来自：Eugene Onegin
Chapter Three
Elle était fille, elle etait amoureuse. Malfilâtre.
I
"Where to? These poets, I declare!" "Farewell, Onegin, I must go." "I won't detain you; but tell me where You spend your evenings?" "At the Larins', you know." "How wondrous! My word! And you don't find it too absurd To waste each evening in that place?" "Not at all." "I can't see the case. From here I see what it's about: First of all (tell me, am I right?), A simple Russian family quite, Great zeal for guests they turn out, Preserves, eternal conversation About rain, flax, and cattle station..."
II
"I see no harm in that, my friend." "But boredom, there's the harm, you see." "I hate your fashionable trend; A home circle is dearer to me, Where I can..." "An eclogue again! Enough, dear fellow, for God's sake then. Well, what? You're going: what a shame. Ah, listen, Lensky; all the same Can't I see this Phyllis of yours, The object of thoughts, tears, and rhymes, And of your pen, and so on at times? Introduce me." "You jest, of course." "Not at all." "I'm glad." "When then?" "Why, right away. They'll welcome us any day.
III
Let's go." The friends spurred on and raced, Arrived; upon them were bestowed The sometimes heavy services placed By hospitable days of old. The well-known ritual of treating: On saucers preserves they're bringing, Upon a waxen table set A pitcher with lingonberry yet. ......................................
IV
They by the shortest pathway flew Home at full gallop, racing fast. Now let us eavesdrop, just us two, Upon our heroes' dialogue passed: "Well, what, Onegin? You're yawning." "Habit, Lensky." "But you seem more dull at it Somehow." "No, just the same. Although It's getting dark in the field below; Faster! Go on, go on, Andryushka! What stupid places these appear! But incidentally: Larina, it's clear, Is a simple but very sweet old lady-dear; I fear the lingonberry water Might do me harm and make me falter.
V
Tell me: which one is Tatyana?" "Why, the one who's sad and still And silent, like Svetlana, Who came and sat upon the windowsill." "Can you really be in love with the younger?" "So what?" "I'd choose the other, I wonder, If I were a poet like you. In Olga's features there's no life to view, Exactly like a Van Dyck Madonna: Round and rosy is her face, Like that silly moon in space Upon that silly sky's veranda." Vladimir answered dryly, vexed, And remained silent all the journey next.
VI
Meanwhile Onegin's appearance At the Larins' had produced On everyone a great adherence And all the neighbors it seduced. Conjecture followed conjecture's course. All began to gossip in discourse, To joke, to judge not without sin, A bridegroom for Tatyana to pin; Some even firmly stated That the wedding was quite set, But then was halted and not met, Because fashionable rings were awaited. About Lensky's wedding, you see, It was long decided unanimously.
VII
Tatyana listened with vexation To such gossip; but in secret thought With inexplicable elation Involuntarily she was caught; And in her heart a thought was sown; The time had come, she fell in love, alone. Thus a seed that's fallen to the ground By spring's fire is vivified and found. Long had her imagination, Burning with languor and desire, Thirsted for fatal food like fire; Long had her heart's fermentation Constrained her youthful breast to ache; Her soul awaited... someone's sake,
VIII
And waited... Eyes were opened wide; She said: it's he! Alas, now days And nights, and dreams alone beside, And ardent solitary ways, All full of him; all to the maiden dear Without cease, with magical power here, Speaks of him. Tiresome to her state The sounds of affectionate speech relate, And the gaze of attentive servants nearby. In melancholy plunged complete, She doesn't listen to guests she'll meet And curses their leisure with a sigh, Their unexpected arrival's call And prolonged sitting in the hall.
IX
Now with what attention keen She reads the sweet romantic tale, With what enchantment she's been Drinking the seductive veil! By happy power of dreaming's might The animated creations bright, Julie's lover Wolmar above, Malek-Adel and de Linar in love, And Werther, the rebellious martyr's plight, And the incomparable Grandison, Who makes us drowsy, everyone— All for the tender dreamer's sight In a single image have been dressed, In one Onegin all confessed.
X
Imagining herself the heroine Of her beloved creators' art, Clarissa, Julie, Delphine, Tatyana in the forest's heart Alone with dangerous book she's roaming, She seeks in it and finds while combing Her secret fire, her dreams untold, Fruits of her heart's fullness of old, Sighs and, appropriating for herself Another's rapture, another's grief, In oblivion whispers for relief A letter by heart for her hero's self... But our hero, whoever he may be, Certainly was not Grandison, you see.
