Eugene Onegin. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

But a further consideration of this subject would here be out of place. Perhaps I cannot more suitably conclude this sketch than by quoting from his Ode to the Sea the poet's tribute of admiration to the genius of Napoleon and Byron, who of all contemporaries seem the most to have swayed his imagination.

     Farewell, thou pathway of the free,

     For the last time thy waves I view

     Before me roll disdainfully,

     Brilliantly beautiful and blue.

     Why vain regret? Wherever now

     My heedless course I may pursue

     One object on thy desert brow

     I everlastingly shall view—

     A rock, the sepulchre of Fame!

     The poor remains of greatness gone

     A cold remembrance there became,

     There perished great Napoleon.

     In torment dire to sleep he lay;

     Then, as a tempest echoing rolls,

     Another genius whirled away,

     Another sovereign of our souls.

     He perished. Freedom wept her child,

     He left the world his garland bright.

     Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild,

     To sing of thee was his delight.

     Impressed upon him was thy mark,

     His genius moulded was by thee;

     Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark

     And untamed in his majesty.

Note: It may interest some to know that Georges d'Anthes was tried by court-martial for his participation in the duel in which Pushkin fell, found guilty, and reduced to the ranks; but, not being a Russian subject, he was conducted by a gendarme across the frontier and then set at liberty.

Eugene Oneguine

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.

[Note: Written in 1823 at Kishineff and Odessa.]

CANTO THE FIRST

'The Spleen'

'He rushes at life and exhausts the passions.'

                                Prince Viazemski

Canto the First

I

"My uncle's goodness is extreme,

If seriously he hath disease;

He hath acquired the world's esteem

And nothing more important sees;

A paragon of virtue he!

But what a nuisance it will be,

Chained to his bedside night and day

Without a chance to slip away.

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!

Oneguine, 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.

I also wandered there of old,

But cannot stand the northern cold.(2)

[Note 1: Ruslan and Liudmila, the title of Pushkin's first important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who has been carried off by a kaldoon, or magician.]

[Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.]

III

Having performed his service truly,

Deep into debt his father ran;

Three balls a year he gave ye duly,

At last became a ruined man.

But Eugene was by fate preserved,

For first "madame" his wants observed,

And then "monsieur" supplied her place;(3)

The boy was wild but full of grace.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," a starving Gaul,

Fearing his pupil to annoy,

Instructed jestingly the boy,

Morality taught scarce at all;

Gently for pranks he would reprove

And in the Summer Garden rove.

[Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly styled "monsieur" or "madame."]

IV

When youth's rebellious hour drew near

And my Eugene the path must trace—

The path of hope and tender fear—

Monsieur clean out of doors they chase.

Lo! my Oneguine free as air,

Cropped in the latest style his hair,

Dressed like a London dandy he

The giddy world at last shall see.

He wrote and spoke, so all allowed,

In the French language perfectly,

Danced the mazurka gracefully,

Without the least constraint he bowed.

What more's required? The world replies,

He is a charming youth and wise.

V

We all of us of education

A something somehow have obtained,

Thus, praised be God! a reputation

With us is easily attained.

Oneguine was—so many deemed

[Unerring critics self-esteemed],

Pedantic although scholar like,

In truth he had the happy trick

Without constraint in conversation

Of touching lightly every theme.

Silent, oracular ye'd see him

Amid a serious disputation,

Then suddenly discharge a joke

The ladies' laughter to provoke.

VI

Latin is just now not in vogue,

But if the truth I must relate,

Oneguine knew enough, the rogue

A mild quotation to translate,

A little Juvenal to spout,

With "vale" finish off a note;

Two verses he could recollect

Of the Aeneid, but incorrect.

In history he took no pleasure,

The dusty chronicles of earth

For him were but of little worth,

Yet still of anecdotes a treasure

Within his memory there lay,

From Romulus unto our day.

VII

For empty sound the rascal swore he

Existence would not make a curse,