Eight rubbers have already played
whist's heroes; eight times they
have changed their seats —
4 and tea is brought. I like defining
the hour by dinner, tea,
and supper. In the country
we know the time without great fuss:
8 the stomach is our accurate Bréguet;
and, apropos, I'll parenthetically note
that in my strophes I discourse
as frequently on feasts, on various
12 dishes and corks,
as you, divine Homer, you, idol
of thirty centuries!
XXXIX
But tea is brought: scarce have the damsels
demurely of their saucers taken hold
when from behind the door of the long hall
4 bassoon and flute sound suddenly.
Elated by the thunder of the music,
leaving his cup of tea with rum, the Paris
of the surrounding townlets, Petushkóv,
8 goes up to Olga; Lenski, to Tatiana;
Miss Harlikov, a marriageable maid
of overripe years, is secured
by my Tambovan poet;
12 Buyánov has whirled off Dame Pustyakóv;
and all have spilled into the hall,
and in full glory shines the ball.
XL
At the beginning of my novel
(see the first fascicle)
I wanted in Albano's manner
4 a Petersburg ball to describe;
but, by an empty reverie diverted,
I got engrossed in recollecting
the little feet of ladies known to me.
8 Upon your narrow tracks, O little feet,
enough roving astray!
With the betrayal of my youth
'tis time I grew more sensible,
12 improved in doings and in diction,
and this fifth fascicle
cleansed from digressions.
XLI
Monotonous and mad
like young life's whirl, the noisy
whirl of the waltz revolves,
4 pair after pair flicks by.
Nearing the minute of revenge,
Onegin, chuckling secretly,
goes up to Olga, rapidly with her
8 spins near the guests,
then seats her on a chair,
proceeds to talk of this and that;
a minute or two having lapsed, he then
12 again with her the waltz continues;
all are amazed. Lenski himself
does not believe his proper eyes.
XLII
There the mazurka sounds. Time was,
when the mazurka's thunder dinned,
in a huge ballroom everything vibrated,
4 the parquetry cracked under heel,
the window frames shook, rattled;
now 'tis not thus: we, too, like ladies,
glide o'er the lacquered boards.
8 But in [small] towns
and country places, the mazurka
has still retained its pristine charms:
saltos, heel-play, mustachios
12 remain the same; them has not altered
highhanded fashion,
our tyrant, sickness of the latest Russians.
XLIV
Buyánov, my mettlesome cousin,
toward our hero leads Tatiana
with Olga; deft
4 Onegin goes with Olga.
He steers her, gliding nonchalantly,
and, bending, whispers tenderly to her
some common madrigal, and squeezes
8 her hand — and brighter glows
on her conceited face
the rosy flush. My Lenski
has seen it all; flares up, beside himself;
12 in jealous indignation,
the poet waits for the end of the mazurka
and invites her for the cotillion.
XLV
But no, she cannot. Cannot? But what is it?
Why, Olga has given her word
already to Onegin. Ah, good God, good God!
4 What does he hear? She could...
How is it possible? Scarce out of swaddling clothes —
and a coquette, a giddy child!
Already she is versed in guile,
8 has learned already to betray!
Lenski has not the strength to bear the blow;
cursing the tricks of women,
he leaves, calls for a horse,
12 and gallops off. A brace of pistols,
two bullets — nothing more —
shall in a trice decide his fate.