ever made And ease and fashionable waste— Adorned the apartment of Eugene, Philosopher just turned eighteen. XXI China and bronze the tables weight, Amber on pipes from Stamboul glows, And, joy of souls effeminate, Phials of crystal scents enclose. Combs of all sizes, files of steel, Scissors both straight and curved as well, Of thirty different sorts, lo! brushes Both for the nails and for the tushes. Rousseau, I would remark in passing,(12) Could not conceive how serious Grimm Dared calmly cleanse his nails 'fore him, Eloquent raver all-surpassing— The friend of liberty and laws In this case quite mistaken was. [Note 12: "Tout le monde sut qu'il (Grimm) mettait du blanc; et moi, qui n'en croyait rien, je commencai de le croire, non seulement par l'embellissement de son teint, et pour avoir trouve des tasses de blanc sur la toilette, mais sur ce qu'entrant un matin dans sa chambre, je le trouvais brossant ses ongles avec une petite vergette faite expres, ouvrage qu'il continua fierement devant moi. Je jugeai qu'un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins a brosser ses ongles peut bien passer quelques instants a remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau." Confessions de J. J. Rousseau] XXII The most industrious man alive May yet be studious of his nails; What boots it with the age to strive? Custom the despot soon prevails. A new Kaverine Eugene mine, Dreading the world's remarks malign, Was that which we are wont to call A fop, in dress pedantical. Three mortal hours per diem he Would loiter by the looking-glass, And from his dressing-room would pass Like Venus when, capriciously, The goddess would a masquerade Attend in male attire arrayed. XXIII On this artistical retreat Having once fixed your interest, I might to connoisseurs repeat The style in which my hero dressed; Though I confess I hardly dare Describe in detail the affair, Since words like pantaloons, vest, coat, To Russ indigenous are not; And also that my feeble verse— Pardon I ask for such a sin— With words of foreign origin Too much I'm given to intersperse, Though to the Academy I come And oft its Dictionary thumb.(13) [Note 13: Refers to Dictionary of the Academy, compiled during the reign of Catherine II under the supervision of Lomonossoff.] XXIV But such is not my project now, So let us to the ball-room haste, Whither at headlong speed doth go Eugene in hackney carriage placed. Past darkened windows and long streets Of slumbering citizens he fleets, Till carriage lamps, a double row, Cast a gay lustre on the snow, Which shines with iridescent hues. He nears a spacious mansion's gate, By many a lamp illuminate, And through the lofty windows views Profiles of lovely dames he knows And also fashionable beaux. XXV Our hero stops and doth alight, Flies past the porter to the stair, But, ere he mounts the marble flight, With hurried hand smooths down his hair. He enters: in the hall a crowd, No more the music thunders loud, Some a mazurka occupies, Crushing and a confusing noise; Spurs of the Cavalier Guard clash, The feet of graceful ladies fly, And following them ye might espy Full many a glance like lightning flash, And by the fiddle's rushing sound The voice of jealousy is drowned. XXVI In my young days of wild delight On balls I madly used to dote, Fond declarations they invite Or the delivery of a note. So hearken, every worthy spouse, I would your vigilance arouse, Attentive be unto my rhymes And due precautions take betimes. Ye mothers also, caution use, Upon your daughters keep an eye, Employ your glasses constantly, For otherwise—God only knows! I lift a warning voice because I long have ceased to offend the laws. XXVII Alas! life's hours which swiftly fly I've wasted in amusements vain, But were it not immoral I Should dearly like a dance again. I love its furious delight, The crowd and merriment and light, The ladies, their fantastic dress, Also their feet—yet ne'ertheless Scarcely in Russia can ye find Three pairs of handsome female feet; Ah! I still struggle to forget A pair; though desolate my mind, Their memory lingers still and seems To agitate me in my dreams. XXVIII When, where, and in what desert land, Madman, wilt thou from memory raze Those feet? Alas! on what far strand Do ye of spring the blossoms graze? Lapped in your Eastern luxury, No trace ye left in passing by Upon the dreary northern snows, But better loved the soft repose Of splendid carpets richly wrought. I once forgot for your sweet cause The thirst for fame and man's applause, My country and an exile's lot; My joy in youth was fleeting e'en As your light footprints on the green. XXIX Diana's bosom, Flora's cheeks, Are admirable, my dear friend, But yet Terpsichore bespeaks Charms more enduring in the end. For promises her feet reveal Of untold