The beginning of Onegin, my uncle has the most honest rules. Will I portray the truth in the picture?
Will I portray the truth in the picture?
Secluded office
Where is the mod pupil exemplary
Dressed, undressed and dressed again?
Everything for a plentiful whim
London trades scrupulously
And on the Baltic waves
He brings us lard and timber,
Everything in Paris tastes hungry,
Having chosen a useful trade,
Invents for fun
For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -
Everything decorated the office
Philosopher at eighteen years old.
INTERESTING FROM NABOKOV:
“Next to the draft of this stanza, dark from corrections, ... on the left in the margin of the manuscript, Pushkin drew the profiles of Countess Vorontsova, Alexander Raevsky and below, opposite the last lines, Count Vorontsov.”
“I’ll depict... - Gali phrase”
“Secluded office - dressing room; men's boudoir."
FUNNY THINGS IN BRODSKY:
“An excursion from the history of Russian industry and trade of the early twentieth century is presented in poetic form.”
He continues to mold Onegin into an unfinished Decembrist: “Having called Onegin a philosopher, the author of the novel is not being ironic at all, but only noted ... the habit of reflecting and scattering the sparkles of his mind in the style of salon wit” - (indeed, what irony can there be over the views of “advanced noble youth”?)
But, I would like to ask, what about Zaretsky, who lives in the “philosophical desert”? Where is it?
Or, Brodsky himself, for an unknown purpose, quotes the first two lines from “Stanzas to Tolstoy”:
"Early philosopher, you are running
Feasts and pleasures of life, "
I will continue the quote:
“...You are the sweetest toys of the world
Exchanged it for sadness and boredom.”
So the philosopher “exchanges the fun of the world” or “scatters sparkles” in the light?
Or maybe Brodsky is hinting that AS has a small vocabulary? “Animal-Arctic fox, fur coat-Arctic fox...”?
(I'm not even talking about the obvious overlap between the end of this stanza and the end of stanza X of the second chapter, which characterizes poor Lensky:
"He sang the faded color of life
Almost eighteen years old"
Maybe there is no irony here?)
LOTMAN:
Scrupulous London trades... - Scrupulous “associated with the trade in haberdashery and perfumery goods” (Dictionary of the language P. T. 4. P. 997).
MY INSINUATIONS:
The author’s “timidity” at the beginning of the stanza (“Will I portray it?”), a broad introduction, like the beginning of an epic, and, in the same pseudo-epic intonation, about “a philosopher at eighteen years old”...
The gaze glides and does not notice anything, but let us remember the call of the great Gersheson to Pushkin’s readers: “to blindly, even superstitiously believe all his messages - and NEVER believe his instructions about the purpose of his messages.”
The goal is stated very clearly - to “depict” the office. But in reality? A good-natured smile at youth “philosophizing” (he showed, naively, two sources and two components...).
“All young people are equally uninteresting,” Tolstoy formulated with countly frankness. And Pushkin? - about the same thing, but - with such good nature!
And he’s in a hurry to live, and he’s in a hurry to feel.
Prince Vyazemsky The epigraph is taken from the poem “First Snow” by P. A. Vyazemsky.
“My uncle has the most honest rules,
When I seriously fell ill,
He forced himself to respect
And I couldn't think of anything better.
His example to others is science;
But, my God, what a bore
To sit with the patient day and night,
Without leaving a single step!
What low deceit
To amuse the half-dead,
Adjust his pillows
It's sad to bring medicine,
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you!”
So thought the young rake,
Flying in the dust on postage,
By the Almighty will of Zeus
Heir to all his relatives. -
Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan!
With the hero of my novel
Without preamble, right now
Let me introduce you:
Onegin, my good friend,
Born on the banks of the Neva,
Where might you have been born?
Or shone, my reader;
I once walked there too:
But the north is bad for me Written in Bessarabia..
Having served excellently and nobly,
His father lived in debt
Gave three balls annually
And finally squandered it.
Eugene's fate kept:
At first Madame followed him,
Then Monsieur replaced her;
The child was harsh, but sweet.
Monsieur l'Abbe€, poor Frenchman,
So that the child does not get tired,
I taught him everything jokingly,
I didn’t bother you with strict morals,
Lightly scolded for pranks
And he took me for a walk in the Summer Garden.
When will the rebellious youth
The time has come for Evgeniy
It's time for hope and tender sadness,
Monsieur was driven out of the yard.
Here is my Onegin free;
Haircut in the latest fashion;
Like dandy Dandy, dandy. London dressed -
And finally saw the light.
He's completely French
He could express himself and wrote;
I danced the mazurka easily
And he bowed casually;
What do you want more? The light has decided
That he is smart and very nice.
We all learned a little bit
Something and somehow
So upbringing, thank God,
It's no wonder for us to shine.
Onegin was, according to many
(decisive and strict judges),
A small scientist, but a pedant Pedant - here: “a person who flaunts his knowledge, his learning, with aplomb, judging everything.” (Dictionary of the language of A. S. Pushkin.).
He had a lucky talent
No coercion in conversation
Touch everything lightly
With the learned air of a connoisseur
Remain silent in an important dispute
And make the ladies smile
Fire of unexpected epigrams.
Latin is now out of fashion:
So, if I tell you the truth,
He knew quite a bit of Latin,
To understand the epigraphs,
Talk about Juvenal,
At the end of the letter put vale Vale - be healthy (lat.). ,
Yes, I remembered, although not without sin,
Two verses from the Aeneid.
He had no desire to rummage
In chronological dust
History of the earth;
But the jokes of days gone by
From Romulus to the present day,
He kept it in his memory.