XI
His style in a lofty manner setting, The ardent creator used to show His hero to us, not forgetting, As perfection's image to bestow. He endowed his beloved object, Always unjustly persecuted subject, With sensitive soul, with mind clear, And attractive face most dear. Nurturing the flame of purest passion, The always enthusiastic hero bold Was ready his life to unfold, And at the end in final fashion Vice was always punished true, Virtue worthy crown was due.
XII
But nowadays all minds are in a haze, Morality puts us to sleep profound, Vice is charming in the novel's phase, And there already triumphs all around. British muse's fables and their scheming Trouble maidens' sleep and dreaming, And now her idol has become Either the pensive Vampire glum, Or Melmoth, the gloomy wanderer's doom, Or the Wandering Jew, or Corsair bold, Or mysterious Sbogar told. Lord Byron with fortunate whim's bloom Clothed in melancholy romanticism's cloak Both hopeless egoism's yoke.
XIII
My friends, what's the use of this? Perhaps, by heaven's will complete, I'll cease to be a poet in my bliss, A new demon in me will take its seat, And, Phoebus's threats disdaining, I'll stoop to humble prose remaining; Then a novel in the old style's way Will occupy my cheerful closing day. Not the secret torments of villainy grim I'll portray in it with threatening call, But simply to you I'll retell The legends of a Russian family's brim, Love's captivating dreams that shine And customs of our olden time.
XIV
I'll retell the simple speeches clear Of father or an aged uncle's voice, Children's appointed meetings here By old lindens, by the brook of choice; Unhappy jealousy's tormentation, Separation, tears of reconciliation, I'll quarrel them again, and in the end I'll lead them to the altar to extend... I'll recall the speeches of passionate languor, Words of yearning love's design, Which in days gone by were mine At beautiful mistress's feet in candor That came to me in language due, From which I'm now unaccustomed too.
XV
Tatyana, dear Tatyana, hear me! With you now tears I'm shedding fast; You into the fashionable tyrant's theory Have already your fate cast. You'll perish, dear; but first of all You in dazzling hope's thrall Call dark bliss your own to keep, You'll know life's pleasure deep, You drink desire's magical potion's glow, You're pursued by dreams in flight: Everywhere you imagine quite Happy meetings' shelters below; Everywhere, everywhere before you stands Your fatal tempter's demands.
XVI
Love's anguish Tatyana drives away, And to the garden she goes to grieve, And suddenly motionless eyes hold sway, And she's too languid to step or leave. Her breast arose, her cheeks appeared With momentary flame were seared, Breath froze upon her lips aglow, And in hearing noise, and in eyes a glow... Night falls; the moon makes its round Patrolling heaven's distant dome, And nightingale in trees' dark home Begins melodious refrains to sound. Tatyana in the darkness doesn't sleep And quietly with nurse words they keep:
XVII
"I can't sleep, nurse: it's so stuffy here! Open the window and sit with me." "What is it, Tanya, what's wrong, my dear?" "I'm bored, talk of old times with me." "About what, Tanya? I used to hold In memory quite a few tales told, Old legends true and false about Evil spirits and maidens throughout; But now all's dark to me, Tanya dear: What I knew, I forgot. Yes indeed, Bad times have come to me in need! It struck me..." "Tell me, nanny here, About your old years: tell me true, Were you in love back then too?"
XVIII
"Enough, Tanya! At that age We never heard about love's call; Or else my mother-in-law in rage Would have driven me from this world and all." "But how did you get married, nanny?" "So, God willed it, I suppose. My Vanya Was younger than me, my light dear, And I was thirteen years of age here. For two weeks the matchmaker came round To my family, and at last Father blessed me when time passed. I wept bitterly with fear profound, They unbraided my braid with tears they shed And with singing to church I was led.
XIX
And so they brought me to a family strange... But you're not listening to me..." "Oh, nanny, nanny, I feel pain's range, I'm sick, my dear, can't you see: I'm ready to cry, to sob outright!..." "My child, you're unwell tonight; Lord have mercy and save, I pray! What do you want, just say... Let me sprinkle holy water's stream, You're burning all over..." "I'm not ill: I... you know, nanny... I love still." "My child, the Lord be with you in your dream!" And the nurse blessed the girl anew With trembling hand in prayer's view.
