Evgeny Onegin 1-4 A.S. Pushkin Poem by Yuri Starostin

Evgeny Onegin 1-4 A.S. Pushkin

Pushkin Alexander Sergeevich <file: ///p/pushkin_a_s/>
Evgenie Onegin
Lib.ru/Классика: <• The Summary: the Novel in verses



Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Evgeny Onegin
The novel in the verses

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Collected works in ten volumes. Volume the fourth
(The state publishing house of Fiction. Moscow,1959)
Version 1.6 from March,20th,2001
The original: http: //www.rvb.ru/pushkin
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Petri de vanite il avait encore plus de cette espece d'orgueil qui fait
avouer avec la meme indifference les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions,
suite d'un sentiment de superiorite peut-etre imaginaire.

Tire d'une lettre particuliere.

Not thinking the proud light enjoying,
Enamored the attention of the friendship,
I would like to present to you
The pledge more worthy than you,
More adequately the fine soul,
The sacred executed dream,
The live and clear poetry,
The high thoughts and simplicity;
But so let will be - by the hand biassed
Accept assembly of the motley heads,
The semiridiculous, semisad,
Demotic, ideal,
Negligent fruit of my enjoyments,
Sleeplessnesses, easy enbreathings,
Unripe and faded years,
Mind of the cold supervision
And the heart sad notes.

THE FIRST CHAPTER

And to live hurries up and hastens to feel.
Pr. Vjazemsky.

I

'My uncle of the most fair rules,
When has not for fun fallen ill,
He to respect himself has forced
And is better could not invent.
Him example to another is a science;
But, my God, what boredom
With the patient to sit and day and night,
Not departing to a step away!
What low insidiousness
To amuse the half-dead,
For him the pillows to correct,
Is sad to bring a medicine,
To sigh and think in the mind:
When a devil takes you! '

II

So the young rake thought,
Flying in a dust on a post,
By the supreme will of Zevs
The successor of all native.
The friends Lyudmila and Ruslan!
With the hero of my novel
Without a prefaces, sow hour
Allow to acquaint you:
Onegin, kind my friend,
Was born on Neva coast,
Where you, maybe, were born
Or shone, my reader;
There same time I walked also:
But the north is harmful to me {1}.

III

Served perfectly noble,
By the debts there lived his father,
Gave three balls annually
And he was wasted at last.
Evgeny the destiny do stored:
At first Madame behind him went,
Then Monsieur her has replaced.
The child was hurry, but is lovely.
Monsieur l'Abbe, the poor frenchman,
That the child was not exhausted,
Learnt to him to all joking,
Did not bother by the strict morals,
Slightly for a pranks was scolded
And in the Summer garden to walk drove.

IV

When a rebellious youth
Has come to Evgeny time,
It is time of a hopes and gentle grief,
Have banished Monsieur from a court yard.
Here my Onegin on the freedom;
He is cut in the latest fashion,
As the dandy {2}of London is dressed -
And at last see the light.
In the french perfectly
He could express and wrote;
Easily the mazourka was danced
And was bowed easy;
Than that have you more? The light has solved,
That he is clever and very lovely.

V

All of us were studied gradually
To something and somehow,
So by the education, thank God,
At us no wonder to flash.
Onegin was on the mind of the many
(The judges are resolute and strict)
The scientist little, but the pedant:
He had the happy talent
Without the enforce in the talking
To concern to all slightly,
With a scientific kind of the expert
To store a silence in the important dispute
And to raise a smile of a ladies
By the fire of the unexpected epigrams.

VI

Latyne left a fashion nowadays:
So, if the truth to you to tell,
He knew enough latyne,
That the epigraphs to assort,
To talk about Juvenale,
In the end of the letter to put vale,
Yes was remembered, though not without a sin,
From Eneidy the two verses.
To rummage he had no a hunting
In a chronological dust
Of the Earth chronicles:
But the past jokes days
From Romula up to now
He was stored in the memory.

VII

The high passion not having
For a sounds of the life not to spare,
He could not an yamb from a chorey,
As we fought as to distinguish.
Was scolded Homer, Feokrit;
But read Adam Smith
And there was the deep house-keeper,
That he was able to judge that,
As the state grows rich,
And than lives, and why
It is not necessary a gold for it,
When the simple product has.
The father understands him could not
And the earths pawned.

VIII

Everything that Evgenie knew more,
To retell to me a lack of time;
But in what he true was the genius,
That he knew most firmly all sciences,
That was for him by a youth
Both a work, and a flour, and a joy,
That occupied all the day
Her grieving laziness, -
There was a science of a gentle passion,
Which was sung by Nazon,
For what the sufferer he has terminated
The shining and rebellious century
In Moldova, in a solitude of the steppes,
In the distance own Italy.

IX

..................
..................
..................

X

So he early could play the hypocrite,
To conceal the hope, to be jealous,
To disabuse, do forced to trust,
To seem gloomy, to pine,
To be proud and obedient,
Attentive or indifferent!
As languid he was silent,
As ardently he is eloquent,
In the warm letters as he is negligent!
By one breathing, by one loving,
As he was able to forget himself!
As him look was fast and gentle,
Is bashful and defiant, and at times
Shone by the obedient tear!

XI

As he was able to seem a new,
Joking an innocence to amaze,
To frighten by a ready despair,
With the pleasant flattery to amuse,
To catch a minute charming,
The innocent years bias
By the mind and passion to win,
An involuntary caress to expect,
To ask and demand recognition,
To overhear the hearts first sound,
To pursue the love, and suddenly
To achieve a secret meeting...
And after to her alone
To give the lessons in the silence!

XII

As early he could now disturb
A hearts of the note coquettes!
When would be desirable to destroy
To him of a contenders,
As he was venomously talked scandal!
What seine for them he was prepared!
But you, the blissful husbands,
With him there were you friends:
He was caressed by the spouse crafty,
The Foblas old pupil,
And the mistrustful old man,
And the cuckold stately
Always is happy by himself,
The dinner and the wife.

XIII. XIV

..................
..................
..................

XV

Happened, he is still in the bed:
To him bear the notes.
What is? The invitation? Really,
The three houses for the evening calls:
There will be a ball, there is a children's holiday.
Where my prankish will riddle?
With whom he will begin? All the same:
Everywhere to keep up is no wonder.
Till in a morning attire,
Having put on the wide bolivar {3},
Onegin goes on the parkway
And there walks on the open space,
While the vigilant breget
Will not ring out to him a dinner.

XVI

It is dark: in a sledge he sits down.
'Fall, fall! ' - the shout was distributed;
By the frosty dust
Him beaver collar is silvered.
To Talon {4} has rushed off: he is assured,
That there him Kaverin waits.
Has entered: and a stopper in a ceiling,
The comet wine current has scattered;
Before him roast-beef stained with a blood,
And the truffly, luxury of a young years,
The french cuisine the best colour,
And Strasbourg pie imperishable
Between the limburg cheese lived
And the pineapple golden.

XVII

A more glasses the thirst asks
To fill a hot fat of the cutlets,
But the breget ring informs them,
That the new ballet has begun.
The theatre malicious legislator,
The changeable adorer
Of the charming actresses,
The honour citizen of the side scenes,
Onegin has flied to the theatre,
Where everyone by a liberty breathing
Is ready applaud entrechat,
Obshikat Fedra, Cleopatre,
To cause Moina(for this purpose,
That only heard him) .

XVIII

The magic edge! There in the old ears,
The satires courageous lord,
Fonvizin, the friend of freedom shone,
And reinning Knjazhnin;
There the involuntary tributes
Of the national tears, applause
Ozerov with young Semenova was divided;
There our Katenin has revived
Cornel the genius stately;
There has deduced caustic Shahovsky
Own comedies noisy plenty,
There and Didlo got married by the glory,
There, there under porch of the side scenes
Young my days were rushed.

XIX

My goddesses! What are you? Where you are?
Listen my sad voice:
All the same either you are? Neither the others maidens,
Having replaced, have not replaced you?
I will hear either again your choruses?
Whether I will be seen the russian Terpsihory
By the soul en-filled flight?
Or the look sad will not find
The familiar faces on the scene boring,
And, having directed on the alien light
The disappointed lorgnette,
The fun indifferent spectator,
I will silently yawn
And remember about the past?

XX

The theatre is full; the boxes blesses;
The orchestra and armchairs - all boils;
In a paradise impatiently splashes,
And, having risen, the curtain rustles.
The brilliant, semi- aired,
To the magic bow the obedient,
By the nymphs crowd the surrounded,
Istomina stand; she,
By the one foot concerning the floor,
By other slowly turns,
Both suddenly the jump, and suddenly flies,
Flies, as a down from the lips of Eol;
So the camp will twist, so will develop
And by the fast leg to the leg beats.

XXI

All claps. Onegin enters,
Goes between the armchairs on the feet,
The double lorgnette slantly directs
On the boxes of an unfamiliar ladies;
Has glanced all circles over,
Saw all: a persons, by the attire
Is horoble dissatisfied;
With the men from the different sides
Has beaten bown, then on the scene
In big dispersion has looked,
Turn on - also has yawned,
And said: 'All are in time on the change;
Long I am suffered a ballets,
But and Didlo has bothered me '{5}.

XXII

More the cupids, devils, snakes
On a scene skips and rustles;
More the tired footmen
On the fur coats at an entrance sleeps;
Have not ceased to stamp yet,
Ti flu up, to cough, to shikat, to clap;
Still outside and inside
Everywhere the lanterns shines;
Still, been chilled, the horses fights,
Bored by own harness,
And the drivers, round the fires,
Scolds a misters and beats in a palm -
And Onegin has gone out;
Home to put on he goes.

XXIII

I will image either in the true picture
The lonely office,
Where the fashions pupil exampled
Is dressed, undressed and again dressed?
Everything, than for a plentiful whim
London scrupulous trades
And on the Baltic waves
For a wood and fat carries to us,
Everything that in Paris the hungry taste,
Having selected the useful craft,
Invents for an enjoyments,
For a luxury, for a luxury fashionable, -
All was decorated an office
Of the philosopher in eighteen years.

