Expected a calamity. 7
So what? She welcomed the contagious
Thrill of the horror and its shocks.
And that’s how Mother Nature made us,
Susceptible to paradox.
Epiphany comes round—so thrilling!—
And giddy youth goes fortune-telling,
For whom there’s no cause for regret,
For whom the span of life as yet
Shines far ahead, a boundless treasure.
Old age divines, with specs on nose,
As life is coming to its close
And all is lost and gone for ever.
No matter. Hope on them has smiled
(With the false prattle of a child). 8
When hot wax was dropped into water
Tatyana looked at it transfixed,
And wonderful the things it taught her
When it was wonderfully mixed.
Then from fresh water in a basin
Their rings emerged in quick succession,
And when her tiny ring emerged
They sang an old song with these words:
“Rich toilers dwell in that far city,
Shovelling silver all day long.
We wish the subject of our song
Fortune and fame!” But this sad ditty
Tells of sad losses soon for us;
Girls are more moved by “lady-puss”. 9
Night falls… Clear skies and frosty weather.
A wondrous choir of heavenly suns
Wheel in sweet harmony together.
Into the wide yard Tanya comes,
Wearing a dress with neckline open.
Her mirror picks the moon out, hoping,
But in the dark glass, if you please,
Sad, trembling moon is all she sees.
Hush!… Creaking snow… Who is that passing?
On tiptoe, over there she speeds
And, softer than a pipe of reeds,
Her fluting voice sings to him, asking,
“What do they call you?” Whereupon
He glares and answers, “Agaphon.” 10
Tatyana’s nurse had once suggested
That conjured dreams at night come true,
So in the bathhouse she requested
A secret table set for two.
But sudden panic struck Tatyana
(As once, when thinking of Svetlana,
I panicked too… But let that go…
We’re not in Tanya’s magic show).
She took her silk sash and undid it,
Then she undressed and went to bed,
A love charm hanging by her head.
Neath the down pillow, where she’d hid it,
Lay the maid’s mirror she had kept.
And all went quiet; Tanya slept. 11
And Tanya dreams a dream fantastic,
She dreams of a white glade snow-kissed,
Which she is walking through, while past it
There swirls a dismal circling mist.
Ahead, through snowdrifts, roars a current,
A steaming, wavy, boiling torrent,
Its waters dark with light-grey flocks,
Left by the winter still unlocked.
Two sticks icily glued together
Flimsily, perilously spanned
A gorge where rushing waters ran,
The loud deeps racing hell for leather,
And there she halted in dismay,
Her footsteps dwindling away. 12
Tanya viewed this unwanted hiccup
And cursed the stream, but nowhere could
She see a proffered hand to pick up
And use to help her cross the flood.
Then suddenly a snowdrift shuddered.
You’ll never guess what it uncovered—
A great, big, full-size, bristling bear.
She screamed, he roared, and then and there
He offered her his claws, a pawful.
She rallied, taking courage, and
Steadied herself with trembling hand.
Warily, dreading something awful,
She crossed. Then, with no more ado,
She walked on—but the bear came too! 13
Too scared to look back—so horrendous!—
Faster she runs. Not fast enough:
He’s coming, her hirsute attendant,
And he will not be shaken off.
The ghastly bear grunts as he lumbers,
Ahead of them the pinewood slumbers,
Wasting its beauty in a scowl,
And all the branches are weighed down
With clumps of snow. The starlight pushes
Down through the treetops—birches, limes
And aspens—but though it shines,
There is no road. Gorges and bushes
Have gone from sight. They’re down below,
Everything buried deep in snow. 14
Into the woods… The bear comes after…
She struggles, knee-deep in soft snow.
First a long branch comes down to grasp her
Around the neck, then a sharp blow
Sends both her golden earrings tumbling.
Her wet shoe sticks (the snow is crumbling)
And bares a charming little foot.
She lets her handkerchief fall, but
Can’t stop to pick it up. She flinches,
Hearing the bear behind her, and
Modesty keeps her shaking hand
From raising her skirts a few inches.
She runs, and still he follows on,
Until she can no longer run. 15
Down she goes in the snow, and swiftly
He scoops her up. He’s off with her.
She yields herself coldly and stiffly.
She’s breathes not, neither does she stir
As down the forest road he rushes
To a shack lost in trees and bushes.
The woods are dense, and far and wide
The snows lie deep on every side.
Here is a window shining brightly.
From inside comes a raucous din.
The bear announces, “They’re my kin.
Inside you’ll soon get warmed up nicely.”
Into the hallway. On the floor
He sets her down before the door. 16
Tanya stares out as her swoon passes.
He’s gone. She’s at the door, through which
She hears loud talk and clinking glasses—
It’s like a funeral for the rich.
It doesn’t make sense. It’s uncanny.
She sneaks a look in through a cranny.
What’s this? A table, and round it
All sorts of ugly monsters sit:
A horned beast and a dog-faced creature,
One with a cockerel’s head, a weird
Old witch sporting a goatee beard,
A skeleton with proud, prim features,
A long-tailed dwarf and, after that,
A hybrid thing, half-crane, half-cat. 17
But weirder still—and more horrific—
A crayfish on a spider’s back,
A red-capped skull hermaphroditic.
Rotating on a goose’s neck,
A windmill dances round, legs squatting,
With sails that crack and swing like nothing.
They bark, laugh, whistle, bang and screech
To clopping hooves and human speech.
But one thing got the better of her:
Among the strange guests had appeared
The one man that she loved and feared—
Onegin—hero of out novel!
He’s at the table. What is more,
He’s sneaking glances at the door. 18
A sign from him, and they looked ruffled.
If he drinks, they drink, and they shout.
If he laughs, they begin to chuckle,
And when he scowls noise peters out.
He is the undisputed master.
Tanya, less fearful of disaster,
Begins to wonder how things are.
Gently she sets the door ajar…
A sudden gust of wind then douses
The light from all the candlesticks;
The ghostly gang fades with the wicks.
Eyes flashing, now Onegin rouses,
Clattering as he leaves the board.
They rise; he walks towards the door. 19
Feeling afraid and in a panic,
Tatyana tries to flee. It seems
She cannot run. Her mood is manic,
She casts about, but cannot scream,
He flings the door wide. The effect is
That all these glaring hellish spectres
Turn upon her, and mocking cries
Ring out against her. All those eyes,
The clopping hooves, the muzzles curvy,
The tufty tails, the tusky prongs,
Moustaches and the bloody tongues,
The horns and bony fingers turning
To point at her, while voices whine,