“How are our neighbours fair, pray tell, Tattiana, saucy Olga thine?”— “The family are all quite well— Give me just half a glass of wine— They sent their compliments—but oh! How charming Olga’s shoulders grow! Her figure perfect grows with time! She is an angel! We sometime Must visit them. Come! you must own, My friend, ’tis but to pay a debt, For twice you came to them and yet You never since your nose have shown. But stay! A dolt am I who speak! They have invited you this week.” XXXIX “Me?”—“Yes! It is Tattiana’s fête Next Saturday. The Làrina Told me to ask you. Ere that date Make up your mind to go there.”—“Ah! It will be by a mob beset Of every sort and every set!”— “Not in the least, assured am I!”— “Who will be there?”—“The family. Do me a favour and appear. Will you?”—“Agreed.”—“I thank you, friend,” And saying this Vladimir drained His cup unto his maiden dear. Then touching Olga they depart In fresh discourse. Such, love, thou art! XL He was most gay. The happy date In three weeks would arrive for them; The secrets of the marriage state And love’s delicious diadem With rapturous longing he awaits, Nor in his dreams anticipates Hymen’s embarrassments, distress, And freezing fits of weariness. Though we, of Hymen foes, meanwhile, In life domestic see a string Of pictures painful harrowing, A novel in Lafontaine’s style, My wretched Lenski’s fate I mourn, He seemed for matrimony born. XLI He was beloved: or say at least, He thought so, and existence charmed. The credulous indeed are blest, And he who, jealousy disarmed, In sensual sweets his soul doth steep As drunken tramps at nightfall sleep, Or, parable more flattering, As butterflies to blossoms cling. But wretched who anticipates, Whose brain no fond illusions daze, Who every gesture, every phrase In true interpretation hates: Whose heart experience icy made And yet oblivion forbade. End of Canto The Fourth CANTO THE FIFTH The Fête ‘Oh, do not dream these fearful dreams, O my Svetlana.’—Joukóvski Canto The Fifth [Note: Mikhailovskoe, 1825-6] I That year the autumn season late Kept lingering on as loath to go, All Nature winter seemed to await, Till January fell no snow— The third at night. Tattiana wakes Betimes, and sees, when morning breaks, Park, garden, palings, yard below And roofs near morn blanched o’er with snow; Upon the windows tracery, The trees in silvery array, Down in the courtyard magpies gay, And the far mountains daintily O’erspread with Winter’s carpet bright, All so distinct, and all so white! II