XXIV

The amber on the Tsaregrad tubes,
A porcelain and bronze on a table,
And, a feelings coddled joy,
A parfume in the cut crystal;
The combs, nail files steel,
Direct scissors, the curves
And a brushes of a thirty sorts
Both for a nails and for a teeth.
Russo (I will notice by the way)
Could not understand, how an important Grim
Is courageous to clean a nails before him,
By the eloquent crazy man {6}.
The defender of a liberty and the rights
In this case is absolutely wrong.

XXV

It is possible to be the efficient person
And to think a beauty of a nails:
To what fruitlessly to argue with a century?
The custom is a despot between people.
Second Chadaev, my Evgeny,
Being afraid a jealous condemn,
In the clothes there was a pedant
And that we named the dandy.
He three hours at least
Before a mirrors spent
And left a lavatory
Similar to windy Venus,
When, having put on a costume,
The goddess goes to a masquerade.

XXVI

In the last taste a toilet
Having occupied your inquisitive glance,
I could before the scientific light
Here to describe him dress;
Certainly he would be courageous,
To describe is my business:
But a drawers, a dress coat, a waistcoat,
All these words in russian are not present;
And I see, I am quilted before you,
What and so my poor syllable
To dazzle much could less
By the other tribe words,
Though I looked in the old time
In the Academy dictionary.

XXVII

We have now not that in a subject:
We will better hasten on the ball,
Where headlong in the post carriage
My Onegin has jumped.
Before the grown dim houses
Along a sleepy street numbers
The double lanterns of a carriages
Give vent the cheerful light
And a rainbows direct at the snow;
Covered by the flat dishes around,
The magnificent house shines;
On the wholed windows a shades goes,
And the ladies and fashionable odd fellows
Profiles of a heads flashes.

XXVIII

Here our hero has approached at an enter hall;
The door-keeper by he by an arrow
Has flied up on a marble steps,
Has straightened a hair by a hand,
Has entered. It is the full hall of the people;
A music to rattle was tired;
The crowd is occupied by a mazourka;
Around both a noise and narrowness;
The cavalier-guard spurs jingles;
A legs of the lovely ladies fly;
On their captivating traces
An ardent looks fly,
And by a roar the violines are muffled
A jealous whisper of a fashionable wives.

XXIX

In days of a funs and desires
I was from a balls without a mind:
More truly there is no a place for a recognitions
And for a letter delivery.
About you, a respectable spouses!
To you I will offer own services;
I ask mine to notice the speech:
I want to warn you.
You also, mammies, restrictedly
For a daughters look following:
Hold directly own lorgnette!
Not that... Not that, do free God!
I therefore write it,
What for a long time I do not sin.

XXX

Alas, on a different enjoyments
I have ruined a lot of life!
But if a customs do not suffer,
I would love till now a balls.
I love a mad youth,
Both a narrowness, and shine, and pleasure,
And a ladies considered dress;
I love their legs; only by a hurt
You will find in whole Russia
A three pairs harmonous female feet.
Ah! Long I could not forget
Two legs... Sad, cooled,
I remember all them, and in the sleep
They disturb the heart to me.

XXXI

When and where, in what desert,
The madman, you will be forgotten they?
Ah, the legs, legs! Where you are nowadays?
Where you rumple a vernal flowers?
Adored in the east luxury,
On the northern, sad snow
You have not left a traces:
You loved the soft carpets
Magnificent touching.
For a long time either for you I forgot
And a thirst of a glory and praises,
And the edge of the fathers, and a prisoning?
The happiness of the young years has disappeared,
As on the meadows your easy trace.

XXXII

The Diana breast, Flora cheeks
Are charming, dear friends!
However a leg of Terpsihory
More charm something for me.
It, prophesying to the sight
Not estimated award,
Attracts by the causy beauty
The desires wilful plenty.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under a long cloth of the tables,
In the spring on a grass of the meadows,
In the winter on a pig-iron of the fireplace,
On a mirror parquet of the halls,
At the sea on a granite of the rocks.

XXXIII

I remember the sea before the thunder:
As I was envied a waves,
Running by the rough serie
With the love to lay down to her feet!
As I wished then with a waves
To touch the lovely feet by the lips!
No, never among the ardent days
Of the boiling my youth
I did not wish with the such suffer
To kiss the lips of young Armid,
Or the roses of the ardent cheeks,
Or the perci, full by the languor;
No, never an impulse of a passions
So did not torment my soul!

XXXIV

To me memorably other time!
In the treasured sometimes dreams
I hold the happy stirrup...
And a leg I feel in the hands;
Again the imagination boils,
Again her touching
Has lighted in the faded heart a blood,
Again the melancholy, again the love! .
But full to glorify the haughty
By the talkative own lyre;
They do not coast the passions,
The songs by they inspired:
A words and a look of these magicians
Are deceptive... As their legs.

XXXV

What be my Onegin? The dozing,
In the bed from a ball he goes:
And Petersburg unruly
By a drum is waked.
There is a merchant, there is a messenger,
On a stock exchange the carrier lasts,
With a jug the ochtenca hastens,
Under her a snow morning crackles.
The mornings pleasant noise has woken up.
A shutters are opened; a trumpet smoke
By a column ascends blue,
And bread-er, the accurate German,
In a paper cap, time by time
Was opened own was-ist-das.

XXXVI

But, By a ball noise the tired
And a morning in the midnight turned,
Quetly sleeps in a blissful shade
The enjoyments and luxury child.
He will wake up for a midday, and again
Till the morning him life is ready,
It is monotonous and motley.
And tomorrow the same is that yesterday.
Whether but my Evgeny was happy,
Free, in the colour of the best years,
Among the brilliant victories,
Among the every day pleasures?
Whether in vain was he among a feasts
Uncareless and healthy?

XXXVII

No: early a feelings in him have cooled down;
The light noise was bored him;
A beauties not long were
The subject of her habitual thoughts;
The changes had time to tyre;
The friends and friendship have bothered,
Then that not always could
A beef-steaks and the Strasbourg pie
To pour by a sparkling bottle
And to strew a sharp words,
When the head was ill;
And though he was the ardent rake,
But he has stopped loving at last
Both an abuse and a sabre and a lead.

XXXVIII

The illness, which a reason
For a long the time would be to find,
Similar to an English spleen,
More shortly: Russian melancholy
Has seized him gradually;
He to be shot, thank God,
Has not wanted to try,
But to a life has at all grown cold.
As Child-Harold, the gloomy, languid,
In a drawing rooms there was he;
Nor a light gossips, nor a boston,
Neither a lovely sight, nor a immodest sigh,
Nothing was touched him,
He did not notice anything.

XXXIX. ХL. ХLI

..................
..................
..................

ХLII

The en-wonder-ness of the big society!
All before you he were left;
And the truth is that in ours years
The higher tone is boring enough;
Though, maybe, other lady
Interprets Sowing and Bentam,
But in general their talking
Un-beared, though an innocent nonsense;
To that they so are puritan,
So are stately, so are clever,
So are full a pieties,
So are circumspect, so are exact,
So are unapproachable for a men,
That their kind born a spleen {7}.

XLIII

And you, an young beauties,
Which at a late times
Carry away the daring path
On a Petersburg roadway,
And you my Evgeny were left.
The turncoat of a rough pleasures,
Onegin was locked at home,
Yawning, undertook a feather,
Wanted to write - but the persistent work
To him was nauseous; anything
Did not leave her feather,
And he has not got to the fervent job
Of a people whom I do not judge,
Than that to them I belong.

ХLIV

And again, betrayed to an idleness,
Pining by a sincere emptiness,
He has taken seat - with the laudable purpose
To himself to appropriate the stranger mind;
By the group of a books has filled a shelf,
Has read, read, and do all uselessly:
There a boredom, there a deceit or delirium;
In that a conscience, in that a sense is not;
On all a various verigy;
And the olden time has become outdated,
And a novelty raves the old.
As a women, he has left a books,
And to a regiment, with their dusty family,
Has drawn by a mourning taffet.

ХLV

Having dethroned burden of a light conditions,
As he do, having lagged the vanity,
With him I have be a friends at that time.
I am liked him lines,
To a dreams the involuntary fidelity,
an un-imitation strangeness
And the sharp, cooled mind.
I have been embittered, he is gloomy;
A passions game we knew both;
A life both of us was wearied;
In both the hearts heat has ashed;
The blind Fate and people
Rage was expected the both
On the morning of our days.

XLVI

Who was lived and thought, that cannot
In a soul to not despise a people;
Who felt, that disturbs
The phantom of a irrevocable days:
To that is not exist a charming,
To that a snake memoirs,
That the repentance gnaws.
All it often gives up
The big charm to a talking.
At first the Onegin language
Me was confused; but I have got used
To him acrimonious dispute,
And to a joke, with a bile half-and-half,
And to a rage of a gloomy epigrams.

XLVII

As it is frequent by a summer times,
When the transparent and light
Night sky over Neva is {8}
And a waters cheerful glass
Does not reflect a face of Diana,
Remembered a former years novels,
Remembered a former love,
The sensitive, careless again,
By the breathing of the nights favourable
Silently we are revelled!
As in the green wood from a prison
A sleepy packer is transferred,
So we were carried away by a dream
To the beginning of a young life.

XLVIII

With a soul, full a regrets,
And stiffed on a granite,
There was standed thoughtfully Evgeny,
As the poet {9} has described himself.
All was silent; only a night
Sentries had rechated,
Yes the remote path knock
With Milione was distributed suddenly;
Only a boat, by the oars waving,
Was floated on the dozing river:
And a small horn and a song daring
Were captivated us in the distance...
But the tune of the Torkvatov octaves
Is more sweet, among a night enjoyments!

XLIX

An Adriatic waves,
Oh Brent! No, I will see you
And, again full a in-breathing,
I will hear your magic voice!
He is sacred for Apollo's grandsons;
On a proud lyre of Albion
He is familiar to me, he is to me native.
A nights of Italy golden
By a pleasure I will luxury at a liberty,
With a young venetsiane,
So by talkative, so by mute,
Floating in a mysterious gondola;
With her my lips will find
Petrarka's language and love.

