Pushkin, then residing in Bessarabia, was in the same predicament as his predecessor in song, though he certainly did not plead guilty to the fact, since he remarks in his ode to Ovid: To exile _self-consigned_, With self, society, existence, discontent, I visit in these days, with melancholy mind, The country whereunto a mournful age thee sent.

Ovid thus enumerates the causes which brought about his banishment:

"Perdiderint quum me _duo_ crimina, carmen et error, Alterius facti culpa silenda mihi est."

_Ovidii Nasonis Tristium_, lib. ii. 207.]

IX

How soon he learnt deception's art, Hope to conceal and jealousy, False confidence or doubt to impart, Sombre or glad in turn to be, Haughty appear, subservient, Obsequious or indifferent!

What languor would his silence show, How full of fire his speech would glow!

How artless was the note which spoke Of love again, and yet again; How deftly could he transport feign!

How bright and tender was his look, Modest yet daring! And a tear Would at the proper time appear.

X

How well he played the greenhorn's part To cheat the inexperienced fair, Sometimes by pleasing flattery's art, Sometimes by ready-made despair; The feeble moment would espy Of tender years the modesty Conquer by pa.s.sion and address, Await the long-delayed caress.

Avowal then 'twas time to pray, Attentive to the heart's first beating, Follow up love--a secret meeting Arrange without the least delay-- Then, then--well, in some solitude Lessons to give he understood!

XI

How soon he learnt to t.i.tillate The heart of the inveterate flirt!

Desirous to annihilate His own antagonists expert, How bitterly he would malign, With many a snare their pathway line!

But ye, O happy husbands, ye With him were friends eternally: The crafty spouse caressed him, who By Faublas in his youth was schooled,(5) And the suspicious veteran old, The pompous, swaggering cuckold too, Who floats contentedly through life, Proud of his dinners and his wife!

[Note 5: _Les Aventures du Chevalier de Faublas_, a romance of a loose character by Jean Baptiste Louvet de Couvray, b. 1760, d. 1797, famous for his bold oration denouncing Robespierre, Marat and Danton.]

XII

One morn whilst yet in bed he lay, His valet brings him letters three.

What, invitations? The same day As many entertainments be!

A ball here, there a children's treat, Whither shall my rapscallion flit?

Whither shall he go first? He'll see, Perchance he will to all the three.

Meantime in matutinal dress And hat surnamed a "Bolivar"(6) He hies unto the "Boulevard,"

To loiter there in idleness Until the sleepless Breguet chime(7) Announcing to him dinner-time.

[Note 6: A la "Bolivar," from the founder of Bolivian independence.]

[Note 7: M. Breguet, a celebrated Parisian watchmaker--hence a slang term for a watch.]

XIII

'Tis dark. He seats him in a sleigh, "Drive on!" the cheerful cry goes forth, His furs are powdered on the way By the fine silver of the north.

He bends his course to Talon's, where(8) He knows Kaverine will repair.(9) He enters. High the cork arose And Comet champagne foaming flows.

Before him red roast beef is seen And truffles, dear to youthful eyes, Flanked by immortal Strasbourg pies, The choicest flowers of French cuisine, And Limburg cheese alive and old Is seen next pine-apples of gold.

[Note 8: Talon, a famous St. Petersburg restaurateur.]

[Note 9: Paul Petrovitch Kaverine, a friend for whom Pushkin in his youth appears to have entertained great respect and admiration. He was an officer in the Hussars of the Guard, and a noted "dandy" and man about town. The poet on one occasion addressed the following impromptu to his friend's portrait:

"Within him daily see the the fires of punch and war, Upon the fields of Mars a gallant warrior, A faithful friend to friends, of ladies torturer, But ever the Hussar."]

XIV

Still thirst fresh draughts of wine compels To cool the cutlets' seething grease, When the sonorous Breguet tells Of the commencement of the piece.

A critic of the stage malicious, A slave of actresses capricious, Oneguine was a citizen Of the domains of the side-scene.

To the theatre he repairs Where each young critic ready stands, Capers applauds with clap of hands, With hisses Cleopatra scares, Moina recalls for this alone That all may hear his voice's tone.

XV

Thou fairy-land! Where formerly Shone pungent Satire's dauntless king, Von Wisine, friend of liberty, And Kniajnine, apt at copying.

The young Simeonova too there With Ozeroff was wont to share Applause, the people's donative.

There our Katenine did revive Corneille's majestic genius, Sarcastic Shakhovskoi brought out His comedies, a noisy rout, There Didelot became glorious, There, there, beneath the side-scene's shade The drama of my youth was played.(10)

[Note 10: _Denis Von Wisine_ (1741-92), a favourite Russian dramatist. His first comedy "The Brigadier," procured him the favour of the second Catherine. His best, however, is the "Minor" (Niedorosl). Prince Potemkin, after witnessing it, summoned the author, and greeted him with the exclamation, "Die now, Denis!" In fact, his subsequent performances were not of equal merit.

_Jacob Borissovitch Kniajnine_ (1742-91), a clever adapter of French tragedy.

_Simeonova_, a celebrated tragic actress, who retired from the stage in early life and married a Prince Gagarine.

_Ozeroff_, one of the best-known Russian dramatists of the period; he possessed more originality than Kniajnine. "Oedipus in Athens," "Fingal," "Demetrius Donskoi," and "Polyxena," are the best known of his tragedies.

_Katenine_ translated Corneille's tragedies into Russian.

_Didelot_, sometime Director of the ballet at the Opera at St. Petersburg.]

XVI

My G.o.ddesses, where are your shades?

Do ye not hear my mournful sighs?

Are ye replaced by other maids Who cannot conjure former joys?

Shall I your chorus hear anew, Russia's Terpsich.o.r.e review Again in her ethereal dance?

Or will my melancholy glance On the dull stage find all things changed, The disenchanted gla.s.s direct Where I can no more recollect?-- A careless looker-on estranged In silence shall I sit and yawn And dream of life's delightful dawn?

XVII

The house is crammed. A thousand lamps On pit, stalls, boxes, brightly blaze, Impatiently the gallery stamps, The curtain now they slowly raise.

Obedient to the magic strings, Brilliant, ethereal, there springs Forth from the crowd of nymphs surrounding Istomina(*) the nimbly-bounding; With one foot resting on its tip Slow circling round its fellow swings And now she skips and now she springs Like down from Aeolus's lip, Now her lithe form she arches o'er And beats with rapid foot the floor.

[Note: Istomina--A celebrated Circa.s.sian dancer of the day, with whom the poet in his extreme youth imagined himself in love.]

XVIII

Shouts of applause! Oneguine pa.s.ses Between the stalls, along the toes; Seated, a curious look with gla.s.ses On unknown female forms he throws.

Free scope he yields unto his glance, Reviews both dress and countenance, With all dissatisfaction shows.

To male acquaintances he bows, And finally he deigns let fall Upon the stage his weary glance.

He yawns, averts his countenance, Exclaiming, "We must change 'em all!

I long by ballets have been bored, Now Didelot scarce can be endured!"