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

The limits of enlightenment When to enlarge we shall succeed, In course of time (the whole extent Will not five centuries exceed By computation) it is like Our roads transformed the eye will strike;Highways all Russia will unite And form a network left and right; On iron bridges we shall gaze Which o'er the waters boldly leap, Mountains we'll level and through deep Streams excavate subaqueous ways, And Christian folk will, I expect, An inn at every stage erect.

XXXII

But now, what wretched roads one sees, Our bridges long neglected rot, And at the stages bugs and fleas One moment's slumber suffer not.Inns there are none. Pretentious but Meagre, within a draughty hut, A bill of fare hangs full in sight And irritates the appetite.Meantime a Cyclops of those parts Before a fire which feebly glows Mends with the Russian hammer's blows The flimsy wares of Western marts, With blessings on the ditches and The ruts of his own fatherland.

XXXIII

Yet on a frosty winter day The journey in a sledge doth please, No senseless fashionable lay Glides with a more luxurious ease;For our Automedons are fire And our swift troikas never tire; The verst posts catch the vacant eye And like a palisade flit by.[75]The Larinas unwisely went, From apprehension of the cost, By their own horses, not the post— So Tania to her heart's content Could taste the pleasures of the road. Seven days and nights the travellers plod.

XXXIV

But they draw near. Before them, lo! White Moscow raises her old spires, Whose countless golden crosses glow As with innumerable fires.[76]Ah! brethren, what was my delight When I yon semicircle bright Of churches, gardens, belfries high Descried before me suddenly!Moscow, how oft in evil days, Condemned to exile dire by fate, On thee I used to meditate! Moscow! How much is in the phrase For every loyal Russian breast! How much is in that word expressed!

XXXV

Lo! compassed by his grove of oaks, Petrovski Palace! Gloomily His recent glory he invokes. Here, drunk with his late victory, Napoleon tarried till it please Moscow approach on bended knees, Time-honoured Kremlin's keys present. Not so! My Moscow never went To seek him out with bended head. No gift she bears, no feast proclaims, But lights incendiary flames For the impatient chief instead.From hence engrossed in thought profound He on the conflagration frowned.[77]

XXXVI