Having no high passion
No mercy for the sounds of life,
He could not iambic from trochee,
No matter how hard we fought, we could tell the difference.
Scolded Homer, Theocritus;
But I read Adam Smith
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he knew how to judge
How does the state get rich?
And how does he live, and why?
He doesn't need gold
When simple product It has.
His father couldn't understand him
And he gave the lands as collateral.
Everything that Evgeniy still knew,
Tell me about your lack of time;
But what was his true genius?
What he knew more firmly than all sciences,
What happened to him from childhood
And labor, and torment, and joy,
What took the whole day
His melancholy laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Which Nazon sang,
Why did he end up a sufferer?
Its age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Far away from Italy.
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How early could he be a hypocrite?
To harbor hope, to be jealous,
To dissuade, to make believe,
Seem gloomy, languish,
Be proud and obedient
Attentive or indifferent!
How languidly silent he was,
How fieryly eloquent
How careless in heartfelt letters!
Breathing alone, loving alone,
How he knew how to forget himself!
How quick and gentle his gaze was,
Shy and impudent, and sometimes
Shined with an obedient tear!
How he knew how to seem new,
Jokingly amaze innocence,
To frighten with despair,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
Catch a moment of tenderness,
Innocent years of prejudice
Win with intelligence and passion,
Expect involuntary affection
Beg and demand recognition
Listen to the first sound of the heart,
Pursue love and suddenly
Achieve a secret date...
And then she's alone
Give lessons in silence!
How early could he have disturbed
Hearts of coquettes!
When did you want to destroy
He has his rivals,
How he sarcastically slandered!
What networks I prepared for them!
But you, blessed men,
You stayed with him as friends:
The wicked husband caressed him,
Foblas is a long-time student,
And the distrustful old man
And the majestic cuckold,
Always happy with yourself
With his lunch and his wife.
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Sometimes he was still in bed:
They bring notes to him.
What? Invitations? Indeed,
Three houses for the evening call:
There will be a ball, there will be a children's party.
Where will my prankster ride?
Who will he start with? Doesn't matter:
It’s no wonder to keep up everywhere.
While in morning dress,
Wearing a wide bolivar Hat a la Bolivar. ,
Onegin goes to the boulevard,
And there he walks in the open space,
While the watchful Breget
Dinner won't ring his bell.
It’s already dark: he gets into the sled.
“Fall, fall!” - there was a cry;
Silvery with frosty dust
His beaver collar.
To Talon Famous restaurateur. rushed: he was sure
What is Kaverin waiting for him there?
Entered: and there was a cork in the ceiling,
The comet's fault flowed with current;
In front of him is roast-beef Roast-beef is a meat dish of English cuisine. bloodied
And truffles, the luxury of youth,
French cuisine has the best color,
And Strasbourg's pie is imperishable
Between live Limburg cheese
And a golden pineapple.
Thirst asks for more glasses
Pour hot fat over cutlets,
But the ringing of the Breguet reaches them,
That a new ballet has begun.
The theater is an evil legislator,
Fickle Adorer
Charming actresses
Honorary Citizen of the Backstage,
Onegin flew to the theater,
Where everyone, breathing freedom,
Ready to clap entrechat entrechat (entrechat) - a figure in ballet (French). ,
To flog Phaedra, Cleopatra,
Call Moina (in order to
Just so they can hear him).
Magic land! there in the old days,
Satire is a brave ruler,
Fonvizin, friend of freedom, shone,
And the overbearing Prince;
There Ozerov involuntary tributes
People's tears, applause
Shared with young Semyonova;
There our Katenin was resurrected
Corneille is a majestic genius;
There the prickly Shakhovskoy brought out
A noisy swarm of their comedies,
There's Didelot A trait of chilled feeling worthy of Chald Harold. Mr. Didelot's ballets are filled with vivid imagination and extraordinary charm. One of our romantic writers found much more poetry in them than in all French literature. crowned with glory
There, there under the canopy of the scenes
My younger days were rushing by.
My goddesses! what do you? Where are you?
Hear my sad voice:
Are you still the same? other maidens,
Having replaced you, they didn’t replace you?
Will I hear your choirs again?
Will I see the Russian Terpsichore
Soul-filled flight?
Or a sad look will not find
Familiar faces on a boring stage,
And, looking towards the alien light
Disappointed lorgnette
An indifferent spectator of fun,
I will yawn silently
And remember the past?
The theater is already full; the boxes shine;
The stalls and the chairs, everything is boiling;
In paradise they splash impatiently,
And, rising, the curtain makes noise.
Brilliant, half-airy,
I obey the magic bow,
Surrounded by a crowd of nymphs,
Worth Istomin; she,
One foot touching the floor,
The other slowly circles,
And suddenly he jumps, and suddenly he flies,
Flies like feathers from the lips of Aeolus;
Now the camp will sow, then it will develop,
And with a quick foot he hits the leg.
Everything is clapping. Onegin enters
Walks between the chairs along the legs,
The double lorgnette points sideways
To the boxes of unknown ladies;
I looked around all the tiers,
I saw everything: faces, clothes
He is terribly unhappy;
With men on all sides
He bowed, then went on stage.
He looked in great absentmindedness,
He turned away and yawned,
And he said: “It’s time for everyone to change;
I endured ballets for a long time,
But I’m tired of Didelot5) too.”
