Eugene Onegin

“ And, hanging down her head, the maid Around the garden homeward hies. Together they returned, nor word Of censure for the same incurred; The country hath its liberties And privileges nice allowed, Even as Moscow, city proud. XII Confess, O ye who this peruse, Onéguine acted very well By poor Tattiana in the blues; ’Twas not the first time, I can tell You, he a noble mind disclosed, Though some men, evilly disposed, Spared him not their asperities. His friends and also enemies (One and the same thing it may be) Esteemed him much as the world goes. Yes! every one must have his foes, But Lord! ”

“ All to the doctors Eugene send, And they the waters recommend. XXXI He went not—sooner was prepared To write his forefathers to warn Of his approach; but nothing cared Tattiana—thus the sex is born.— He obstinately will remain, Still hopes, endeavours, though in vain. Sickness more courage doth command Than health, so with a trembling hand A love epistle he doth scrawl. Though correspondence as a rule He used to hate—and was no fool— Yet suffering emotional Had rendered him an invalid; But word for word his letter read. Onéguine’s Letter to Tattiana All is foreseen. ”

“ A windmill too a jig performs And wildly waves its arms and storms; Barking, songs, whistling, laughter coarse, The speech of man and tramp of horse. But wide Tattiana oped her eyes When in that company she saw Him who inspired both love and awe, The hero we immortalize. Onéguine sat the table by And viewed the door with cunning eye. ”

“ XIII But Lenski, having no desire Vows matrimonial to break, With our Onéguine doth aspire Acquaintance instantly to make. They met. Earth, water, prose and verse, Or ice and flame, are not diverse If they were similar in aught. At first such contradictions wrought Mutual repulsion and ennui, But grown familiar side by side On horseback every day they ride— Inseparable soon they be. Thus oft—this I myself confess— Men become friends from idleness. XIV But even thus not now-a-days! In spite of common sense we’re wont As cyphers others to appraise, Ourselves as unities to count ”

“ The bard of Juan and the Giaour, With it may be a couple more; Romances three, in which ye scan Portrayed contemporary man As the reflection of his age, His immorality of mind To arid selfishness resigned, A visionary personage With his exasperated sense, His energy and impotence. XXI And numerous pages had preserved The sharp incisions of his nail, And these the attentive maid observed With eye precise and without fail. Tattiana saw with trepidation By what idea or observation Onéguine was the most impressed, In what he merely acquiesced. ”

“ XXXIII Eugene, his pistol yet in hand And with remorseful anguish filled, Gazing on Lenski’s corse did stand— Zaretski shouted: “Why, he’s killed!”— Killed! at this dreadful exclamation Onéguine went with trepidation And the attendants called in haste. Most carefully Zaretski placed Within his sledge the stiffened corse, And hurried home his awful freight. Conscious of death approximate, Loud paws the earth each panting horse, His bit with foam besprinkled o’er, And homeward like an arrow tore. XXXIV My friends, the poet ye regret! ”

“ With serious air indeed, Long tortured by his lay divine, Triquet arose, and for the bard The company deep silence guard. Tania well nigh expired when he Turned to her and discordantly Intoned it, manuscript in hand. Voices and hands applaud, and she Must bow in common courtesy; The poet, modest though so grand, Drank to her health in the first place, Then handed her the song with grace. XXXIV Congratulations, toasts resound, Tattiana thanks to all returned, But, when Onéguine’s turn came round, The maiden’s weary eye which yearned, Her agitation and distress Aroused in him some tenderness. ”

“ Pushkin had worked at this poem since 1823. It was Byron’s Beppo which gave him the idea of writing a poem on modern life; but here again, he made of the idea something quite different from any of Byron’s [Pg 74] work. Onegin is a novel. Eugene Onegin is the name of the hero. It is, moreover, the first Russian novel; and as a novel it has never been surpassed. It is as real as Tolstoy, as finished in workmanship and construction as Turgenev. It is a realistic novel ”

“ Fashion is there immutable, Who tyrannizes us with ease, Of modern Russians the disease. XLIII Bouyànoff, wrathful cousin mine, Unto the hero of this lay Olga and Tania led. Malign, Onéguine Olga bore away. Gliding in negligent career, He bending whispered in her ear Some madrigal not worth a rush, And pressed her hand—the crimson blush Upon her cheek by adulation Grew brighter still. But Lenski hath Seen all, beside himself with wrath, And hot with jealous indignation, Till the mazurka’s close he stays, Her hand for the cotillon prays. ”

