They send their greetings.
My dear chap, she is such a sweet thing—
Those lovely shoulders, and that bust!
That spirit too! We really must
Call on them soon. They’ll be delighted.
But think… It isn’t very nice—
You’ve wandered in to see then twice,
And after that you’ve not been sighted.
But listen. Who am I to speak?
You are invited there next week.”
49
“I am?” “Yes, you. It’s Tanya’s name day—
Saturday. Olga and her mum
Want you to be there. It’s their brainwave
To have you over. Why not come?”
“But people will be there in legions,
And all the riff-raff of the region…”
“No, no one will be there. Trust me.”
“Who’s coming? Only family.
Let’s go. Do them a little favour.
Yes?” “All right.” “There’s a chap.” He drank,
And thought of someone as he sank
His wine—toasting his lady neighbour—
Then he went back to talking of
His darling Olga. Such is love!
50
His mood was merry. Two weeks later
Bliss beckoned—they had fixed the date.
The secret marriage bed… No sweeter
Love garland could one contemplate,
With his anticipation climbing.
Meanwhile the cares and woes of Hymen,
The long-extended trail of yawns,
Upon his thinking never dawned.
We hymen-haters can discover
In domesticity a rut
Of tedious scenes and nothing but—
As in a La Fontaine-style novel.
Poor Lensky, though his heart was bliss,
Was born to live a life like this.
51
And he was loved… At least he needed
To think so. Happy was the thought.
Blest hundredfold is the believer
Who sets his chilling mind at naught
And rests in heartfelt joy, reposing
Like a drunk tramp abed and dozing,
Or like a butterfly (less gloom!)
Swooning in spring upon its bloom.
But pity him who has forebodings,
Whose mind is set and never whirls,
Who views all movement, and all words
That carry extra sense, with loathing.
His heart is chilled by life, it seems,
And barred from dreaming woozy dreams.
* Morality is in the nature of things. (French.)
May you never know these nightmares, My dear Svetlana.
ZHUKÓVSKY
1
That year the weather stayed with autumn,
As if the world outside had slowed,
But winter waited—then it caught them
In January, when it snowed,
The third night. Up betimes, Tatyana
Looked through the windowpane to garner
A picture of the white world hence—
The flowerbeds and the roofs and fence,
The windowpanes with gentle patterns,
Trees in their winter silver, hard,
With happy magpies in the yard
And all the hillocks smoothly flattened.
A brilliant white had overset
All things with winter’s coverlet.
2
Winter! A sledding peasant revels
In ploughing through a virgin plot.
His pony, snuffling snow, bedevilled,
Gets through it at a struggling trot.
A covered sleigh flies past, and flurries
Of powdered snow rise as it scurries.
The seated coachman in a flash
Speeds by in long coat and red sash.
A peasant lad, the little tinker,
Runs round with Blackie as his fare
And him the horse. Without a care,
The scamp ignores his frozen finger,
Which hurts a bit, and still he laughs
At mummy scolding through the glass.
3
But you may think this kind of picture
Is hardly worth a second glance.
Here’s Nature mean and unrestricted,
Deprived of any elegance.
Warmly inspired, as if divinely,
Another bard, of verbal finery,
Has shown us first snow and displayed
Winter delights of every shade.
I know he’ll charm you with his talent,
His use of keen poetic skills
On sleigh rides with their secret thrills!
But neither poet do I challenge,
Not him, not you. Be not afraid,
Singer of that young Finnish maid.
4
The Russian spirit deep within her
Made Tanya inexplicably
A lover of our Russian winter,
So cold and beautiful to see,
The rimy sheen in frosty sunshine,
Sledging in the late dawn and, sometimes,
The bright pink texture of the snow,
Its January evening glow…
They marked the church days after Christmas
The old way, in the evenings there,
And maids came in from everywhere
To guess the fortune of each mistress.
Each year, the same thing: what’s in store?
A soldier husband and a war.
5
Tanya loved legends from all quarters,
To old tales she was well attuned,
And dreams, and cards, and telling fortunes,
Prognostications by the moon.
Omens of every kind upset her,
And everything was a begetter
Of mystery amid dismay.
Forebodings took her breath away.
If Snobs, the cat, sat on his oven
And purred, pawing to clean his face,
This was a definite foretaste
Of coming visitors. Above her,
If a young crescent moon was heft
Into the heavens from the left—
6
She would turn pale and give a shudder,
And if a shooting star should speed
Through the dark firmament above her
And shower down, ah, then indeed
Tanya made haste in great confusion,
While the said star was downward cruising,
To whisper forth her heart’s desire.
If a chance meeting should transpire
To place a black-robed monk before her,
Or if a swift hare shot across
Her field path, she was at a loss,
Deciding what to do, from horror,
And, full of premonitions, she
Expected a calamity.
7
So what? She welcomed the contagious
Thrill of the horror and its shocks.
And that’s how Mother Nature made us,
Susceptible to paradox.
Epiphany comes round—so thrilling!—
And giddy youth goes fortune-telling,
For whom there’s no cause for regret,
For whom the span of life as yet
Shines far ahead, a boundless treasure.
Old age divines, with specs on nose,
As life is coming to its close
And all is lost and gone for ever.
No matter. Hope on them has smiled
(With the false prattle of a child).
8
When hot wax was dropped into water
Tatyana looked at it transfixed,
And wonderful the things it taught her
When it was wonderfully mixed.
