In much his conduct stigmatized;
For, from the outset, 'twas unjust
To jest as he had done last eve,
A timid, shrinking love to grieve.
And ought he not to disregard
The poet's madness? for 'tis hard
At eighteen not to play the fool!
Sincerely loving him, Eugene
Assuredly should not have been
Conventionality's dull tool—
Not a mere hot, pugnacious boy,
But man of sense and probity.
XI
He might his motives have narrated,
Not bristled up like a wild beast,
He ought to have conciliated
That youthful heart—'But, now at least,
The opportunity is flown.
Besides, a duellist well-known
Hath mixed himself in the affair,
Malicious and a slanderer.
Undoubtedly, disdain alone
Should recompense his idle jeers,
But fools—their calumnies and sneers'—
Behold! the world's opinion!(63)
Our idol, Honour's motive force,
Round which revolves the universe.
[Note 63: A line of Griboyedoff's. (Woe from Wit.)]
XII
Impatient, boiling o'er with wrath,
The bard his answer waits at home,
But lo! his braggart neighbour hath
Triumphant with the answer come.
Now for the jealous youth what joy!
He feared the criminal might try
To treat the matter as a jest,
Use subterfuge, and thus his breast
From the dread pistol turn away.
But now all doubt was set aside,
Unto the windmill he must ride
To-morrow before break of day,
To cock the pistol; barrel bend
On thigh or temple, friend on friend.
XIII
Resolved the flirt to cast away,
The foaming Lenski would refuse,
To see his Olga ere the fray—
His watch, the sun in turn he views—
Finally tost his arms in air
And lo! he is already there!
