Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse

By Alexander Pushkin

Widely acknowledged as the master work of the fountainhead of Russian literature, "Eugene Onegin" is a novel in verse, first published serially in 1825. This work, comprised of 389 verses, follows the destinies of three men and three women in imperialist Russia. Eugene is a dandy bored with the social whirl of St. Petersburg, and in moving to the country for a change of scene, he becomes the friend of the poet Lensky, changing their fates dramatically. "Eugene Onegin" is narrated by Pushkin himself, though an idealized version who frequently yet entrancingly digresses in the midst of the beauty Tatyana's embarrassment with Onegin and maturity in the social world. Pushkin, with a tone that is at once satirical and full of storytelling verve, additionally utilizes the characters of Olga, Tatyana's sister, and a Muse, as well as a wide array of other individuals who enhance the tale's narrative. Tragically suspenseful, lively, and skillfully rendered, "Eugene Onegin" has proven to be not only the favorite work of its author, but a classic of Russian literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781420937183

Book preview

EUGENE ONEGIN

A ROMANCE OF RUSSIAN LIFE IN VERSE

BY ALEXANDER PUSHKIN

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN

BY HENRY SPALDING

A Digireads.com Book

Digireads.com Publishing

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3424-3

Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3718-3

This edition copyright © 2012

Please visit www.digireads.com

PREFACE

Eugene Onegin, the chief poetical work of Russia's greatest poet, having been translated into all the principal languages of Europe except our own, I hope that this version may prove an acceptable contribution to literature. Tastes are various in matters of poetry, but the present work possesses a more solid claim to attention in the series of faithful pictures it offers of Russian life and manners. If these be compared with Mr. Wallace's book on Russia, it will be seen that social life in that empire still preserves many of the characteristics which distinguished it half a century ago—the period of the first publication of the latter cantos of this poem.

Many references will be found in it to our own country and its literature. Russian poets have carefully plagiarized the English— notably Joukóvski. Pushkin, however, was no plagiarist, though undoubtedly his mind was greatly influenced by the genius of Byron— more especially in the earliest part of his career. Indeed, as will be remarked in the following pages, he scarcely makes an effort to disguise this fact.

The biographical sketch is of course a mere outline. I did not think a longer one advisable, as memoirs do not usually excite much interest till the subjects of them are pretty well known. In the notes I have endeavored to elucidate a somewhat obscure subject. Some of the poet's allusions remain enigmatical to the present day. The point of each sarcasm naturally passed out of mind together with the society against which it was levelled. If some of the versification is rough and wanting in go, I must plead in excuse the difficult form of the stanza, and in many instances the inelastic nature of the subject matter to be versified. Stanza XXXV Canto II forms a good example of the latter difficulty, and is omitted in the German and French versions to which I have had access. The translation of foreign verse is comparatively easy so long as it is confined to conventional poetic subjects, but when it embraces abrupt scraps of conversation and the description of local customs it becomes a much more arduous affair. I think I may say that I have adhered closely to the text of the original.

The following foreign translations of this poem have appeared:

1. French prose. Oeuvres choisis de Pouchekine. H. Dupont. Paris, 1847.

2. German verse. A. Puschkin's poetische Werke. F. Bodenstedt. Berlin, 1854.

3. Polish verse. Eugeniusz Oniegin. Roman Aleksandra Puszkina. A. Sikorski. Vilnius, 1847.

4. Italian prose. Racconti poetici di A. Puschkin, tradotti da A. Delâtre. Firenze, 1856.

London, May 1881.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

MON PORTRAIT

A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF ALEXANDER PUSHKIN.

EUGENE ONEGIN

CANTO THE FIRST. 'THE SPLEEN'

CANTO THE SECOND. THE POET

CANTO THE THIRD. THE COUNTRY DAMSEL

CANTO THE FOURTH. RURAL LIFE

CANTO THE FIFTH. THE FÊTE

CANTO THE SIXTH. THE DUEL

CANTO THE SEVENTH. MOSCOW

CANTO THE EIGHTH. THE GREAT WORLD

MON PORTRAIT

WRITTEN BY THE POET AT THE AGE OF 15.

Vous me demandez mon portrait,

Mais peint d'aprés nature:

Mon cher, il sera bientot fait,

Quoique en miniature.

Je suis un jeune polisson

Encore dans les classes;

Point sot, je le dis sans façon,

Et sans fades grimaces.

Oui! il ne fut babillard

Ni docteur de Sorbonne,

Plus ennuyeux et plus braillard

Que moi-même en personne.

Ma taille, á celle des plus longs,

Elle n'est point egalée;

J'ai le teint frais, les cheveux blonds,

Et la tête bouclée.

J'aime et le monde et son fracas,

Je hais la solitude;

J'abhorre et noises et débats,

Et tant soit peu l'étude.

