Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина - [295]

   in quick succession have decayed

 ⁸ like leaves in putrid autumn.

   It is unbearable to see before one

   only of dinners a long series,

   to look on life as on a rite,

¹² and in the wake of the decorous crowd

   to go, not sharing with it either

   the general opinions or the passions.

XII

   When one becomes the subject

   of noisy comments, it's unbearable

   (you will agree) to pass among

 ⁴ sensible people for a feigned eccentric

   or a sad crackbrain,

   or a satanic monster,

   or even for my Demon.

 ⁸ Onegin (let me take him up again),

   having in single combat killed his friend,

   having without a goal, without exertions,

   lived to the age of twenty-six,

¹² irked by the inactivity of leisure,

   without employment, wife, or occupation,

   could think of nothing to take up.

XIII

   A restlessness took hold of him,

   the inclination to a change of places

   (a most excruciating property,

 ⁴ a cross that few deliberately bear).

   He left his countryseat,

   the solitude of woods and fields,

   where an ensanguined shade

 ⁸ daily appeared to him,

   and started upon travels without aim,

   accessible to one sensation;

   and to him journeys,

¹² like everything on earth,

   grew boring. He returned and found himself,

   like Chatski, come from boat to ball.

XIV

   But lo! the throng has undulated,

   a murmur through the hall has run....

   Toward the hostess there advanced a lady,

 ⁴ followed by an imposing general.

   She was unhurried,

   not cold, not talkative,

   without a flouting gaze for everyone,

 ⁸ without pretensions to success,

   without those little mannerisms,

   without mimetic artifices....

   All about her was quiet, simple.

¹² She seemed a faithful reproduction

   du comme il faut.... ([Shishkov,] forgive me:

   I do not know how to translate.)

XV

   Closer to her the ladies moved;

   old women smiled to her;

   the men bowed lower, sought

 ⁴ to catch her gaze;

   maidens before her passed more quietly

   across the room; and higher

   than anyone lifted his nose and shoulders

 ⁸ the general who had come in with her.

   None could have called her

   a beauty; but from head to foot

   none could have found in her

¹² what is by autocratic fashion

   in the high London circle

   called “vulgar.” (I'm unable —

XVI

   —  of that word I am very fond,

   but am unable to translate it; in our midst

   for the time being it is new

 ⁴ and hardly bound to be in favor;

   it might do nicely in an epigram....

   But to our lady let me turn.)

   Winsome with carefree charm,

 ⁸ she at a table sat

   with brilliant Nina Voronskóy,

   that Cleopatra of the Neva;

   and, surely, you would have agreed

¹² that Nina with her marble beauty

   could not — though dazzling —

   eclipse her neighbor.

XVII

   “Can it be possible?” thinks Eugene.

   “Can it be she?... But really... No...

   What! From outback steppe villages...”

 ⁴ and a tenacious quizzing glass

   he keeps directing every minute

   at her whose aspect vaguely has

   recalled to him forgotten features.

 ⁸ “Tell me, Prince, you don't know

   who is it there in the framboise beret

   talking with the Spanish ambassador?”

   The prince looks at Onegin:

¹² “Aha! Indeed, long have you not been in the monde.

   Wait, I'll present you.”

   “But who is she?” “My wife.”

XVIII

   “So you are married! Didn't know before.

   How long?” “About two years.”

   “To whom?” “The Larin girl.” “Tatiana!”

 ⁴ “She knows you?” “I'm their neighbor.”

   “Oh, then, come on.” The prince goes up

   to his wife and leads up to her

   his kin and friend.

 ⁸ The princess looks at him... and whatsoever

   troubled her soul,

   however greatly

   she was surprised, astounded,

¹² nothing betrayed her,

   her ton remained the same,

   her bow was just as quiet.

XIX

   Forsooth! It was not merely that she didn't

   flinch, or blanch suddenly, or flush —

   she simply never moved an eyebrow,

 ⁴ did not even compress her lips.

   Though he looked with the utmost care,

   not even traces of the old Tatiana could

   Onegin find.

 ⁸ With her he wished to start a conversation —

   and... and could not. She asked: How long

   had he been there? And whence came he —

   from their own parts, maybe?

¹² Then on her spouse she turned a look

   of lassitude; glided away....

   And moveless he remained.

XX

   Could it be that the same Tatiana

   to whom, alone with her,

   at the beginning of our novel

 ⁴ back in a stagnant, distant region,

   in the fine fervor of moralization

   precepts he once had preached;

   the one from whom a letter he preserves

 ⁸ where the heart speaks,

   where all is out, all unrestrained;

   that little girl — or is he dreaming? —

   that little girl whom in her humble state

¹² he had passed over — could it be that now

   she had been so indifferent,

   so bold with him?

XXI

   He leaves the close-packed rout,

   he drives home, pensive; by a fancy  —

   now sad, now charming,

 ⁴ his first sleep is disturbed.

   He wakes; is brought

   a letter: Prince N. begs the honor of his presence

   at a soiree. Good God — to her?

 ⁸ I will, I will! And rapidly a courteous

   reply he scrawls. What is the matter