L

Whether a hour of my freedom will come?
It is time, it is time! - I appeal to it;
I wander over the sea {10}, I wait the weather,
I invite a go sails of the ships.
Under a cope of a storms, with a waves arguing,
On a free cross-road of the sea
When I will begin a free run?
It is time to leave a boring coast
Of the whether to me unfriendly
And among a midday ripples,
Under the sky of my Africa {11},
To sigh about gloomy Russia,
Where I was suffered, where I was loved,
Where I have buried the heart.

LI

Onegin was ready with me
To see the alien countries;
But soon there were we by the destiny
On a long term are dissolved.
Him father then has died.
A creditors greedy regiment
Before Onegin has gathered.
At everyone own mind and sense:
Evgeny, hating a lawsuits,
Is happy with the lot,
Has given the inheritance them,
The big loss in that not seeing
Or knowing before from apart
The death of the uncle, of the old man.

LII

He has suddenly received really
From the manager the report,
That the uncle at a deaths in the bed
And to him to farewell he would be glad.
Having read the sad sending,
Evgeny immediately on a meeting
Headlong by the post was jumped
And in an advance was yawned,
Preparing, for a money,
On the sighs, boredom and the deceit
(And that I have begun my novel):
But, having arrived in the village of the uncle,
He has found on the table,
As a tribute ready to the earth.

LIII

He has found the service court yard fulled;
To the dead man from a different sides
The foes and friends was gathered,
A hunters for a funeral.
The dead man have buried.
The priests and visitors ates, dranks
And after have important dispersed,
As though in a business were engaged.
Here our Onegin is the countryman,
Factories, waters, woods, the earths
Owner fulled, and till it
The order of the enemy and retraitor,
And he is very glad that a former way
Has changed on a something.

LIV

Two days to him were seemed new
The loneled fields,
The cool gloomy дубровы,
The murmur of a silent stream;
On the third a grove, a hill and a field
Him did not occupy more;
Then made sleepy;
He has then seen clearly,
As in the village the same boredom
Though is not present neither streets, nor palaces,
Neither cards, nor balls, verses.
The melancholy waited for him on the guard,
And it(she) ran behind him,
As a shade or a faithful wife.

LV

I have been born for a peace life,
For a rural silence;
In a solitude a lyre voice is sounded,
A creative dreams are lived.
To innocent leisure the devoted,
I wander over the lake deserted,
And far nientе my law.
By the each morning I do waked
For a sweet luxury and freedom:
I read a little, long I sleep,
A flying glory I do not catch.
Whether not so in a former years
I has spent in an inactivity, in a shade
My happiest days?

LVI

A flowers, love, village, idleness,
Fields! I am truly yours by the soul.
I am always glad to notice a difference
Between Onegin and me,
That the derisive reader
Or any publisher
Of an intricate slander,
Comparing here my lines,
Did not repeat then godlessly,
That I soil own portrait,
As Byron, the proud poet,
As though it is impossible for us
To write a poems about other,
As only we do about us.

LVII

I will notice by the way: all poets
Are the dream love friends.
Happened, a charm subjects
To me dreamt, and my soul
Their image secret has kept;
Its after a muse has recovered:
So I, the careless, sang
And the maiden of a mountains, my ideal,
And a captives of Salgir a coast.
Now from you, my friends,
The question I heard often:
'About whom you lyre sighs?
To whom, in the crowd of a jealous maidens,
You have devoted its tune?

LVIII

Whose look, exciting an impression,
By a sweet caress has awarded
Your thoughtful singing?
Whom did your verse idolise? '
And, a friends, anybody, really!
A love mad alarm
I have tested desolaty.
One is blissful, who combined with her
A fever of the rhymes: he by that has doubled
A poetry sacred delirium,
To Petrarka striding after,
And a heart torments has calmed,
Has caught and a glory meanwhile;
But I, loving, was silly and deaf.

LIX

The love has passed, the muse came,
And the dark mind has cleared up.
The free, again I search the union
Of a magic sounds, feelings and thoughts;
I write, and the heart does not grieve,
The feather, having forgotten, does not draw,
Near an unfinished verses,
Neither a female legs, nor a heads;
The gone out ashes will not flash,
I am by a long; but a tears are not exist,
And soon, soon a storms trace
In my soul will cease awfull:
Then I will start to write
A poem of a songs in a twenty five.

LX

I so thought the plan form
And how the hero I will name;
Still my novel
I have terminated first chapter;
Has reconsidered all it strictly:
A contradictions are much,
But its I do not want to correct.
To a censorship the debt I will pay
And to journalists on the eating
A fruits of my works I will give:
Go to Neva coast,
A newborn creation,
And deserve to me a glory of a tribute:
A curve rumours, noise and abuse!


CHAPTER THE SECOND

O rus! .
Ноr.

Oh Ruse!

I

Village where Evgeny was longed,
There was a charming corner;
There the friend of a innocent pleasures
Could to bless the sky.
A manour house lonely,
By a mountain from a winds protected,
Stood above a riverlet. In the distance
Before it a dazzled and blossomed
Meadow and fields gold are,
A flashed villages are; here and there
A herds are wandered on the meadows,
And a dense shade was expanded
A huge, thrown garden,
A shelter of a thoughtful dryads.

II

The respectable tower has build,
As towers should be build:
The excellent dure and quiet
In the taste of a clever ancien.
Everywhere a high rooms,
In a drawing room a shtof wall-paper,
The tsars portraits on the walls,
And the furnaces in the motley tiles.
All it has nowadays decayed,
I do not know, the right, why;
Yes, however, to my friend
In that a need was very little,
In order that equally he was yawned
Among a fashionable and ancient halls.

III

He has lodged in that rest,
Where the rural old resident
Years forty with a keyness was quarrelled,
In a window was looked and pressed a flies.
All was simple: a floor oak,
Two cases, table, down sofa,
Anywhere a speck of a ink.
Onegin has opened a cases;
In one has found a writing-book of the expense,
In other of a fruit liqueurs whole guard,
A jugs with an apple water
And a calendar of the eight year:
The old man, having a many affairs,
In other books did not look.

IV

One among own possession,
That only time to spend,
Our Evgeny has at first conceived
To found a new order.
In the solitude a wise man deserted,
The yarmo corvees ancient
With a quitrent lung he has replaced;
And the slave has blest a destiny.
But in own corner he was inflated,
Seeing in it a terrible harm,
Him prudent neighbour;
Another has crafty smiled,
And in a voice all have solved so,
That he is the most dangerous odd fellow.

V

At first all to him were arrived;
But so as from a back porch
Ordinary the submitted
To him Don stallion,
Only along the main road
Will heard them home roads, -
By the act such offended,
All friendship have stopped with him.
'The neighbour our ignoramus; go mad;
He is frankmason; he drinks only
By a glass a red wine;
He does not approach a ladies to the handle;
All yes and no; will not tell yes-s
Or no-s '. The general voice was that.

VI

In the village during the same time
The landowner new has ridden
And to so strict analysis
In the neighbourhood the occasion submitted:
By name of Vladimir Lensky,
With the soul directly Goettingen,
The handsome man, in a full flower of a years,
The admirer of Kant and the poet.
He from Germany foggy
Has brought a learnings fruits:
A freedom-loving dreams,
A spirit ardent and strange enough,
Always an enthusiastic speech
And a curls black to a shoulders.

VII

From a cold debauchery of a light
Still having anytime to wither,
His soul has been warmed
By the greetings of the friend, the caress of a maidens;
He by the heart was the darling ignoramus,
He was cherished by a hope,
Both the world new shine and noise
Still were captivated young mind.
He amused by a sweet dream
Of a doubts of the heart;
The purpose of our life for him
Was a tempting riddle,
Over him he broke a head
And has suspected a miracles.

VIII

He believed that soul native
To incorporate with him should,
That, it is desolate pining,
It everyday is waited by it;
He believed that the friends are ready
For him honour to please a fetters
And that their hand will not tremble
To break a vessel of the slanderer;
That is selected by a destinies,
A people sacred friends;
That their immortal family
By the irresistible beams
Sometime us will light up
And the world will please by a pleasure.

IX

The indignation, regret,
To the blessing a pure love
And a glories sweet torments
In it early was stirred a blood.
With a lyre he was wandered on a light;
Under Schiller and Goethe's sky
By their poetic fire
The soul has ignited in him;
And a muses ennobled arts,
The lucky person, he has not shamed:
He in a songs proudly has kept
Always a raised feelings,
An impulses of a virgin dream
And a charm of an important simplicity.

X

He sang the love, to a love the obedient,
And him song was clear,
As a thoughts of the maiden ingenuous,
As a dream of the baby, as the moon
In a deserts of the sky serene,
The goddess of a secrets and sighs gentle.
He sang a separation and grief,
And something, and a foggy distance,
And a romantic roses;
He sang those far countries,
Where long in a silence bosom
Him live tears flew;
He sang a faded lives flower
Without a small in eighteen years.

XI

In desert, where one Evgeny
Could estimate him gifts,
The misters of the neighbor settlements
He did not like a feasts;
He ran their conversations noisy.
Their conversation reasonable
About a haymaking, about a fault,
About a kennel, about a relatives,
Certainly, did not shine a feeling,
Neither a poetic fire,
Nor a joke, nor a mind,
Nor a hostels art;
But a talking of their lovely wives
Was much less clever.

XII

The rich, the good himself, Lensky
Everywhere has been accepted as the groom;
Such is a custom rural;
All were designated the daughters
For the semirussian neighbour;
Whether he will ascend, immediately a talking
Gets a word by the party
About a boredom of a life single;
Call the neighbour to a samovar,
And Dunya spills a tea;
To him whisper: 'Dunya, notice! '
Then bring also a guitar:
And it will begin to squeak (my god!) :
Come to a hall to me golden! . {12}

XIII

But Lensky have not of course,
Hunting a marriage bonds bring,
With Onegin was wished warmly
An acquaintance shorter counting.
They have converged. A wave and a stone,
A verses and prose, an ice and a fire
Are not so various between them.
At first a mutual differ
They were each other boring;
Then were pleasant; then
Were gathered every day by a ride
And became soon unseparable.
So a people (the first I repent)
From there do nothing are a friends.

