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XXXIV

   Now greetings come, congratulations;   Tatiana thanks them all.   Then, when the turn of Eugene 4 arrived, the maiden's languid air,   her discomposure, lassitude,   engendered pity in his soul:   he bowed to her in silence, 8 but somehow the look of his eyes   was wondrous tender. Whether   because he verily was touched   or he, coquetting, jested,12 whether unwillfully or by free will,   but tenderness this look expressed:   it revived Tanya's heart.

XXXV

   The chairs, as they are pushed back, clatter;   the crowd presses into the drawing room:   thus bees out of the luscious hive 4 fly meadward in a noisy swarm.   Pleased with the festive dinner,   neighbor in front of neighbor wheezes;   the ladies by the hearth have settled; 8 the maidens whisper in a corner;   the green-baized tables are unfolded:   to mettlesome cardplayers call   boston and omber of the old,12 and whist, up to the present famous:   monotonous family,   all sons of avid boredom.

XXXVI

   Eight rubbers have already played   whist's heroes; eight times they   have changed their seats — 4 and tea is brought. I like defining   the hour by dinner, tea,   and supper. In the country   we know the time without great fuss: 8 the stomach is our accurate Bréguet;   and, apropos, I'll parenthetically note   that in my strophes I discourse   as frequently on feasts, on various12 dishes and corks,   as you, divine Homer, you, idol   of thirty centuries!

XXXIX

   But tea is brought: scarce have the damsels   demurely of their saucers taken hold   when from behind the door of the long hall 4 bassoon and flute sound suddenly.   Elated by the thunder of the music,   leaving his cup of tea with rum, the Paris   of the surrounding townlets, Petushkóv, 8 goes up to Olga; Lenski, to Tatiana;   Miss Harlikov, a marriageable maid   of overripe years, is secured   by my Tambovan poet;12 Buyánov has whirled off Dame Pustyakóv;   and all have spilled into the hall,   and in full glory shines the ball.

XL

   At the beginning of my novel   (see the first fascicle)   I wanted in Albano's manner 4 a Petersburg ball to describe;   but, by an empty reverie diverted,   I got engrossed in recollecting   the little feet of ladies known to me. 8 Upon your narrow tracks, O little feet,   enough roving astray!   With the betrayal of my youth   'tis time I grew more sensible,12 improved in doings and in diction,   and this fifth fascicle   cleansed from digressions.

XLI

   Monotonous and mad   like young life's whirl, the noisy   whirl of the waltz revolves, 4 pair after pair flicks by.   Nearing the minute of revenge,   Onegin, chuckling secretly,   goes up to Olga, rapidly with her 8 spins near the guests,   then seats her on a chair,   proceeds to talk of this and that;   a minute or two having lapsed, he then12 again with her the waltz continues;   all are amazed. Lenski himself   does not believe his proper eyes.

XLII

   There the mazurka sounds. Time was,   when the mazurka's thunder dinned,   in a huge ballroom everything vibrated, 4 the parquetry cracked under heel,   the window frames shook, rattled;   now 'tis not thus: we, too, like ladies,   glide o'er the lacquered boards. 8 But in [small] towns   and country places, the mazurka   has still retained its pristine charms:   saltos, heel-play, mustachios12 remain the same; them has not altered   highhanded fashion,   our tyrant, sickness of the latest Russians.

XLIV

   Buyánov, my mettlesome cousin,   toward our hero leads Tatiana   with Olga; deft 4 Onegin goes with Olga.   He steers her, gliding nonchalantly,   and, bending, whispers tenderly to her   some common madrigal, and squeezes 8 her hand — and brighter glows   on her conceited face   the rosy flush. My Lenski   has seen it all; flares up, beside himself;12 in jealous indignation,   the poet waits for the end of the mazurka   and invites her for the cotillion.

XLV

   But no, she cannot. Cannot? But what is it?   Why, Olga has given her word   already to Onegin. Ah, good God, good God! 4 What does he hear? She could...   How is it possible? Scarce out of swaddling clothes —   and a coquette, a giddy child!   Already she is versed in guile, 8 has learned already to betray!   Lenski has not the strength to bear the blow;   cursing the tricks of women,   he leaves, calls for a horse,12 and gallops off. A brace of pistols,   two bullets — nothing more —   shall in a trice decide his fate.

CHAPTER SIX

Là, sotto i giorni nubilosi e brevi,Nasce una gente a cui '1 morir non dole.

Petr.

I

   On noticing that Vladimir had vanished,   Onegin, by ennui pursued again,   by Olga's side sank into meditation, 4 pleased with his vengeance.   After him Ólinka yawned too,   sought Lenski with her eyes,   and the endless cotillion 8 irked her like an oppressive dream.   But it has ended. They go in to supper.   The beds are made. Guests are assigned   night lodgings — from the entrance hall12 even to the maids' quarters. Restful sleep   by all is needed. My Onegin   alone has driven home to sleep.

II

   All has grown quiet. In the drawing room   the heavy Pustyakov   snores with his heavy better half. 4 Gvozdin, Buyanov, Petushkov,   and Flyanov (who is not quite well)   have bedded in the dining room on chairs,   with, on the floor, Monsieur Triquet 8 in underwaistcoat and old nightcap.   All the young ladies, in Tatiana's   and Olga's rooms, are wrapped in sleep.   Alone, sadly by Dian's beam12 illumined at the window, poor Tatiana   is not asleep   and gazes out on the dark field.

III

   With his unlooked-for apparition,   the momentary softness of his eyes,   and odd conduct with Olga, 4 to the depth of her soul   she's penetrated. She is quite unable   to understand him. Jealous   anguish perturbs her, 8 as if a cold hand pressed   her heart; as if beneath her an abyss   yawned black and dinned....   “I shall perish,” says Tanya,12 “but perishing from him is sweet.   I murmur not: why murmur?   He cannot give me happiness.”

IV

   Forward, forward, my story!   A new persona claims us.   Five versts from Krasnogórie, 4 Lenski's estate, there lives   and thrives up to the present time   in philosophical reclusion   Zarétski, formerly a brawler, 8 the hetman of a gaming gang,   chieftain of rakehells, pothouse tribune,   but now a kind and simple   bachelor paterfamilias,12 a steadfast friend, a peaceable landowner,   and even an honorable man:   thus does our age correct itself!

V

   Time was, the monde's obsequious voice   used to extol his wicked pluck:   he, it is true, could from a pistol 4 at twelve yards hit an ace,   and, furthermore, in battle too   once, in real rapture, he distinguished   himself by toppling from his Kalmuk steed 8 boldly into the mud,   swine drunk, and to the French   fell prisoner (prized hostage!) —   a modern Regulus, the god of honor,12 ready to yield anew to bonds   so as to drain on credit at Véry's37   two or three bottles every morning.

VI