Текст книги "Eugene Onegin. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse"

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EUGENE ONEGUINE [Onegin]:

A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

by

ALEXANDER PUSHKIN

Translated from the Russian by Lieut.-Col. [Henry] Spalding

London Macmillan and Co. 1881

PREFACE

Eugene Oneguine, the chief poetical work of Russia's greatest poet, having been translated into all the principal languages of Europe except our own, I hope that this version may prove an acceptable contribution to literature. Tastes are various in matters of poetry, but the present work possesses a more solid claim to attention in the series of faithful pictures it offers of Russian life and manners. If these be compared with Mr. Wallace's book on Russia, it will be seen that social life in that empire still preserves many of the characteristics which distinguished it half a century ago—the period of the first publication of the latter cantos of this poem.

Many references will be found in it to our own country and its literature. Russian poets have carefully plagiarized the English– notably Joukovski. Pushkin, however, was no plagiarist, though undoubtedly his mind was greatly influenced by the genius of Byron– more especially in the earliest part of his career. Indeed, as will be remarked in the following pages, he scarcely makes an effort to disguise this fact.

The biographical sketch is of course a mere outline. I did not think a longer one advisable, as memoirs do not usually excite much interest till the subjects of them are pretty well known. In the "notes" I have endeavored to elucidate a somewhat obscure subject. Some of the poet's allusions remain enigmatical to the present day. The point of each sarcasm naturally passed out of mind together with the society against which it was levelled. If some of the versification is rough and wanting in "go," I must plead in excuse the difficult form of the stanza, and in many instances the inelastic nature of the subject matter to be versified. Stanza XXXV Canto II forms a good example of the latter difficulty, and is omitted in the German and French versions to which I have had access. The translation of foreign verse is comparatively easy so long as it is confined to conventional poetic subjects, but when it embraces abrupt scraps of conversation and the description of local customs it becomes a much more arduous affair. I think I may say that I have adhered closely to the text of the original.

The following foreign translations of this poem have appeared:

1. French prose. Oeuvres choisis de Pouchekine. H. Dupont. Paris, 1847.

2. German verse. A. Puschkin's poetische Werke. F. Bodenstedt. Berlin, 1854.

3. Polish verse. Eugeniusz Oniegin. Roman Aleksandra Puszkina. A. Sikorski. Vilnius, 1847.

4. Italian prose. Racconti poetici di A. Puschkin, tradotti da A. Delatre. Firenze, 1856.

London, May 1881.

CONTENTS

   Mon Portrait

   A Short Biographical Notice of Alexander Pushkin

   Eugene Oneguine

   Canto I: "The Spleen"

   Canto II: The Poet

   Canto III: The Country Damsel

   Canto IV: Rural Life

   Canto V: The Fete

   Canto VI: The Duel

   Canto VII: Moscow

   Canto VIII: The Great World

Mon Portrait

Written by the poet at the age of 15.

Vous me demandez mon portrait,

Mais peint d'apres nature:

Mon cher, il sera bientot fait,

Quoique en miniature.

Je suis un jeune polisson

Encore dans les classes;

Point sot, je le dis sans facon,

Et sans fades grimaces.

Oui! il ne fut babillard

Ni docteur de Sorbonne,

Plus ennuyeux et plus braillard

Que moi-meme en personne.

Ma taille, a celle des plus longs,

Elle n'est point egalee;

J'ai le teint frais, les cheveux blonds,

Et la tete bouclee.

J'aime et le monde et son fracas,

Je hais la solitude;

J'abhorre et noises et debats,

Et tant soit peu l'etude.

Spectacles, bals, me plaisent fort,

Et d'apres ma pensee,

Je dirais ce que j'aime encore,

Si je n'etais au Lycee.

Apres cela, mon cher ami,

L'on peut me reconnaitre,

Oui! tel que le bon Dieu me fit,

Je veux toujours paraitre.

Vrai demon, par l'espieglerie,

Vrai singe par sa mine,

Beaucoup et trop d'etourderie,

Ma foi! voila Pouchekine.

Note: Russian proper names to be pronounced as in French (the nasal sound of m and n excepted) in the following translation. The accent, which is very arbitrary in the Russian language, is indicated unmistakably in a rhythmical composition.

A Short Biographical Notice of Alexander Pushkin.

Alexander Sergevitch Pushkin was born in 1799 at Pskoff, and was a scion of an ancient Russian family. In one of his letters it is recorded that no less than six Pushkins signed the Charta declaratory of the election of the Romanoff family to the throne of Russia, and that two more affixed their marks from inability to write.

