The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

  His ditties were as pure and bright

  As thoughts which gentle maidens have,

  As a babe’s slumber, or the light

  Of the moon in the tranquil skies,

  Goddess of lovers’ tender sighs.

  He sang of separation grim,

  Of what not, and of distant dim,

  Of roses to romancers dear;

  To foreign lands he would allude,

  Where long time he in solitude

  Had let fall many a bitter tear:

  He sang of life’s fresh colours stained

  Before he eighteen years attained.

  XI

  Since Eugene in that solitude

  Gifts such as these alone could prize,

  A scant attendance Lenski showed

  At neighbouring hospitalities.

  He shunned those parties boisterous;

  The conversation tedious

  About the crop of hay, the wine,

  The kennel or a kindred line,

  Was certainly not erudite

  Nor sparkled with poetic fire,

  Nor wit, nor did the same inspire

  A sense of social delight,

  But still more stupid did appear

  The gossip of their ladies fair.

  XII

  Handsome and rich, the neighbourhood

  Lenski as a good match received, —

  Such is the country custom good;

  All mothers their sweet girls believed

  Suitable for this semi-Russian.

  He enters: rapidly discussion

  Shifts, tacks about, until they prate

  The sorrows of a single state.

  Perchance where Dunia pours out tea

  The young proprietor we find;

  To Dunia then they whisper: Mind!

  And a guitar produced we see,

  And Heavens! warbled forth we hear:

  Come to my golden palace, dear!(25)

  [Note 25: From the lay of the Russalka, i.e. mermaid of the Dnieper.]

  XIII

  But Lenski, having no desire

  Vows matrimonial to break,

  With our Oneguine doth aspire

  Acquaintance instantly to make.

  They met. Earth, water, prose and verse,

  Or ice and flame, are not diverse

  If they were similar in aught.

  At first such contradictions wrought

  Mutual repulsion and ennui,

  But grown familiar side by side

  On horseback every day they ride —

  Inseparable soon they be.

  Thus oft — this I myself confess —

  Men become friends from idleness.

  XIV

  But even thus not now-a-days!

  In spite of common sense we’re wont

  As cyphers others to appraise,

  Ourselves as unities to count;

  And like Napoleons each of us

  A million bipeds reckons thus

  One instrument for his own use —

  Feeling is silly, dangerous.

  Eugene, more tolerant than this

  (Though certainly mankind he knew

  And usually despised it too),

  Exceptionless as no rule is,

  A few of different temper deemed,

  Feeling in others much esteemed.

  XV

  With smiling face he Lenski hears;

  The poet’s fervid conversation

  And judgment which unsteady veers

  And eye which gleams with inspiration —

  All this was novel to Eugene.

  The cold reply with gloomy mien

  He oft upon his lips would curb,

  Thinking: ‘tis foolish to disturb

  This evanescent boyish bliss.

  Time without me will lessons give,

  So meantime let him joyous live

  And deem the world perfection is!

  Forgive the fever youth inspires,

  And youthful madness, youthful fires.

  XVI

  The gulf between them was so vast,

  Debate commanded ample food —

  The laws of generations past,

  The fruits of science, evil, good,

  The prejudices all men have,

  The fatal secrets of the grave,

  And life and fate in turn selected

  Were to analysis subjected.

  The fervid poet would recite,

  Carried away by ecstasy,

  Fragments of northern poetry,

  Whilst Eugene condescending quite,

  Though scarcely following what was said,

  Attentive listened to the lad.

  XVII

  But more the passions occupy

  The converse of our hermits twain,

  And, heaving a regretful sigh,

  An exile from their troublous reign,

  Eugene would speak regarding these.

  Thrice happy who their agonies

  Hath suffered but indifferent grown,

  Still happier he who ne’er hath known!

  By absence who hath chilled his love,

  His hate by slander, and who spends

  Existence without wife or friends,

  Whom jealous transport cannot move,

  And who the rent-roll of his race

  Ne’er trusted to the treacherous ace.

  XVIII

  When, wise at length, we seek repose

  Beneath the flag of Quietude,

  When Passion’s fire no longer glows

  And when her violence reviewed —

  Each gust of temper, silly word,

  Seems so unnatural and absurd:

  Reduced with effort unto sense,

  We hear with interest intense

  The accents wild of other’s woes,

  They stir the heart as heretofore.

  So ancient warriors, battles o’er,

  A curious interest disclose

  In yarns of youthful troopers gay,

  Lost in the hamlet far away.

  XIX

  And in addition youth is flame

  And cannot anything conceal,

  Is ever ready to proclaim

  The love, hate, sorrow, joy, we feel.

  Deeming himself a veteran scarred

  In love’s campaigns Oneguine heard

  With quite a lachrymose expression

  The youthful poet’s fond confession.

  He with an innocence extreme

  His inner consciousness laid bare,

  And Eugene soon discovered there

  The story of his young love’s dream,

  Where plentifully feelings flow

  Which we experienced long ago.

