A.S.Pushkin. Eugeny Onegin (1-3 chapter) --------------------------------------------------------------- © Copyright english translation Dennis Litoshick Email: dennis_ru@hotmail.com WWW: http://zhurnal.lib.ru/l/litoshik_d_n/ http://zhurnal.lib.ru/l/litoshik_d_n/ ---------------------------------------------------------------  * CHAPTER I
I

My uncle was a man of virture,

When he became quite old and sick,

He sought respect and tried to teach me,

His only heir, verte and weak.

He had the fun, I had the sore,

But grecious goodness! what a bore!

To sit by bedplace day and night,

Not doing even step aside,

And what a cheep and cunning thing

To entertain the sad,

To serve around, make his bed,

To fetch the pills, to mourn and grim,

To sigh outloud, think along:

`God damn old man, why ain't you gone?'

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II

So thought a playboy, young and funny,

While riding through the dust of road,

The only heir to the money,

That got his folks with help of Lord.

My reader! if introduce I may

Without comments, right away,

Onegin, my old friend

Was born , you know, in the Niva land.

And you may have been born in there,

The place of style, the vanity fair,

Where I had spent a lot of time,

But moved - the climate wasn't fine.

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III

With record excellent and clear,

His father lived in debt,

He gave three balls in every year

And went bankrupt. How sad.

But Fate took care of Evgeniy,

She sent Madame (the French for mammy),

And later on she sent Monseur

To care of l'enfant l'hero.

Monseur l'Abbe was French and poor,

Was easy on the kid,

Tought everything a little bit,

Was not that hard on him for sure,

Sometimes did bother him with stuff,

Though wasn't tiresome or rough.

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IV

As into teens, the age of riot,

The age of tender sorrow,

Evgeniy gradually followed,

Monseur l'Abbe was quicly fired.

And here Evgeniy's liberated,

His haircut is up-to-dated,

Dressed like a dandy, bright and bold,

He's being introduced to th'world.

He spoke Francais like Parisien

And danced mazurka like a feather,

He bowed at ease and posed like Ceaser-

The world dicieded he was fine.

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V

We all have studied bit by bit

All different stuff in different ways,

Thus education's not a hit

And for this fact the Lord we praise.

Onegin was, as many thought,

(these many judged the youth a lot)

A fine smart man, a little stiff,

A one who had a lucky gift

To walk along with th'world smalltalk

And argue with done-thats' fog,

To cause the ladies' smiles

With a burst of funny rhymes.

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VI

The Latin`s not in fashion now,

And if I should be writing truth,

He knew enough to put things down,

To craft some poems worth of use,

To chat a bit of Uvenalus,

To reason of what causes chaos,

Could cite (though with a pause)

From Eneida a little dose.

He didn't like historic dust,

From the Creation and so forth,

How long ago looked like the Earth,

But anecdotes - his real lust,

The scores of them till our days

Evgeniy's memory thus saves.

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Nor being gifted with the passion,

That's strong enough to burn in rhymes,

We couldn't teach him how to differ

The music of poetic size.

He scolded Homer, Pheocrith,

But praised the work of Adam Smith.

He was a good ecomonist,

E.g. he had a clue amidst

The ways a state becometh richer

And why it doesn't have to feature

Wealth in gold in treasury

But should in terms of goods measure it.

His father did't get all these

And lands're gone to pawn and lease.

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VIII

All skills that had my friend Evgeniy

I won't enclose for they are many

But where ingenious he was,

The science he knew as well as gods,

What was to him from early days,

A labor, pleasure, mystic maze,

What took his time from dawn till dawn,

What entertained him all along -

That was the science of tender passion,

So praised by Nazonus the Poet,

Exiled away, away for it,

Away to Moldova's step

Away from Italy's home lap.

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How early learnt the art to mimic,

The art to desperate and hope,

To be all faithful and cynic,

To seem sometimes he lacks a rope,

To be once proud, then all humble,

To touch your heart, then have it cramble,

How wordy was he being silent,

In speech he sparckled like a diamond,

In passion notes how was he tender,

While living one, while loving one,

Forgets himself for darling dame.

And in his eyes reflects her splendor,

And how he's bold and shy and dear,

Conclusing looks with servile tears.

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XI

How good he was in staying fresh,

Amazing modesty is easy,

To frighten with a desperate dash,

With flattery make feel you dizzy,

To catch the moment of excitement,

To try to strip the moral garnment,

To win with passion and cold mind

With innocent upbringing fight,

Demanding, praying for a `yes',

To listen how the heart is beating,

And get agreement for a meeting

(All after shadowing and chase),

And after that with hungry vilence

To give her lessons in the silence!

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XII

How young he was when learnt to hush

The hearts of women, young and not,

And easy was for him to crush

The other men with acid mots,

If dared they to cross with him!

His traps are poisonous, firm!