In 1811 he entered the Lyceum, an aristocratic educational establishment at Tsarskoe Selo, near St. Petersburg, where he was the friend and schoolmate of Prince Gortchakoff the Russian Chancellor. As a scholar he displayed no remarkable amount of capacity, but was fond of general reading and much given to versification. Whilst yet a schoolboy he wrote many lyrical compositions and commenced Ruslan and Liudmila, his first poem of any magnitude, and, it is asserted, the first readable one ever produced in the Russian language. During his boyhood he came much into contact with the poets Dmitrieff and Joukovski, who were intimate with his father, and his uncle, Vassili Pushkin, himself an author of no mean repute. The friendship of the historian Karamzine must have exercised a still more beneficial influence upon him.

In 1817 he quitted the Lyceum and obtained an appointment in the Foreign Office at St. Petersburg. Three years of reckless dissipation in the capital, where his lyrical talent made him universally popular, resulted in 1818 in a putrid fever which was near carrying him off. At this period of his life he scarcely slept at all; worked all day and dissipated at night. Society was open to him from the palace of the prince to the officers' quarters of the Imperial Guard. The reflection of this mode of life may be noted in the first canto of Eugene Oneguineand the early dissipations of the "Philosopher just turned eighteen,"– the exact age of Pushkin when he commenced his career in the Russian capital.

In 1820 he was transferred to the bureau of Lieutenant-General Inzoff, at Kishineff in Bessarabia. This event was probably due to his composing and privately circulating an "Ode to Liberty," though the attendant circumstances have never yet been thoroughly brought to light. An indiscreet admiration for Byron most likely involved the young poet in this scrape. The tenor of this production, especially its audacious allusion to the murder of the emperor Paul, father of the then reigning Tsar, assuredly deserved, according to aristocratic ideas, the deportation to Siberia which was said to have been prepared for the author. The intercession of Karamzine and Joukovski procured a commutation of his sentence. Strangely enough, Pushkin appeared anxious to deceive the public as to the real cause of his sudden disappearance from the capital; for in an Ode to Ovid composed about this time he styles himself a "voluntary exile." (See Note 4 to this volume.)

During the four succeeding years he made numerous excursions amid the beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine—and amongst these the Crimea and the Caucasus. A nomad life passed amid the beauties of nature acted powerfully in developing his poetical genius. To this period he refers in the final canto of Eugene Oneguine(st. v.), when enumerating the various influences which had contributed to the formation of his Muse:

     Then, the far capital forgot,

     Its splendour and its blandishments,

     In poor Moldavia cast her lot,

     She visited the humble tents

     Of migratory gipsy hordes.

During these pleasant years of youth he penned some of his most delightful poetical works: amongst these, The Prisoner of the Caucasus, The Fountain of Baktchiserai, and the Gipsies. Of the two former it may be said that they are in the true style of the Giaourand the Corsair. In fact, just at that point of time Byron's fame—like the setting sun—shone out with dazzling lustre and irresistibly charmed the mind of Pushkin amongst many others. The Gipsiesis more original; indeed the poet himself has been identified with Aleko, the hero of the tale, which may well be founded on his own personal adventures without involving the guilt of a double murder. His undisguised admiration for Byron doubtless exposed him to imputations similar to those commonly levelled against that poet. But Pushkin's talent was too genuine for him to remain long subservient to that of another, and in a later period of his career he broke loose from all trammels and selected a line peculiarly his own. Before leaving this stage in our narrative we may point out the fact that during the whole of this period of comparative seclusion the poet was indefatigably occupied in study. Not only were the standard works of European literature perused, but two more languages—namely Italian and Spanish—were added to his original stock: French, English, Latin and German having been acquired at the Lyceum. To this happy union of literary research with the study of nature we must attribute the sudden bound by which he soon afterwards attained the pinnacle of poetic fame amongst his own countrymen.

