Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина - Владимир Набоков

XXXIII

   When we the boundaries of beneficial   enlightenment move farther out,   in due time (by the computation 4 of philosophic tabulae,   in some five hundred years) roads, surely,   at home will change immeasurably.   Paved highways at this point and that 8 uniting Russia will traverse her;   cast-iron bridges o'er the waters   in ample arcs will stride;   we shall part mountains; under water12 dig daring tunnels;   and Christendom will institute   at every stage a tavern.

XXXIV

   The roads at home are bad at present;42   forgotten bridges rot;   at stages the bedbugs and fleas 4 do not give one a minute's sleep.   No taverns. In a cold log hut   there hangs for show a highfalutin   but meager bill of fare, and teases 8 one's futile appetite,   while the rural Cyclopes   in front of a slow fire   treat with a Russian hammer12 Europe's light article,   blessing the ruts   and ditches of the fatherland.

XXXV

   Now, on the other hand, driving in winter's   cold season is agreeable and easy.   As in a modish song a verse devoid of thought, 4 smooth is the winter track.   Alert are our Automedons,   our troikas never tire,   and mileposts, humoring the idle gaze, 8 before one's eyes flick like a fence.43   Unluckily, Dame Larin dragged along,   fearing expensive stages,   with her own horses, not with posters,12 and our maid tasted   viatic tedium in full:   they traveled seven days and nights.

XXXVI

   But now 'tis near. Before them   the ancient tops of white-stone Moscow   already glow 4 with golden crosses, ember-bright.   Ah, chums, how pleased I was   when, all at once, the hemicircle   of churches and of belfries, 8 of gardens, domes, opened before me!   How often during woeful separation,   in my wandering fate,   Moscow, I thought of you!12 Moscow!... How much within that sound   is blended for a Russian heart!   How much is echoed there!

XXXVII

   Here is, surrounded by its park,   Petrovskiy Castle. Somberly   it prides itself on recent glory. 4 In vain Napoleon, intoxicated   with his last fortune, waited   for kneeling Moscow with the keys   of the old Kremlin: no, 8 to him my Moscow did not go   with craven brow;   not revelry, not gifts of bienvenue —   a conflagration she prepared12 for the impatient hero.   From here, in meditation sunk,   he watched the formidable flame.

XXXVIII

   Good-by, witness of fallen glory,   Petrovskiy Castle. Hup! Don't stop,   get on! The turnpike posts already 4 show white. Along Tverskaya Street   the coach now hies across the dips.   There flicker by: watch boxes, peasant women,   urchins, shops, street lamps, 8 palaces, gardens, monasteries,   Bokharans, sledges, kitchen gardens,   merchants, small shacks, muzhiks,   boulevards, towers, Cossacks,12 pharmacies, fashion shops,   balconies, lions on the gates,   and flocks of jackdaws on the crosses.

XL

   In this exhausting promenade   an hour elapses, then another,   and in a lane hard by St. Chariton's 4 the sleigh-coach at a gate before a house   now stops. To an old aunt,   for the fourth year ill with consumption,   at present they have come. 8 The door is opened wide for them   by a bespectacled gray Kalmuk,   in torn caftan, a stocking in his hand.   There meets them in the drawing room12 the cry of the princess   on a divan prostrated. The old ladies,   weeping, embrace, and exclamations pour:

XLI

   “Princess, mon ange!” “Pachette!” “Aline!”   “Who would have thought?” “How long it's been!”   “For how much time?” “Dear! Cousin!” 4 “Sit down — how queer it is!   I'd swear the scene is from a novel!”   “And this is my daughter Tatiana.”   “Ah, Tanya! Come up here to me — 8 I seem to be delirious in my sleep.   Coz, you remember Grandison?”   “What, Grandison? Oh, Grandison!   Why, yes, I do, I do. Well, where is he?”12 “In Moscow — dwelling by St. Simeon's;   on Christmas Eve he called on me:   got a son married recently.

XLII

   “As to the other... But we'll tell it all   later, won't we? To all her kin   straightway tomorrow we'll show Tanya. 4 Pity that paying visits is for me   too much — can hardly drag my feet.   But you are worn out from the journey;   let's go and have a rest together... 8 Oh, I've no strength... my chest is tired...   now even joy, not only woe,   oppressive is to me. My dear,   I am already good for nothing...12 When one starts getting old, life is so horrid.”   And here, exhausted utterly,   in tears, she broke into a coughing fit.

XLIII

   The invalid's kindness and gladness touch   Tatiana; but in her   new domicile she's ill at ease, 4 used as she is to her own chamber.   Beneath a silken curtain,   in a new bed sleep does not come to her,   and the early peal of church bells, 8 forerunner of the morning tasks,   arouses her from bed.   Tanya sits down beside the window.   The darkness thins; but she12 does not discern her fields:   there is before her a strange yard,   a stable, kitchen house, and fence.

XLIV

   And now, on rounds of family dinners   Tanya they trundle daily to present   to grandsires and to grandams 4 her abstract indolence.   For kin come from afar   there's everywhere a kind reception,   and exclamations, and good cheer. 8 “How Tanya's grown! Such a short while   it seems since I godmothered you!”   “And since I bore you in my arms!”   “And since I pulled you by the ears!”12 “And since I fed you gingerbread!”   And the grandmothers keep repeating   in chorus: “How our years do fly!”

XLV

   But one can see no change in them;   in them all follows the old pattern:   the spinster princess, Aunt Eléna, 4 has got the very same tulle mob;   still cerused is Lukéria Lvóvna;   the same lies tells Lyubóv Petróvna;   Iván Petróvich is as stupid; 8 Semyón Petróvich as tightfisted;   and Palagéya Nikolávna   has the same friend, Monsieur Finemouche,   and the same spitz, and the same husband —12 while he is still the sedulous clubman,   is just as meek, is just as deaf,   still eats and drinks enough for two.

XLVI

   Their daughters embrace Tanya.   Moscow's young graces   at first in silence 4 from head to foot survey Tatiana;   find her somewhat bizarre,   provincial, and affected,   and somewhat pale and thin, 8 but on the whole not bad at all;   then, to nature submitting, they   befriend her, lead her to their rooms,   kiss her, squeeze tenderly her hands,12 fluff up her curls after the fashion,   and in their singsong tones impart   the secrets of the heart, secrets of maidens,

XLVII

   conquests of others and their own,   hopes, pranks, daydreams.   The innocent talks flow, 4 embellished with slight calumny.   Then, in requital for their patter,   her heart's confession they   sweetly request. 8 But Tanya in a kind of daze   their speeches hears without response,   understands nothing,   and her heart's secret,12 fond treasure of both tears and bliss,   she mutely guards meantime   and shares with none.

XLVIII