Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина - [298]

¹² and a circle of despicable comrades;

   and now a country house, and by the window

   sits she... and ever she!

XXXVIII

   He grew so used to lose himself in this

   that he almost went off his head

   or else became a poet. (Frankly,

 ⁴ that would have been a boon, indeed!)

   And true: by dint of magnetism,

   the mechanism of Russian verses

   my addleheaded pupil

 ⁸ at that time nearly grasped.

   How much a poet he resembled

   when in a corner he would sit alone,

   and the hearth blazed in front of him,

¹² and he hummed “Benedetta”

   or “Idol mio,” and into the fire

   dropped now a slipper, now his magazine!

XXXIX

   Days rushed. In warmth-pervaded air

   winter already was resolving;

   and he did not become a poet,

 ⁴ he did not die, did not go mad.

   Spring quickens him: for the first time

   his close-shut chambers, where he had

   been hibernating like a marmot,

 ⁸ his double windows, inglenook —

   he leaves on a bright morning,

   he fleets in sleigh along the Neva's bank.

   Upon blue blocks of hewn-out ice

¹² the sun plays. In the streets

   the furrowed snow thaws muddily:

   whither, upon it, his fast course

XL

   directs Onegin? You beforehand

   have guessed already. Yes, exactly:

   apace to her, to his Tatiana,

 ⁴ my unreformed eccentric comes.

   He walks in, looking like a corpse.

   There's not a soul in the front hall.

   He enters the reception room. On! No one.

 ⁸ A door he opens.... What is it

   that strikes him with such force?

   The princess before him, alone,

   sits, unadorned, pale, reading

¹² some kind of letter,

   and softly sheds a flood of tears,

   her cheek propped on her hand.

XLI

   Ah! Her mute sufferings —

   in this swift instant who would not have read!

   Who would not have the former Tanya,

 ⁴ poor Tanya, recognized now in the princess?

   In throes of mad regrets,

   Eugene falls at her feet;

   she gives a start,

 ⁸ and is silent, and looks,

   without surprise, without wrath, at Onegin....

   His sick, extinguished gaze,

   imploring aspect, mute reproof,

¹² she takes in everything. The simple maid,

   with the dreams, with the heart of former days

   again in her has resurrected now.

XLII

   She does not bid him rise

   and, not taking her eyes off him,

   does not withdraw

 ⁴ her limp hand from his avid lips....

   What is her dreaming now about?

   A lengthy silence passes,

   and finally she, softly:

 ⁸ “Enough; get up. I must

   frankly explain myself to you.

   Onegin, do you recollect that hour

   when in the garden, in the avenue, fate brought us

¹² together and so meekly

   your lesson I heard out.

   Today it is my turn.

XLIII

   “Onegin, I was younger then,

   I was, I daresay, better-looking,

   and I loved you; and what then, what

 ⁴ did I find in your heart?

   What answer? Mere severity.

   There wasn't — was there?  — novelty for you

   in a meek little maiden's love?

 ⁸ Even today — good heavens!  — my blood freezes

   as soon as I remember

   your cold glance and that sermon.... But I do not

   accuse you; at that awful hour

¹² you acted nobly,

   you in regard to me were right,

   to you with all my soul I'm grateful....

XLIV

   “Then — is it not so?  — in the wilderness,

   far from vain Hearsay,

   I was not to your liking.... Why, then, now

 ⁴ do you pursue me?

   Why have you marked me out?

   Might it not be because I must

   now move in the grand monde;

 ⁸ because I have both wealth and rank;

   because my husband has been maimed in battles;

   because for that the Court is kind to us?

   Might it not be because my disrepute

¹² would be remarked by everybody now

   and in society might bring you

   scandalous honor?

XLV

   “I'm crying.... If your Tanya

   you've not forgotten yet,

   then know: the sharpness of your blame,

 ⁴ cold, stern discourse,

   if it were only in my power

   I'd have preferred to an offensive passion,

   and to these letters and tears.

 ⁸ For my infantine dreams

   you had at least some pity then,

   at least consideration for my age.

   But now!... What to my feet

¹² has brought you? What a trifle!

   How, with your heart and mind,

   be the slave of a trivial feeling?

XLVI

   “But as to me, Onegin, this magnificence,

   a wearisome life's tinsel, my successes

   in the world's vortex,

 ⁴ my fashionable house and evenings,

   what do I care for them?... At once I'd gladly

   give all the frippery of this masquerade,

   all this glitter, and noise, and fumes,

 ⁸ for a shelfful of books, for a wild garden,

   for our poor dwelling,

   for those haunts where for the first time,

   Onegin, I saw you,

¹² and for the humble churchyard where

   there is a cross now and the shade

   of branches over my poor nurse.

XLVII

   “Yet happiness had been so possible,

   so near!... But my fate is already

   settled. Imprudently,

 ⁴ perhaps, I acted.

   My mother with tears of conjurement

   beseeched me. For poor Tanya

   all lots were equal.

 ⁸ I married. You must,

   I pray you, leave me;

   I know: in your heart are

   both pride and genuine honor.

¹² I love you (why dissimulate?);

   but to another I belong:

   to him I shall be faithful all my life.”

XLVIII

   She has gone. Eugene stands