XX
"I'm in love," again she whispered low To the old woman with grief profound. "Dear friend, you're unwell, I know." "Leave me: I'm in love," came the sound. And meanwhile the moon was shining bright And with languid radiance gave its light To Tatyana's pale beauty's gleam, And loosened hair in moon's beam, And drops of tears, and on the bench beside Before the young heroine's place, With kerchief on her gray head's space, The old woman in long quilted coat supplied: And all slumbered in silence deep In the inspirational moon's keep.
XXI
And with her heart far away was soaring Tatyana, gazing at the moon... Suddenly a thought in her mind was forming... "Go, leave me alone. Very soon Give me, nurse, pen, paper bright And move the table near; I'll sleep tonight; Farewell." And now she's all alone. All's quiet. The moon on her has shone. Leaning on her elbow, Tatyana's writing. And all is Eugene in her mind, And in the unconsidered letter find Love of innocent maiden's reciting. The letter's ready, folded complete... Tatyana! For whom this epistle sweet?
XXII
I knew beauties unapproachable in frame, Cold, pure, like winter's frosty air, Unrelenting, incorruptible by name, Incomprehensible to mind's affair; I marveled at their fashionable pride high, Their natural virtue in the sky, And, I confess, from them I fled, And, it seems, with horror read Above their brows hell's inscription laid: Abandon hope forevermore. To inspire love for them is a chore, To frighten people is their parade. Perhaps, on Neva's banks you've found Such ladies in your social round.
XXIII
Among obedient admirers' score Other capricious ones I saw indeed, Self-lovingly indifferent to adore To passionate sighs and praise they heed. And what did I find with amazement clear? They, by stern behavior severe, Frightening timid love away from sight, Could attract it anew with might, At least with pity's demonstration, At least the sound of speeches' tone Seemed sometimes tender to be shown, And with credulous fascination Again the young lover would pursue The dear vanity's retinue.
XXIV
Why then is Tatyana more to blame? For the fact that in dear simplicity's art She knows no deceit or deception's game And believes in her chosen dream's heart? For the fact that she loves without art's play, Obedient to feeling's sway, That she's so trusting in her role, That from heaven endowed her soul With rebellious imagination's fire, With mind and will that's alive and bright, And self-willed head of light, And heart that's passionate in desire? Can you really not forgive her state For passions' light-mindedness of fate?
XXV
A coquette judges coolly with precision, Tatyana loves not in jest at all And surrenders with unconditional decision To love, like a dear child in thrall. She doesn't say: let's postpone— We'll increase love's value shown, More surely in nets we'll lead him fast; First we'll prick vanity at last With hope, then with perplexity's strain We'll torture the heart, and then proceed To revive with jealous fire's feed; Or else, bored by pleasure's reign, The cunning captive from chains will strive Every hour to escape and survive.
XXVI
I still foresee difficulties ahead: Saving my native land's honor high, I'll have to, without doubt, it's said, Translate Tatyana's letter by and by. She knew Russian poorly in her way, Didn't read our journals of the day, And expressed herself with difficulty's weight In her native language's state, So she wrote in French... what to do! I repeat again: until today Ladies' love in Russian way Was not expressed in phrases true, Until today our proud language still To postal prose is not accustomed with skill.
XXVII
I know: they want to make ladies read In Russian. Really, what a fright! Can I imagine them indeed With "The Well-Intentioned" in sight! I appeal to you, my poets dear; Isn't it true: the lovely objects here, For whom, for your sins' sake, You secretly wrote verses to make, To whom you dedicated your heart's devotion, Didn't they all, the Russian tongue Commanding weakly while young, Distort it so sweetly in motion, And in their lips the foreign speech's sound Didn't it become native and profound?
XXVIII
God forbid I should meet at a ball's estate Or at departure on the porch's frame A seminarist in yellow shawl's weight Or an academician in cap's name! Like rosy lips without a smile's grace, Without grammatical error's trace I don't love Russian speech to hear. Perhaps, to my misfortune here, Beauties of new generation's rise, Heeding journals' pleading voice of late, Will to grammar us domesticate; Verses will introduce to our eyes; But I... what business is it to me? I'll remain faithful to antiquity.
XXIX
Incorrect, careless babble's sound, Inexact pronunciation of speech still Will as before the heart's trembling found Produce in my breast at will; No power in me to repent or mourn, French idioms to me will be dear and borne, Like past youth's sins of old, Like Bogdanovich's verses told. But enough. It's time for me to busy Myself with my beauty's letter bright; I gave my word, and what? By right, Now I'm ready to refuse already. I know: tender Parny's role Is not in fashion in our time's soul.