Spectacles, bals, me plaisent fort,

Et d'aprés ma pensée,

Je dirais ce que j'aime encore,

Si je n'étais au Lycée.

Aprés cela, mon cher ami,

L'on peut me reconnaître,

Oui! tel que le bon Dieu me fit,

Je veux toujours paraître.

Vrai demon, par l'espiéglerie,

Vrai singe par sa mine,

Beaucoup et trop d'étourderie,

Ma foi! voilá Pouchekine.

Note: Russian proper names to be pronounced as in French (the nasal sound of m and n excepted) in the following translation. The accent, which is very arbitrary in the Russian language, is indicated unmistakably in a rhythmical composition.

A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF ALEXANDER PUSHKIN.

Alexander Sergévitch Pushkin was born in 1799 at Pskoff, and was a scion of an ancient Russian family. In one of his letters it is recorded that no less than six Pushkins signed the Charta declaratory of the election of the Románoff family to the throne of Russia, and that two more affixed their marks from inability to write.

In 1811 he entered the Lyceum, an aristocratic educational establishment at Tsarskoe Selo, near St. Petersburg, where he was the friend and schoolmate of Prince Gortchakoff the Russian Chancellor. As a scholar he displayed no remarkable amount of capacity, but was fond of general reading and much given to versification. Whilst yet a schoolboy he wrote many lyrical compositions and commenced Ruslan and Liudmila, his first poem of any magnitude, and, it is asserted, the first readable one ever produced in the Russian language. During his boyhood he came much into contact with the poets Dmitrieff and Joukóvski, who were intimate with his father, and his uncle, Vassíli Pushkin, himself an author of no mean repute. The friendship of the historian Karamzíne must have exercised a still more beneficial influence upon him.

In 1817 he quitted the Lyceum and obtained an appointment in the Foreign Office at St. Petersburg. Three years of reckless dissipation in the capital, where his lyrical talent made him universally popular, resulted in 1818 in a putrid fever which was near carrying him off. At this period of his life he scarcely slept at all; worked all day and dissipated at night. Society was open to him from the palace of the prince to the officers' quarters of the Imperial Guard. The reflection of this mode of life may be noted in the first canto of Eugene Onegin and the early dissipations of the Philosopher just turned eighteen,— the exact age of Pushkin when he commenced his career in the Russian capital.

In 1820 he was transferred to the bureau of Lieutenant-General Inzoff, at Kishineff in Bessarabia. This event was probably due to his composing and privately circulating an Ode to Liberty, though the attendant circumstances have never yet been thoroughly brought to light. An indiscreet admiration for Byron most likely involved the young poet in this scrape. The tenor of this production, especially its audacious allusion to the murder of the emperor Paul, father of the then reigning Tsar, assuredly deserved, according to aristocratic ideas, the deportation to Siberia which was said to have been prepared for the author. The intercession of Karamzíne and Joukóvski procured a commutation of his sentence. Strangely enough, Pushkin appeared anxious to deceive the public as to the real cause of his sudden disappearance from the capital; for in an Ode to Ovid composed about this time he styles himself a voluntary exile. (See Note 5 to this volume.)

During the four succeeding years he made numerous excursions amid the beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine—and amongst these the Crimea and the Caucasus. A nomad life passed amid the beauties of nature acted powerfully in developing his poetical genius. To this period he refers in the final canto of Eugene Onegin (st. v.), when enumerating the various influences which had contributed to the formation of his Muse:

Then, the far capital forgot,

Its splendour and its blandishments,

In poor Moldavia cast her lot,

She visited the humble tents

Of migratory gipsy hordes.

During these pleasant years of youth he penned some of his most delightful poetical works: amongst these, The Prisoner of the Caucasus, The Fountain of Baktchiserai, and the Gipsies. Of the two former it may be said that they are in the true style of the Giaour and the Corsair. In fact, just at that point of time Byron's fame—like the setting sun—shone out with dazzling lustre and irresistibly charmed the mind of Pushkin amongst many others. The Gipsies is more original; indeed the poet himself has been identified with Aleko, the hero of the tale, which may well be founded on his own personal adventures without involving the guilt of a double murder. His undisguised admiration for Byron doubtless exposed him to imputations similar to those commonly levelled against that poet. But Pushkin's talent was too genuine for him to remain long subservient to that of another, and in a later period of his career he broke loose from all trammels and selected a line peculiarly his own. Before leaving this stage in our narrative we may point out the fact that during the whole of this period of comparative seclusion the poet was indefatigably occupied in study. Not only were the standard works of European literature perused, but two more languages—namely Italian and Spanish—were added to his original stock: French, English, Latin and German having been acquired at the Lyceum. To this happy union of literary research with the study of nature we must attribute the sudden bound by which he soon afterwards attained the pinnacle of poetic fame amongst his own countrymen.