  XX

  Alas! he loved as in our times

  Men love no more, as only the

  Mad spirit of the man who rhymes

  Is still condemned in love to be;

  One image occupied his mind,

  Constant affection intertwined

  And an habitual sense of pain;

  And distance interposed in vain,

  Nor years of separation all

  Nor homage which the Muse demands

  Nor beauties of far distant lands

  Nor study, banquet, rout nor ball

  His constant soul could ever tire,

  Which glowed with virginal desire.

  XXI

  When but a boy he Olga loved

  Unknown as yet the aching heart,

  He witnessed tenderly and moved

  Her girlish gaiety and sport.

  Beneath the sheltering oak tree’s shade

  He with his little maiden played,

  Whilst the fond parents, friends thro’ life,

  Dreamed in the future man and wife.

  And full of innocent delight,

  As in a thicket’s humble shade,

  Beneath her parents’ eyes the maid

  Grew like a lily pure and white,

  Unseen i
n thick and tangled grass

  By bee and butterfly which pass.

  XXII

  ‘Twas she who first within his breast

  Poetic transport did infuse,

  And thoughts of Olga first impressed

  A mournful temper on his Muse.

  Farewell! thou golden days of love!

  ‘Twas then he loved the tangled grove

  And solitude and calm delight,

  The moon, the stars, and shining night —

  The moon, the lamp of heaven above,

  To whom we used to consecrate

  A promenade in twilight late

  With tears which secret sufferers love —

  But now in her effulgence pale

  A substitute for lamps we hail!

  XXIII

  Obedient she had ever been

  And modest, cheerful as the morn,

  As a poetic life serene,

  Sweet as the kiss of lovers sworn.

  Her eyes were of cerulean blue,

  Her locks were of a golden hue,

  Her movements, voice and figure slight,

  All about Olga — to a light

  Romance of love I pray refer,

  You’ll find her portrait there, I vouch;

  I formerly admired her much

  But finally grew bored by her.

  But with her elder sister I

  Must now my stanzas occupy.

  XXIV

  Tattiana was her appellation.

  We are the first who such a name

  In pages of a love narration

  With such a perversity proclaim.

  But wherefore not? — ’Tis pleasant, nice,

  Euphonious, though I know a spice

  It carries of antiquity

  And of the attic. Honestly,

  We must admit but little taste

  Doth in us or our names appear(26)

  (I speak not of our poems here),

  And education runs to waste,

  Endowing us from out her store

  With affectation, — nothing more.

  [Note 26: The Russian annotator remarks: “The most euphonious Greek names, e.g. Agathon, Philotas, Theodora, Thekla, etc., are used amongst us by the lower classes only.”]

  XXV

  And so Tattiana was her name,

  Nor by her sister’s brilliancy

  Nor by her beauty she became

  The cynosure of every eye.

  Shy, silent did the maid appear

  As in the timid forest deer,

  Even beneath her parents’ roof

  Stood as estranged from all aloof,

  Nearest and dearest knew not how

  To fawn upon and love express;

  A child devoid of childishness

  To romp and play she ne’er would go:

  Oft staring through the window pane

  Would she in silence long remain.

  XXVI

  Contemplativeness, her delight,

  E’en from her cradle’s earliest dream,

  Adorned with many a vision bright

  Of rural life the sluggish stream;

  Ne’er touched her fingers indolent

  The needle nor, o’er framework bent,

  Would she the canvas tight enrich

  With gay design and silken stitch.

  Desire to rule ye may observe

  When the obedient doll in sport

  An infant maiden doth exhort

  Polite demeanour to preserve,

  Gravely repeating to another

  Recent instructions of its mother.

  XXVII

  But Tania ne’er displayed a passion

  For dolls, e’en from her earliest years,

  And gossip of the town and fashion

  She ne’er repeated unto hers.

  Strange unto her each childish game,

  But when the winter season came

  And dark and drear the evenings were,

  Terrible tales she loved to hear.

  And when for Olga nurse arrayed

  In the broad meadow a gay rout,

  All the young people round about,

  At prisoner’s base she never played.

  Their noisy laugh her soul annoyed,

  Their giddy sports she ne’er enjoyed.

  XXVIII

  She loved upon the balcony

  To anticipate the break of day,

  When on the pallid eastern sky

  The starry beacons fade away,

  The horizon luminous doth grow,

  Morning’s forerunners, breezes blow

  And gradually day unfolds.

  In winter, when Night longer holds

  A hemisphere beneath her sway,

  Longer the East inert reclines

  Beneath the moon which dimly shines,

  And calmly sleeps the hours away,

  At the same hour she oped her eyes

  And would by candlelight arise.

  XXIX

  Romances pleased her from the first,

  Her all in all did constitute;

  In love adventures she was versed,

  Rousseau and Richardson to boot.