In 1824 he once more fell under the imperial displeasure. A letter seized in the post, and expressive of atheistical sentiments (possibly but a transient vagary of his youth) was the ostensible cause of his banishment from Odessa to his paternal estate of Mikhailovskoe in the province of Pskoff. Some, however, aver that personal pique on the part of Count Vorontsoff, the Governor of Odessa, played a part in the transaction. Be this as it may, the consequences were serious for the poet, who was not only placed under the surveillance of the police, but expelled from the Foreign Office by express order of the Tsar "for bad conduct." A letter on this subject, addressed by Count Vorontsoff to Count Nesselrode, is an amusing instance of the arrogance with which stolid mediocrity frequently passes judgment on rising genius. I transcribe a portion thereof:

Odessa, 28th March (7th April)1824

Count—Your Excellency is aware of the reasons for which, some time ago, young Pushkin was sent with a letter from Count Capo d'Istria to General Inzoff. I found him already here when I arrived, the General having placed him at my disposal, though he himself was at Kishineff. I have no reason to complain about him. On the contrary, he is much steadier than formerly. But a desire for the welfare of the young man himself, who is not wanting in ability, and whose faults proceed more from the head than from the heart, impels me to urge upon you his removal from Odessa. Pushkin's chief failing is ambition. He spent the bathing season here, and has gathered round him a crowd of adulators who praise his genius. This maintains in him a baneful delusion which seems to turn his head—namely, that he is a "distinguished writer;" whereas, in reality he is but a feeble imitator of an author in whose favour very little can be said (Byron). This it is which keeps him from a serious study of the great classical poets, which might exercise a beneficial effect upon his talents—which cannot be denied him—and which might make of him in course of time a "distinguished writer."

The best thing that can be done for him is to remove him hence….

The Emperor Nicholas on his accession pardoned Pushkin and received him once more into favour. During an interview which took place it is said that the Tsar promised the poet that he alone would in future be the censor of his productions. Pushkin was restored to his position in the Foreign Office and received the appointment of Court Historian. In 1828 he published one of his finest poems, Poltava, which is founded on incidents familiar to English readers in Byron's Mazeppa. In 1829 the hardy poet accompanied the Russian army which under Paskevitch captured Erzeroum. In 1831 he married a beautiful lady of the Gontchareff family and settled in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburg, where he remained for the remainder of his life, only occasionally visiting Moscow and Mikhailovskoe. During this period his chief occupation consisted in collecting and investigating materials for a projected history of Peter the Great, which was undertaken at the express desire of the Emperor. He likewise completed a history of the revolt of Pougatchoff, which occurred in the reign of Catherine II. [Note: this individual having personated Peter III, the deceased husband of the Empress, raised the Orenburg Cossacks in revolt. This revolt was not suppressed without extensive destruction of life and property.] In 1833 the poet visited Orenburg, the scene of the dreadful excesses he recorded; the fruit of his journey being one of the most charming tales ever written, The Captain's Daughter. [Note: Translated in Russian Romance, by Mrs. Telfer, 1875.]

The remaining years of Pushkin's life, spent in the midst of domestic bliss and grateful literary occupation, were what lookers-on style "years of unclouded happiness." They were, however, drawing rapidly to a close. Unrivalled distinction rarely fails to arouse bitter animosity amongst the envious, and Pushkin's existence had latterly been embittered by groundless insinuations against his wife's reputation in the shape of anonymous letters addressed to himself and couched in very insulting language. He fancied he had traced them to one Georges d'Anthes, a Frenchman in the Cavalier Guard, who had been adopted by the Dutch envoy Heeckeren. D'Anthes, though he had espoused Madame Pushkin's sister, had conducted himself with impropriety towards the former lady. The poet displayed in this affair a fierce hostility quite characteristic of his African origin but which drove him to his destruction. D'Anthes, it was subsequently admitted, was not the author of the anonymous letters; but as usual when a duel is proposed, an appeal to reason was thought to smack of cowardice. The encounter took place in February 1837 on one of the islands of the Neva. The weapons used were pistols, and the combat was of a determined, nay ferocious character. Pushkin was shot before he had time to fire, and, in his fall, the barrel of his pistol became clogged with snow which lay deep upon the ground at the time. Raising himself on his elbow, the wounded man called for another pistol, crying, "I've strength left to fire my shot!" He fired, and slightly wounded his opponent, shouting "Bravo!" when he heard him exclaim that he was hit. D'Anthes was, however, but slightly contused whilst Pushkin was shot through the abdomen. He was transported to his residence and expired after several days passed in extreme agony. Thus perished in the thirty-eighth year of his age this distinguished poet, in a manner and amid surroundings which make the duel scene in the sixth canto of this poem seem almost prophetic. His reflections on the premature death of Lenski appear indeed strangely applicable to his own fate, as generally to the premature extinction of genius.

