queer it is!

I’d swear the scene is from a novel!”

“And this is my daughter Tatiana.”

“Ah, Tanya! Come up here to me —

8 I seem to be delirious in my sleep.

Coz, you remember Grandison?”

“What, Grandison? Oh, Grandison!

Why, yes, I do, I do. Well, where is he?”

12 “In Moscow — dwelling by St. Simeon’s;

on Christmas Eve he called on me:

got a son married recently.

XLII

“As to the other… But we’ll tell it all

later, won’t we? To all her kin

straightway tomorrow we’ll show Tanya.

4 Pity that paying visits is for me

too much — can hardly drag my feet.

But you are worn out from the journey;

let’s go and have a rest together…

8 Oh, I’ve no strength… my chest is tired…

now even joy, not only woe,

oppressive is to me. My dear,

I am already good for nothing…

12 When one starts getting old, life is so horrid.”

And here, exhausted utterly,

in tears, she broke into a coughing fit.

XLIII

The invalid’s kindness and gladness touch

Tatiana; but in her

new domicile she’s ill at ease,

4 used as she is to her own chamber.

Beneath a silken curtain,

in a new bed sleep does not come to her,

and the early peal of church bells,

8 forerunner of the morning tasks,

arouses her from bed.

Tanya sits down beside the window.

The darkness thins; but she

12 does not discern her fields:

there is before her a strange yard,

a stable, kitchen house, and fence.

XLIV

And now, on rounds of family dinners

Tanya they trundle daily to present

to grandsires and to grandams

4 her abstract indolence.

For kin come from afar

there’s everywhere a kind reception,

and exclamations, and good cheer.

8 “How Tanya’s grown! Such a short while

it seems since I godmothered you!”

“And since I bore you in my arms!”

“And since I pulled you by the ears!”

12 “And since I fed you gingerbread!”

And the grandmothers keep repeating

in chorus: “How our years do fly!”

XLV

But one can see no change in them;

in them all follows the old pattern:

the spinster princess, Aunt Eléna,

4 has got the very same tulle mob;

still cerused is Lukéria Lvóvna;

the same lies tells Lyubóv Petróvna;

Iván Petróvich is as stupid;

8 Semyón Petróvich as tightfisted;

and Palagéya Nikolávna

has the same friend, Monsieur Finemouche,

and the same spitz, and the same husband —

12 while he is still the sedulous clubman,

is just as meek, is just as deaf,

still eats and drinks enough for two.

XLVI

Their daughters embrace Tanya.

Moscow’s young graces

at first in silence

4 from head to foot survey Tatiana;

find her somewhat bizarre,

provincial, and affected,

and somewhat pale and thin,

8 but on the whole not bad at all;

then, to nature submitting, they

befriend her, lead her to their rooms,

kiss her, squeeze tenderly her hands,

12 fluff up her curls after the fashion,

and in their singsong tones impart

the secrets of the heart, secrets of maidens,

XLVII

conquests of others and their own,

hopes, pranks, daydreams.

The innocent talks flow,

4 embellished with slight calumny.

Then, in requital for their patter,

her heart’s confession they

sweetly request.

8 But Tanya in a kind of daze

their speeches hears without response,

understands nothing,

and her heart’s secret,

12 fond treasure of both tears and bliss,

she mutely guards meantime

and shares with none.

XLVIII

Tatiana wishes to make out

the talks, the general conversation;

but there engages everybody in the drawing room

4 such incoherent, common rot;

all about them is so pale, neutral;

they even slander dully.

In this sterile aridity of speeches,

8 interrogations, talebearing, and news,

not once in four-and-twenty hours does thought

flash forth, even by chance, even at random;

the languid mind won’t smile,

12 the heart even in jest won’t quiver;

and even some droll foolishness in you

one will not meet with, hollow monde!

XLIX

The “archival youths” in a crowd

look priggishly at Tanya

and about her among themselves

4 unfavorably speak.

One melancholy coxcomb finds

she is “ideal”

and, leaning ‘gainst a doorpost,

8 prepares an elegy for her.

At a dull aunt’s having met Tanya,

once V[yazemski] sat down beside her

and managed to engage her soul;

12 and, near him having noticed her,

an old man, straightening his wig,

inquires about her.

L

But where stormy Melpomene’s

protracted wail resounds,

where she her spangled mantle waves

4 before the frigid crowd;

where dozes quietly Thalia

and hearkens not to friendly plaudits;

where at Terpsichore alone

8 the young spectator marvels

(as it was, too, in former years,

in your time and in mine),

toward her did not turn

12 either jealous lorgnettes of ladies

or spyglasses of modish connoisseurs

from boxes or the rows of stalls.