XIV

But the friendship is not and that between us.
All prejudices exterminated,
We esteem all in zero,
And by an units- us.
All of us looks in Napoleons;
Biped creatures are millions
For us the tool is one;
To us the feeling wildly and ridiculously.
Evgeny was more tolerable than many;
Though he, of course, knew a people
And in general them has despised, -
But (a rules are not present bar none)
He very much has distinguished others
And has respected others feeling.

XV

He listened Lensky with a smile.
The poet ardent talking,
And a mind, still in a judging unsteady,
And eternally a inspired look, -
Onegin all was new;
A cool word he
In lips has tried to keep
And thought: silly to me to disturb
To him minute pleasure;
And without me the time will come;
Let go he lives
Yes trusts the world of a perfection;
Let's forgive to a fever of young years
Both a young heat and young delirium.

XVI

Between of them all gave rise to a disputes
And to a reflexion attracted:
A past tribes contracts,
A fruits of a sciences, a kind and angry,
And a century prejudices,
And a secret fatal coffin,
A destiny and life in a succession,
All was exposed to their court.
The poet in a heat of own judgements
Read, having forgotten, meanwhile
A fragments of a northern poems,
And indulgent Evgeny,
Though them understood not much,
Diligently to the young man was listened.

XVII

But a minds of deserters mine
More often were occupied a passions
Leaved from their rebellious power,
Onegin spoke about them
With an involuntary sigh of a regret:
One is blissful, who knew them weary
And at last them has lagged behind;
The one more bliss who did not know them,
Who cooled the love by a apart,
An enmity by a malignant gossip; at times
Yawned with a friends and with the wife,
Not being anxious a jealous flour,
And a grandfathers true capital
To the artful two did not entrust.

XVIII

When we will rerun under a blame
Of a reasonable silence,
When a passions flame will ashed,
And to us become ridiculous
Its own will-nity or an impulses
And an overdue responses, -
A restrained not without an effort,
We like to listen sometimes
A passions of a rebellious strangers language,
And to us it move the heart.
So precisely an old invalid
Willingly decline the diligent hear
To a stories of young moustache men,
Forgotten in own hut.

XIX

In so and an ardent youth
Cannot hide anything.
An enmity, love, grief and pleasure
It is ready to stir up.
In love being considered as an invalid,
Onegin was listened pompously,
As, a heart confession loving,
The poet stated himself;
Own trustful conscience
He ingenuously is bared.
Evgeny has knew without an effort
Him love young story,
The plentiful by a feelings story,
For a long time is not a new to us.

XX

Ah, he was loved, as in ours years
Any more do not love; as one
Mad soul of a poet
More to love is condemned:
Always, everywhere one dreaming,
One habitual desire,
One habitual grief.
Neither a cooling distance,
Nor a long years of an apart,
Nor to a muses given a hours,
Nor a foreign beauty,
Neither a noise of a fun, nor a sciences
Have not changed a soul in him,
Warmed by a virgin fire.

XXI

Hardly an adolescent, by Olga captivated,
A heart torments yet not knowed,
He was the witness charmed
Her infantile enjoyments;
In a shade of a keeping oak groves
He was divided her enjoyments,
And the friends-neighbors, their fathers
To a children designated a wreaths
In a solitude, under a restrained seny,
An innocent charm she is full,
In the opinion of a parents, she
Was blossomed, as a lily undercovered,
Unknown in a deaf grass
Neither a moths, nor a bee.

XXII

She to the poet has presented
Of a young delights a first dream,
And the thought about her has en-souled
Him cevnitsa the first groan.
Forgive, a games golden!
He has enloved a dense groves,
An alone, a silence,
Both a night, and a stars, and the moon,
The moon, the heavenly icon lamp,
To which we were devoted
A walks among an evening darkness,
And a tears, a secret torments joy...
But now we see only in it
A replacement of a dim lanterns.

XXIII

She is always modest, she is always obedient,
Always as a morning cheerful,
As a life of the poet is ingenuous,
As a love kiss is charmed;
An eyes, as the sky, blue,
A smile, ringlets linen,
A movements, a voice, an easy camp,
All in Olga... But any novel
Take and will find truly
Her portrait: it is very charm,
I was loved it before,
But it has bothered me immensely.
Allow me, my reader,
To be engaged the elder sister.

XXIV

Her sister was called Tatyana... {13}
For the first time by a such name
A gentle pages of the novel
We will free willy consecrated.
And what go by? It is pleasant, sonorous;
But with it, I know, unseparably
A remembering of an ancient
Or of a maiden! All of us should
To admit: a very little taste
At us and in our names
(We do not speak about a verses):
To us an education has not stuck,
And to us has got from it
An affection, - more anything.

XXV

So, she was called Tatyana.
Neither a beauty of own sister,
Nor her freshness ruddy
She would not involve an eyes.
The wild, the sad, the silent,
As the fallow deer wood is timid,
She in the native family
Was seemed the stranger girl.
She was not able to caress
To the father, to the mother;
The child herself, in a crowd of a children
Did not want to play and jump
And frequently the whole day the alone
Sat silently at a window.

XXVI

The thoughtfulness, her girlfriend
From the lullabies days,
The rural leisure stream
By the dreams it is decorated to her.
Her coddled fingers
Did not know a needles; declined on a tambour,
By the silk pattern she
Did not revived a cloth.
A hunting sign to dominate,
With an obedient dole the child
Prepares joking
To a decency - to the law of a light,
And important repeats to its
A lessons of own mammy.

XXVII

But a dolls even in these years
Tatyana in a hands did not take;
About city messages, about a fashions
Did not conduct with it a toldings.
And there was children's mischief
To her are alien: a terrifying stories
In a winter in the dark nights
Were captivated more a heart to her.
When the nurse was collected
For Olga on a wide meadow
All her small girlfriends,
She in a torches did not play,
To her was boring also the sonorous laughter,
And a noise of their windy joys.

XXVIII

She was loved on a balcony
To warn a dawn rising,
When in a pale sky
Of a stars a round dance disappears,
And silently the edge of the earth brightens,
And, the bulletin of a morning, a wind blows,
And a day ascends gradually.
In the winter, when a night shade
By the half-world to a dale possesses,
And to a dale in an idle silence,
At the foggy moon,
The east lazy rests,
At a habitual o'clock waked
She rose at a candles.

XXIX

To her early a novels were liked;
Its to her were replaced all;
She was enloved in a deceits
And of Richardson and of Russo.
Her father was the good guy,
In the last century the overdue;
But in a books did not see a hurt;
He, not reading never,
Was esteemed its an empty toy
And did not care of that,
What at a daughter secret volume
Was dozed till the morning under a pillow.
Her wife was being
From Richardson without mind.

XXX

She was loved Richardson
Not therefore, that has read,
Not therefore, that Grandison
She has preferred to Lovlas; {14}
But in olden time princess Alina,
Her Moscow cousin,
Was repeated often to her about them.
At that time there was still a groom
Her spouse, but on a bondage;
She was sighed to other,
Which by a heart and mind
To her was pleasant much more:
This Grandison was the nice dandy,
The player and the guards sergeant.

XXXI

As he has, she has been dressed
Always on a fashion and to the face;
But, not asking her council,
The maiden have carried to a wreath.
And, that to disseminate her grief,
The reasonable husband has left soon
In own village, where she,
God knows whom is surrounded,
Was torn and cried at first,
With the spouse has not divorced really;
Then by an own hold was engaged,
Has got habit and became happy.
The habit from above is given us:
A replacement to a happiness it is {15}.

XXXII

The habit has sweeting a grief,
Not reflected by anything;
The big opening soon
Has consoled her absolutely:
She between a business and leisure
Has revealed a secret, as by the spouse
Autocratically to operate,
And all then to become trite on.
She has drived on a works,
Has salted for the winter a mushrooms,
Has conducted an expenses, has shaved a foreheads,
Went to a bath on a saturdays,
Angry beat a servants -
All it the husband, not asking.

XXXIII

Happened, she has writen by a blood
In an albums of a gentle maidens,
Has called by Polina to Praskovya
And spoke by a melody,
Has carried a very narrow corset,
And russian Н as french N
Was able to say in a nose;
But soon all was transferred:
A corset, album, princess Alina,
A sensitive rhymes writing-book
She has forgotten: began to call
By Aculka former Selina
And has updated at last
On a cotton wool a shlafor and a cap.

XXXIV

But the husband was loved her heart-ly,
In her inventions did not enter,
In all to her was believed carelessly,
And own in a dressing gown he ate also saws;
Quietly him life slid;
Towards an evening sometimes
A neighbours kind family were converged,
Not a ceremonious friends,
And to grieve and to say spiteful things,
And to laugh about same what.
A time passes; meanwhile
Will order to Olga to prepare a tea,
There the supper, there and a time to sleep,
And a visitors go from a court yard.

XXXV

They does stored in a peace life
A habits of a charmy ancien;
At them on a fat pancake week
A russian pancakes were found;
Two times a year they does eated much;
Were loved a round swing,
An underdish songs, a round dance;
In day Troitsyn, when the people,
Were yawning, listens a mass,
With an affection on a dawn bunch
They dropped a three tearlets;
Them a kvass as an air was required,
And behind a table at them to a visitors
A dishes on a ranks were carried.

XXXVI

And so they grew old both.
And were opened at last
Before the spouse a door of a coffin,
And new he did pleased a wreath.
He has died at an o'clock before a dinner,
The cried by the neighbour,
By a children and the right wife
More clear by a heart, than other.
He was the simple and kind barin,
And there, where him ashes lie,
The gravestone monument says:
The restrained sinner, Dmitry Larin,
The dominical slave and the foreman,
Under this stone tastes the peace.

XXXVII

The returned to own penates,
Vladimir Lensky has visited
The neighbour monument restrained,
And he has devoted a sigh to an ashes;
And long to a heart it was sad.
'Roor Yorick! {16} - he said sadly. -
He on a arms held me.
As I am played frequent in the childhood
Him Ochakovsky medal!
He did designated Olga for me,
He spoke: whether I will wait a day? .'
And, full by a sincere grief,
Vladimir has there and then traced
To him a gravestone madrigal.