But you, naive and simple men,

Still kept Evgeniy as a friend,

He was a guest of honour for

A cheated husband,

Cheating husband,

The one who weekly pays a whore,

And fat old folks who're always glad

With having wife and being fed.

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XV

He used to lay still in the bed,

Receiving cards and reading letters,

Three invitations daily had

Three households write that he matters,

One to a party, one to ball...

So where should Evgeniy go?

It doesn't matter where go first,

He'll pay a visit t'every host,

But now so far he's dressed for walking,

In a stylish hat on rendez-vous,

Evgeniy's out to Avenue,

Enjoying air and no talking.

He stays out there till the watch

Rings time for lunch and shot of scotch.

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XVI

It's dark by now; in slegh he climbs,

`Go, go!' - the driver yells at horses,

Evgeniy's fur coat's silverazed

With diamond dust of Russian frosties.

Now he's headed to Talon's, where

His pale Kaverin waits out there.

He enters. The bottle cork hits th'ceiling,

Knocked out by its seething filling.

In front of him a stake with blood,

And truffles - (danties for him)-

The best of th'best of French cousine,

And Strassburg pie - the treat of gods-

And Limbourg cheese witha touch of moulding,

And a pineapple, cut and golden.

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XVII

And more of goblets the thirst's demanding,

To cool the heat in belly,

But here's a clock a message sending:

It's time to go to th'Ballet.

As an evil demon of the stage,

In actresses' chasing being a mage,

A dark warlord behind the scenes,

Who's ready get it with all means,

Evgeniy's on the way th'Ballet,

The place where liberties and farrie

Rule, and chock in claps just any dance

Is quite O.K., and hence

A viewer's a participant

(And feels a lot more important)

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XVIII

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XIX

My goddesses where are you now?

Please be my humble prayers facing.

Are you the same or other farries somehow

Took votre place, but not replacing.

And will I ever be seduced

While watching dancing Russian muse,

Your souls' inspired flight,

Or bored eye shall not then find

Familiar faces in the show,

And, gazing at the others' f*t

Through a fatigue lornette,

I, being in my spirits low,

I will be yawning all along,

Recalling days that now are gone.

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XX

The house's full. The boxes packed with diamonds and fashions

The pit is boiling, crowded and loud,

The stalls are clapping with impatience,

And here it is - the curtain is on rise with sound.

Amazing, airy and radiant

To move of magic bow obidient

Istomina, surrounded by nymphs,

Is flying on some wings, not limbs,

While touching stage with one of feet,

She jumps and in the air flits,

And dances like a dawn or feather,

Or is it body's song? Or either?

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XXI

Burst of applause. Onegin enters,

And makes his way on someone's feet.

And through th'lornette he glances

To study ladies in the pit.

He looked all the circles through,

He is upset - there're beaties not a few.

Then he exchanged bows with the men around,

And no vogue dresses found.

And after that he took,

While yawning

For the show was boring,

At the stage a vacant look:

I'm sick with ballets - so he said-

And down with music and all that

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XXII

While cupids, devils, serpents

Still do the noise in the show,

While tired footmen sleep by th'entrance

On fur-coats, hiding from the snow,

And while spectators there continue

To cough and hiss at the revu,

And while the streetlights still are on

To be alive from dusk till dawn

And horses hoof and neigh

For they are harnessed to the sleigh

And coachmen move around the fire

And gossip of those who them hired,

Look! Onegin's walking out all alone-

To get dressed up he's headed home.

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XXIII

May I describe in a truthful manner

The study, closed for everyone

Where cheperoned by vogue Evgeniy

Plays lead in th'dressing ritual,

Where all sophisticated items laid-

That picky London has to trade

For our wood and our fat-

The ones we through the Baltic get,

And whats' invented a Paris

For fun and pleasure there you see

At an eighteen-year-old

Philosopher's treshold.

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XXIV

Constantinople pipes with amber

And china, bronze out there exhumed

And the delight of coddled temper -

A crystal bottle of perfume,

And combs, and scissors, files for nails -

Accessories a dandy hails,

And thirty kinds of different brushes -

A real person never rushes.

Russeau (I say it by the way)

Had never got how formal Grim

Could clean his nails in front of him.

Though eloquent, but there he may

Be wrong about the case

Despite the wisdom on his face

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One can be nice and thinking person

And care of the shape of nails.

What for shall one confront the era?

Against the customs person fails.

Evgeniy's a second Chaahdaev, sought

Afraid be viewed as someone odd,

Perfection, pedantry in clothes

And as a dandy always goes.

At least he spent three hours daily

In front of looking-glass

Exterminating mess and fuss

Until he looks like Venus airy

When she put on a virile suit

And off to masquerade as a dude.

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XXVI

I might be having your attention

To detalize Evgeniy's looks:

The suit made up to the latest fashion

(of course you know it not from books)

I'm not to teach, I am to draw -

Description's what I here for.

