[Note 43: Evgeny Baratynski, a contemporary of Pushkin and a lyric poet of some originality and talent. The “Feasts” is a short brilliant poem in praise of conviviality. Pushkin is therein praised as the best of companions “beside the bottle.”] XXXIII Tattiana’s letter I possess, I guard it as a holy thing, And though I read it with distress, I’m o’er it ever pondering. Inspired by whom this tenderness, This gentle daring who could guess? Who this soft nonsense could impart, Imprudent prattle of the heart, Attractive in its banefulness? I cannot understand. But lo! A feeble version read below, A print without the picture’s grace, Or, as it were, the Freischutz’ score Strummed by a timid schoolgirl o’er. Tattiana’s Letter to Onéguine I write to you! Is more required? Can lower depths beyond remain? ’Tis in your power now, if desired, To crush me with a just disdain. But if my lot unfortunate You in the least commiserate You will not all abandon me. At first, I clung to secrecy: Believe me, of my present shame You never would have heard the name, If the fond hope I could have fanned At times, if only once a week, To see you by our fireside stand, To listen to the words you speak, Address to you one single phrase And then to meditate for days Of one thing till again we met. ’Tis said you are a misanthrope, In country solitude you mope, And we—an unattractive set— Can hearty welcome give alone. Why did you visit our poor place? Forgotten in the village lone, I never should have seen your face And bitter torment never known. The untutored spirit’s pangs calmed down By time (who can anticipate?) I had found my predestinate, Become a faithful wife and e’en A fond and careful mother been.