In solid, unpretentious style,

The style of wise antiquity.

Lofty the chambers one and all,

Silk tapestry upon the wall,

Imperial portraits hang around

And stoves of various shapes abound.

All this I know is out of date,

I cannot tell the reason why,

But Eugene, incontestably,

The matter did not agitate,

Because he yawned at the bare view

Of drawing-rooms or old or new.

III.

He took the room wherein the old

Man - forty years long in this wise -

His housekeeper was wont to scold,

Look through the window and kill flies.

'Twas plain - an oaken floor ye scan,

Two cupboards, table, soft divan,

And not a speck of dirt descried.

Oneguine oped the cupboards wide.

In one he doth accounts behold,

Here bottles stand in close array,

There jars of cider block the way,

An almanac but eight years old.

His uncle, busy man indeed,

No other book had time to read.

IV.

Alone amid possessions great,

Eugene at first began to dream,

If but to lighten Time's dull rate,

Of many an economic scheme;

This anchorite amid his waste

The ancient barshtchina replaced