She isn't hurried or obtrusive,
Is neither cold nor too effusive;
She casts no brazen glance around
And makes no effort to astound
Or use those sorts of affectation
And artifice that ladies share
But shows a simple, quiet air.
She seems the very illustration
I can't translate this phrase, I find.)
15
The ladies flocked to stand beside her;
Old women beamed as she went by;
The men bowed lower when they spied her
And sought in vain to catch her eye;
Young maidens hushed in passing by her;
While none held head and shoulders higher
Than he who brought the lady there
The general with the prideful air.
One couldn't label her a beauty;
But neither did her form contain,
From head to toe, the slightest strain
Of what, with fashion's sense of duty,
The London social sets decry
As
16
To find an adequate translation
For this delicious epithet;
With us the word's an innovation,
But though it's won no favour yet, '
Twould make an epigram of style.* .
. . But where's our lady all this while?)
With carefree charm and winsome air
She took a seat beside the chair
Of brilliant Nina Voronskya,*
That Cleopatra of the North;
But even Nina, shining forth
With all her marble beauty's fire
However dazzling to the sight
Could not eclipse her neighbour's light.
17
'Can it be true?' Eugene reflected.
'Can that be she? ... It seems . . . and yet. . .
From those backwoods!' And he directed
A curious and keen lorgnette
For several minutes in succession
Upon the lady whose expression
Called up a face from long ago.
'But tell me, Prince, you wouldn't know
Who's standing there in conversation