  Not a bad fellow was her father

  Though superannuated rather;

  In books he saw nought to condemn

  But, as he never opened them,

  Viewed them with not a little scorn,

  And gave himself but little pain

  His daughter’s book to ascertain

  Which ‘neath her pillow lay till morn.

  His wife was also mad upon

  The works of Mr. Richardson.

  XXX

  She was thus fond of Richardson

  Not that she had his works perused,

  Or that adoring Grandison

  That rascal Lovelace she abused;

  But that Princess Pauline of old,

  Her Moscow cousin, often told

  The tale of these romantic men;

  Her husband was a bridegroom then,

  And she despite herself would waste

  Sighs on another than her lord

  Whose qualities appeared to afford

  More satisfaction to her taste.

  Her Grandison was in the Guard,

  A noted fop who gambled hard.

  XXXI

  Like his, her dress was always nice,

  The height of fashion, fitting tight,

  But contrary to her advice

  The girl in marriage they unite.

  Then, her distraction to allay,

  The bridegroom sage without delay

  Removed her to his country seat,

  Where God alone knows whom she met.

  She struggled hard at first thus pent,

  Night separated from her spouse,

  Then became busy with the house,

  First reconciled and then content;

  Habit was given us in distress

  By Heaven in lieu of happiness.

  XXXII

  Habit alleviates the grief

  Inseparable from our lot;

  This great discovery relief

  And consolation soon begot.

  And then she soon ‘twixt work and leisure

  Found out the secret how at pleasure

  To dominate her worthy lord,

  And harmony was soon restored.

  The workpeople she superintended,

  Mushrooms for winter salted down,

  Kept the accounts, shaved many a crown,(*)

  The bath on Saturdays attended,

  When angry beat her maids, I grieve,

  And all without her husband’s leave.

  [Note: The serfs destined for military service used to have a portion of their heads shaved as a distinctive mark.]

  XXXIII

  In her friends’ albums, time had been,

  With blood instead of ink she scrawled,

  Baptized Prascovia Pauline,

  And in her conversation drawled.

  She wore her c
orset tightly bound,

  The Russian N with nasal sound

  She would pronounce a la Francaise;

  But soon she altered all her ways,

  Corset and album and Pauline,

  Her sentimental verses all,

  She soon forgot, began to call

  Akulka who was once Celine,

  And had with waddling in the end

  Her caps and night-dresses to mend.

  XXXIV

  As for her spouse he loved her dearly,

  In her affairs ne’er interfered,

  Entrusted all to her sincerely,

  In dressing-gown at meals appeared.

  Existence calmly sped along,

  And oft at eventide a throng

  Of friends unceremonious would

  Assemble from the neighbourhood:

  They growl a bit — they scandalise —

  They crack a feeble joke and smile —

  Thus the time passes and meanwhile

  Olga the tea must supervise —

  ‘Tis time for supper, now for bed,

  And soon the friendly troop hath fled.

  XXXV

  They in a peaceful life preserved

  Customs by ages sanctified,

  Strictly the Carnival observed,

  Ate Russian pancakes at Shrovetide,

  Twice in the year to fast were bound,

  Of whirligigs were very fond,

  Of Christmas carols, song and dance;

  When people with long countenance

  On Trinity Sunday yawned at prayer,

  Three tears they dropt with humble mein

  Upon a bunch of lovage green;

  Kvass needful was to them as air;

  On guests their servants used to wait

  By rank as settled by the State.(27)

  [Note 27: The foregoing stanza requires explanation. Russian pancakes or “blinni” are consumed vigorously by the lower orders during the Carnival. At other times it is difficult to procure them, at any rate in the large towns. The Russian peasants are childishly fond of whirligigs, which are also much in vogue during the Carnival. “Christmas Carols” is not an exact equivalent for the Russian phrase. “Podbliudni pessni,” are literally “dish songs,” or songs used with dishes (of water) during the “sviatki” or Holy Nights, which extend from Christmas to Twelfth Night, for purposes of divination. Reference will again be made to this superstitious practice, which is not confined to Russia. See Note 52. “Song and dance,” the well-known “khorovod,” in which the dance proceeds to vocal music. “Lovage,” the Levisticum officinalis, is a hardy plant growing very far north, though an inhabitant of our own kitchen gardens. The passage containing the reference to the three tears and Trinity Sunday was at first deemed irreligious by the Russian censors, and consequently expunged. Kvass is of various sorts: there is the common kvass of fermented rye used by the peasantry, and the more expensive kvass of the restaurants, iced and flavoured with various fruits. The final two lines refer to the “Tchin,” or Russian social hierarchy. There are fourteen grades in the Tchin assigning relative rank and precedence to the members of the various departments of the State, civil, military, naval, court, scientific and educational. The military and naval grades from the 14th up to the 7th confer personal nobility only, whilst above the 7th hereditary rank is acquired. In the remaining departments, civil or otherwise, personal nobility is only attained with the 9th grade, hereditary with the 4th.]