Lenski the foeman’s apparition Leaning against the dam expects, Zaretski, village mechanician, In the meantime the mill inspects. Onéguine his excuses says; “But,” cried Zaretski in amaze, “Your second you have left behind!” A duellist of classic mind, Method was dear unto his heart He would not that a man ye slay In a lax or informal way, But followed the strict rules of art, And ancient usages observed (For which our praise he hath deserved). XXV “My second!” cried in turn Eugene, “Behold my friend Monsieur Guillot; To this arrangement can be seen, No obstacle of which I know. Although unknown to fame mayhap, He’s a straightforward little chap.” Zaretski bit his lip in wrath, But to Vladimir Eugene saith: “Shall we commence?”—“Let it be so,” Lenski replied, and soon they be Behind the mill. Meantime ye see Zaretski and Monsieur Guillot In consultation stand aside— The foes with downcast eyes abide. XXVI Foes! Is it long since friendship rent Asunder was and hate prepared? Since leisure was together spent, Meals, secrets, occupations shared? Now, like hereditary foes, Malignant fury they disclose, As in some frenzied dream of fear These friends cold-bloodedly draw near Mutual destruction to contrive. Cannot they amicably smile Ere crimson stains their hands defile, Depart in peace and friendly live? But fashionable hatred’s flame Trembles at artificial shame. XXVII The shining pistols are uncased, The mallet loud the ramrod strikes, Bullets are down the barrels pressed, For the first time the hammer clicks. Lo! poured in a thin gray cascade, The powder in the pan is laid, The sharp flint, screwed securely on, Is cocked once more. Uneasy grown, Guillot behind a pollard stood; Aside the foes their mantles threw, Zaretski paces thirty-two Measured with great exactitude. At each extreme one takes his stand, A loaded pistol in his hand. XXVIII “Advance!”— Indifferent and sedate, The foes, as yet not taking aim, With measured step and even gait Athwart the snow four paces came— Four deadly paces do they span; Onéguine slowly then began To raise his pistol to his eye, Though he advanced unceasingly. And lo! five paces more they pass, And Lenski, closing his left eye, Took aim—but as immediately Onéguine fired—Alas! alas! The poet’s hour hath sounded—See! He drops his pistol silently. XXIX