“ Peals arise Of frantic laughter, and all eyes And hoofs and crooked snouts and paws, Tails which a bushy tuft adorns, Whiskers and bloody tongues and horns, Sharp rows of tushes, bony claws, Are turned upon her. All combine In one great shout: she’s mine! she’s mine! XX “Mine!” cried Eugene with savage tone. The troop of apparitions fled, And in the frosty night alone Remained with him the youthful maid. With tranquil air Onéguine leads Tattiana to a corner, bids Her on a shaky bench sit down ”

“ Ye need dissimulation base A dying man with art to soothe, Beneath his head the pillow smooth, And physic bring with mournful face, To sigh and meditate alone: When will the devil take his own!” II Thus mused a madcap young, who drove Through clouds of dust at postal pace, By the decree of Mighty Jove, Inheritor of all his race. Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan, (1) Let me present ye to the man, Who without more prevarication The hero is of my narration! Onéguine, O my gentle readers, Was born beside the Neva, where It may be ye were born, or there Have shone as one of fashion’s leaders. ”

“ So ancient warriors, battles o’er, A curious interest disclose In yarns of youthful troopers gay, Lost in the hamlet far away. XIX And in addition youth is flame And cannot anything conceal, Is ever ready to proclaim The love, hate, sorrow, joy, we feel. Deeming himself a veteran scarred In love’s campaigns Onéguine heard With quite a lachrymose expression The youthful poet’s fond confession. He with an innocence extreme His inner consciousness laid bare, And Eugene soon discovered there The story of his young love’s dream, Where plentifully feelings flow Which we experienced long ago. ”

“ L But ye to whom, when friendship heard, The first-fruits of my tale I read, As Saadi anciently averred— (86) Some are afar and some are dead. Without them Eugene is complete; And thou, from whom Tattiana sweet; Was drawn, ideal of my lay— Ah! what hath fate not torn away! Happy who quit life’s banquet seat Before the dregs they shall divine Of the cup brimming o’er with wine— Who the romance do not complete, But who abandon it—as I Have my Onéguine—suddenly. ”

“ Who this soft nonsense could impart, Imprudent prattle of the heart, Attractive in its banefulness? I cannot understand. But lo! A feeble version read below, A print without the picture’s grace, Or, as it were, the Freischutz’ score Strummed by a timid schoolgirl o’er. Tattiana’s Letter to Onéguine I write to you! Is more required? Can lower depths beyond remain? ’Tis in your power now, if desired, To crush me with a just disdain. ”

“ A maid hath oft, may yet again Replace the visions fancy drew; Thus trees in spring their leaves renew As in their turn the seasons roll. ’Tis evidently Heaven’s will You fall in love again. But still— Learn to possess more self-control. Not all will like myself proceed— And thoughtlessness to woe might lead.” XI Thus did our friend Onéguine preach: Tattiana, dim with tears her eyes, Attentive listened to his speech, All breathless and without replies. His arm he offers. Mute and sad (Mechanically, let us add) , Tattiana doth accept his aid ”

“ Eugene, more tolerant than this (Though certainly mankind he knew And usually despised it too) , Exceptionless as no rule is, A few of different temper deemed, Feeling in others much esteemed. XV With smiling face he Lenski hears; The poet’s fervid conversation And judgment which unsteady veers And eye which gleams with inspiration— All this was novel to Eugene. The cold reply with gloomy mien He oft upon his lips would curb, Thinking: ’tis foolish to disturb This evanescent boyish bliss. Time without me will lessons give, So meantime let him joyous live And deem the world perfection is! ”

“ Youth freshens beneath Passion’s showers, Develops and matures its powers, And thus in season the rich field Gay flowers and luscious fruit doth yield. But at a later, sterile age, The solstice of our earthly years, Mournful Love’s deadly trace appears As storms which in chill autumn rage And leave a marsh the fertile ground And devastate the woods around. XXIX There was no doubt! Eugene, alas! Tattiana loved as when a lad, Both day and night he now must pass In love-lorn meditation sad. ”