Pushkin was endowed with a powerful physical organisation. He was fond of long walks, unlike the generality of his countrymen, and at one time of his career used daily to foot it into St. Petersburg and back, from his residence in the suburbs, to conduct his investigations in the Government archives when employed on the History of Peter the Great. He was a good swordsman, rode well, and at one time aspired to enter the cavalry; but his father not being able to furnish the necessary funds he declined serving in the less romantic infantry. Latterly he was regular in his habits; rose early, retired late, and managed to get along with but very little sleep. On rising he betook himself forthwith to his literary occupations, which were continued till afternoon, when they gave place to physical exercise. Strange as it will appear to many, he preferred the autumn months, especially when rainy, chill and misty, for the production of his literary compositions, and was proportionally depressed by the approach of spring. (Cf. Canto VII st. ii.)

     Mournful is thine approach to me,

     O Spring, thou chosen time of love

He usually left St. Petersburg about the middle of September and remained in the country till December. In this space of time it was his custom to develop and perfect the inspirations of the remaining portion of the year. He was of an impetuous yet affectionate nature and much beloved by a numerous circle of friends. An attractive feature in his character was his unalterable attachment to his aged nurse, a sentiment which we find reflected in the pages of Eugene Oneguineand elsewhere.

The preponderating influence which Byron exercised in the formation of his genius has already been noticed. It is indeed probable that we owe Oneguineto the combined impressions of Childe Haroldand Don Juanupon his mind. Yet the Russian poem excels these masterpieces of Byron in a single particular—namely, in completeness of narrative, the plots of the latter being mere vehicles for the development of the poet's general reflections. There is ground for believing that Pushkin likewise made this poem the record of his own experience. This has doubtless been the practice of many distinguished authors of fiction whose names will readily occur to the reader. Indeed, as we are never cognizant of the real motives which actuate others, it follows that nowhere can the secret springs of human action be studied to such advantage as within our own breasts. Thus romance is sometimes but the reflection of the writer's own individuality, and he adopts the counsel of the American poet:

Look then into thine heart and write!

But a further consideration of this subject would here be out of place. Perhaps I cannot more suitably conclude this sketch than by quoting from his Ode to the Seathe poet's tribute of admiration to the genius of Napoleon and Byron, who of all contemporaries seem the most to have swayed his imagination.

     Farewell, thou pathway of the free,

     For the last time thy waves I view

     Before me roll disdainfully,

     Brilliantly beautiful and blue.

     Why vain regret? Wherever now

     My heedless course I may pursue

     One object on thy desert brow

     I everlastingly shall view—

     A rock, the sepulchre of Fame!

     The poor remains of greatness gone

     A cold remembrance there became,

     There perished great Napoleon.

     In torment dire to sleep he lay;

     Then, as a tempest echoing rolls,

     Another genius whirled away,

     Another sovereign of our souls.

     He perished. Freedom wept her child,

     He left the world his garland bright.

     Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild,

     To sing of thee was his delight.

     Impressed upon him was thy mark,

     His genius moulded was by thee;

     Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark

     And untamed in his majesty.

Note: It may interest some to know that Georges d'Anthes was tried by court-martial for his participation in the duel in which Pushkin fell, found guilty, and reduced to the ranks; but, not being a Russian subject, he was conducted by a gendarme across the frontier and then set at liberty.

Eugene Oneguine

Petri de vanite, il avait encore plus de cette espece d'orgueil, qui fait avouer avec la meme indifference les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un sentiment de superiorite, peut-etre imaginaire.– Tire d'une lettre particuliere.

[Note: Written in 1823 at Kishineff and Odessa.]

CANTO THE FIRST

'The Spleen'

'He rushes at life and exhausts the passions.'

                                Prince Viazemski

Canto the First

I

"My uncle's goodness is extreme,

If seriously he hath disease;

He hath acquired the world's esteem

And nothing more important sees;

A paragon of virtue he!

But what a nuisance it will be,

Chained to his bedside night and day

Without a chance to slip away.

Ye need dissimulation base

A dying man with art to soothe,

Beneath his head the pillow smooth,

And physic bring with mournful face,

To sigh and meditate alone:

When will the devil take his own!"

II

Thus mused a madcap young, who drove

Through clouds of dust at postal pace,

By the decree of Mighty Jove,

Inheritor of all his race.

Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1)

Let me present ye to the man,

Who without more prevarication

The hero is of my narration!

Oneguine, O my gentle readers,

Was born beside the Neva, where

It may be ye were born, or there

Have shone as one of fashion's leaders.

I also wandered there of old,

But cannot stand the northern cold.(2)

[Note 1: Ruslan and Liudmila, the title of Pushkin's first important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who has been carried off by a kaldoon, or magician.]

[Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.]

III

Having performed his service truly,

Deep into debt his father ran;

Three balls a year he gave ye duly,

At last became a ruined man.

But Eugene was by fate preserved,

For first "madame" his wants observed,

And then "monsieur" supplied her place;(3)

The boy was wild but full of grace.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," a starving Gaul,

Fearing his pupil to annoy,

Instructed jestingly the boy,

Morality taught scarce at all;

Gently for pranks he would reprove

And in the Summer Garden rove.

[Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly styled "monsieur" or "madame."]

IV

When youth's rebellious hour drew near

And my Eugene the path must trace—

The path of hope and tender fear—

Monsieur clean out of doors they chase.

Lo! my Oneguine free as air,

Cropped in the latest style his hair,

Dressed like a London dandy he

The giddy world at last shall see.

He wrote and spoke, so all allowed,

In the French language perfectly,

Danced the mazurka gracefully,

Without the least constraint he bowed.

What more's required? The world replies,

He is a charming youth and wise.

V

We all of us of education

A something somehow have obtained,

Thus, praised be God! a reputation

With us is easily attained.

Oneguine was—so many deemed

[Unerring critics self-esteemed],

Pedantic although scholar like,

In truth he had the happy trick

Without constraint in conversation

Of touching lightly every theme.

Silent, oracular ye'd see him

Amid a serious disputation,

Then suddenly discharge a joke

The ladies' laughter to provoke.

VI

Latin is just now not in vogue,

But if the truth I must relate,

Oneguine knew enough, the rogue

A mild quotation to translate,

A little Juvenal to spout,

With "vale" finish off a note;

Two verses he could recollect

Of the Aeneid, but incorrect.

In history he took no pleasure,

The dusty chronicles of earth

For him were but of little worth,

Yet still of anecdotes a treasure

Within his memory there lay,

From Romulus unto our day.

VII

For empty sound the rascal swore he

Existence would not make a curse,

Knew not an iamb from a choree,

Although we read him heaps of verse.

Homer, Theocritus, he jeered,

But Adam Smith to read appeared,

And at economy was great;

That is, he could elucidate

How empires store of wealth unfold,

How flourish, why and wherefore less

If the raw product they possess

The medium is required of gold.

The father scarcely understands

His son and mortgages his lands.

VIII

But upon all that Eugene knew

I have no leisure here to dwell,

But say he was a genius who

In one thing really did excel.

It occupied him from a boy,

A labour, torment, yet a joy,

It whiled his idle hours away

And wholly occupied his day—

The amatory science warm,

Which Ovid once immortalized,

For which the poet agonized

Laid down his life of sun and storm

On the steppes of Moldavia lone,

Far from his Italy—his own.(4)

[Note 4: Referring to Tomi, the reputed place of exile of Ovid.

Pushkin, then residing in Bessarabia, was in the same predicament

as his predecessor in song, though he certainly did not plead

guilty to the fact, since he remarks in his ode to Ovid:

                       To exile self-consigned,

   With self, society, existence, discontent,

   I visit in these days, with melancholy mind,

   The country whereunto a mournful age thee sent.

Ovid thus enumerates the causes which brought about his banishment:

   "Perdiderint quum me duocrimina, carmen et error,

   Alterius facti culpa silenda mihi est."

                      Ovidii Nasonis Tristium, lib. ii. 207.]

IX

How soon he learnt deception's art,

Hope to conceal and jealousy,

False confidence or doubt to impart,

Sombre or glad in turn to be,

Haughty appear, subservient,

Obsequious or indifferent!

What languor would his silence show,

How full of fire his speech would glow!

How artless was the note which spoke

Of love again, and yet again;

How deftly could he transport feign!

How bright and tender was his look,

Modest yet daring! And a tear

Would at the proper time appear.

X

How well he played the greenhorn's part

To cheat the inexperienced fair,

Sometimes by pleasing flattery's art,

Sometimes by ready-made despair;

The feeble moment would espy

Of tender years the modesty

Conquer by passion and address,

Await the long-delayed caress.

Avowal then 'twas time to pray,

Attentive to the heart's first beating,

Follow up love—a secret meeting

Arrange without the least delay—

Then, then—well, in some solitude

Lessons to give he understood!

XI

How soon he learnt to titillate

The heart of the inveterate flirt!

Desirous to annihilate

His own antagonists expert,

How bitterly he would malign,

With many a snare their pathway line!