XXXVIII

And in the same place an sad inscription
The father and mother, in a tears,
He respect a patriarchal ashes...
Alas! On a vital reins
By the instant harvest of a generation,
On a secret will of a propheting,
Ascend, ripen and will fall;
Others them after go...
So our windy tribe
Grows, worries, boils
And restricts a grand-grandfathers to a coffin.
Will come, our time will come also,
And our grandsons in a good time
From the world will force out us also!

XXXIX

Still revel by it,
This easy life, a friends!
Its negligibility I understand
And a little to it I am adhered;
For a phantoms I have closed a knows;
But the remote hopes
Disturb a heart sometimes:
Without an imperceptible trace
To me it would be sad the world to leave.
I live, I write not for a praises;
But I, apparently, would wish
The sad own lot to glorify,
That about me, as the loyal friend,
Has reminded though a uniform sound.

XL

And a someone's heart he will touch;
And, kept by a destiny,
Perhaps, in the Years will not sink
The stanza composed by me;
Perhaps (a flatter hope!) ,
The future ignoramus will specify
On my glorified portrait
And says: that -be-that was the poet!
Accept mine good pleasures,
The admirer of a peace aonids,
Oh you, whose memory will keep
My flying creations,
Whose favourable hand
Will blamed a laurels of the old man!

CHAPTER THE THIRD

Elle etait fille, elle etait amoureuse.
Malfilatre.

I

'Where go? Be these to me poets! '
- Farewell, Onegin, is time to me.
'I am not hold you; but where you
Spend own evenings? '
- At Larins. - 'So it is wonderful.
Pardon! And you is not difficult
There every evening to kill? '
- Not at all. - 'I can not understand.
From this time I see what such is:
First (listen, whether I rights?) ,
A simple, a russian family,
To a visitors the big diligence,
A jam, an eternal talking
About a rain, about a flax, about a farmyard...'

II

- I here still do not see a troubles.
'Yes a boredom, so a trouble, my friend'.
- I hate a fashionable your light;
More charmer to me a family circle,
Where I can... - 'Again acloga!
Yes it is full, darling, for God's sake.
Well? You go: it is a pity.
Ah, listen, Lensky; yes either it is impossible
To see to me this Fillida,
A subject and of a thoughts, and of a feather,
Both a tears, and a rhymes et cetera? .
Present me '. - You joke. -'No'.
- I am glad. - 'When be? ' - Though now.
They with a pleasure will accept us.

III

Let's go. -
A friends have jumped,
Came; by them are chiseled
At a times a heavy services
Of a hospitable ancient.
A ceremony known of a food eating:
Bears on a saucers a jam,
On a little table put the waxen
Jug with a cowberry water.
..............
..............
..............
..............
..............
..............

IV

They by the most short road
Home fly at a full speed {17}.
Now we will overhear furtively
The our heroes talking:
- Well what be, Onegin? You yawn. -
'A habit, Lensky'. - But you bore
Somehow more. - 'No, equally.
However in the field it is dark;
More soon! Has gone, has gone, Andryushka!
What silly places!
And by the way: Larina is simple,
But a very charm old woman;
I am afraid: a cowberry water
To me would not do hurt.

V

Tell: which is Tatyana? '
- Yes that, which is sad
And is silent, as Svetlana,
Has entered and sit at a window. -
'Really you are enamoured the smaller? '
- And what is? - 'I would choose another,
When I would be, as you, the poet.
In a lines at Olga a live is not.
Exactly in Vandikov Madona:
Circle, she is red by a face,
As this silly moon
In this silly sky '.
Vladimir chilly did answered
And after in all way was silent.

VI

Meanwhile an Onegin appearance
At Larinyh has made
On all a big impression
And all neighbours has entertained.
The guess behind a guess has gone.
All began to interpret furtively,
To joke, to judge not without a sin,
To Tatyana to designate the groom;
Others even confirmed,
That wedding is coped absolutely,
But it is stopped then,
That a fashionable rings they have not got.
About a Lensky wedding for a long time
At them it has been solved.

VII

Tatyana did listened with an annoy
A such gossips; but secretly
With an un-explain enjoy
Involuntarily she thought to that;
And in a heart the thought was aroused;
A time has come, she has enloved.
So in the earth the fallen grain
By a spring fire is revived.
For a long time her imagination,
Burning down by a luxury and melancholy,
Did craved for a fatal food;
For a long time a heart weary
Restricted to her a young breast;
The soul did waited... Somebody,

VIII

And has waited... The eyes have opened;
She has told: this is he!
Alas! Now both a days and nights,
And a hot lonely dream,
All is full him; all to the maiden darling
Unceasingly by a magic power
Repeats about him. A tiresome to her is
And a sounds of a tender speeches,
And a look of a careful servants.
In a despondency she is shipped,
A visitors she is not listened
And damns them leisure,
Their unexpected arrival
And a long sitting.

IX

Now with a kind attention she
Reads the delightful novel,
With a kind live charming
Drinks a seductive deceit!
By a happy force of a dreaming
An en-souled creation,
The lover of Julia Volmar,
Malek-Adele and de Linar,
And Werther, the rebellious martyr,
And matchless Grandison {18},
Which to us makes sleepy, -
All for the gentle dreamess
In a uniform image have clothed,
In one Onegin have merged.

X

Being imagined by a heroess?
Of own enloved creators,
Clarisa, Julia, Delfina,
Tatyana in a silence of a woods
Alone with the dangerous book wanders,
She in it searches and finds
The secret heat, own dreams,
Fruits of a warm completeness,
Sighs and, to herself owned
Another's delight, another's grief,
In a forgotten whispers by a heart
The letter for the lovely hero...
But our hero whoever was he,
Truly there was not Grandison.

XI

Own syllable setting on an important harmony,
Happened, the ardent creator
Showed to us own hero
As a sample of a perfection.
He did endowed a favourite subject,
Always injustly hearden,
By a sensitive soul, by a mind
And by an attractive face.
Feeding a heat of the cleanest passion,
Always the enthusiastic hero
Was ready to endow himself,
And at the end of a last part
A defect has always been punished,
To a good a worthy wreath was.

XII

And now all minds in a fog,
The morals make us sleepy,
A defect is kind - and in the novel,
And there it triumphs.
A fable of the British muse
Disturb a dream of a fellow-ess,
And there was now her idol
Or the thoughtful Vampire,
Or Melmot, the tramp gloomy,
Either the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,
Or mysterious Sbogar {19}.
Lord Byron by a successful whim
Has invested with a sad romanticism
And a hopeless egoism.

XIII

My friends what I pound in it?
Perhaps, by a heavens will,
I will cease to be a poet,
In me the new demon will be installed,
And, having disdained a Febov threats,
I will be humiliated to the restrained prose;
Then the novel in the old manner
Will occupy a cheerful my decline.
Not a torments of a secret villainies
I am terrible in it I will image,
But simply to you I will retell
Legend of a russian family,
A love captivating dreams
Yes a customs of our ancient.

XIV

I will retell a simple speeches
Of the father or the uncle-old man,
A children appoint meetings
At an old lindens, at a streamlet;
An unfortunate jealousy torments,
A apart, a en-peaceing tears,
I will quarrel again, and at last
I will lead them under a wreath...
I will remember a speeches of a passionate luxury,
A words of a grieving love,
Which in a last days
At a feet of the fine lovess
To me came on a language,
From which I have weaned now.

XV

Tatyana, darling Tatyana!
With you now I pour a tears;
You in a hands of the fashionable tyrant
Has given the destiny.
You will be lost, the darling; but before
You in a dazzling hope
Call a dark blessing,
You know a luxury of a life,
You drink a magic poison of a desires,
A dreams are pursued you:
Everywhere you imagine
A shelters of a happy meets;
Everywhere, everywhere before you
Your fatal tempter is.

XVI

The melancholy of love heard Tatyana,
And she go to long to a garden,
And suddenly decline a motionless eyes,
And a laziness to her to step further.
The breast, cheeks has risen
By an instant flame are covered,
A breath has stood in a lips,
And in a hearing a noise, and a shine in an eyes...
A night will come; the moon bypasses
By a patrol the far arch of a heavens,
And a nightingale in a three haze
Gets a sonorous tunes.
Tatyana in the dark does not sleep
And silently with the nurse speaks:

XVII

'Not to be sleep, the nurse: here so it is stuffy!
Open a window yes sit down to me '.
- What, Tanya, what is with you? - 'To me it is boring,
Let's talk about an ancient'.
- About what, Tanya? I, happened,
Was stored in a memory much
An ancient be, a fables
About an evil ghosts and about a maidens;
And now all to me is dark, Tanya:
That knew, has forgotten. Yes,
The thin train has come!
Has hurt... - 'Tell to me, the nurse,
About your old year:
You have been enamoured then? '

XVIII

- And, full, Tanya! In these years
We have not heard about a love;
And that would heard from a light
Me the dead woman the mother-in-law. -
'Yes as you got married, the nurse? '
- So, it is visible, god ordered. My Vanya,
My light, was younger than me,
And there were to me thirteen years.
Weeks two the matchmaker went
To my relatives, and at last
The father has blest me.
I bitterly cried from a fear,
To me with a cry a plait did spin
Yes with a sing in a church have moved.

XIX

And here have entered into a another's family...
Yes you do not listen to me... -
'Ah, the nurse, the nurse, I grieve,
To me nausea, my darling:
I to cry, I am ready to sob! .'
- My child, you are unhealthy;
The Lord pardon and rescue!
What you want, ask...
Give I will sprinkle by a sacred water,
All you burn... - 'I am not sick:
I... You know, the nurse... enamoured '.
- My child, the Lord with you! -
And the nurse did the girl with an entreaty
Christened by a decrepit hand.

XX

'I am enamoured', - she was whispered again
To the old woman sorrowfully.
- The hearty friend, you are unhealthy.
'Leave me: I am enamoured'.
And meanwhile the moon shone
And by the languid light did lighted up
The Tatyana pale beauty,
And a dismissed hairs,
And a drops of a tears, and on a bench
Before the young heroine,
With a scarf on a head grey-haired,
The old woman in a long padded jacket;
And all was dozed in a silence
At the embreathing moon.