More cupids, devils, snakes
They jump and make noise on stage;
Still tired lackeys
They sleep on fur coats at the entrance;
They haven't stopped stomping yet,
Blow your nose, cough, shush, clap;
Still outside and inside
Lanterns are shining everywhere;
Still frozen, the horses fight,
Bored with my harness,
And the coachmen, around the lights,
They scold the gentlemen and beat them in the palm of their hands:
And Onegin went out;
He goes home to get dressed.
Will I portray the truth in the picture?
Secluded office
Where is the mod pupil exemplary
Dressed, undressed and dressed again?
Everything for a plentiful whim
London trades scrupulously
And on the Baltic waves
He brings us lard and timber,
Everything in Paris tastes hungry,
Having chosen a useful trade,
Invents for fun
For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -
Everything decorated the office
Philosopher at eighteen years old.
Amber on the pipes of Constantinople,
Porcelain and bronze on the table,
And, a joy to pampered feelings,
Perfume in cut crystal;
Combs, steel files,
Straight scissors, curved scissors,
And brushes of thirty kinds
For both nails and teeth.
Rousseau (I note in passing)
Couldn't understand how important Grim was
Dare to brush your nails in front of him,
An eloquent madman Tout le monde sut qu'il mettait du blanc; et moi, qui n'en croyais rien, je commenzai de le croire, non seulement par l'embellissement de son teint et pour avoir trouve€ des tasses de blanc sur sa toilette, mais sur ce qu'entrant un matin dans sa chambre, je le trouvai brossant ses ongles avec une petite vergette faite expris, ouvrage qu'il continua fiirement devant moi. Je jugeai qu'un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins a brosser ses ongles, peut bien passer quelques instants a remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau. Confessions J. J. Rousseau Everyone knew that he used whitewash; and I, who did not believe this at all, began to guess about it, not only from the improvement in the color of his face or because I found jars of whitewash on his toilet, but because, going into his room one morning, I found him cleaning nails with a special brush; he proudly continued this activity in my presence. I decided that a person who spends two hours every morning cleaning his nails could take a few minutes to cover up imperfections with white. (“Confession” by J.-J. Rousseau) (French). Make-up was ahead of its time: now all over enlightened Europe they clean their nails with a special brush.
Defender of Liberty and Rights
In this case, completely wrong.
You can be a smart person
And think about the beauty of nails:
Why argue fruitlessly with the century?
The custom is despot between people.
Second Chadayev, my Evgeniy,
Fearing jealous judgments,
There was a pedant in his clothes
And what we called dandy.
He's at least three o'clock
He spent in front of the mirrors
And he came out of the restroom
Like windy Venus,
When, wearing a man's outfit,
The goddess goes to a masquerade.
In the last taste of the toilet
Taking your curious glance,
I could before the learned light
Here to describe his outfit;
Of course it would be brave
Describe my business:
But trousers, tailcoat, vest,
All these words are not in Russian;
And I see, I apologize to you,
Well, my poor syllable is already
I could have been much less colorful
Foreign words
Even though I looked in the old days
In Academic Dictionary.
Now we have something wrong in the subject:
We better hurry to the ball,
Where to headlong in a Yamsk carriage
My Onegin has already galloped.
In front of the faded houses
Along the sleepy street in rows
Double carriage lights
Cheerful shed light
And they bring rainbows to the snow;
Dotted with bowls all around,
The magnificent house glitters;
Shadows walk across the solid windows,
Profiles of heads flash
And ladies and fashionable weirdos.
Here our hero drove up to the entryway;
He passes the doorman with an arrow
He flew up the marble steps,
I straightened my hair with my hand,
Has entered. The hall is full of people;
The music is already tired of thundering;
The crowd is busy with the mazurka;
There is noise and crowding all around;
The cavalry guard's spurs are jingling;
The legs of lovely ladies are flying;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly
And drowned out by the roar of violins
Jealous whispers of fashionable wives.
On days of fun and desires
I was crazy about balls:
Or rather, there is no room for confessions
And for delivering a letter.
O you, honorable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
Please notice my speech:
I want to warn you.
You, mamas, are also stricter
Follow your daughters:
Hold your lorgnette straight!
Not that... not that, God forbid!
That's why I'm writing this
That I haven’t sinned for a long time.
Alas, for different fun
I've ruined a lot of lives!
But if morals had not suffered,
I would still love balls.
I love mad youth
And tightness, and shine, and joy,
And I’ll give you a thoughtful outfit;
I love their legs; but it's unlikely
You will find in Russia a whole
Three pairs of slender female legs.
Oh! I couldn't forget for a long time
Two legs... Sad, cold,
I remember them all, even in my dreams
They trouble my heart.
When and where, in what desert,
Madman, will you forget them?
Oh, legs, legs! where are you now?
Where do you crush spring flowers?
Nurtured in eastern bliss,
On the northern, sad snow
You left no traces:
You loved soft carpets
A luxurious touch.
How long have I forgotten for you?
And I thirst for fame and praise,
And the land of the fathers, and imprisonment?
The happiness of youth has disappeared,
Like your light trail in the meadows.
Diana's chest, cheeks Lanits - cheeks (obsolete). Flora
Lovely, dear friends!
However, Terpsichore's leg
Something more charming for me.
She, prophesying with a glance
An unappreciated reward
Attracts with conventional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth of the tables,
In the spring on the grassy meadows,
In winter on a cast iron fireplace,
There is a hall on the mirrored parquet floor,
By the sea on granite rocks.
I remember the sea before the storm:
How I envied the waves
Running in a stormy line
Lay down with love at her feet!
How I wished then with the waves
Touch your lovely feet with your lips!
