Well, I remember... has he gone?
At Simeon’s he’s now Living. He saw me at Twelfth-night sometime, His son was married then meanwhile.
XLII
And that... but afterwards you’ll know, Is not it true?
With kin to meet
To-morrow we’ll Tanya show...
But I can hardly drag my feet,
To be with you I cannot go...
But you are tortured by the road.
Let’s come together... take a rest...
I haven’t force... is tired breast…
For me is now hard the gladness, Not only the grief... my heart...
For nowhere am I smart...
With age the life is such a badness...’
And here she, exhausted, sad In tears bad a cough has had.
XLIII
Of ill princess the joy, caresses Are touching Tanya, but she feels
Quite badly at unknown places, Accustomed to her chamber, fields.
And under curtain fine, all silky, In her new bed she is unsleepy,
And early ringing of the bells (Precursor of the morning works)
Nor makes get up without choosing.
At window she now sits.
The more to light the darkness fits. In vain for fields she’s now looking:
Instead she sees unknown yard, The fence, the kitchen, mews, a cart.
XLIV
To all of kin the dinners row They take my Tanya every day
To each grandparent to show Her lazyness dispersed for days.
The kin from distant places rare Have tender welcome everywhere,
And exclamations at the board:
‘What big is Tanya!
Is it not
That recently I was you christening?’
I was taking you in hands!
‘And I your ears pulled by hands!’
‘And I was gingebread you giving!’
And all grandparents exclaim: ’But how years fly away!’
XLV
In them you can’t see any changes, They keep in patterns old gap:
Princess Helena has for ages The same of tulle well made night cap,
Is whitening on Lukerya Lvovna, The same yet lies Lytibov Petrovna.
Ivan Petrovich’s fool and bore, Semyon Petrovich stints yet more;
With Pelageya Nikolavna The same’s monsieur, her Fine-Mouche, friend,
The same is dog, the same’s her man Which is of club the loyal number,
Still humble, deaf like long before, Still eats and drinks for two or more.
XLVI
My Tanya’s hugged by their daughters.
Of Moscow young graces good
At first are silent her observers, They look at her from head to foot;
They all can find her somewhat queer Provincial and affected creature
But somewhat pale and rather thin, And yet she’s looking rather slim;