Then from fresh water in a basin
Their rings emerged in quick succession,
And when her tiny ring emerged
They sang an old song with these words:
“Rich toilers dwell in that far city,
Shovelling silver all day long.
We wish the subject of our song
Fortune and fame!” But this sad ditty
Tells of sad losses soon for us;
Girls are more moved by “lady-puss”.
9
Night falls… Clear skies and frosty weather.
A wondrous choir of heavenly suns
Wheel in sweet harmony together.
Into the wide yard Tanya comes,
Wearing a dress with neckline open.
Her mirror picks the moon out, hoping,
But in the dark glass, if you please,
Sad, trembling moon is all she sees.
Hush!… Creaking snow… Who is that passing?
On tiptoe, over there she speeds
And, softer than a pipe of reeds,
Her fluting voice sings to him, asking,
“What do they call you?” Whereupon
He glares and answers, “Agaphon.”
10
Tatyana’s nurse had once suggested
That conjured dreams at night come true,
So in the bathhouse she requested
A secret table set for two.
But sudden panic struck Tatyana
(As once, when thinking of Svetlana,
I panicked too… But let that go…
We’re not in Tanya’s magic show).
She took her silk sash and undid it,
Then she undressed and went to bed,
A love charm hanging by her head.
Neath the down pillow, where she’d hid it,
Lay the maid’s mirror she had kept.
And all went quiet; Tanya slept.
11
And Tanya dreams a dream fantastic,
She dreams of a white glade snow-kissed,
Which she is walking through, while past it
There swirls a dismal circling mist.
Ahead, through snowdrifts, roars a current,
A steaming, wavy, boiling torrent,
Its waters dark with light-grey flocks,
Left by the winter still unlocked.
Two sticks icily glued together
Flimsily, perilously spanned
A gorge where rushing waters ran,
The loud deeps racing hell for leather,
And there she halted in dismay,
Her footsteps dwindling away.
12
Tanya viewed this unwanted hiccup
And cursed the stream, but nowhere could
She see a proffered hand to pick up
And use to help her cross the flood.
Then suddenly a snowdrift shuddered.
You’ll never guess what it uncovered—
A great, big, full-size, bristling bear.
She screamed, he roared, and then and there
He offered her his claws, a pawful.
She rallied, taking courage, and
Steadied herself with trembling hand.
Warily, dreading something awful,
She crossed. Then, with no more ado,
She walked on—but the bear came too!
13
Too scared to look back—so horrendous!—
Faster she runs. Not fast enough:
He’s coming, her hirsute attendant,
And he will not be shaken off.
The ghastly bear grunts as he lumbers,
Ahead of them the pinewood slumbers,
Wasting its beauty in a scowl,
And all the branches are weighed down
With clumps of snow. The starlight pushes
Down through the treetops—birches, limes
And aspens—but though it shines,
There is no road. Gorges and bushes
Have gone from sight. They’re down below,
Everything buried deep in snow.
14
Into the woods… The bear comes after…
She struggles, knee-deep in soft snow.
First a long branch comes down to grasp her
Around the neck, then a sharp blow
Sends both her golden earrings tumbling.
Her wet shoe sticks (the snow is crumbling)
And bares a charming little foot.
She lets her handkerchief fall, but
Can’t stop to pick it up. She flinches,
Hearing the bear behind her, and
Modesty keeps her shaking hand
From raising her skirts a few inches.
She runs, and still he follows on,
Until she can no longer run.
15
Down she goes in the snow, and swiftly
He scoops her up. He’s off with her.
She yields herself coldly and stiffly.
She’s breathes not, neither does she stir
As down the forest road he rushes
To a shack lost in trees and bushes.
The woods are dense, and far and wide
The snows lie deep on every side.
Here is a window shining brightly.
From inside comes a raucous din.
The bear announces, “They’re my kin.
Inside you’ll soon get warmed up nicely.”
Into the hallway. On the floor
He sets her down before the door.
16
Tanya stares out as her swoon passes.
He’s gone. She’s at the door, through which
She hears loud talk and clinking glasses—
It’s like a funeral for the rich.
It doesn’t make sense. It’s uncanny.
She sneaks a look in through a cranny.
What’s this? A table, and round it
All sorts of ugly monsters sit:
A horned beast and a dog-faced creature,
One with a cockerel’s head, a weird
Old witch sporting a goatee beard,
A skeleton with proud, prim features,
A long-tailed dwarf and, after that,
A hybrid thing, half-crane, half-cat.
17
But weirder still—and more horrific—
A crayfish on a spider’s back,
A red-capped skull hermaphroditic.
Rotating on a goose’s neck,
A windmill dances round, legs squatting,
With sails that crack and swing like nothing.
They bark, laugh, whistle, bang and screech
To clopping hooves and human speech.
But one thing got the better of her:
Among the strange guests had appeared
The one man that she loved and feared—
Onegin—hero of out novel!
He’s at the table. What is more,
He’s sneaking glances at the door.
18
A sign from him, and they looked ruffled.
If he drinks, they drink, and they shout.
If he laughs, they begin to chuckle,
And when he scowls noise peters out.
He is the undisputed master.
Tanya, less fearful of disaster,
Begins to wonder how things are.
Gently she sets the door ajar…
A sudden gust of wind then douses
The light from all the candlesticks;
The ghostly gang fades with the wicks.
Eyes flashing, now Onegin rouses,
Clattering as he leaves the board.
They rise; he walks towards the door.
19
Feeling afraid and in a panic,
Tatyana tries to flee. It seems
She cannot run.
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