“ XVII But more the passions occupy The converse of our hermits twain, And, heaving a regretful sigh, An exile from their troublous reign, Eugene would speak regarding these. Thrice happy who their agonies Hath suffered but indifferent grown, Still happier he who ne’er hath known! By absence who hath chilled his love, His hate by slander, and who spends Existence without wife or friends, Whom jealous transport cannot move, And who the rent-roll of his race Ne’er trusted to the treacherous ace. ”

“ L Love, flowers, the country, idleness And fields my joys have ever been; I like the difference to express Between myself and my Eugene, Lest the malicious reader or Some one or other editor Of keen sarcastic intellect Herein my portrait should detect, And impiously should declare, To sketch myself that I have tried Like Byron, bard of scorn and pride, As if impossible it were To write of any other elf Than one’s own fascinating self. LI Here I remark all poets are Love to idealize inclined ”

“ XXI But borne in spirit far away Tattiana gazes on the moon, And starting suddenly doth say: “Nurse, leave me. I would be alone. Pen, paper bring: the table too Draw near. I soon to sleep shall go— Good-night.” Behold! she is alone! ’Tis silent—on her shines the moon— Upon her elbow she reclines, And Eugene ever in her soul Indites an inconsiderate scroll Wherein love innocently pines. ”

“ Her tears flow plentifully and Her cheek reclines upon her hand. XL Oh! who her speechless agonies Could not in that brief moment guess! Who now could fail to recognize Tattiana in the young princess! Tortured by pangs of wild regret, Eugene fell prostrate at her feet— She starts, nor doth a word express, But gazes on Onéguine’s face Without amaze or wrath displayed: His sunken eye and aspect faint, Imploring looks and mute complaint She comprehends. The simple maid By fond illusions once possest Is once again made manifest. ”

“ The Muse capricious let us coax, Go hear the rustling of the oaks Beside a nameless rivulet, Where in the country Eugene yet, An idle anchorite and sad, A while ago the winter spent, Near young Tattiana resident, My pretty self-deceiving maid— No more the village knows his face, For there he left a mournful trace. VI Let us proceed unto a rill, Which in a hilly neighbourhood Seeks, winding amid meadows still, The river through the linden wood. The nightingale there all night long, Spring’s paramour, pours forth her song The fountain brawls, sweetbriers bloom, And lo! ”

“ But by degrees the crowd begin To raise a clamour and a din: They laugh, they argue, and they bawl, They shout and no one lists at all. The doors swing open: Lenski makes His entrance with Onéguine. “Ah! At last the author!” cries Mamma. The guests make room; aside each takes His chair, plate, knife and fork in haste; The friends are called and quickly placed. XXX Right opposite Tattiana placed, She, than the morning moon more pale, More timid than a doe long chased, Lifts not her eyes which swimming fail. Anew the flames of passion start Within her; she is sick at heart ”

“ He knits his brows—’tis silent all. He there is master—that is plain; Tattiana courage doth regain And grown more curious by far Just placed the entrance door ajar. The wind rose instantly, blew out The fire of the nocturnal lights; A trouble fell upon the sprites; Onéguine lightning glances shot; Furious he from the table rose; All arise. To the door he goes. XIX Terror assails her. Hastily Tattiana would attempt to fly, She cannot—then impatiently She strains her throat to force a cry— She cannot—Eugene oped the door And the young girl appeared before Those hellish phantoms. ”

“ But of this love, e’en casually, As yet none had discovered aught; Eugene of course related nought, Tattiana suffered secretly; Her nurse, who could have made a guess, Was famous for thick-headedness. XVII Lenski that eve in thought immersed, Now gloomy seemed and cheerful now, But he who by the Muse was nursed Is ever thus. With frowning brow To the pianoforte he moves And various chords upon it proves, Then, eyeing Olga, whispers low: “I’m happy, say, is it not so?”— But it grew late; he must not stay; Heavy his heart with anguish grew ”

“ A duellist of classic mind, Method was dear unto his heart He would not that a man ye slay In a lax or informal way, But followed the strict rules of art, And ancient usages observed (For which our praise he hath deserved) . XXV “My second!” cried in turn Eugene, “Behold my friend Monsieur Guillot; To this arrangement can be seen, No obstacle of which I know. Although unknown to fame mayhap, He’s a straightforward little chap.” Zaretski bit his lip in wrath, But to Vladimir Eugene saith: “Shall we commence?”—“Let it be so,” Lenski replied, and soon they be Behind the mill. ”