XXX
Singer of feasts and languid grief profound, If only you were still with me around, With immodest request I would Trouble you, my dear and good: So that to magical melodies true You'd transpose the passionate maiden who Speaks in foreign words' refrain. Where are you? Come: my rights I'll deign To transfer to you with a bow... But amid sad cliffs' terrain, Unaccustomed in heart to praise's gain, Alone, under Finnish sky's vow, He wanders, and his soul complete Doesn't hear my grief's beat.
XXXI
Tatyana's letter is before me now; I keep it sacredly with care, I read it with secret anguish's vow And can't read enough of what's there. Who inspired her this tenderness to feel, And words' charming negligence appeal? Who inspired her tender nonsense's art, The mad conversation of the heart, Both captivating and harmful's part? I cannot understand. But here Is incomplete, weak translation clear, A pale copy from living picture's heart, Or Der Freischütz performed by slight Fingers of timid pupils' fright:
Tatyana's Letter to Onegin I write to you—what more is there? What more can I possibly say? Now, I know, it's in your power to bear To punish me with contempt's display. But you, for my unhappy fate at least Preserving a drop of pity's feast, You will not abandon me. At first I wanted silent to be; Believe me: of my shame's design You would never have known at all, If I had hope, however small, At least rarely, once a week in line, In our village to see you appear, Just to hear your speeches dear, To say a word to you, and then this way All to think, think of one thing sole Night and day until meeting's role. But they say you're unsociable, they say; In wilderness, in village all seems dull, And we... we shine not at all, Though we're glad sincerely to call.
Why did you visit us this way? In forgotten village's wilderness still I would never have known you, I say, Would not have known bitter torment's will. The agitation of inexperienced soul, Subduing with time (who can know the role?), By heart I would have found a friend true, Would have been a faithful wife to pursue And a virtuous mother through and through. Another!.. No, to no one on earth, I say, Would I have given my heart away! That's decreed by highest council's way... That's heaven's will: I am yours to be; My whole life has been a pledge, you see, Of certain meeting with you in store; I know you're sent to me by God's decree, Until the grave you're my guardian sure... You appeared to me in dreams before, Unseen, you were already dear to ignore, Your wondrous gaze tormented me of old, Your voice in my soul was told Long ago... no, this was not a dream's fold! You'd barely entered, I knew at once complete, I grew numb, burst into flame's heat And in my thoughts said: it's he, at meet! Isn't it true? I heard you: it's the case: You spoke with me in quiet's embrace, When I helped the poor in their place Or with prayer brought solace and grace To the anguish of agitated soul's space? And at this very moment's trace Wasn't it you, dear vision's face, Who flickered in transparent darkness's lace, Leaned quietly to my headboard's place? Wasn't it you, with joy and love to base, Who whispered words of hope in grace? Who are you, my guardian angel bright Or a cunning tempter of the night: Resolve my doubts with your sight. Perhaps this is all empty quite, Deception of inexperienced soul's plight! And something else is destined outright... But so be it! My fate despite From now on I entrust to you in flight, Before you I shed tears in night, I beg for your protection's might... Imagine: I'm here alone in fright, No one understands me right, My reason is exhausted quite, And silently I must perish from sight. I wait for you: with a single gaze's light Revive my heart's hopes bright Or interrupt the heavy dream's blight, Alas, with deserved reproach's bite! I'm finishing! It's terrible to recite... With shame and fear I fade from sight... But your honor is my pledge of right, And boldly I entrust myself to its might...
XXXII
Tatyana now sighs, now moans aloud; The letter trembles in her hand endowed; The pink wafer's drying allowed On her inflamed tongue's crowd. To shoulder her dear head inclined. The light chemise has slipped behind From her lovely shoulder's design... But now the lunar beam's shine Is fading. There the valley's line Through mist grows clear. There the stream Has turned to silver's gleam; there the horn Of shepherd wakes the villager at morn. Morning's here: all rose long ago it seems, To my Tatyana it's all the same in dreams.
XXXIII
She doesn't notice dawn's display, Sits with her head bowed low to stay And on the letter doesn't lay Her carved seal's sway. But, quietly opening the door's way, Already gray Filipyevna to convey Brings on a tray the tea. "It's time, my child, rise and see: But you, beauty, are ready now! Oh my early bird, I vow! Last night how I feared, I avow! But thank God, you're well somehow! Of night's anguish not a trace to see, Your face is like poppy's decree."