XXI

And a heart far did rushed
Tatyana, looking at the moon...
Suddenly the thought in her mind was born...
'Go, leave me one.
Give, the nurse, me a feather, a paper,
Yes a table move; I will soon lay down;
Forgive '. And here she is one.
All is silent. The moon shines to her.
Having lean by the elbow, Tatyana writes,
And still Evgeny is on the mind,
And in the rash letter
The love of the innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, combined...
Tatyana! For whom it is?

XXII

I knew an inaccessible beautiess,
A cold, pure, as a winter,
A relentless, incorruptible,
An incomprehensible for a mind;
I did marvelled their arrogance fashionable,
Their natural virtues,
And, I admit, from them ran,
And, it is thought, with a horror read
Over their eyebrows a hell inscription:
Give up a hope for ever {20}.
To inspire a love for them a trouble,
To frighten people for them a joy.
Perhaps, on a Neva coasts
A similar ladies you saw.

XXIII

Among an obedient admirers
Others wonder-ess I saw,
A ambitiously indifferent
For a passionate and praises sighs.
And what I have found with an amazing?
They, by a severe govering
Frightening a shy love,
Were able her to involve again
At least by a regret,
At least a sound of a speeches
Was seemed sometimes more gently,
And with a credulous blinding
Again the young lover
Ran behind a lovely vanity.

XXIV

For what Tatyana is more guilty?
Either for that that in a lovely simplicity
She does not know a deceit
And trusts to the selected dream?
Either for that that loves without an art,
An obedient attraction of a feelings,
That so she is trustful,
That from a heavens she is dared
By an rebellious imagination,
By a mind and live will,
And by a capricious head,
And by an ardent and gentle heart?
Really do not forgive to her
You a levity of a passions?

XXV

The coquette judges coolly,
Tatyana loves not joking
And indulges certainly
To a love, as the lovely child.
She does not speak: we will postpone -
A love price we by that will increase,
More truly in a seine we will driven up;
At first a vanity we will prick
By a hope, there by an un-understanded
Let's exhaust heart, and then
By the jealous we will revive a fire;
And that, longing by a sweeting,
The artful slave from a fetters
Hourly ready to escape.

XXVI

Still I expect a difficulty:
The native earth honour rescuing,
I should, without a doubt,
Translates the Tatyana's letter.
She knew the russian badly,
Did not read our magazines
And was expressed hardly
In language native,
So, wrote in the french...
What is to do! I repeat again:
Till now a ladies' love
Did not explained in the russian,
Till now a proud our language
Has not got used to a post prose.

XXVII

I know: want by a force a ladies
To read in a russian. The right, a fear!
Whether I can present them to myself
With 'Loyal' {21} in a hands!
I am sent on you, my poets;
Neither a truth: a lovely subjects,
Which, for own sins,
You wrote secretly a verses,
To which devoted a heart,
Neither all, by a russian
Owning poorly and hardly,
It so lovely deformed,
And in their lips the stranger language
Either has addressed in the native?

XXVIII

Do not allow God to me to converge on a ball
Or at a travel on a porch
With the seminarist in a yellow chalet
Or with the academician in a cap!
As a ruddy lips without a smile,
Without a grammatical error
I do not love a russian speech.
Perhaps, on my trouble,
A beautine of a new generation,
A magazines having listened an asking voice,
To a grammar will accustom us;
A verses will enter in a customу;
But I... What is a business to me?
I will be true to an ancient.

XXIX

A wrong, negligent babble,
An inexact reprimand of a speeches
Will make in my breast
Again a hearty trembling;
To repent there is no a force in me,
To me gallizisms will be lovely,
As a last youth sins,
As a Bogdanovich verses.
But it is full. Its time to me to be engaged
By the letter of my beautine;
I gave a word, and what be? To her
Now ready to refuse.
I know: a gentle Parny
Feather is not in a fashion today.

XXX

Singer Pirov and languid grief {22},
When still you would be with me,
I would become by an immodest ask
To disturb you, my darling:
That on a magic tunes
You have shifted the passionate maiden
Words of a others tribe.
Where you are? Come: own rights
I transfer to you with a bow...
But among a sad rocks,
Having weaned by a heart from a praises,
One, under a finnish sky,
He wanders, and him soul
Do not hear my grief.

XXXI

The Tatyana's letter before me;
I piously protect it,
I read with a secret grieve
And I can not read enough.
Who did inspired her and this tenderness,
And a words kind negligence?
Who did inspired her a humilate nonsense,
A mad hearts talking,
Both fascinating and hurting?
I cannot understand. But here
An incomplete, weak transfer,
From a tableau vivant the list pale
Or played Freyshits
By a fingers of a shy schoolgirls:

Tatyana's letter to Onegin

I to you write - what be more?
What can I tell still?
Now, I know, in your will
Me by a contempt to punish.
But you, to my unfortunate share
Though a pity drop storing,
You will not leave me.
At first I did wanted to deaf;
Believe: my shame
You would not know never,
When I would have a hope
Though rare, though in a week a time
In our village to see you,
Only to hear your speeches,
To you a word to say, and then
All to think, to think about one
And day and night to a new meeting.
But, speak, you are unsociable;
In a solitude, in a village all to you is boring,
And we... Anything we do not shine,
Though to you also are glad ingenuously.

Why you have visited us?
In a solitude of the forgotten settlement
I never would know you,
Would not know a bitter torment.
A souls not skilled weary
Having restrained in a temp (how to know?) ,
On a heart I would find the friend,
There would be a faithful wife
And a good virtue mother.

Another! . No, to anybody on a light
I would not give a heart!
That is fated in a high council...
That will of the sky: I am yours;
All my life was a pledge
Of a true meet with you;
I know, you are sent me by god,
To a coffin you are my keeper...
You in a sleepy dreams to me were
Hidden, you to me were lovely,
Your wonderful sight has wearied me,
In a soul your voice was distributed
For a long time... No, it there was not a dream!
You hardly have entered, I have know in a moment,
Was stupefied whole, has flared
And in a thoughts said: here is he!
Neither a truth? I have heard you:
You spoke with me in a calm,
When I did helped to a poors
Or by a prayer charmed
A melancholy of a excited soul?
And during this instant
Neither you, a lovely image,
In an transparent darkness has flashed,
Did slim silently to a headboard?
Neither you, with a joy and love,
Did whispered a words of a hope to me?
Who are you, either my angel keeper,
Or the artful tempter:
Solve my doubts.
Perhaps, this all is empty,
Deceit an un-skilled soul!
And other awfully is fated...
But so and to be! My destiny
Henceforth I hand to you,
Before you a tears I pour,
Your protection I beg...
Imagine: I am here one,
Anybody does not understand me,
My mind is exhausted,
And to die silently I should.
I wait for you: by an uniform look
A hopes of a heart you revive
Or a dream heavy break,
Alas, by the deserved reproach!

I finish! It is terrible to re-read...
By a shame and fear I fade...
But me a bail is your honour,
Also dared to it I entrust me...

XXXII

Tatyana so will sigh, so will say oh;
The letter shivers in her hand;
The pink oblatka dries
In the inflamed language.
To a shoulder by a head was inclined,
The easy shirt has gone down
From her charming shoulder...
But here a lunar beam
Shine ashed away. There a valley
Through a steam becomes clearer. There a stream
Is silvered; there a small horn
Of a shepherd awakes the peasant.
Here morning: have risen all for a long time,
To my Tatyana all the same.

XXXIII

She does not notice a dawn,
Sits with a bowed head
And the letter does not pressured
By the cutting press.
But, a door quietly unlocking,
To it Filipevna grey-haired
Brings on a tray tea.
'It is time, my child, awake:
Yes you, the beauty, are ready!
Oh a little bird early mine!
Evening as I was afraid!
Yes, thank God, you are healthy!
The night melancholy and a trace is not present,
Your face is as a poppies colour '.

XXXIV

- Ah! The nurse, make a due. -
'To will, native, do an order'.
- Do not think... rightly...a suspicion...
But you see... Ah! Do not refuse. -
'My friend, here god to you bail'.
- So, have gone quietly the grandson
With a note of this to О... To that...
To the neighbour... Yes to order to him,
That he did not speak a words,
That he did not name me... -
'To whom, my darling?
I became confused now.
Around a neighbours are much;
Where go to me them and to re-read '.

XXXV

- How you are inscrutable, the nurse! -
'The hearty friend, I am old,
An old; the mind grows dull, Tanya;
And that, happened, I am sharp,
Happened, a word of a lordly will...'
- Ah, the nurse, the nurse! Whether before?
What needs to me in your mind?
You see, a business about the letter
To Onegin. - 'Well, business, business.
Be not angry, my soul,
You know, I am not clear...
Yes why you have again turned pale? '
- So, the nurse, a right of anything.
Send et own grandson.

XXXVI

But day has leaked, and there is no answer.
Another has come: so no as no.
She is pale, as a shade, since a morning the dressed,
Tatyana waits: when is the answer?
There has arrived the Olga adorer.
'Tell: where is your friend? -
To it the question of the mistress was. -
He us has absolutely forgotten somehow'.
Tatyana, having flashed, has begun to tremble.
- Today to be he is promised, -
To the old woman Lensky was answered, -
Yes, it is visible, a mail has detained. -
Tatyana has looked down,
As though hearing a malicious reproach.

XXXVII

Got dark; on a table, shining,
The evening samovar did hissed,
Heating up the chinese teapot;
Under it an easy steam was curled.
Poured by the Olga arm,
On a cups by a dark stream
Already a fragrant tea ran,
And a boy did submitted cream;
Tatyana stood before a window,
Breathing on a cold glasses,
Having thinking, my soul,
By a charming finger wrote
On a foggy glass
A treasured monogram O and Е.

XXXVIII

And meanwhile the soul was ashed in her,
And the languid look was full a tears.
Suddenly a footfall! . Her blood has stiffened.
Here is closer! Skip... And on a court yard
Evgeny! 'Ah! ' - and more easier than a shade
Tatyana jump in other outer entrance hall,
From a porch on a court yard, and rightly in a garden,
Flies, flies; to look back
Does not dare; instantly has run all over
A curtains, bridges, meadow,
An avenue to lake, woodlet,
Did broken a bushes of a sirens,
On a flower beds flying to a stream.
And, choking, on a bench

XXXIX

Has fallen...
'Here is he! Here Evgeny!
About my God! What he has thought! '
In her the heart, full of a tortures,
Stores a hopes dark dream;
She shivers and radiates a heat,
And waits: whether go? But does not hear.
In a garden the servants, on a ridges,
Collects a berry in a bushes
And a chorus under the order sang
(The order based on those,
That a lordly berry secretly
A lips crafty did not eat
And by a sang have been occupied:
An invention of a rural sharpness!)

