But meanwhile, dressed for morning pleasure,
Bedecked in broad-brimmed Bolivar,*
He drives to Nevsky Boulevard,
To stroll about at total leisure,
Until Brguet's* unsleeping chime
Reminds him that it's dinner time.
16
He calls a sleigh as daylight's dimming;
The cry resounds: 'Make way! Let's go!'
His collar with its beaver trimming
Is silver bright with frosted snow.
He's off to Talon's,* late, and racing,
Quite sure he'll find Kavrin* pacing;
He enterscork and bottle spout!
The comet wine* comes gushing out,
A bloody roastbeef's on the table,
And truffles, youth's delight so keen,
The very flower of French cuisine,
And Strasbourg pie,* that deathless fable;
While next to Limburg's lively mould
Sits ananas in splendid gold.
17
Another round would hardly hurt them,
To wash those sizzling cutlets down;
But now the chime and watch alert them:
The brand new ballet's on in town!
He's off!this critic most exacting
Of all that touches art or acting,
This fickel swain of every star,
And honoured patron of the barre
To join the crowd, where each is ready
To greet an entrechat with cheers,
Or Cleopatra with his jeers,
To hiss at Phdreso unsteady,
Recall Moi'na* . . . and rejoice
That everyone has heard his voice.
18
Enchanted land! There for a season,
That friend of freedom ruled the scene,
The daring satirist Fonvizin,
As did derivative Knyazhnin;
There Ozerov received the nation's
Unbidden tears and its ovations,
Which young Semynova did share;
And our Katnin gave us there
Corneille's full genius resurrected;
And there the caustic Shakhovsky
Refreshed the stage with comic joy,
Didelot his crown of fame perfected.*
There too, beneath the theatre's tent,
My fleeting, youthful days were spent.
19
My goddesses! You vanished faces!
Oh, hearken to my woeful calclass="underline"
Have other maidens gained your places,
Yet not replaced you after all?
Shall once again I hear your chants?
Or see the Russian muse of dance
Perform her soaring, soulful flight?
Or shall my mournful gaze alight
On unknown faces on the stages?
And when across this world I pass
A disenchanted opera glass,
Shall I grow bored with mirth and rages,
And shall I then in silence yawn
And recollect a time that's gone?
20
The theatre's full, the boxes glitter;
The restless gallery claps and roars;
The stalls and pit are all ajitter;
The curtain rustles as it soars.
And there . .. ethereal. .. resplendent,
Poised to the magic bow attendant,
A throng of nymphs her guardian band,
Istmina* takes up her stand.
One foot upon the ground she places,
And then the other slowly twirls,
And now she leaps! And now she whirls!
Like down from Eol's lips she races;
Then spins and twists and stops to beat
Her rapid, dazzling, dancing feet.
21
As all applaud, Onegin enters
And treads on toes to reach his seat;
His double glass he calmly centres
On ladies he has yet to meet.
He takes a single glance to measure
These clothes and faces with displeasure;
Then trading bows on every side
With men he knew or friends he spied,
He turned at last and vaguely fluttered
His eyes toward the stage and play
Then yawned and turned his head away:
'It's time for something new,' he muttered,
'I've suffered ballets long enough,
But now Didelot is boring stuff.'
22
While all those cupids, devils, serpents
Upon the stage still romp and roar,
And while the weary band of servants
Still sleeps on furs at carriage door;
And while the people still are tapping,
Still sniffling, coughing, hissing, clapping;
And while the lamps both in and out
Still glitter grandly all about;
And while the horses, bored at tether,
Still fidget, freezing, in the snow,
And coachmen by the fire's glow
Curse masters and beat palms together;
Onegin now has left the scene
And driven home to change and preen.
23
Shall I abandon every scruple
And picture truly with my pen
The room where fashion's model pupil
Is dressed, undressed, and dressed again?
Whatever clever London offers
To those with lavish whims and coffers,
And ships to us by Baltic seas
In trade for tallow and for trees;
Whatever Paris, seeking treasure,
Devises to attract the sight,
Or manufactures for delight,
For luxury, for modish pleasure
All this adorned his dressing room,
Our sage of eighteen summers' bloom.
24
Imported pipes of Turkish amber,
Fine china, bronzesall displayed;
And purely to delight and pamper,
Perfumes in crystal jars arrayed;
Steel files and combs in many guises,