But ye, O happy husbands, ye

With him were friends eternally:

The crafty spouse caressed him, who

By Faublas in his youth was schooled,(5)

And the suspicious veteran old,

The pompous, swaggering cuckold too,

Who floats contentedly through life,

Proud of his dinners and his wife!

[Note 5: Les Aventures du Chevalier de Faublas, a romance of a loose character by Jean Baptiste Louvet de Couvray, b. 1760, d. 1797, famous for his bold oration denouncing Robespierre, Marat and Danton.]

XII

One morn whilst yet in bed he lay,

His valet brings him letters three.

What, invitations? The same day

As many entertainments be!

A ball here, there a children's treat,

Whither shall my rapscallion flit?

Whither shall he go first? He'll see,

Perchance he will to all the three.

Meantime in matutinal dress

And hat surnamed a "Bolivar"(6)

He hies unto the "Boulevard,"

To loiter there in idleness

Until the sleepless Breguet chime(7)

Announcing to him dinner-time.

[Note 6: A la "Bolivar," from the founder of Bolivian independence.]

[Note 7: M. Breguet, a celebrated Parisian watchmaker—hence a slang term for a watch.]

XIII

'Tis dark. He seats him in a sleigh,

"Drive on!" the cheerful cry goes forth,

His furs are powdered on the way

By the fine silver of the north.

He bends his course to Talon's, where(8)

He knows Kaverine will repair.(9)

He enters. High the cork arose

And Comet champagne foaming flows.

Before him red roast beef is seen

And truffles, dear to youthful eyes,

Flanked by immortal Strasbourg pies,

The choicest flowers of French cuisine,

And Limburg cheese alive and old

Is seen next pine-apples of gold.

[Note 8: Talon, a famous St. Petersburg restaurateur.]

[Note 9: Paul Petrovitch Kaverine, a friend for whom Pushkin in his youth appears to have entertained great respect and admiration. He was an officer in the Hussars of the Guard, and a noted "dandy" and man about town. The poet on one occasion addressed the following impromptu to his friend's portrait:

   "Within him daily see the the fires of punch and war,

   Upon the fields of Mars a gallant warrior,

   A faithful friend to friends, of ladies torturer,

                       But ever the Hussar."]

XIV

Still thirst fresh draughts of wine compels

To cool the cutlets' seething grease,

When the sonorous Breguet tells

Of the commencement of the piece.

A critic of the stage malicious,

A slave of actresses capricious,

Oneguine was a citizen

Of the domains of the side-scene.

To the theatre he repairs

Where each young critic ready stands,

Capers applauds with clap of hands,

With hisses Cleopatra scares,

Moina recalls for this alone

That all may hear his voice's tone.

XV

Thou fairy-land! Where formerly

Shone pungent Satire's dauntless king,

Von Wisine, friend of liberty,

And Kniajnine, apt at copying.

The young Simeonova too there

With Ozeroff was wont to share

Applause, the people's donative.

There our Katenine did revive

Corneille's majestic genius,

Sarcastic Shakhovskoi brought out

His comedies, a noisy rout,

There Didelot became glorious,

There, there, beneath the side-scene's shade

The drama of my youth was played.(10)

[Note 10: Denis Von Wisine(1741-92), a favourite Russian dramatist. His first comedy "The Brigadier," procured him the favour of the second Catherine. His best, however, is the "Minor" (Niedorosl). Prince Potemkin, after witnessing it, summoned the author, and greeted him with the exclamation, "Die now, Denis!" In fact, his subsequent performances were not of equal merit.

Jacob Borissovitch Kniajnine(1742-91), a clever adapter of French tragedy.

Simeonova, a celebrated tragic actress, who retired from the stage in early life and married a Prince Gagarine.

Ozeroff, one of the best-known Russian dramatists of the period; he possessed more originality than Kniajnine. "Oedipus in Athens," "Fingal," "Demetrius Donskoi," and "Polyxena," are the best known of his tragedies.

Kateninetranslated Corneille's tragedies into Russian.

Didelot, sometime Director of the ballet at the Opera at St. Petersburg.]

XVI

My goddesses, where are your shades?

Do ye not hear my mournful sighs?

Are ye replaced by other maids

Who cannot conjure former joys?

Shall I your chorus hear anew,

Russia's Terpsichore review

Again in her ethereal dance?

Or will my melancholy glance

On the dull stage find all things changed,

The disenchanted glass direct

Where I can no more recollect?—

A careless looker-on estranged

In silence shall I sit and yawn