LI

To the Sobránie, too, they bring her:

the crush there, the excitement, heat,

the music’s crash, the tapers’ glare,

4 the flicker, whirl of rapid pairs,

the light attires of belles,

the galleries freaked with people,

of marriageable girls the ample hemicycle,

8 at once strike all the senses.

Here finished fops display

their impudence, their waistcoats,

and negligent lorgnettes.

12 Hither hussars on leave

haste to arrive, to thunder by,

flash, captivate, and wing away.

LII

The night has many charming stars,

in Moscow there are many belles;

but brighter in the airy blue

4 than all her skymates is the moon;

but she, whom with my lyre

disturb I dare not,

like the majestic moon,

8 ‘mid dames and maidens shines alone.

With what celestial pride

the earth she touches!

With what voluptuousness her breast is filled!

12 How languorous her wondrous gaze!…

But ’tis enough, enough; do cease:

to folly you have paid your due.

LIII

Noise, laughter, scampering, bows,

galope, mazurka, waltz… Meantime,

between two aunts, beside a column,

4 noted by none,

Tatiana looks and does not see,

detests the agitation of the monde;

she stifles here… she strains in fancy

8 toward campestral life,

the country, the poor villagers,

to that secluded nook

where flows a limpid brooklet,

12 toward her flowers, toward her novels,

and to the gloom of linden avenues,

thither where he used to appear to her

LIV

Thus does her thought roam far away:

high life and noisy ball are both forgotten,

but meantime does not take his eyes off her

4 a certain imposing general.

The aunts exchanged a wink and both

as one nudged Tanya with their elbows,

and each whispered to her:

8 “Look quickly to your left.”

“My left? Where? What is there?”

“Well, whatsoever there be, look….

In that group, see? In front….

12 There where you see those two in uniform….

Now he has moved off… now he stands in profile.”

“Who? That fat general?”

LV

But here we shall congratulate

my dear Tatiana on a conquest

and turn our course aside,

4 lest I forget of whom I sing….

And by the way, here are two words about it:

“I sing a youthful pal

and many eccentricities of his.

8 Bless my long labor,

O you, Muse of the Epic!

And having handed me a trusty staff,

let me not wander aslant and askew.”

12 Enough! The load come off my shoulders!

To classicism I have paid my respects:

though late, but there’s an introduction.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fare thee well, and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well.

Byron

I

In those days when in the Lyceum’s gardens

I bloomed serenely,

would eagerly read Apuleius,

4 did not read Cicero;

in those days, in mysterious valleys,

in springtime, to the calls of swans,

near waters shining in the stillness,

8 the Muse began to visit me.

My student cell was all at once

radiant with light: in it the Muse

opened a banquet of young fancies,

12 sang childish gaieties,

and glory of our ancientry,

and the heart’s tremulous dreams.

II

And with a smile the world received her;

the first success provided us with wings;

the aged Derzhavin noticed us — and blessed us

4 as he descended to the grave.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

III

And I, setting myself for law

only the arbitrary will of passions,

sharing emotions with the crowd,

4 I led my frisky Muse into the hubbub

of feasts and turbulent discussions —

the terror of midnight patrols;

and to them, in mad feasts,

8 she brought her gifts,

and like a little bacchante frisked,

over the bowl sang for the guests;

and the young people of past days

12 would turbulently dangle after her;

and I was proud ‘mong friends

of my volatile mistress.

IV

But I dropped out of their alliance —

and fled afar… she followed me.

How often the caressive Muse

4 for me would sweeten the mute way

with the bewitchment of a secret tale!

How often on Caucasia’s crags,

Lenorelike, by the moon,

8 with me she’d gallop on a steed!

How often on the shores of Tauris

she in the gloom of night

led me to listen the sound of the sea,

12 Nereid’s unceasing murmur,

the deep eternal chorus of the billows,

the praiseful hymn to the sire of the worlds.

V

And the far capital’s glitter and noisy feasts

having forgotten in the wilds

of sad Moldavia,

4 she visited the humble tents

of wandering tribes;

and among them grew savage, and forgot

the language of the gods

8 for scant, strange tongues,

for songs of the steppe dear to her.

Suddenly everything around

changed, and lo! in my garden she appeared

12 as a provincial miss,

with a sad thought in her eyes, with a French

book in her hands.

VI

And now my Muse for the first time

I’m taking to a high-life rout;44

at her steppe charms

4 with jealous apprehensiveness I look.

Through a dense series of aristocrats,

of military fops, of diplomats

and haughty dames, she glides; now quietly

8 she has sat down and looks, admiring

the noisy crush,

the flickering of dress and speech,

the apparition of slow guests

12 in front of the young hostess,

and the dark frame of men

around ladies, as