And in a trice they seat the pair.
30
Across from Tanyathere they place them;
And paler than the moon at dawn,
She cannot raise her eyes to face them
And trembles like a hunted fawn.
Inside her, stormy passion's seething;
The wretched girl is scarcely breathing;
The two friends' greetings pass unheard;
Her tears well up without a word
And almost fall; the poor thing's ready
To faint; but deep within her, will
And strength of mind were working still,
And they prevailed. Her lips more steady,
She murmured something through her pain
And managed somehow to remain.
31
All tragico-hysteric moaning,
All girlish fainting-fits and tears,
Had long since set Eugene to groaning:
He'd borne enough in former years.
Already cross and irritated
By being at this feast he hated,
And noting how poor Tanya shook,
He barely hid his angry look
And fumed in sullen indignation;
He swore that he'd make Lensky pay
And be avenged that very day.
Exulting in anticipation,
He inwardly began to draw
Caricatures of those he saw.
32
Some others too might well have noted
Poor Tanya's plight; but every eye
Was at the time in full devoted
To sizing up a lavish pie*
(Alas, too salty); now they're bringing,
In bottle with the pitch still clinging,
Between the meat and
Tsimlynsky wine ... a whole array
Of long-stemmed glasses . . . (quite as slender
As your dear waist, my sweet Zizi,*
Fair crystal of my soul and key
To all my youthful verses tender,
Love's luring phial, you who once
Made me a drunken, love-filled dunce!)
33
The bottle pops as cork goes flying;
The fizzing wine comes gushing fast;