No, never on hot days
My boiling youth
I didn't wish with such torment
Kiss the lips of the young Armids,
Or fiery roses kiss their cheeks,
Or hearts full of languor;
No, never a rush of passion
Never tormented my soul like that!
I remember another time!
In sometimes cherished dreams
I hold the happy stirrup...
And I feel the leg in my hands;
Imagination is in full swing again
Her touch again
The blood ignited in the withered heart,
Again longing, again love!..
But it is enough to glorify the arrogant
With his chatty lyre;
They are not worth any passions
No songs inspired by them:
The words and gaze of these sorceresses
Deceptive... like their legs.
What about my Onegin? Half asleep
He goes to bed from the ball:
And St. Petersburg is restless
Already awakened by the drum.
The merchant gets up, the peddler goes,
A cabman pulls to the stock exchange,
The okhtenka is in a hurry with the jug,
The morning snow crunches under it.
I woke up in the morning with a pleasant sound.
The shutters are open; pipe smoke
Rising like a pillar of blue,
And the baker, a neat German,
In a paper cap, more than once
Already opened his vasisdas Vasisdas is a play on words: in French it means a window, in German it means the question “vas ist das?” - “what is this?”, used by Russians to designate Germans. Trade in small shops was carried out through the window. That is, the German baker managed to sell more than one loaf of bread. .
But, tired of the noise of the ball,
And the morning turns to midnight,
Sleeps peacefully in the blessed shade
Fun and luxury child.
Will wake up at noon, and again
Until the morning his life is ready,
Monotonous and colorful
And tomorrow is the same as yesterday.
But was my Eugene happy?
Free, in the color of the best years,
Among the brilliant victories,
Among everyday pleasures?
Was he in vain among the feasts?
Careless and healthy?
No: his feelings cooled down early;
He was tired of the noise of the world;
The beauties didn't last long
The subject of his usual thoughts;
The betrayals have become tiresome;
Friends and friendship are tired,
Because I couldn’t always
Beef-steaks and Strasbourg pie
Pouring a bottle of champagne
And pour out sharp words,
When you had a headache;
And although he was an ardent rake,
But he finally fell out of love
And scolding, and saber, and lead.
The disease whose cause
It's time to find it long ago,
Similar to the English spleen,
In short: Russian blues
I mastered it little by little;
He will shoot himself, thank God,
I didn't want to try
But he completely lost interest in life.
Like Child-Harold, gloomy, languid
He appeared in living rooms;
Neither the gossip of the world, nor Boston,
Not a sweet look, not an immodest sigh,
Nothing touched him
He didn't notice anything.
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Freaky women of the big world!
He left everyone before you;
And the truth is that in our summer
The higher tone is rather boring;
At least maybe another lady
Interprets Say and Bentham,
But in general their conversation
Unbearable, though innocent, nonsense;
Besides, they are so immaculate,
So majestic, so smart,
So full of piety,
So careful, so precise,
So unapproachable for men,
That the sight of them already gives rise to spleen This entire ironic stanza is nothing more than subtle praise for our beautiful compatriots. So Boileau, under the guise of reproach, praises Louis XIV. Our ladies combine enlightenment with courtesy and strict purity of morals with this oriental charm, which so captivated Madame Stael (see Dix anne€es d'exil / “Ten Years of Exile” (French)). .
And you, young beauties,
Which sometimes later
The daring droshky carries away
Along the St. Petersburg pavement,
And my Eugene left you.
Renegade of stormy pleasures,
Onegin locked himself at home,
Yawning, he took up the pen,
I wanted to write - but hard work
He felt sick; Nothing
It did not come from his pen,
And he didn’t end up in the perky workshop
People I don't judge
Because I belong to them.
And again, betrayed by idleness,
Languishing with spiritual emptiness,
He sat down - with a laudable purpose
Appropriating someone else's mind for yourself;
He lined the shelf with a group of books,
I read and read, but to no avail:
There is boredom, there is deception or delirium;
There is no conscience in that, there is no meaning in that;
Everyone is wearing different chains;
And the old thing is outdated,
And the old are delirious of the newness.
Like women, he left books,
And a shelf with their dusty family,
Covered it with mourning taffeta.
Having overthrown the burden of the conditions of light,
How does he, having fallen behind the bustle,
I became friends with him at that time.
I liked his features
Involuntary devotion to dreams,
Inimitable strangeness
And a sharp, chilled mind.
I was embittered, he was gloomy;
We both knew the game of passion;
Life tormented both of us;
The heat died down in both hearts;
Anger awaited both
Blind Fortune and People
In the very morning of our days.
He who lived and thought cannot
Do not despise people in your heart;
Whoever felt it is worried
Ghost of irrevocable days:
There's no charm for that
That serpent of memories
He is gnawing at remorse.
All this often gives
Great pleasure to the conversation.
First Onegin's language
I was embarrassed; but I'm used to it
To his caustic argument,
And as a joke, with bile in half,
And the anger of gloomy epigrams.
