Eugene Oneguine [Onegin]. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

She fears she cannot.—Cannot? Why?— She promised Eugene, or she would With great delight.—O God on high! Heard he the truth? And thus she could—And can it be? But late a child And now a fickle flirt and wild, Cunning already to display And well-instructed to betray!Lenski the stroke could not sustain, At womankind he growled a curse, Departed, ordered out his horse And galloped home. But pistols twain, A pair of bullets—nought beside— His fate shall presently decide.

END OF CANTO THE FIFTH

CANTO THE SIXTH

The Duel

'La, sotto giorni nubilosi e brevi, Nasce una gente a cui 'l morir non duole.' Petrarch 

I

Having remarked Vladimir's flight,Oneguine, bored to death again,By Olga stood, dejected quiteAnd satisfied with vengeance ta'en.Olga began to long likewiseFor Lenski, sought him with her eyes,And endless the cotillon seemedAs if some troubled dream she dreamed.'Tis done. To supper they proceed.Bedding is laid out and to allAssigned a lodging, from the hall[64]Up to the attic, and all need

Tranquil repose. Eugene aloneTo pass the night at home hath gone.

II

All slumber. In the drawing-room Loud snores the cumbrous Poustiakoff With better half as cumbersome; Gvozdine, Bouyanoff, Petoushkoff And Flianoff, somewhat indisposed, On chairs in the saloon reposed, Whilst on the floor Monsieur Triquet In jersey and in nightcap lay.In Olga's and Tattiana's rooms Lay all the girls by sleep embraced, Except one by the window placed Whom pale Diana's ray illumes— My poor Tattiana cannot sleep 

But stares into the darkness deep.

III

His visit she had not awaited, His momentary loving glance Her inmost soul had penetrated, And his strange conduct at the dance With Olga; nor of this appeared An explanation: she was scared, Alarmed by jealous agonies: A hand of ice appeared to seize[65] Her heart: it seemed a darksome pit Beneath her roaring opened wide:"I shall expire," Tattiana cried, "But death from him will be delight. I murmur not! Why mournfulness? He cannot give me happiness."

IV

Haste, haste thy lagging pace, my story! A new acquaintance we must scan. There dwells five versts from Krasnogory, Vladimir's property, a man Who thrives this moment as I write, A philosophic anchorite: Zaretski, once a bully bold, A gambling troop when he controlled, Chief rascal, pot-house president, Now of a family the head, Simple and kindly and unwed, True friend, landlord benevolent, Yea! and a man of honour, lo! How perfect doth our epoch grow!

V