But frac, gilet and pantalons

This words in Russian make me frown

And as I see ( and I am sorry)

That rhymes I use are full

Of borrowed words and broken rules.

I beg forgiveness for these follies

Though I used to have a look

Into the thick linguistic book.

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XXVII

But let us drop linguistic edits

We'd rather hurry to the ball

To which Evgeniy's carriage's headed

Along the houses in snow,

Along St.Petersburg's ice streets

On which the East with Europe meets,

And carriage's lanterns bring the light

Into the gloomy winter night

And paint rainbows on the rime:

A mansion lighted all around

With diamonds of lanterns crowned

And one can see from time to time

Profiles of fashionable heads

Of ladies and eccentric lads.

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XXVIII

Have had approched the entrance hall,

He passed the porter like an arrow,

Flew over stairsteps to the ball,

While with his hands he did the hair.

At last he's there, and there's a crowd,

The music's tired but still loud,

The folks are busy with the dances,

It's stuffed, and noisy, and glances

Are easily responded to,

The ladies whirl in tact to beat,

And shights of officers them hit,

But still they take it as their due.

And viloins' uproar surpresses

The wives' gossiping about the dances

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XXIX

In days begone of mirth and wishes

I used to be into the balls

For they're the best without suspicions

To pass the secret passion notes.

To you, my dear wives and men,

To you my service's offered then.

Please, pay attention to my words -

I want to warn you of what hurts.

And you, oh mothers, also take

A closer look at your own girls -

The world reserves some painful falls,

Avoid them for goodness sake!

I write these things for I have not

Been sinning for l*ng, dear Lord.

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XXX

Alas, on worldly entertainment

I've spent a lot of my lifetime,

And if there weren't degradation

I'd keep on loving balls as fine.

I love their youthfulness and glitter,

And joy, and every crowded meter,

And ladies' thought-through dress,

And love their legs, but shall confess -

One hardly can in Russia find

Some slender legs (it's fact, not fable)

But I for a long time was unable

To forget one pair that looks pleasing sight.

And sad, already cool and chilled, my heart

In dreams gets pierced with their dart.

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And when, in what unlucky hour

One can forget you? I don't believe it much.

Oh legs, oh feet, I wish to be the flower

You've stepped onto and left your touch.

You were charished in oriental bliss,

But in the snowy nothern mist

You've left no trace:

The carpet's lavish, tender face

And their softness were your domain.

I did neglect because of you

Not long ago ambitions, due,

The land of fathers, wishes, fame.

The youthful happiness dissolved as if it was a glimpse

Like on the meadows disappeared your footprints.

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Diana's brest, and Flora's cheeks,

My friends, they're truly good,

But spot where is my sight's fix

Is Terpsichore's foot.

While it prophesies me a sort

Of valuable reward,

It does attact a hive of wishes

With its beaty, solemn, precious.

I love them, dear friend Elvina,

Deep-hidden under tablecloth,

In springtime next to grass and moss,

By fireplace, seducing poor sinner,

Reflected in the glass of floor,

And on the rocks along seashore.

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I recollect the sea before the storm,

I envied waves that lilac day,

The waves that rush, they're crowned with the foam,

To knee in front of her and stay.

I wish I were a wave to touch

In kiss her feet, I wish so much!

No, never in the burning days

Of boiling youth I had this craze

To wish with such a self-contempt

To kiss the farries, face to face,

Or roses of their cheeks that blaze,

Or brests that so seduce and tempt,-

No, never th'juggernaught of passion

Struck me with such a wild aggression.

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I recollect some other days!

In very cherished dreams of mine,

I kiss her, drawned in happiness,

I feel her her legs in hands, and sigh.

Again imagination's seething:

Her softest touch and slightest breathing,

Have pushed the blood in fainted heart.

Again the bore, ones more love's start.

Enough of gabbling on my lyre

To celebrate the haughty ones

For they're not worthy of the fire

And songs for which inspire us.

The words and sights of enchantress

Are as delusive as her legs.

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But where's Evgeniy? Half-asleep,

To bedplace from the ball he's going.

The city's eyelids never meet,

And drums awaken all by rolling.

Wakes up a merchant, pedlars do,

The cabmen pass by down the rue,

Milkvendors hurry with the jugs. In dawn

The crispy snow is heard when is stepped on.

The morning's noice bids farewell to night,

The shatters are open; the chimney's smoke

Is raising up like a thick pale blue rope.

The German baker, dressed tidy and all-right,

Sits in a cotton cap, indifferent to fuss,

And greets the folks through th'open vasisdas.

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XXXVI

Worn out by the noise at the ball,

Onegin turned the dawn into the midst of night,

Now calmly sleeps, where shade has blissful fall,

Was born to luxiory, not freight.

He will wake up long after sunny noon.

The preset, same agenda is his doom

The life is steady, with only few suprises:

What's gone will come tomorrow when the Sun rises.

With freedom,