How often in the summer,
When it's clear and light
Night sky over the Neva Readers will remember the charming description of the St. Petersburg night in Gnedich’s idyll: Here is the night; but the golden stripes of clouds are fading. Without stars and without a month, the entire distance is illuminated. On the distant seaside silvery sails are visible Slightly visible ships, as if sailing across the blue sky. The night sky shines with a gloomless radiance, And the purple of the sunset merges with the gold of the east: It’s as if the morning star follows you out in the evening Ruddy morning. - It was a golden time. As summer days steal the dominion of the night; How the gaze of a foreigner in the northern sky captivates The magical radiance of shadow and sweet light, How the noon sky is never adorned; That clarity, like the charms of a northern maiden, Whose eyes are blue and cheeks are scarlet The light brown curls are barely set off by the waves. Then over the Neva and over the magnificent Petropolis they see Evening without twilight and fast nights without shadow; Then Philomela will only end her midnight songs And the songs start, welcoming the rising day. But it's too late; freshness breathed on the Neva tundra; The dew has dropped; ……………………… Here is midnight: rustling in the evening with a thousand oars, The Neva will not sway; the city guests have left; Not a voice on the shore, not a swell on the moisture, everything is quiet; Only occasionally the hum from the bridges will run over the water; Only an extended scream will rush from the distance Where in the night the military guards call out to the guards. Everyone is asleep. ………………………
And the waters are cheerful glass
Diana's face does not reflect
Remembering the novels of previous years,
Remembering my old love,
Sensitive, careless again,
Breath of the favorable night
We reveled silently!
Like a green forest from prison
The sleepy convict has been transferred,
So we were carried away by the dream
Young at the start of life.
With a soul full of regrets,
And leaning on granite,
Evgeniy stood thoughtfully,
How did he describe himself?
Show favor to the goddess He sees an enthusiastic drink, Who spends the night sleepless, Leaning on granite.
(Muravyev. Goddess of the Neva)
.Everything was quiet; only at night
The sentries called to each other;
Yes, the distant sound of the droshky
With Millonna Milyonnaya is the name of a street in St. Petersburg. was heard suddenly;
Just a boat, waving its oars,
Floated along the dormant river:
And we were captivated in the distance
The horn and the song are daring...
But sweeter, in the midst of nightly fun,
The chant of the Torquat octaves! Torquat octaves- poems by the Italian Renaissance poet Torquato Tasso (1544-1595).
Adriatic waves,
Oh Brenta! no, I'll see you
And, full of inspiration again,
I will hear your magical voice!
He is holy to the grandchildren of Apollo;
By the proud lyre of Albion Albion's proud lyre A. S. Pushkin names the work of the English poet Byron.
He is familiar to me, he is dear to me.
Golden nights of Italy
I will enjoy the bliss in freedom
With the young Venetian,
Sometimes talkative, sometimes dumb,
Floating in a mysterious gondola;
With her my lips will find
Everyone has their own mind and sense:
Evgeny, hating litigation,
Satisfied with my lot,
He gave them the inheritance
Not seeing a big loss
Or foreknowledge from afar
The death of the old man's uncle.
Suddenly he really got
Report from the manager
That uncle is dying in bed
And I would be glad to say goodbye to him.
After reading the sad message,
Evgeniy on a date right away
Swiftly galloped through the mail
And I already yawned in advance,
Getting ready, for the sake of money,
For sighs, boredom and deception
(And thus I began my novel);
But, having arrived at my uncle’s village,
I found it already on the table,
Like a tribute ready to the earth.
He found the yard full of services;
To the dead man from all sides
Enemies and friends gathered,
Hunters before the funeral.
The deceased was buried.
The priests and guests ate and drank
And then we parted important ways,
It's as if they were busy.
Here is our Onegin - a villager,
Factories, waters, forests, lands
The owner is complete, and until now
An enemy of order and a spendthrift,
And I’m very glad that the old path
Changed it to something.
Two days seemed new to him
Lonely fields
The coolness of the gloomy oak tree,
The babbling of a quiet stream;
On the third grove, hill and field
He was no longer occupied;
Then they induced sleep;
Then he saw clearly
That in the village the boredom is the same,
Although there are no streets or palaces,
No cards, no balls, no poems.
Handra was waiting for him on guard,
And she ran after him,
Like a shadow or a faithful wife.
I was born for a peaceful life
For village silence:
More vivid creative dreams.
Dedicating yourself to the leisure of the innocent,
I wander over a deserted lake,
And far away Far niente - idleness (it.). my law.
I wake up every morning
For sweet bliss and freedom:
I read little, sleep for a long time,
I don’t catch flying glory.
Isn't that how I was in years past?
Spent inactive, in the shadows
My happiest days?
Flowers, love, village, idleness,
Fields! I am devoted to you with my soul.
I'm always happy to notice the difference
Between Onegin and me,
To the mocking reader
Or some publisher
Intricate slander
Comparing my features here,
Didn’t repeat it shamelessly later,
Why did I smear my portrait?
Like Byron, the poet of pride,
As if it's impossible for us
Write poems about others
Poetry is sacred nonsense,
Following Petrarch,
And calmed the torment of the heart,
In the meantime, I also caught fame;
But I, loving, was stupid and dumb.
Love has passed, the muse has appeared,
And the dark mind became clear.
Free, looking for union again
Magic sounds, feelings and thoughts;
I write, and my heart does not grieve,
The pen, having forgotten itself, does not draw
Near unfinished poems
No women's legs, no heads;
The extinguished ashes will no longer flare up,
I'm still sad; but there are no more tears,
And soon, soon the storm's trail
My soul will completely calm down:
Then I'll start writing
Poem of songs in twenty-five.
I was already thinking about the form of the plan
And I’ll call him a hero;
For now, in my novel
I finished the first chapter;
I reviewed it all strictly;
There are a lot of contradictions
But I don’t want to correct them;
I will pay my debt to censorship
And for journalists to eat
I will give the fruits of my labors;
Go to the banks of the Neva,
Newborn creation
And earn me a tribute of glory:
Crooked talk, noise and swearing!
The novel “Eugene Onegin” was written by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin in 1823 – 1831. The work is one of the most significant creations of Russian literature - according to Belinsky, it is an “encyclopedia of Russian life” of the early 19th century.