XXXIV
"Ah! Nurse, do me a favor here." "Command, my dear, I'm all ears clear." "Don't think... really... suspicion's fear... But you see... ah! Don't refuse, my dear." "My friend, here's God as guarantee." "So, send your grandson quietly With this note to O... to that one there... To the neighbor... and tell him to beware, That he shouldn't say a word anywhere, That he shouldn't name me with care..." "To whom, my dear, declare? I've become foolish, I swear. There are many neighbors everywhere; How can I count them all with care."
XXXV
"How obtuse you are, nanny dear!" "Dear friend, I'm old, it's clear, Old; reason's dulling, Tanya here; But once, I was sharp to appear, Once, at mistress's word, my ear..." "Ah, nanny, nanny! Is that the sphere? What need have I of your mind here? You see, it's about the letter clear To Onegin." "Well, well, let's be clear. Don't be angry, my soul so dear, You know I don't understand, I fear... But why have you grown pale again here?" "It's nothing, nanny, really, I swear. Just send your grandson without care."
XXXVI
But the day passed, and no reply came through. Another dawned: still nothing, nothing new. Pale as a shadow, dressed since morning's view, Tatyana waits: when will reply come through? Olga's admirer arrived to pursue. "Tell me: where is your friend?" was the cue The hostess gave him to construe. "He's quite forgotten us, it's true." Tatyana, flushing, trembled through. "Today he promised to come due," Lensky answered the old lady's due, "But apparently the post detained him too." Tatyana lowered her gaze from view, As if hearing an evil reproach to rue.
XXXVII
It grew dark; on the table, shining bright, The evening samovar hissed with might, Heating the Chinese teapot right; Beneath it light steam curled in flight. Poured by Olga's hand so light, In cups in dark stream's sight Already fragrant tea ran quite, And cream the boy served in rite; Tatyana stood before window's height, Breathing on cold glass's site, Lost in thought, my soul's delight, With lovely finger began to write On misted glass in night The cherished monogram O and E's light.
XXXVIII
And meanwhile her soul was aching inside, And with tears her languid eyes were wide. Suddenly hoofbeats!.. her blood was dried. Here closer! Galloping... and to courtyard's side Eugene! "Ah!"—and lighter than shadow's glide Tatyana leaps to other entrance's side, From porch to yard, and straight to garden's pride, Flies, flies; to look back she doesn't bide; In a moment she's run with hurried stride Flowerbeds, bridges, lawn's divide, Alley to lake, forest's side, Broke through lilac bushes' tide, Through flower gardens flying to stream's guide, And, breathless, to the bench's side
XXXIX
She fell... "He's here! Here's Eugene's form! Oh God! What did he think?" in storm Her heart, full of torments warm, Preserves hope's dark dream to conform; She trembles and with heat is warm, And waits: won't he come? But no alarm. In the garden servant maids perform, On garden beds in swarm, Gathered berries in bushes' charm And in chorus by command's form sang (Command based on the plan That mistress's berries by sly lips' span Shouldn't be eaten, and with singing began: A rural cleverness's plan!).
Girls' Song Maidens, beauties all around, Dear souls, dear friends we've found, Play and frolic, maidens sound, Enjoy yourselves, dear ones renowned! Start the song with joyful bound, The cherished song's profound, Lure the young man to our ground, To our dancing circle's round. When we lure the young man here, When we see him drawing near, Run away, dear ones, in fear, Pelt him with cherries dear, With cherries, raspberries clear, Red currants to appear. Don't come to eavesdrop here On cherished songs so dear, Don't come to spy and peer At our maiden games sincere.
XL
They sing, and with negligence's art Listening to their ringing voice's part, Tatyana waited with impatient heart For trembling in her heart to depart, For the burning of cheeks to part. But in her breast the same trembling's art, And the heat of cheeks won't depart, But brighter, brighter only burns the part... Thus a poor moth flutters and gleams smart, And beats with rainbow wing's art, Captivated by schoolboy's playful part; Thus a hare in winter crop takes start, Seeing suddenly from afar to dart A hunter crouching in bushes' part.
XLI
But finally she sighed with relief's sound And rose from her bench from ground; She walked, but just as she turned around Into the alley, right before her found, With blazing eyes around, Eugene stands like threatening shade's bound, And, as if by fire she's burned and crowned, She stopped as if frozen to ground. But the consequences of meeting profound Unexpected today, friends around, I'm not able to expound; After such long speech's round I must walk and rest be found: I'll finish later somehow bound.