The stomach serves as clock for us;
And apropos, I might make mention
In passing that I speak as much
Of feasts and foods and corks and such
In these odd lines of my invention
As you, great Homer, you whose song
Has lasted thirty centuries long!
(37-8) 39
But tea is brought: the girls demurely
Have scarcely taken cups in hand,
When suddenly from ballroom doorway
Bassoon and flute announce the band.
Elated by the music's bouncing,
His tea and rum at once renouncing,
That Paris of the local towns,
Good Petushkv, to Olga bounds;
To Tanya, Lensky; Harlikva,
A maiden somewhat ripe in glow,
My Tambov poet takes in tow;
Buynov whirls off Pustyakva;
Then all the crowd comes pouring in
To watch the brilliant ballroom spin.
40
At the beginning of my story
(In Chapter One, if you recall),
I wanted with Albani's glory*
To paint a Petersburg grand ball;
But then, by empty dreams deflected,
I lost my way and recollected
The feet of ladies known before.
In your slim tracks I'll stray no more,
#62038; charming feet and mad affliction!
My youth betrayed, it's time to show
More common sense if I'm to grow,
To mend my ways in deeds and diction,
And cleanse this Chapter Five at last
Of all digressions from the past.
41
Monotonous and mad procession,
Young life's own whirlwind, full of sound,
Each pair a blur in quick succession,
The rousing waltz goes whirling round.
His moment of revenge beginning,
Eugene, with secret malice grinning,
Approaches Olga . . . idly jests,
Then spins her round before the guests;
He stays beside her when she's seated,
Proceeds to talk of this and that;
Two minutes barely has she sat. . .