The novel in verse by Pushkin “Eugene Onegin” belongs to the literary movement of realism, although in the first chapters the influence of the traditions of romanticism on the author is still noticeable. There are two storylines in the work: the central one is the tragic love story of Evgeny Onegin and Tatyana Larina, as well as the secondary one - the friendship of Onegin and Lensky.
Main characters
Eugene Onegin- a prominent young man of eighteen years old, a native of a noble family, who received a French home education, a secular dandy who knows a lot about fashion, is very eloquent and knows how to present himself in society, a “philosopher.”
Tatyana Larina- the eldest daughter of the Larins, a quiet, calm, serious girl of seventeen years old, who loved to read books and spend a lot of time alone.
Vladimir Lensky- a young landowner who was “nearly eighteen years old,” a poet, a dreamy person. At the beginning of the novel, Vladimir returns to his native village from Germany, where he studied.
Olga Larina- the youngest daughter of the Larins, lover and bride of Vladimir Lensky, always cheerful and sweet, she was the complete opposite of her older sister.
Other characters
Princess Polina (Praskovya) Larina- mother of Olga and Tatyana Larin.
Filipevna- Tatiana's nanny.
Princess Alina- Tatiana and Olga's aunt, Praskovya's sister.
Zaretsky- a neighbor of Onegin and Larin, Vladimir’s second in the duel with Evgeniy, a former gambler who became a “peaceful” landowner.
Prince N.- Tatiana’s husband, “important general”, friend of Onegin’s youth.
The novel in verse “Eugene Onegin” begins with a brief author’s address to the reader, in which Pushkin characterizes his work:
“Receive the collection of motley heads,
Half funny, half sad,
Common people, ideal,
The careless fruit of my amusements."
Chapter first
In the first chapter, the author introduces the reader to the hero of the novel - Evgeny Onegin, the heir of a wealthy family, who rushes to his dying uncle. The young man was “born on the banks of the Neva,” his father lived in debt, often held balls, which is why he eventually completely lost his fortune.
When Onegin matured enough to go out into the world, high society accepted the young man well, since he had an excellent command of French, danced the mazurka easily and could talk freely on any topic. However, it was not science or brilliance in society that interested Eugene most of all - he was a “true genius” in the “science of tender passion” - Onegin could turn the head of any lady, while remaining on friendly terms with her husband and admirers.
Evgeniy lived an idle life, walking along the boulevard during the day and visiting luxurious salons in the evening, where famous people of St. Petersburg invited him. The author emphasizes that Onegin, “afraid of jealous condemnation,” was very careful about his appearance, so he could spend three hours in front of the mirror, bringing his image to perfection. Evgeniy returned from the balls in the morning, when the rest of the residents of St. Petersburg were rushing to work. By noon the young man woke up and again
“Until the morning his life is ready,
Monotonous and motley."
However, is Onegin happy?
“No: his feelings cooled down early;
He was tired of the noise of the world."
Gradually, the hero was overcome by the “Russian blues” and he, as if Chade-Harold, appeared gloomy and languid in the world - “nothing touched him, he did not notice anything.”
Evgeniy withdraws from society, locks himself at home and tries to write on his own, but the young man does not succeed, since “he was sick of persistent work.” After this, the hero begins to read a lot, but realizes that literature will not save him: “like women, he left books.” Evgeny, from a sociable, secular person, becomes a withdrawn young man, prone to “caustic argument” and “joke with bile in half.”
Onegin and the narrator (according to the author, it was at this time that they met the main character) were planning to leave St. Petersburg abroad, but their plans were changed by the death of Eugene’s father. The young man had to give up his entire inheritance to pay his father’s debts, so the hero remained in St. Petersburg. Soon Onegin received news that his uncle was dying and wanted to say goodbye to his nephew. When the hero arrived, his uncle had already died. As it turned out, the deceased bequeathed a huge estate to Evgeniy: lands, forests, factories.
Chapter two
Evgeniy lived in a picturesque village, his house was located by the river, surrounded by a garden. Wanting to somehow entertain himself, Onegin decided to introduce new orders in his domains: he replaced corvee with “light rent”. Because of this, the neighbors began to treat the hero with caution, believing “that he is the most dangerous eccentric.” At the same time, Evgeny himself avoided his neighbors, avoiding getting to know them in every possible way.
At the same time, the young landowner Vladimir Lensky returned from Germany to one of the nearest villages. Vladimir was a romantic person,
“With a soul straight from Göttingen,
Handsome man, in full bloom,
Kant's admirer and poet."
Lensky wrote his poems about love, was a dreamer and hoped to reveal the mystery of the purpose of life. In the village, Lensky, “according to custom,” was mistaken for a profitable groom.
However, among the villagers, Lensky’s special attention was attracted by the figure of Onegin, and Vladimir and Evgeniy gradually became friends:
“They got along. Wave and stone
Poems and prose, ice and fire."
Vladimir read his works to Evgeniy and talked about philosophical things. Onegin listened to Lensky’s passionate speeches with a smile, but refrained from trying to reason with his friend, realizing that life itself would do this for him. Gradually, Evgeny notices that Vladimir is in love. Lensky’s beloved turned out to be Olga Larina, whom the young man knew as a child, and his parents predicted a wedding for them in the future.
“Always modest, always obedient,
Always cheerful like the morning,
How a poet's life is simple-minded,
How sweet is the kiss of love."
The complete opposite of Olga was her older sister, Tatyana:
“Wild, sad, silent,
Like a forest deer is timid."
