'My dear, I vow by the Almighty.'

'Well, send your grandson very quietly a Give him this note for O... for that...

Our neighbour... Tell him not to chat To anybody or to dawdle And not to mention me by name...'

'To whom, then?'asked the ancient dame.

'Oh, nowadays my head's a muddle.

Neighbours are many in this part, I cannot think of where to start.'

35.

'Oh really, nurse, you are slow-witted!'

'I'm old, I'm very old, my heart, The mind grows dull, you must admit it, But way back I was very smart, And if the master once requested...'

'Oh nurse, nurse, I'm not interested.

What you were like then I don't care, What matters is this letter here: It's for Onegin.' 'Oh the letter.

Do not be cross with me, my soul, You know, I make no sense at all.

But you look pale again, not better.'

'It's nothing, nurse, but don't delay, Please send your grandson on his way.'

36.

The day flowed by, there came no letter Nor anything the following day.

Since morning dressed, pale as a spectre, Tatiana waits for a reply.

Olga's adorer drove up. 'Tell us, Where's your companion?' came the zealous Inquiry from the chatelaine.

'He has forgotten us, that's plain.'

Tatiana trembled, flushed, uneasy.

'He promised that today he'd come.'

Lensky replied to the old dame: 'No doubt the post has kept him busy.'

Tatiana cast a downward look, As though she'd heard a harsh rebuke.

37.

It darkened: on the table, gleaming, The evening samovar now hissed, On it the Chinese teapot, warming; Light vapour eddied under it.

Poured out by Olga's hand, the steady, Dark flow of fragrant tea already Into the cups ran, in a stream; A household boy served up the cream; Tatiana, though, preferred to linger Before the window, breathing on The frosted panes; and, pensive one, She wrote, with a beguiling finger, In windowpane calligraphy, A monogram: an O and E.

38.

And, meanwhile, still her soul is aching, And tears have filled her languid gaze.

A thud of hoofs!... Her blood is shaking.

Closer! Into the yard they race.

Eugene! Tatiana, lighter than a Shadow, is leaping through the manor, She flies, flies from the porch outside Into the garden, mortified; Without a backward look she scurries Past borders, little bridges, lawn, The lake's approach, the copse; has torn Down lilac bushes as she hurries; Through flowers to the brook she flies, Where, halting, out of breath, she sighs

39.

And falls upon a bench... exclaiming: 'Here's Eugene! G.o.d, how will I cope?

What will he think?' With torment flaming, Her heart retains a dream of hope.

She trembles, burns and looks behind her, Wondering if he'll come to find her; Hears nothing. In the orchard, maids Were picking berries in brigades And singing by decree a merry, Collective song (aimed to prevent A cunning servant girl intent On eating, secretly, a berry Belonging to her lord a a ruse Which landed folk are pleased to use!

Song of the Girls26

Come, you maidens beauteous, Dear companions, near to us, Frolic, if you're timorous, Have your fling, my darling ones.

Let us sing a song we know, One that we all cherish so, Let us lure a fine young lad To our dance as round we go.

When we lure this fine young lad, When we see him distantly, Let us scatter, darling ones, Pelt him with our cherries, dears, Cherries bright and raspberries, Currants red we'll also throw, Do not come and eavesdrop on Songs we cherish secretly, Do not come and spy upon Games we girls play privately.

40.

Tatiana hears with scant attention Their ringing voices, while she waits Impatiently until the tension That agitates her heart abates, Until her cheeks desist from burning.

But in her breast there's still the yearning, Nor do her cheeks give up their glow, But ever brighter, brighter grow...

So a poor b.u.t.terfly will flutter And beat an iridescent wing, Caught by a schoolboy, frolicking; So a small winter hare will shudder On seeing in the distant brush A hunter crouched behind a bush.

41.

Tatiana sighed and, though still yearning, Rose from her bench in calmer state: Set off, but just as she was turning Into the avenue, there straight Before her Eugene stood, eyes blazing, Like some forbidding phantom gazing, And she, as if by fire seared, Stayed rooted to the spot, and feared.

But to detail the consequences Of this unlooked-for tryst, dear friends, I've no more strength. I'll make amends; Meantime, I need my recompenses For so much talk a an interlude Of strolls and rest, then I'll conclude.

CHAPTER IV.

La morale est dans la nature des choses.

Necker1

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6].

7.

The less we love a woman, woo her, The more disposed to us she gets, And thus more surely we undo her And catch her in our tempting nets.

Time was, when cool debauch was lauded And as the art of love rewarded.

Blowing its trumpet far and wide, It fed a loveless appet.i.te.

But this grand game, once so paraded In our forefathers' vaunted day, Is one for ancient apes to play: The fame of Lovelaces has faded As have their famed red heels affixed And their majestic periwigs.

8.