In pocket he, as Frenchman real, Has brought for his Tatyana dear,
The lilt, well known round me: Reveilles vous, belle endormie. {20}
Among the songs in books decrepit Somewhere issued was that lilt; Triquet with poet’s keen wit For world from dust that rhyme extracted,
Was brave instead of ‘elle Nina’ To put the ‘belle Tatiana’
XXVIII
By now from a distant village The idol of the ladies ripe,
For district mothers pleasant image - The regimental chief arrived.
He came, What news, such sentimental!
Well have the music regimental!
The colonel sent it for the chance.
What joy: to-day we’ll have to dance!
The girls are jumping all around.
Its time for dinner, Guests have had
To come to tables hand in hand.
Around Tanya ladies crowd,
The men confront. All cross in peace. The throng, all humming, takes the seats.
XXIX
The talks are saved for time much better: The mouths chew, From every side
The plates and covers jointly clatter, The glasses clink, all filled with wine.
But in a while the guests from suburb Are making up a common hubbub:
They don’t listen to, they cry, They argue, laugh and squeak in fright.
And suddenly my Lensky enters, With hire Onegin.
‘Ah, my Lord!’,
The mistress cries, ‘At last you’ve got!’
In crowd everybody renders:
They take away the chairs, plates, Them call, they give the friends a place.
XXX
Against Tatyana in a row They sit. Of morning moon more pale
She’s trembling like persued a doe, Her darkening eyes she hides away
From them: she new blazes greatly, She feels herself in passion badly;
She’s deaf for greetings of the friends; To hide her tears quickly bends
Her head; is seeming to be ready For deep a faint, this being mild;
But will and power of mind All overcame, and she already
Some words, yet stilly, tries to say, But at the table could she stay.
XXXI
For long Onegin couldn't bear That tragical and nervous mood
Of girls, the tears, faints not rare: Enough he had them all en route.
Like crank by chance at feast enormous He’s angry.
And Tatyana’s nervous
And trembling state is seen by him; All vexed, he’s being in a whim.
He’s puffing, he is remonstrating, He swore to devil Lensky’s head For sufferings, he here had.
Already for triumph he’s waiting,
And he invents by whim’s requests Caricatures of the guests.
XXXII
Of course, Onegin’s not alone, Who saw her disarray in eyes,
But aim of looks and talks on whole That time at feast are fatty pies
(Unhappily, too much all salted). But. with the help of resin bottled,
Between blancmanger and roasts fine They now bring the Tsimlyan wine.
With narrow and long wine-glasses, Reminding slander waist of yours,
Zhizhi, my soul’s crystal first, The subject of naive my passes,