The girl did not find the usual girlish pastimes fun, she loved to read novels by Richardson and Rousseau,
“And often all day alone
I sat silently by the window."
Tatiana and Olga's mother, Princess Polina, was in love with someone else in her youth - a guard sergeant, a dandy and a gambler, but without asking, her parents married her to Larin. The woman was sad at first, but then took up housekeeping, “got used to it and became happy,” and gradually peace reigned in their family. Having lived a quiet life, Larin grew old and died.
Chapter Three
Lensky begins to spend all his evenings with the Larins. Evgeniy is surprised that he has found a friend in the company of a “simple, Russian family,” where all conversations boil down to discussing the household. Lensky explains that he enjoys home society more than a social circle. Onegin asks if he can see Lensky's beloved and his friend invites him to go to the Larins.
Returning from the Larins, Onegin tells Vladimir that he was pleased to meet them, but his attention was more attracted not by Olga, who “has no life in her features,” but by her sister Tatyana, “who is sad and silent, like Svetlana.” Onegin's appearance at the Larins' house caused gossip that perhaps Tatiana and Evgeniy were already engaged. Tatyana realizes that she has fallen in love with Onegin. The girl begins to see Evgeniy in the heroes of the novels, to dream about the young man, walking in the “silence of the forests” with books about love.
One sleepless night, Tatyana, sitting in the garden, asks the nanny to tell her about her youth, about whether the woman was in love. The nanny says that she was married by agreement at the age of 13 to a guy younger than her, so the old woman does not know what love is. Peering into the moon, Tatiana decides to write a letter to Onegin declaring her love in French, since at that time it was customary to write letters exclusively in French.
In the message, the girl writes that she would be silent about her feelings if she were sure that she would be able to see Evgeniy at least sometimes. Tatyana reasons that if Onegin had not settled in their village, perhaps her fate would have turned out differently. But he immediately denies this possibility:
“This is the will of heaven: I am yours;
My whole life was a pledge
The faithful date with you."
Tatyana writes that it was Onegin who appeared to her in her dreams and it was him she dreamed about. At the end of the letter, the girl “hands over” her destiny to Onegin:
"I'm waiting for you: with one glance
Revive the hopes of your heart,
Or break the heavy dream,
Alas, a well-deserved reproach!
In the morning, Tatyana asks Filipyevna to give Evgeniy a letter. There was no answer from Onegin for two days. Lensky assures that Evgeny promised to visit the Larins. Finally Onegin arrives. Tatiana, frightened, runs into the garden. Having calmed down a little, he goes out into the alley and sees Evgeniy standing right in front of him “like a menacing shadow.”
Chapter Four
Evgeny, who even in his youth was disappointed with relationships with women, was touched by Tatyana’s letter, and that is why he did not want to deceive the gullible, innocent girl.
Having met Tatyana in the garden, Evgeniy spoke first. The young man said that he was very touched by her sincerity, so he wants to “repay” the girl with his “confession.” Onegin tells Tatyana that if a “pleasant lot had commanded” him to become a father and husband, he would not have looked for another bride, choosing Tatyana as his “friend of sad days.” However, Eugene “was not created for bliss.” Onegin says that he loves Tatyana like a brother and at the end of his “confession” turns into a sermon to the girl:
“Learn to control yourself;
Not everyone will understand you like I do;
Inexperience leads to disaster."
Discussing Onegin's action, the narrator writes that Eugene acted very nobly with the girl.
After the date in the garden, Tatyana became even sadder, worrying about her unhappy love. There is talk among the neighbors that it is time for the girl to get married. At this time, the relationship between Lensky and Olga is developing, young people spend more and more time together.
Onegin lived as a hermit, walking and reading. One winter evening Lensky comes to see him. Evgeniy asks his friend about Tatyana and Olga. Vladimir says that his wedding with Olga is scheduled in two weeks, which Lensky is very happy about. In addition, Vladimir recalls that the Larins invited Onegin to visit Tatiana’s name day.
Chapter Five
Tatyana loved the Russian winter very much, including Epiphany evenings, when the girls told fortunes. She believed in dreams, omens and fortune telling. On one of the Epiphany evenings, Tatyana went to bed, putting a girl’s mirror under her pillow.
The girl dreamed that she was walking through the snow in the darkness, and in front of her there was a roaring river, across which was thrown a “trembling, disastrous bridge.” Tatyana doesn’t know how to cross it, but then a bear appears from the other side of the stream and helps her cross. The girl tries to run away from the bear, but the “shaggy footman” followed her. Tatiana, unable to run any longer, falls into the snow. The bear picks her up and carries her into a “wretched” hut that appears between the trees, telling the girl that his godfather is here. Having come to her senses, Tatyana saw that she was in the hallway, and behind the door she could hear “a scream and the clink of a glass, as at a big funeral.” The girl looked through the crack: there were monsters sitting at the table, among whom she saw Onegin, the host of the feast. Out of curiosity, the girl opens the door, all the monsters begin to reach out to her, but Evgeny drives them away. The monsters disappear, Onegin and Tatyana sit on the bench, the young man puts his head on the girl’s shoulder. Then Olga and Lensky appear, Evgeny begins to scold the uninvited guests, suddenly pulls out a long knife and kills Vladimir. In horror, Tatiana wakes up and tries to interpret the dream from the book of Martyn Zadeka (fortune teller, interpreter of dreams).
