Part 32 (1/2)

32.

He stays: beforehand he'd been ready To warn his forebears to expect That soon he'd be among them, yet she Cares not a bit (such is their s.e.x).

But he is stubborn, won't surrender, Still hopes and keeps to his agenda.

Far bolder than a healthy man, Unwell, he writes with feeble hand The Princess an impa.s.sioned letter, Although (in this I share his views) He saw in letters little use; But with his heart held in a fetter, A missive could not be deferred.

Here is his letter, word for word.

Onegin's Letter to Tatiana

I can predict: I shall offend You29 with my secret, sad confession, And I foresee your proud expression Of bitter scorn for what I send.

What do I want? To what end, after I've opened up my soul to you?

What wicked merriment, what laughter I'll give, perhaps, occasion to!

When first I met you, I detected A tender spark, I was affected, But to the challenge dared not rise, I'd curbed myself of that sweet habit, And I had no desire to forfeit The hateful freedom I so prize.

Yet one more thing drove us asunder...

Lensky, a hapless victim, fell...

And then, from all a heart finds tender I tore my own; an alien soul, Without allegiances, I vanished, Thinking that liberty and peace Could take the place of happiness.

My G.o.d, how wrong, how I've been punished!

To see you as each minute flies, To follow you in all directions, To capture with enamoured eyes Your smiling lips, your eyes' reflections, To listen and to understand With all my soul your perfect nature, To melt in torments at your hand, Grow pale and waste away a that's rapture!

And I'm deprived of that: for you I drag myself at random, wander, Each day is dear, each hour too: Yet I in futile dullness squander The days my fate has counted off.

And they are burdensome enough.

I know: my end may well be dawning, But so as to prolong my stay, I must be certain every morning That I shall see you that same day...

I fear that my meek supplication Will be by your relentless gaze Seen as a shameful machination a I hear your furious dispraise.

If you but knew the frightful torment To languish after your beloved, To burn a while reason every moment Tells you to quell your raging blood, To wish to hold your knees, and, pouring My tears out at your feet, to press, Entreat, confess, reproach, imploring All, all I've wanted to express, To do so, feigning reservation, To arm each glance and every phrase, To look at you with cheerful gaze And hold a placid conversation...

But let that be: I'm in no state To struggle further with my pa.s.sion; My life depends on your decision And I surrender to my fate.

33.

He gets no answer to this letter, A second and a third he sends, But neither one fares any better.

At a reception he attends, He's hardly entered than towards him Tatiana comes, and she ignores him, Says nothing, does not see him there.

What frost surrounds her, how severe!

How, holding back her indignation, Her stubborn lips remain in place!

Onegin peers with searching gaze: Where, where's the pity, perturbation?

The tear stains, where? No trace, no trace, Anger alone has marked this face...

34.

And, possibly the apprehension That monde or husband might suppose Some waywardness, some casual penchant...