Song of girls

A maidens, beauties,
A souls, friends,
Be played a maidens,
Clear up, darlings!
Tighten a song,
Song treasured,
Entice the good fellow
To our round dance,
As we will entice the good fellow,
As we will catch a sight from afar,
Go to run, darlings,
Let's throw a cherry,
A chery, rapsberry,
A red currant.
Do not go to overhear
A songs treasured,
Do not go to peep
A games of our maiden.

ХL

They sing, and, with a neglect
Listening to their sonorous voice,
Tatyana with an impatience was waited,
That the trembling of a heart in her has calmed down,
That a cheeks burning has passed.
But in a persy the same trembling is,
And does not pass a heat of a cheeks,
But more brightly, more brightly only burns...
So a poor moth and bliss
And fights by an iridescent wing,
Captivated by the school rascal;
So hare-let trembles in a winter crop,
Seeing suddenly from an apart
In a bushes an infalling arrower.

ХLI

But at last she has sighed
And has risen from own bench;
Has gone, but only has turned
In an avenue, directly before her,
Shining with looks, Evgeny
Stands like a terrible shade,
And, as by a fire she is burnt,
She has stopped.
But consequences of an unexpected meeting
Today, dear friends,
To retell I am not in a forces;
To me should after a long speech
And to take a walk and have a rest:
I will finish after somehow.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH

La morale est dans la nature des choses.
Necker.

I. II. III. IV. V. VI

VII

Than there is less a woman we love,
That we are easier are pleasant to her
And by that does more truly ruined
Among a seductive seines.
A debauchery, happened, cooly bloody
By a loving science was famous,
About itself everywhere blowing
And enjoying without loving.
But this important enjoyment
Is worthy an old monkeys
Gloryfied antiquated temps:
The lovelas glory has decayed
With a glory of a red heels
And a stately wigs.

VIII

To whom to play the hypocrite is not boring,
Variously to repeat one,
To try to assure important in that,
What is all are assured for a long time,
All the same to hear an objection,
To destroy a resoning-fore,
Which was not and is not present
At the girl in thirteen years!
Who will be not not tired by a threats,
A prayer, oaths, imaginary fear,
A notes on a six sheets,
A deceits, gossips, rings, tears,
A supervisions of an aunts, mothers
And a friendship heavy if a husbands!

IX

So my Evgenie precisely thoughts.
He in the first youth
Was a victim of a rough errors
And an unrestrained passions.
By a life habit he is spoilt,
By one for a while is fascinated,
Disappointed by another,
By a desire slowly is weary,
Is weary and by a windy success,
Listening in a noise and in a calm
A eternal ruttle of a soul,
The yawn suppressing by a laughter:
Here how is he has killed an eight years,
Lost a lives best colour.

X

He was not enlove et a beautines,
And did dragged somehow;
Will refuse - in a trice was consoled;
Will change - was glad to have a rest.
He did searched for them without an ensinging,
And left without a regret,
Hardly remembering their love and a rage.
So precisely indifferent visitor
On a whist evening comes,
Sits down; a game has come to an end:
He leaves from a court yard,
Easy falls asleep at home
And own does not know in a morning,
Where will go in an evening.

XI

But, having received the Tanya send,
Onegin live has been touched:
A language of a maidenly dreams
In it a thoughts by a plenty has revolted;
And he did remembered darling Tatyana
Both a pale colour and a sad kind;
And in a delightful, innocent dream
By a soul he has plunged.
Perhaps, a ancient heat of a feelings
Them for a minute has seized;
But to deceive he did not want
A trustfulness of a innocent soul.
Now we will fly in a garden,
Where there was Tatyana with him.

XII

A two minutes they were silent,
But Onegin has approached to her
And said: 'you to me wrote,
Do not open. I have read
A souls trustful recognition,
A love innocent flow out;
To me your sincerity is lovely;
She in a weary has resulted
For a long time a deafed feelings;
But to praise you I do not want;
I for her to you will pay back
By a recognition also without an art;
Accept my confession:
Myself on a court to you I give.

XIII

When a life by a family circle
I have wanted to limit;
When to me to be the father, the spouse
The pleasant lot did ruled;
When be a family picture
I was captivated though an uni moment, -
That, truly, except you one,
Did not search the other bride.
I will tell without mandrigale spangles:
A finder my former ideal,
I, truly, have selected you one
In the girlfriend of my sad days,
To an all fine as a deposit,
And I would be happy... How many could!

XIV

But I am not created for a pleasure;
To it my soul is alien;
Yours perfections are vain:
I am unworthy them really.
Believe (a conscience in that bail) ,
The matrimony to us will be a flour.
I, how many would love you,
Habituded, I will stop loving yet;
Will start to cry: your tears
Is not touched my heart,
And will enrage only him.
You judge, what a roses
Gimeney will prepared to us
And, maybe, for many days.

XV

What can exist worse in a light
A familiy, where the poor wife
Longs for the unworthy husband,
Both in the afternoon and in the evening alone;
Where the boring husband, to her the price knowing
(A destiny, however, damning) ,
He is always frowned, silent,
Annoys and is coldy- jealous!
I am that. And for that does searched
You by a pure, ardent soul,
When with a such simplicity,
With a such mind to me wrote?
Really a such lot to you
It is appointed by a restrict destiny?

XVI

A dreams and years do not have return;
I will not update my soul...
I love you by a love of the brother
And, maybe, do even more gentle.
Listen to me without an anger:
The young maiden will replace not once
by a dreams an easy dreams;
So own sheets a tree
Changes with every spring.
So it is visible the sky do fated.
You will love again: but...
Learn to dominate youself;
Not everyone will understand you as I do;
To a trouble an inexperience conducts '.

XVII

So Evgeny preached.
Through a tears without seeing anything,
Hardly breathing, without an objections,
Tatyana did listened to him.
He has offered an arm to her. Sadly
(As be say, mechanically)
Tatyana silently has leant,
Inclined by a languid head;
Have gone home round a kitchen garden;
Together appeared, and anybody
Has not think to pined them on that.
A rural freedom has
Own happy rights,
As well as a haughty Moscow.

XVIII

You are agree, my reader,
That has very like do done
With sad Tanya our friend;
Not for the first time he here did showed
A direct nobleness soul,
Though a people un-well-wish-nity
In him did not spare anything:
Him enemies, him friends
(That, maybe, is the same)
Him are abused so and by so.
An enemies everybody has in the world,
But from a friends rescue us, my God!
Et to me a friends, friends!
I was remembered they not in vain.

XIX

And what is? Yes so. I lull
An empty, black dreams;
Only in a brackets I notice,
That there is no a contemptible slander,
On an attic by the liar a born
And by a vulgar society a encouraged,
That is not present a such ridiculous,
An squire epigrams,
Which your friend with a smile,
In a circle of a decent people,
Without any rage and inventions,
Has not repeated a hundred times by an error;
And however, he is for you a mountain:
He so loves you... As a native!

XX

Hm! Hm! The reader noble,
Either are healthy your all relatives?
Allow: can be, it is necessary
Now to know to you from me,
That means the native.
Native people here what:
We are obliged to caress them,
To love, sincerely to respect
And, on a custom of the people,
About Christmas them to visit
Or by mail to congratulate,
That the rest temps of an year
They did not think about us...
So, God give them a long days!

XXI

But a love of a gentle beautine is
More reliably friendship and native-hood:
Over it and among a rebellious storms
You keep the rights.
Certainly so. But a whirle of a fashions,
But a same will of the nature,
But a secular opinion stream...
And a likely floor as the down, is easy.
To that and an opinions of the spouse
For the good- make wife
Always should be respect;
So your faithful companione
Happens in a moment is affected:
By a love the Satan jokes.

XXII

Whom be to love? To whom be to trust?
Who will not change to us one be?
Who will measure all affairs, all speeches
Obligingly on our arshin?
Who about us does not sow a slander?
Who carefully cherishes us?
To whom our defect is not a trouble?
Who will not bore never?
A vanity searcher to a phantom,
Do not ruining a works in vain,
Love you yourself,
A venerable my reader!
A worthy subject: anything
More kindly, truly, there is no.

XXIII

What was a consequence of a meeting?
Alas, it is not difficult to guess!
A love mad suffers
Have not ceased to excite
An young soul, grief greedy;
No, more a passion desolate
Tatyana poor burns;
Her beds dream runs;
A health, lives colour and sweet,
A smile, virgin rest,
Everything was gone as a sound empty,
And an darling Tanya youth grows dim:
So a storms shade dresses
A hardly born day.

XXIV

Alas, Tatyana withers,
Turns pale, ashes away and deafs!
Anything does not occupy her,
Her soul does not move.
Swinging important by a head,
Neighbours whisper between themselves:
It is time, time to be marry her! .
But it is full. Need to me more soon
To amuse an imagination
By a picture of a happy love.
Involuntarily, my darlings,
A regret constrains me;
Forgive to me: I so love
Tatyana my darling!

XXV

A hour by hour captivated more
By beauties of an Olga young,
Vladimir to a delightful bondage
Has indulged by a full soul.
He is eternal with her. In her rest
They sit in a darkness twin;
They are in a garden, a hand with a hand,
Does walking by a morning time;
Also what be? By a love intoxicated
In a confuse of a gentle shame,
He only dares sometimes,
By an Olga's smile encouraged,
By the developed ringlet to play
Or a clothes edge to kiss.

XXVI

He sometimes reads to Olya
The moralizing novel,
In which the author knows more
A nature, than Shatobrian,
And meanwhile a two, three pages
(An empty nonsense, fables,
Dangerous to a heart of a maidens)
He passes, having reddened.
Retired from all far,
They over a chessboard,
On a table leaned an elbows, sometimes
Sits, having think deeply,
And by a pawn own castle Lensky
Take disapointly.

