Eugene Onegin (Russian Literature Classic). Alexander Pushkin

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      To array himself in evening dress.

¹¹ In Russia large fires are lighted in winter time in front of the theatres for the benefit of the menials, who, considering the state of the thermometer, cannot be said to have a jovial time of it. But in this, as in other cases, “habit” alleviates their lot, and they bear the cold with a wonderful equanimity.

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      Faithfully shall I now depict,

      Portray the solitary den

      Wherein the child of fashion strict

      Dressed him, undressed, and dressed again?

      All that industrial London brings

      For tallow, wood and other things

      Across the Baltic’s salt sea waves,

      All which caprice and affluence craves,

      All which in Paris eager taste,

      Choosing a profitable trade,

      For our amusement ever made

      And ease and fashionable waste —

      Adorned the apartment of Eugene,

      Philosopher just turned eighteen.

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      China and bronze the tables weight,

      Amber on pipes from Stamboul glows,

      And, joy of souls effeminate,

      Phials of crystal scents enclose.

      Combs of all sizes, files of steel,

      Scissors both straight and curved as well,

      Of thirty different sorts, lo! brushes

      Both for the nails and for the tushes.

Rousseau, I would remark in passing,¹²

      Could not conceive how serious Grimm

      Dared calmly cleanse his nails ‘fore him,

      Eloquent raver all-surpassing —

      The friend of liberty and laws

      In this case quite mistaken was.

¹² “Tout le monde sut qu’il (Grimm) mettait du blanc; et moi, qui n’en croyait rien, je commencai de le croire, non seulement par l’embellissement de son teint, et pour avoir trouve des tasses de blanc sur la toilette, mais sur ce qu’entrant un matin dans sa chambre, je le trouvais brossant ses ongles avec une petite vergette faite expres, ouvrage qu’il continua fierement devant moi. Je jugeai qu’un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins a brosser ses ongles peut bien passer quelques instants a remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau.” — Confessions de J. J. Rousseau

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      The most industrious man alive

      May yet be studious of his nails;

      What boots it with the age to strive?

      Custom the despot soon prevails.

      A new Kaverine Eugene mine,

      Dreading the world’s remarks malign,

      Was that which we are wont to call

      A fop, in dress pedantical.

      Three mortal hours per diem he

      Would loiter by the looking-glass,

      And from his dressing-room would pass

      Like Venus when, capriciously,

      The goddess would a masquerade

      Attend in male attire arrayed.

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      On this artistical retreat

      Having once fixed your interest,

      I might to connoisseurs repeat

      The style in which my hero dressed;

      Though I confess I hardly dare

      Describe in detail the affair,

      Since words like pantaloons, vest, coat,

      To Russ indigenous are not;

      And also that my feeble verse —

      Pardon I ask for such a sin —

      With words of foreign origin

      Too much I’m given to intersperse,

      Though to the Academy I come

And oft its Dictionary thumb.¹³

       ¹³ Refers to Dictionary of the Academy, compiled during the reign of Catherine II under the supervision of Lomonossoff.

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      But such is not my project now,

      So let us to the ball-room haste,

      Whither at headlong speed doth go

      Eugene in hackney carriage placed.

      Past darkened windows and long streets

      Of slumbering citizens he fleets,

      Till carriage lamps, a double row,

      Cast a gay lustre on the snow,

      Which shines with iridescent hues.

      He nears a spacious mansion’s gate,

      By many a lamp illuminate,

      And through the lofty windows views

      Profiles of lovely dames he knows

      And also fashionable beaux.

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      Our hero stops and doth alight,

      Flies past the porter to the stair,

      But, ere he mounts the marble flight,

      With hurried hand smooths down his hair.

      He enters: in the hall a crowd,

      No more the music thunders loud,

      Some a mazurka occupies,

      Crushing and a confusing noise;

      Spurs of the Cavalier Guard clash,