gain she must conceal, Their privileged allurements fire A hidden train of wild desire. I love them, O my dear Elvine,(14) Beneath the table-cloth of white, In winter on the fender bright, In springtime on the meadows green, Upon the ball-room's glassy floor Or by the ocean's rocky shore. [Note 14: Elvine, or Elvina, was not improbably the owner of the seductive feet apostrophized by the poet, since, in 1816, he wrote an ode, "To Her," which commences thus: "Elvina, my dear, come, give me thine hand," and so forth.] XXX Beside the stormy sea one day I envied sore the billows tall, Which rushed in eager dense array Enamoured at her feet to fall. How like the billow I desired To kiss the feet which I admired! No, never in the early blaze Of fiery youth's untutored days So ardently did I desire A young Armida's lips to press, Her cheek of rosy loveliness Or bosom full of languid fire— A gust of passion never tore My spirit with such pangs before. XXXI Another time, so willed it Fate, Immersed in secret thought I stand And grasp a stirrup fortunate— Her foot was in my other hand. Again imagination blazed, The contact of the foot I raised Rekindled in my withered heart The fires of passion and its smart— Away! and cease to ring their praise For ever with thy tattling lyre, The proud ones are not worth the fire Of passion they so often raise. The words and looks of charmers sweet Are oft deceptive—like their feet. XXXII Where is Oneguine? Half asleep, Straight from the ball to bed he goes, Whilst Petersburg from slumber deep The drum already doth arouse. The shopman and the pedlar rise And to the Bourse the cabman plies; The Okhtenka with pitcher speeds,(15) Crunching the morning snow she treads; Morning awakes with joyous sound; The shutters open; to the skies In column blue the smoke doth rise; The German baker looks around His shop, a night-cap on his head, And pauses oft to serve out bread. [Note 15: i.e. the milkmaid from the Okhta villages, a suburb of St. Petersburg on the right bank of the Neva chiefly inhabited by the labouring classes.] XXXIII But turning morning into night, Tired by the ball's incessant noise, The votary of vain delight Sleep in the shadowy couch enjoys, Late in the afternoon to rise, When the same life before him lies Till morn—life uniform but gay, To-morrow just like yesterday. But was our friend Eugene content, Free, in the blossom of his spring, Amidst successes flattering And pleasure's daily blandishment, Or vainly 'mid luxurious fare Was he in health and void of care?— XXXIV Even so! His passions soon abated, Hateful the hollow world became, Nor long his mind was agitated By love's inevitable flame. For treachery had done its worst; Friendship and friends he likewise curst, Because he could not gourmandise Daily beefsteaks and Strasbourg pies And irrigate them with champagne; Nor slander viciously could spread Whene'er he had an aching head; And, though a plucky scatterbrain, He finally lost all delight In bullets, sabres, and in fight. XXXV His malady, whose cause I ween It now to investigate is time, Was nothing but the British spleen Transported to our Russian clime. It gradually possessed his mind; Though, God be praised! he ne'er designed To slay himself with blade or ball, Indifferent he became to all, And like Childe Harold gloomily He to the festival repairs, Nor boston nor the world's affairs Nor tender glance nor amorous sigh Impressed him in the least degree— Callous to all he seemed to be. XXXVI Ye miracles of courtly grace, He left you first, and I must own The manners of the highest class Have latterly vexatious grown; And though perchance a lady may Discourse of Bentham or of Say, Yet as a rule their talk I call Harmless, but quite nonsensical. Then they're so innocent of vice, So full of piety, correct, So prudent, and so circumspect Stately, devoid of prejudice, So inaccessible to men, Their looks alone produce the spleen.(16) [Note 16: Apropos of this somewhat ungallant sentiment, a Russian scholiast remarks:—"The whole of this ironical stanza is but a refined eulogy of the excellent qualities of our countrywomen. Thus Boileau, in the guise of invective, eulogizes Louis XIV. Russian ladies unite in their persons great acquirements, combined with amiability and strict morality; also a species of Oriental charm which so much captivated Madame de Stael." It will occur to most that the apologist of the Russian fair "doth protest too much." The poet in all probability wrote the offending stanza in a fit of Byronic "spleen," as he would most likely himself have called it. Indeed, since Byron, poets of his school seem to assume this virtue if they have it not, and we take their utterances under its influence for what they are worth.] XXXVII And you, my youthful damsels fair,
СКАЧАТЬ
