To say goodbye, in all the chaos
Around their carriage, sure enough,
Tanya was there to see them off. 13
She stood and watched the misty drama
Of their departure. In the end
She stood there, lonely. Poor Tatyana—
Alas, her lifetime’s bosom friend,
Her turtledove, her pal to hang on,
Her confidante and old companion,
Was seized by fate and whisked away,
Gone off for ever and a day.
Now she goes wandering like a shadow,
Inspecting their deserted plot.
Is there relief ? No, there is not,
Nor consolation. She grows sadder,
In tears that she could scarce suppress.
Her heart is sundered in her breast. 14
Her passion burns with more insistence
Now she’s alone, feeling apart.
Onegin, who is now so distant,
Speaks louder to her troubled heart.
They would now never see each other,
And he—the killer of her “brother”—
Was someone whom she ought to loathe.
But Lensky’s storybook is closed.
He’s not remembered. His fiancée
Has gone away with someone else,
And now the poet’s memory melts
Like smoke in a blue sky. Just fancy:
Perhaps the odd heart feels (or not?)
Some grief for him… But grief means… what? 15
Evening. A darkling sky. The waters
Go bubbling by, and beetles buzz.
Their dancing done, the peasants scatter.
Across the river, through the dusk,
Fires of the fishermen burn, plume-like,
While, lonesome in the silvery moonlight,
Tatyana strolls the fields and seems
Preoccupied, dreaming her dreams.
She wanders on. Then, with a shiver,
She spots a house down in a dell,
A village, copses down the hill,
And parkland by the gleaming river.
And one glance is enough to start
A faster frenzy in her heart. 16
She feels misgivings, sensing danger.
Go on? Go back? The choice is stark.
“He’s not here, and I am a stranger…
Just one glance at the house and park.”
And from the hilltop she walks down there,
Holding her breath. She looks around her,
Lost, apprehensive, on her guard,
And enters the deserted yard.
Some dogs rushed out to meet her, woofing.
She yelled in panic; as she did,
Some youngsters came out, servants’ kids,
And ran to her. After a scuffle,
They chased the mastiffs from the grounds,
Keeping the lady safe and sound. 17
“Could one ask where the big house keys are?”
Tatyana asked, and like a shot
The children rushed to find Anisya,
From whom the big keys could be got.
Anisya sped round in short order
To open up the big door for her,
And Tanya walked into the home
Where our hero had lived alone.
She looked around. A cue, unheeded,
Lay on the billiard-table top,
And she could see a riding crop
On a rough couch. Tanya, proceeding,
Was taken to the inglenook,
Where he’d sat on his own. “There, look. 18
And this is where our neighbour, Lensky,
Would come to dine last winter. See,
That’s the big study through the entry.
If you would kindly follow me…
Here he took naps and drank his coffee,
Heard statements from the steward’s office,
Or, in the mornings, read a tome.
This used to be the old squire’s home.
On Sundays I would sometimes visit,
And by that window—him in specs—
We’d play tomfool with that there deck.
The Lord have mercy on his spirit,
And rest his bones. I knew his worth,
And now he’s with damp Mother Earth.” 19
Tanya looked round with heartfelt pleasure,
Casting her eyes on every side.
It all seemed infinitely precious
And her sad spirits were revived.
Half-agonized and half-excited,
She scanned the desk, its lamp not lighted,
Book-piles, the window and the bed
With a rug cover for a spread,
The view outside, dark, moonlit, solemn,
The half-light cast upon it all,
Lord Byron’s portrait on the wall,
The cast-iron figure on his column,
His crowning hat, his scowling brow,
His arms crossed tightly—you know how. 20
Bewitched, she lingered in this prison,
This latter-day recluse’s room.
But it is late. Cold winds have risen.
The woods sleep in their darkened coomb.
Across the steaming, misty river,
The moon goes down the hillside thither.
Far has the young girl-pilgrim roamed,
And it is time she went back home.
She stifles her disturbed condition,
Though she can’t suppress a sigh,
And leaves for home now, not too shy
To ask permission to revisit
The lonely castle on her own
And read the books there all alone. 21
She took her leave of the housekeeper
Outside the gate, but came again,
First thing next day to go down deeper
Into his long-abandoned den,
And once inside his silent study,
Dead to all things and everybody,
She loitered there alone, inside,
And as time passed she cried and cried.
And as his books slipped through her fingers,
Quite unappealingly at first,
The choice of them seemed so perverse
And weird. But when she looked and lingered
Her eager spirit soon unfurled
An altogether different world. 22
We know Yevgeny had rejected
The reading business; all the same,
He did make one or two exceptions,
Exemptions from his hall of shame,
Such as the author of Don Juan,
And novels, even the odd new one
From our contemporary span
That represents the “modern man”,
Who is depicted most precisely
With his amoral attitude,
His arid soul, his selfish views,
His boundless taste for fantasizing,
His uselessly embittered mind
And actions of the futile kind. 23
And decorating many pages
Are thumbnail imprints deeply etched.
The girl’s sharp focus now engages
With these, her concentration stretched.
Her hands shake when she sees a passage
Containing some idea or message
That must have left Onegin moved
Or where he tacitly approved.
On many a page she found appended
Onegin’s marginalia.
At every corner there they are,
Hints of his spirit (unintended),
A short phrase here, a small cross there,
A query hanging in the air. 24
And my Tatyana comes by stages
To understand the very man
(Depicted clearly as outrageous?)
Destined for her by some weird plan,
Sent to unsettle and derange her,
A maverick oddball bringing danger,
A child of heaven, of hell perchance,
Devil and god of arrogance.
What is he? A copy of mischances,
A ghost of nothingness, a joke,
A Russian in Childe Harold’s cloak,
A ragbag of imported fancies,
A catchphrase-monger and a sham.
Is he more parody than man? 25
A parody? Does this expression
Give us the riddle’s final clue?
The hours fly by. She’s been forgetting
Her home, where she’s long overdue.
Two visitors are there, two locals,
And Tanya is their present focus.
“Tanya’s no child. This is no joke.
What can one do?” her mother croaks.
“Our Olga was the younger sister;
Now Tanya’s turn is overdue.
She must wed, but what can I do?
We speak, but she is so insistent:
Not marriage! Then she’ll mope and moan,
And go out in the woods alone.” 26