaceful places, hill and dell!

Farewell the refuge that I'd hide in!

When shall I see you all?' she cries, And tears stream out of Tanya's eyes.

33.

When we are free of the constrictions Of our benign enlightenment, In time (we're told, from the predictions Of philosophic measurement,9 In some five hundred years) our highways Will no more look like tawdry byways, But surfaced roads on every hand Will unify the Russian land, And cast-iron bridges will support us On wide arcs over waterways, We'll part the mountains in the skies, Dig daring tunnels under waters, And Christendom will inst.i.tute A chain of inns on every route.

34.