The chairs are thrust back with a roar, The crowd unto the drawing-room speeds, As bees who leave their dainty store And seek in buzzing swarms the meads. Contented and with victuals stored, Neighbour by neighbour sat and snored, Matrons unto the fireplace go, Maids in the corner whisper low; Behold! green tables are brought forth, And testy gamesters do engage In boston and the game of age, Ombre, and whist all others worth: A strong resemblance these possess— All sons of mental weariness. XXXVI Eight rubbers were already played, Eight times the heroes of the fight Change of position had essayed, When tea was brought. ’Tis my delight Time to denote by dinner, tea, And supper. In the country we Can count the time without much fuss— The stomach doth admonish us. And, by the way, I here assert That for that matter in my verse As many dinners I rehearse, As oft to meat and drink advert, As thou, great Homer, didst of yore, Whom thirty centuries adore. XXXVII I will with thy divinity Contend with knife and fork and platter, But grant with magnanimity I’m beaten in another matter; Thy heroes, sanguinary wights, Also thy rough-and-tumble fights, Thy Venus and thy Jupiter, More advantageously appear Than cold Onéguine’s oddities, The aspect of a landscape drear. Or e’en Istomina, my dear, And fashion’s gay frivolities; But my Tattiana, on my soul, Is sweeter than thy Helen foul. XXXVIII No one the contrary will urge, Though for his Helen Menelaus Again a century should scourge Us, and like Trojan warriors slay us; Though around honoured Priam’s throne Troy’s sages should in concert own Once more, when she appeared in sight, Paris and Menelaus right. But as to fighting—’twill appear! For patience, reader, I must plead! A little farther please to read And be not in advance severe. There’ll be a fight. I do not lie. My word of honour given have I. XXXIX The tea, as I remarked, appeared, But scarce had maids their saucers ta’en When in the grand saloon was heard Of bassoons and of flutes the strain. His soul by crash of music fired, His tea with rum no more desired, The Paris of those country parts To Olga Petoushkova darts: To Tania Lenski; Kharlikova, A marriageable maid matured, The poet from Tamboff secured, Bouyànoff whisked off Poustiakova. All to the grand saloon are gone— The ball in all its splendour shone. XL