Part 22 (1/2)

The poet fell; already men No more remembered him; unto Another his betrothed was given; The memory of the bard was driven Like smoke athwart the heaven blue; Two hearts perchance were desolate And mourned him still. Why mourn his fate?

XIII

'Twas eve. 'Twas dusk. The river speeds In tranquil flow. The beetle hums.

Already dance to song proceeds; The fisher's fire afar illumes The river's bank. Tattiana lone Beneath the silver of the moon Long time in meditation deep Her path across the plain doth keep-- Proceeds, until she from a hill Sees where a n.o.ble mansion stood, A village and beneath, a wood, A garden by a s.h.i.+ning rill.

She gazed thereon, and instant beat Her heart more loudly and more fleet.

XIV

She hesitates, in doubt is thrown-- ”Shall I proceed, or homeward flee?

He is not there: I am not known: The house and garden I would see.”

Tattiana from the hill descends With bated breath, around she bends A countenance perplexed and scared.

She enters a deserted yard-- Yelping, a pack of dogs rush out, But at her shriek ran forth with noise The household troop of little boys, Who with a scuffle and a shout The curs away to kennel chase, The damsel under escort place.

XV

”Can I inspect the mansion, please?”

Tattiana asks, and hurriedly Unto Anicia for the keys The family of children hie.

Anicia soon appears, the door Opens unto her visitor.

Into the lonely house she went, Wherein a s.p.a.ce Oneguine spent.

She gazed--a cue, forgotten long, Doth on the billiard table rest, Upon the tumbled sofa placed, A riding whip. She strolls along.

The beldam saith: ”The hearth, by it The master always used to sit.

XVI

”Departed Lenski here to dine In winter time would often come.

Please follow this way, lady mine, This is my master's sitting-room.

'Tis here he slept, his coffee took, Into accounts would sometimes look, A book at early morn perused.

The room my former master used.

On Sundays by yon window he, Spectacles upon nose, all day Was wont with me at cards to play.

G.o.d save his soul eternally And grant his weary bones their rest Deep in our mother Earth's chill breast!”

XVII

Tattiana's eyes with tender gleam On everything around her gaze, Of priceless value all things seem And in her languid bosom raise A pleasure though with sorrow knit: The table with its lamp unlit, The pile of books, with carpet spread Beneath the window-sill his bed, The landscape which the moonbeams fret, The twilight pale which softens all, Lord Byron's portrait on the wall And the cast-iron statuette With folded arms and eyes bent low, c.o.c.ked hat and melancholy brow.(69)

[Note 69: The Russians not unfrequently adorn their apartments with effigies of the great Napoleon.]

XVIII

Long in this fas.h.i.+onable cell Tattiana as enchanted stood; But it grew late; cold blew the gale; Dark was the valley and the wood slept o'er the river misty grown.

Behind the mountain sank the moon.

Long, long the hour had past when home Our youthful wanderer should roam.

She hid the trouble of her breast, Heaved an involuntary sigh And turned to leave immediately, But first permission did request Thither in future to proceed That certain volumes she might read.

XIX

Adieu she to the matron said At the front gates, but in brief s.p.a.ce At early morn returns the maid To the abandoned dwelling-place.

When in the study's calm retreat, Wrapt in oblivion complete, She found herself alone at last, Longtime her tears flowed thick and fast; But presently she tried to read; At first for books was disinclined, But soon their choice seemed to her mind Remarkable. She then indeed Devoured them with an eager zest.

A new world was made manifest!