One can be an efficient man —
and mind the beauty of one's nails:
why vainly argue with the age?
4 Custom is despot among men.
My Eugene, a second [Chadáev],
being afraid of jealous censures,
was in his dress a pedant
8 and what we've called a fop.
Three hours, at least,
he spent in front of glasses,
and from his dressing room came forth
12 akin to giddy Venus
when, having donned a masculine attire,
the goddess drives to a masqued ball.
XXVI
With toilette in the latest taste
having engaged your curious glance,
I might before the learned world
4 describe here his attire;
this would, no doubt, be daring;
however, 'tis my business to describe;
but “dress coat,” “waistcoat,” “pantaloons” —
8 in Russian all these words are not;
in fact, I see (my guilt I lay before you)
that my poor idiom as it is
might be diversified much less
12 with words of foreign stock,
though I did erstwhile dip
into the Academic Dictionary.
XXVII
Not this is our concern at present:
we'd better hurry to the ball
whither headlong in a hack coach
4 already my Onegin has sped off.
In front of darkened houses,
alongst the sleeping street in rows
the twin lamps of coupés
8 pour forth a cheerful light
and project rainbows on the snow.
Studded around with lampions,
glitters a splendid house;
12 across its whole-glassed windows shadows move:
there come and go the profiled heads
of ladies and of modish quizzes.
XXVIII
Up to the porch our hero now has driven;
past the hall porter, like a dart,
he has flown up the marble steps,
4 has run his fingers through his hair,
has entered. The ballroom is full of people;
the music has already tired of dinning;
the crowd is occupied with the mazurka;
8 there's all around both noise and squeeze;
there clink the cavalier guard's spurs;
the little feet of winsome ladies flit;
upon their captivating tracks
12 flit flaming glances,
and by the roar of violins is drowned
the jealous whispering of fashionable women.
XXIX
In days of gaieties and desires
I was mad about balls:
there is no safer spot for declarations
4 and for the handing of a letter.
O you, respected husbands!
I'll offer you my services;
pray, mark my speech:
8 I wish to warn you.
You too, mammas: most strictly
follow your daughters with your eyes;
hold up your lorgnettes straight!
12 Or else... else — God forbid!
If this I write it is because
I have long ceased to sin.
XXX
Alas, on various pastimes I have wasted
a lot of life!
But to this day, if morals did not suffer,
4 I'd still like balls.
I like riotous youth,
the crush, the glitter, and the gladness,
and the considered dresses of the ladies;
8 I like their little feet; but then 'tis doubtful
that in all Russia you will find
three pairs of shapely feminine feet.
Ah me, I long could not forget
12 two little feet!... Despondent, fervorless,
I still remember them, and in sleep they
disturb my heart.
XXXI
So when and where, in what desert, will you
forget them, madman? Little feet,
ah, little feet! Where are you now?
4 Where do you trample vernant blooms?
Brought up in Oriental mollitude,
on the Northern sad snow
you left no prints:
8 you liked the sumptuous contact
of yielding rugs.
Is it long since I would forget for you
the thirst for fame and praises,
12 the country of my fathers, and confinement?
The happiness of youthful years has vanished
as on the meadows your light trace.