But by your narrow small tracks,
Ah, feet, in vain I was affected.
The further I’m from youth my gay,
The wiser I should get each day: My deeds and rhymes to have corrected,
And even this my chapter five From all digressions to refine.
XLI
Monotonous and sometimes yet senseless, Like whirlwind of the youthful lives,
The waltz is whirling; noisy, taintless, A couple after couple flies.
The time revengeful now nears, In secret Eugene gaily sneers,
Comes up to Olga: several jests, And they are whirling near guests.
Then he for her a chair’s finding, They speak about this and that,
And several minutes after that With her the waltz again he’s dancing.
All are amazed, my Lensky sighs, Does not believe his own eyes.
XLII
Mazurka’s sounding.
It happened. When thunder of mazurka came,
The halls enormous is all then trembled, The parquet’s cracks wee heard again.
The frames were shaking, trembling there But nowadays the men, like fair
Young ladies on the floor all glide But yet in towns, countryside
Mazurka now all its rating, Initiative beauties keeps:
The jumps, moustache, the clicks of heels Are all the same without changing
By worst of modes: modern fuss, Which is a tyrant for us.
XLIII, XLIV
Buyanov, my quick-temperd brother, To Eugene brought two girls at once:
With Olga Tanya; quickly rather Onegin Olga took for dance.
He rules her, but neglectly gliding, And, bending, whispers her his finding:
Some madridgal of old days, And presses hand; at once her face
In proud, touching inflammation Is blushing crimson.
Lensky saw
All those changes. All the more He, full of jealous indignation,
Is waiting for the end of dance, And for cotillion her invites.
XLV
But yet she can’t.
And what’s the reason?
Ah, Olga gave the word to him,
Onegin.
Goodness me, it isn’t For him to hear!
What a whim...
Impossible!?
She’s mere infant, But yet coquette! A giddy instance!
And. so cunny, she is gay. Already’s able to betray!
He can’t endure such a blow; The whims of women he can curse.
Gets out, asks for own horse And rides.
Two pistols in a row,
Two bullets - fitting at this rate - Will quickly settle all his fate.
CHAPTER SIX
La, sotto i giorni nubilosi e brevi, Nasce una gente a cui i’morir non dole.
Petrarka Where days are cloudy and short A tribe was there born For which to die makes no hurt. (It.)
I
But when Vladimir disappeared, Onegin, languished by the bore,