Torrents were roaring far below.
“I’ll perish,” Tanya said. “Although,
For him, it will feel good to perish.
Can I complain?… No… I confess—
He couldn’t bring me happiness.” 4
Enough’s enough. On with my story!
Another character is planned.
Some three miles on from Krasnogórye,
Where Lensky lives, there dwells a man
Who used to thrive, and thrives at present
In this philosophical desert:
Zaretsky, once inclined to rob
As hetman of a gambling mob.
A wastrel, now a pub persona,
Straightforward and most kind is he.
Unmarried, though père de famille,
A true friend, now a staid landowner.
He stands for honesty and health.
Thus does an age correct itself! 5
Society, full of flattering faces,
Approved his wild tricks quite a lot.
True, he could, at a dozen paces,
Hit aces with a pistol shot.
And once, out on the field, at random
He swung about with such abandon
That he fell off his Kalmyk horse
Into the mud (pie-eyed, of course),
And to the French he lost his liberty.
Some prize! They let him go—no fuss—
This honourable Regulus,
Though he’d have welcomed new captivity
To spend his mornings chez Véry,
In Paris, downing bottles three. 6
Once he had been a clever joker,
Foxing the fools by playing pranks
And fooling the non-mediocre
Openly or behind their backs,
Though even he suffered some sessions,
Which ended with him learning lessons.
There were times when he would collapse,
A booby caught in booby traps.
His tone when arguing was cheery,
He brought forth answers sharp and dumb,
And he could knowingly keep mum
Or knowingly refute some theory,
And he was good at goading friends
To duelling—and sticky ends— 7
Or he’d arrange a truce, and by it
A breakfast feast laid out for three,
And then malign them on the quiet
With jokes and fibs, amusingly.
But time is change. High jinks are jolly,
But like love’s dream (another folly),
They fade with every passing year.
Zaretsky, as I’ve said, lives here.
Under acacia and wild cherry,
Sheltered at last from nature’s rage,
This true philosopher and sage
Plants cabbages like Horace (very),
Breeding ducks, geese and, yes, indeed,
Small children, teaching them to read. 8
He was no fool. While always shrinking
From this man’s inner sentiments,
Yevgeny liked his way of thinking
And, in all things, his common sense.
It had been nice enough whenever
The two of them had come together,
So, next day, he felt no surprise
When this man came before his eyes.
Zaretsky said hello, though gently
Declined to pass the time of day,
Cast a sly look Onegin’s way
And handed him a note from Lensky.
He walked up to the window shelf
And read it through there to himself. 9
The note was dignified and civil,
A cartel (challenge), brief, polite,
All clear and cold and on the level.
Called out by his friend, he must fight.
Onegin turned to him on impulse,
The bearer of a note so simple,
And spoke without a wasted word.
“Ready as always,” the man heard.
Zaretsky rose, without explaining,
Not keen to linger there alone,
And having much to do at home,
He left at once, leaving Yevgeny
Communing singly with his soul,
Feeling dissatisfied, not whole. 10
And so he should. Searching, relentless,
His secret inner court will hear
Him charged with multiple offences…
Charge One: He had been wrong to jeer
At timid, tender love so easily
And so off-handedly that evening.
Charge Two: The poet might have been
An ass, but this, at just eighteen,
Could be excused. Judge whose fault this is:
Yevgeny deeply loved the youth,
And should have proved to be, in truth,
No mere plaything of prejudices,
No fiery, strapping lad, but an
Honourable and thinking man. 11
He could have spoken out (so easy!)
Instead of bristling like a beast.
He should have set about appeasing
That young heart, at the very least.
It’s too late now. Things have developed.
“Besides,” he thought, “we have that fellow,
The expert duellist, in touch.
He’s a bad man who talks too much…
Contempt, of course, from the beginning,
Should have condemned the way he spoke.
But whispers… sniggers… stupid folk…”
We’re talking of Public Opinion!
Our idol’s base and honour’s ground—
This is what makes the world go round! 12
Seething with rage and hatred, Lensky
Waits. A reply is what he wants.
The windbag now returns; Zaretsky
Comes solemnly with the response
That brings joy to a jealous party!
He had been worried that this smarty
Might find some way out with a jest,
Some ruse designed to save his breast
By turning down the pistols, scorning.
But doubts are banished now; they will
Drive out and meet beside the mill
At break of day tomorrow morning,
Cock weapons, and aim low or high
At one another’s brow or thigh. 13
Set to detest a flirt so cruel,
Still seething, Lensky meant to shun
His Olga and await the duel…
He watched the clock, and watched the sun…
Then he gave in, and off he sallied,
Soon to be found outside the Larins’,
Hoping to catch her unawares
And shake her just by being there.
But no such thing… For, just as earlier,
She met poor Lensky from his horse
By skipping down from off the porch
Like giddy hope (but even girlier).
Youthful, exuberant, carefree,
Exactly as before was she. 14
“Why did you leave the ball so early?”
Olga immediately said,
Sending his feelings hurly-burly.
Silent, Vladimir hung his head,
His rage and envy now bedevilled
By the bright glance that Olga levelled,
By her ingenuous, gentle hold,
By all that sprightliness of soul!…
He looks at her—sweet warmth is with him—
Seeing she loves him still (of course),
And, overcome with deep remorse,
He almost asks her to forgive him.
Shaking, he cannot say a word.
He’s happy, very nearly cured. … [15, 16] 17
Cast down again, once more the dreamer,
With dear, sweet Olga facing him,
There is no strength left in Vladimir
To hark back—it would be too grim.
His thoughts are: “I shall be her saviour.
I won’t allow his vile behaviour
To tempt her young heart in this wise
With passion, flattery and sighs.
Disgusting worms shall not go gnawing
Beneath the lily’s tender stem.
Plants will not last two days and then
Lose their fresh flowerlets half-showing.
Which means, of course, that in the end
I have to shoot out with my friend.” 18
If only he had known the drama
Of Tanya’s burning heartache there,
If only news had reached Tatyana,
If only she had been aware
That next day Lensky and Yevgeny
Would duel to the death, then maybe
Her love might just have brought the men
Into a partnership again.
But, no, the story of her anguish
Was, as it happened, left unheard.