XXVII

Whether will go home, and at home
He is busy own Olga.
A flying leaves of an album
Diligently decorates to her:
That in its draws a village kinds,
A tombstone, Kipridy temple,
Or on a lyre of the dove
By a feather and paints slightly;
That on a leaves of a remember
Below the signature of others
He leaves a gentle verse,
A silent monument dreaming,
An instant thought long trace,
Still the same after many years.

XXVIII

Certainly, you saw not once
A province young lady album,
That the girl-friends have soiled
With the end, from the beginning and around.
Here, to spite a grammar,
A verses without a measure by a legend
To a sigh of a true friendship are brought,
Are reduced, continued.
On the first leaf you meet
Qu'ecrirez-vous sur ces tablettes,
And the signature: t. V. Annеttе;
And on the last you will read:
'Who loves more you,
Let writes further me '.

XXIX

Here straightly you will find
A two hearts, a torch and flowers;
Here you will read truly a oaths
In a love to a grave board;
Any poet of an army
Here has signed a rhyme rascally.
In a such album, my friends,
To admit, is glad to write and I am,
Assured being by a soul,
That any my assiduous nonsense
Will deserve the favourable look
And that then with a spite smile
Do not begin to assort important,
Sharply or none I could tell a lies.

XXX

But you a separated volumes
From library of a devils,
A magnificent albums,
A torment of a fashionable rhymers,
You are decorated quickly
By a Tolstoy brush wonder-working
Or by a Baratynsky feather,
Lets will burn you the divine thunder!
When the shining lady
To me own in-quarto submits,
Both a shiver and a rage takes me,
And the epigram moves up
In a depth of my soul,
And write a madrigals to them!

XXXI

Not a madrigals Lensky write
In young Olga's album;
Him feather by a love breathes,
Not calmly shine by a sharpness;
That neither will notice, nor will hear
About Olga, he about that and do write:
And, of a live trues a full
Elegies by a river flow.
So you, Yazycov inspired,
In an impulses of own heart,
You sing god knows whom,
And the arch of an precious elegies
Will present same time to you
All story about your destiny.

XXXII

But more silence! Do you hear? The critic stricted
Rules to dump to us
An elegies a wreath poor,
And to ours brothers rhymers
Shouts: 'Yes stop to cry,
And all same to same to croak,
To be sorry about a former, about the past:
Enough, sing about other! '
- You are right, and truly to us will specify
A pipe, mask and dagger,
And a thoughts dead capital
From everywhere you will order to revive:
Whether do not so, the friend? - No a just. Where go!
'Write odes, the misters,

XXXIII

How does its wrote in a power years,
As go has been in old time...'
- One a solemn odes!
And, fully, the friend; neither all are equal?
Remember that the satirist has told!
'Another's sense' the artful lyric poet
Really for you is more tolerable
A sad ours rhymers? -
'But all in an elegy is insignificant;
Its empty purpose is pity;
Meanwhile the ode purpose is high
And it is noble... 'Here it would be possible
To argue to us, but I am deaf:
Two centuries to quarell I do not want.

XXXIV

The admirer of a glory and freedom,
In a weary of a rough thoughts,
Vladimir and would write an odes,
Yes Olga did not read its.
Whether does happened to poets plaintive
To read in an eyes to own kind
Own creation? Go speak,
That in the world no awards are above.
And straightly, the lover modest is blissful,
Reading own dreams
To subject of a songs and love,
To the beautine is pleasant-languid!
He is blissful... Though, maybe, she
Absolutely by other is enjoyed.

XXXV

But a fruits of my dreams
And a harmonious inventions
I read only to the old nurse,
To the girlfriend of my youth,
Yes after a boring dinner
To me of the come neighbour,
Having caught unexpectedly for a floor,
I strangle by a tragedy in a corner,
Or (but it seriously) ,
By a melancholy and rhymes weary,
Wandering over my lake,
I frighten a herd of a wild ducks:
Having listened a song of a sweet stanzas,
They fly from a coast.

XXXVI. XXXVII

And what is Onegin? By the way, brothers!
Yours patience I ask:
Him everyday employments
I to you will in a detail describe.
Onegin veins by an anachoret:
At the seventh o'clock he wake up in the summer
And went by an easy
To the river running at the foot of a hill;
To a singer of a Gjulnara imitating,
This Hellespont re-swimed,
Then own coffee drank,
A bad magazine do touching,
And put on...

XXXVIII. XXXIX

A walks, a reading, a deep dream,
A shade wood, a murmur of a streams,
At times a belanca black-eyed
Young and fresh kiss,
To bridle an obedient zealous horse,
An enough whimsical dinner,
A bottle of a white wine,
A retire, a silence:
Here a life of Onegin sacred;
And unfeeling he to it
Has indulged, a red summer days
In a careless luxury not counting,
Having forgotten both a city, and friends,
And a boredom of a celebratory inventions.

XL

But our northern summer,
A caricature of a southern winters,
Will flash and none: it is known,
Though we do not want to admit.
Be the sky was breathed by an autumn,
Be rare the sun was shine,
A day became shorter,
A woods mysterious shade
With a sad noise was bared,
The fog laid down on a fields,
A loud geese caravan
Did reached for the south: came nearer
An enough boring temp;
There was a November at a court yard.

XLI

A dawn rise up in a cold haze;
On a yields a noise of a works was deaf;
With own hungry wolfine
A wolf is going is on a road;
Him feeling, a road horse
Snores - and the traveller careful
Rushes uphill at a full smooth;
At a morning dawn the shepherd
Does not herd a cows from a shed,
And at an o'clock midday in a circle
They are not called by its small horn;
In an izba singing, the maiden {23}
Spins, and, a winter friend of a nights,
A luchinca cracks before her.

XLII

And here a frosts already cracks
And go silvered among a fields...
(The reader waits for a rose rhyme;
On, here take it faster!)
More tidy a fashionable parquet
The small river shines, by an ice is dressed.
A boys joyful people {24}
By a fads loudly cuts ice;
On a red pads a heavy goose,
Conceived to float on a bosom of a waters,
Steeps carefully into an ice,
Slides and falls; a cheerful
Flashes, a first snow is twisted,
By a stars falling on a coast.

XLIII

In a solitude what to do in this time?
To walk? A village that time
Involuntarily bothers a look
By a monotonous nakedness.
To skip riddle in a severe steppe?
But a horse, the dulled horseshoe
Hooking an uncorrect ice,
For that and wait that will fall.
Sit under a proof deserted,
Read: here Pradt, here W. Scott.
Do you not want? - Calibrate the expense,
Become angry or drink, and long evening
Somehow will pass, and tomorrow again,
And nicely a winter you will spend.

XLIV

To straight Child-Garold Onegin
Was given in a thoughtful laziness:
Soon awake gets into the bath with an ice,
And after, houses all the day,
One, in a calculations shipped,
By a stupid kiy armed,
He on a billiards in a two balls
Plays since the morning.
An evening rural will come:
A billiards is left, kiy is forgotten,
Before a fireplace the table is covered,
Evgeny waits: here goes Lensky
On a three grievele horses;
Allow to have dinner more soon!

XLV

A widows Kliko or Moeta
Blestfull wine
In a bottle frozen for the poet
On a table it is immediately brought.
It sparkles Ipokrena; {25}
It by own game and foam
(Similarity of that-this)
Me has captivated: for it
A last poor mites, happened,
I gave. Either remember, a friends?
Him magic stream
Gave rise a nonsenses much,
And how many a jokes and verses,
Both a disputes, and a cheerful dreams!

XLVI

But changes by a foam noisy
It to my stomach,
And a Bordeaux reasonable
Now I has preferred to it.
To Аu I am not capable any more;
Au to the loveness is similar
A shining, windy, live,
Both a capricious, and empty...
But you, Bordeaux, are similar to the friend,
Which, in a grief and in a trouble,
A companion everytime, everywhere,
It is ready to render us a service
Or silent to divide leisure.
Long live Bordeaux, our friend!

XLVII

A fire has gone out; hardly by a ashes
Will cover coal golden;
Hardly by a notice stream
A stream is screwed, and by a warmth
The fireplace hardly breathes. A smoke from a tubes
In a pipe leaves. A light cup
Still hisses among a table.
The evening haze finds...
(I love a friendly liar
And a friendly glass of a wine
At times that is named
A time between a wolf and a dog,
And why, I do not see.)
Now a friends talk:

XLVIII

'Well, what are neigbouress? What is Tatyana?
What is yours quick Olga? '
- Pour more to me a half-glass...
There is enough, darling... All family
Is healthy; ordered to bow.
Ah, darling as have got prettier
At Olga a shoulders, what is a breast for!
What is a soul for! ... Sometime
Let's came to them; you will oblige them;
And that, my friend, judge you by you:
Two times has glanced, and there
To them and a nose you will not show.
Yes here... What I am the blockhead!
You to them by that week are called.

XLIX

'I am? ' - yes, a Tatyana name-day
On Saturday. Olenka and mother was
Ordered to call, and there is no reason
To you on a call not to come. -
'But the heap will be there to a people
And everyone such to crowd...'
- And, anybody, I am assured!
Who will be there? Own family.
Let's go, make an oblige!
Well, what be? - 'Agree'. - As you are lovely! -
At these words he has drained
A glass, to the neigbouress bring,
Then has got to talking again
About Olga: such is a love!

L

He was cheerful. Thought a two weeks
Happy term has been appointed.
And a secret marriage beds,
And a delightful love wreath
Him delights has expected.
A Gymens efforts, grieves,
A yawn cold succession
To it did not dream never.
Meanwhile as we, an enemies Gimen,
In house life seen an one
Number of a tiresome pictures,
The novel in a Lafontaine taste... {26}
My poor Lensky, by a heart he
For this life has been born.

LI

He has been loved... At least
So he thought, and was happy.
A hundred times blissful, who is betrayed to belief,
Who, a calm mind having calmed,
Is based in hearty luxury,
As the drunk traveller on a lodging for the night,
Or, more gently, as a moth,
In the spring stuck flower;
But the one who all expects is pity,
Whose is not turned a head,
Who all movements, all words
In their transfer hates,
Whose heart is an experience has cooled
And it has forbidden to be forgotten!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success