XIX
Tatiana looks with melting gaze at everything around her, and all to her seems priceless, 4 all quickens her languorous soul with a half-painful joyance: the desk with its extinguished lamp, a pile of books, and at the window 8 a carpet-covered bed, and from the window the prospect through the lunar gloom, and this pale half-light, and Lord Byron's portrait, and a small column12 with a cast-iron statuette with clouded brow under a hat, with arms crosswise compressed.
XX
Tatiana in the modish cell stands long as one bewitched. But it is late. A cold wind has arisen. 4 It's dark in the dale. The grove sleeps above the misted river; the moon has hid behind the hill, and it is time, high time, 8 that the young pilgrimess went home; and Tanya, hiding her excitement, and not without a sigh, starts out on her way back;12 but first she asks permission to visit the deserted castle so as to read books there alone.
XXI
Beyond the gate Tatiana parted with the housekeeper. A day later, early at morn this time, again she came 4 to the abandoned shelter, and in the silent study, for a while to all on earth oblivious, she remained at last alone, 8 and long she wept. Then to the books she turned. At first she was not in a mood for them, but their choice seemed to her12 bizarre. Tatiana fell to reading with avid soul; and there revealed itself a different world to her.
XXII
Although we know that Eugene had long ceased to like reading, still, several works 4 he had exempted from disgrace: the singer of the Giaour and Juan and, with him, also two or three novels in which the epoch is reflected 8 and modern man rather correctly represented with his immoral soul, selfish and dry,12 to dreaming measurelessly given, with his embittered mind boiling in empty action.
XXIII
Many pages preserved the trenchant mark of fingernails; the eyes of the attentive maiden 4 are fixed on them more eagerly. Tatiana sees with trepidation by what thought, observation Onegin would be struck, 8 what he agreed with tacitly. The dashes of his pencil she encounters in their margins. Unconsciously Onegin's soul12 has everywhere expressed itself — now by a succinct word, now by a cross, now by an interrogatory crotchet.
XXIV
And my Tatiana by degrees begins to understand more clearly now — thank God — 4 him for whom by imperious fate she is sentenced to sigh. A sad and dangerous eccentric, creature of hell or heaven, 8 this angel, this proud fiend, what, then, is he? Can it be, he's an imitation, an insignificant phantasm, or else a Muscovite in Harold's mantle,12 a glossary of alien vagaries, a complete lexicon of words in vogue?... Might he not be, in fact, a parody?
XXV
Can she have solved the riddle? Can “the word” have been found? The hours run; she has forgotten 4 that she is long due home — where two neighbors have got together, and where the talk is about her. “What should one do? Tatiana is no infant,” 8 quoth the old lady with a groan. “Why, Olinka is younger.... It is time, yea, yea, the maiden were established; but then — what
can I do with her?12 She turns down everybody with the same curt ‘I'll not marry,’ and keeps brooding, and wanders in the woods alone.”
XXVI
“Might she not be in love?” “With whom, then? Buyánov offered: was rejected. Same thing with Ivan Petushkóv. 4 There guested with us a hussar, Pïhtín; oh my, how sweet he was on Tanya, how he bestirred himself, the coax! Thought I: perchance, she will accept; 8 far from it! And again the deal was off.” “Why, my dear lady, what's the hindrance? To Moscow, to the mart of brides! One hears, the vacant places there are many.”12 “Och, my good sir! My income's scanty.” “Sufficient for a single winter; if not, just borrow — say, from me.”
XXVII
Much did the old dame like the sensible and sound advice; she checked accounts — and there and then decided 4 in winter to set out for Moscow; and Tanya hears this news.... Unto the judgment of the exacting beau monde to present 8 the clear traits of provincial simplicity, and antiquated finery, and antiquated turns of speech; the mocking glances12 of Moscow fops and Circes to attract.... O terror! No, better and safer, back in the woods for her to stay.
XXVIII
With the first rays arising she hastens now into the fields and, with soft-melting eyes 4 surveying them, she says: “Farewell, pacific dales, and you, familiar hilltops, and you, familiar woods! 8 Farewell, celestial beauty, farewell, glad nature! I am exchanging a dear quiet world for the hum of resplendent vanities!...12 And you, my freedom, farewell, too! Whither, wherefore, do I bear onward? What does my fate hold out for me?”
XXIX
Her walks last longer. At present, here a hillock, there a brook, cannot help stopping 4 Tatiana with their charm. She, as with ancient friends, with her groves, meadows, still hastens to converse. 8 But the fleet summer flies. The golden autumn has arrived. Nature, tremulous, pale, is like a victim richly decked....12 Now, driving clouds along, the North has blown, has howled, and now herself Winter the sorceress comes.
XXX
She came, scattered herself; in flocks hung on the limbs of oaks; in wavy carpets lay 4 amid the fields, about the hills; the banks with the immobile river made level with a puffy pall. Frost gleamed. And we are gladdened 8 by Mother Winter's pranks. By them not gladdened is but Tanya's heart: she does not go to meet the winter, inhale the frostdust,12 and with the first snow from the bathhouse roof wash face, shoulders, and breast. Tatiana dreads the winter way.
XXXI
The day of leaving is long overdue; the last term now goes by. Inspected, relined, made solid is the sledded coach 4 that to oblivion had been cast. The usual train of three kibitkas carries the household chattels: pans, chairs, trunks, jams in jars, 8 mattresses, feather beds, cages with roosters, pots, basins, et cetera — well, plenty of all kinds of goods.12 And now, among the servants in the log hut, a hubbub rises, farewell weeping: into the courtyard eighteen nags are led.
XXXII
They to the master coach are harnessed; men cooks prepare lunch; the kibitkas are loaded mountain-high; 4 serf women, coachmen brawl. Upon a lean and shaggy jade a bearded postilion sits. Retainers at the gate have gathered, running, 8 to bid their mistresses farewell. And now they've settled, and the venerable sleigh-coach beyond the gate creeps, gliding. “Farewell, pacific sites!12 Farewell, secluded refuge! Shall I see you?” And from the eyes of Tanya flows a stream of tears.
XXXIII