It’s Tatiana’s birthday, the house is full of guests, everyone is laughing, crowding around, saying hello. Lensky and Onegin arrive. Evgeniy is seated opposite Tatiana. The girl is embarrassed, afraid to look up at Onegin, she is ready to cry. Evgeny, noticing Tatiana's excitement, became angry and decided to take revenge on Lensky, who brought him to the feast. When the dancing began, Onegin invites Olga exclusively, without leaving the girl even during breaks between dances. Lensky, seeing this, “flashes up in jealous indignation.” Even when Vladimir wants to invite his bride to dance, it turns out that she has already promised Onegin.
“Lenskaya is unable to bear the blow” - Vladimir leaves the holiday, thinking that only a duel can solve the current situation.
Chapter Six
Noticing that Vladimir had left, Onegin lost all interest in Olga and returned home at the end of the evening. In the morning, Zaretsky comes to Onegin and gives him a note from Lensky challenging him to a duel. Evgeny agrees to a duel, but, left alone, he blames himself for wasting his friend’s love in vain. According to the terms of the duel, the heroes were supposed to meet at the mill before dawn.
Before the duel, Lensky stopped by Olga, thinking to embarrass her, but the girl greeted him joyfully, which dispelled her beloved’s jealousy and annoyance. Lensky was absent-minded all evening. Arriving home from Olga, Vladimir examined the pistols and, thinking about Olga, writes poetry in which he asks the girl to come to his grave in the event of his death.
In the morning, Evgeniy overslept, so he was late for the duel. Vladimir's second was Zaretsky, Onegin's second was Monsieur Guillot. At Zaretsky’s command, the young men came together and the duel began. Evgeny is the first to raise his pistol - when Lensky just started to aim, Onegin already shoots and kills Vladimir. Lensky dies instantly. Evgeniy looks at his friend’s body in horror.
Chapter Seven
Olga did not cry for Lensky for long; she soon fell in love with a lancer and married him. After the wedding, the girl and her husband left for the regiment.
Tatyana still could not forget Onegin. One day, while walking through a field at night, a girl accidentally came to Evgeniy’s house. The girl is warmly greeted by the courtyard family and Tatyana is allowed into Onegin’s house. The girl, looking around the rooms, “stands for a long time in the fashionable cell, enchanted.” Tatyana begins to constantly visit Evgeniy’s house. The girl reads her lover’s books, trying to understand from the notes in the margins what kind of person Onegin is.
At this time, the Larins begin talking about how it’s time for Tatyana to get married. Princess Polina is worried that her daughter refuses everyone. Larina is advised to take the girl to the “bride fair” in Moscow.
In winter, the Larins, having collected everything they need, leave for Moscow. They stayed with an old aunt, Princess Alina. The Larins begin to travel around to visit numerous acquaintances and relatives, but the girl is bored and uninterested everywhere. Finally, Tatyana is brought to the “Meeting,” where many brides, dandies, and hussars have gathered. While everyone is having fun and dancing, the girl, “unnoticed by anyone,” stands at the column, remembering life in the village. Then one of the aunts drew Tanya’s attention to the “fat general”.
Chapter Eight
The narrator again meets the now 26-year-old Onegin at one of the social events. Eugene
"languishing in idle leisure
Without work, without wife, without business,
I didn’t know how to do anything.”
Before this, Onegin traveled for a long time, but he was tired of this, and so, “he returned and ended up, like Chatsky, from the ship to the ball.”
At the evening, a lady appears with a general, who attracts everyone's attention from the public. This woman looked "quiet" and "simple". Evgeny recognizes Tatyana as a socialite. Asking a friend of the prince who this woman is, Onegin learns that she is the wife of this prince and indeed Tatyana Larina. When the prince brings Onegin to the woman, Tatiana does not show her excitement at all, while Eugene is speechless. Onegin cannot believe that this is the same girl who once wrote him a letter.
In the morning, Evgeniy receives an invitation from Prince N., Tatiana’s wife. Onegin, alarmed by memories, eagerly goes to visit, but the “stately”, “careless Lawgiver of the hall” does not seem to notice him. Unable to bear it, Eugene writes a letter to the woman in which he declares his love for her, ending the message with the lines:
“Everything is decided: I am in your will,
And I surrender to my fate."
However, no answer comes. The man sends a second, third letter. Onegin was again “caught” by a “cruel blues”, he again locked himself in his office and began to read a lot, constantly thinking and dreaming about “secret legends, heartfelt, dark antiquities.”
One spring day, Onegin goes to Tatyana without an invitation. Eugene finds a woman crying bitterly over his letter. The man falls at her feet. Tatyana asks him to stand up and reminds Evgenia how in the garden, in the alley she humbly listened to his lesson, now it’s her turn. She tells Onegin that she was in love with him then, but found only severity in his heart, although she does not blame him, considering the man’s act noble. The woman understands that now she is in many ways interesting to Eugene precisely because she has become a prominent socialite. In parting, Tatyana says:
“I love you (why lie?),
But I was given to another;
I will be faithful to him forever"
And he leaves. Evgeny is “as if struck by thunder” by Tatiana’s words.
“But a sudden ringing sound rang out,
And Tatyana’s husband showed up,
And here is my hero,
In a moment that is evil for him,
Reader, we will now leave,
For a long time... forever..."
conclusions
The novel in verse “Eugene Onegin” amazes with its depth of thought, the volume of events, phenomena and characters described. Depicting in the work the morals and life of cold, “European” St. Petersburg, patriarchal Moscow and the village - the center of folk culture, the author shows the reader Russian life as a whole. A brief retelling of “Eugene Onegin” allows you to get acquainted only with the central episodes of the novel in verse, therefore, for a better understanding of the work, we recommend that you familiarize yourself with the full version of the masterpiece of Russian literature.
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