In 1824 he once more fell under the imperial displeasure. A letter seized in the post, and expressive of atheistical sentiments (possibly but a transient vagary of his youth) was the ostensible cause of his banishment from Odessa to his paternal estate of Mikhailovskoe in the province of Pskoff. Some, however, aver that personal pique on the part of Count Vorontsoff, the Governor of Odessa, played a part in the transaction. Be this as it may, the consequences were serious for the poet, who was not only placed under the surveillance of the police, but expelled from the Foreign Office by express order of the Tsar for bad conduct. A letter on this subject, addressed by Count Vorontsoff to Count Nesselrode, is an amusing instance of the arrogance with which stolid mediocrity frequently passes judgment on rising genius. I transcribe a portion thereof:

ODESSA, 28th March (7th April) 1824

Count—Your Excellency is aware of the reasons for which, some time ago, young Pushkin was sent with a letter from Count Capo d'Istria to General Inzoff. I found him already here when I arrived, the General having placed him at my disposal, though he himself was at Kishineff. I have no reason to complain about him. On the contrary, he is much steadier than formerly. But a desire for the welfare of the young man himself, who is not wanting in ability, and whose faults proceed more from the head than from the heart, impels me to urge upon you his removal from Odessa. Pushkin's chief failing is ambition. He spent the bathing season here, and has gathered round him a crowd of adulators who praise his genius. This maintains in him a baneful delusion which seems to turn his head—namely, that he is a distinguished writer; whereas, in reality he is but a feeble imitator of an author in whose favour very little can be said (Byron). This it is which keeps him from a serious study of the great classical poets, which might exercise a beneficial effect upon his talents—which cannot be denied him—and which might make of him in course of time a distinguished writer.

The best thing that can be done for him is to remove him hence....

The Emperor Nicholas on his accession pardoned

Reviews for Eugene Onegin

[asxz-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fan-bloody-tastic. A novel in verse with a translation that maintained the original rhyme scheme. So good on the truth of young love, so light and so funny. The duel is genuinely shocking and the ending abrupt and sad.

I hadn't realized that this would be a novel in sonnets. What a treat to find out that this translation was the inspiration for Vikram Seth's The Golden Gate which I read 20 years ago. I kinda feel that I should seek out Nabokov's non-rhymed translation for comparison.

[alcracka · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Holy crap, this thing is good. It's amazing. And it's only around 200 pages, so it's not as much of a commitment as, y'know, those other Russian assholes who can't stop writing.

It's a "novel in verse," which means epic poem, wtf, in iambic tetrameter. It's organized in stanzas that are almost sonnets, but far enough off to kindof fuck with your head, or mine anyway. The scheme is abab, ccdd, effe, gg, so he's switching it up in each quatrain, which leaves me constantly off-balance. But in a good way! Tetrameter has a dangerous tendency to sound sing-songy to me, and this helps counterbalance that somehow.

It also makes a tough challenge for a translator, and for a long time Onegin was considered untranslatable. My boy Stanley Mitchell has done what feels like an admirable job; I'm sure if I knew Russian I'd say he brutalized the thing, but one takes what one can get and this version felt readable and elegant. He's no Mos Def, but he's pretty good with the rhymes.

The story ends abruptly at Chapter VIII; Pushkin had to do some last-minute rearranging, by which I mean burning most of a chapter that was critical of the government, which really throws the pace off there. The version I have includes some fragments after VIII - stuff that survived the flames for whatever reason - but it's really not enough to be more than a curiosity.

Tolstoy called this the major influence for Anna Karenina, and you can see it. He kinda took this story and said what if, at a crucial moment, things had gone differently? So if you read these two together it's basically like a really long Choose Your Own Adventure with only one choice. Rad!

And as an added bonus, Pushkin includes what I can only assume must be the most beautiful ode to foot fetishes ever written. It's five stanzas long, so that's 70 lines of foot fetishing. I almost wish I had a foot fetish so I could've really gotten into that bit.

Here's a stanza that's not about feet, so you can get a feel for how good this shit is:

Let me glance back. Farewell, you arbours
Where, in the backwoods, I recall
Days filled with indolence and ardours
And dreaming of a pensive soul.
And you, my youthful inspiration,
Keep stirring my imagination,
My heart's inertia vivify,
More often to my corner fly.
Let not a poet's soul be frozen,
Made rough and hard, reduced to bone
And finally be turned to stone
In that benumbing world he goes in,
In that intoxicating slough
Where, friends, we bathe together now.

And if that doesn't kick your ass, you're no friend of mine.

Frankly, even if it does we're probably not friends. But we could be, if you want.

[vanjr-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I read the Roger Clarke translation-one this is in prose. There are a number of other translations in English that are poetry. Which translation is best, well the original (Russian one) of course. But this classic literature is brilliant even in English. It is a book to be read many times so I plan to read a new translation each time.
Regarding the work itself (not the translations which all must fall short) Pushkin's Eugene Onegin is a work of genius. It is truly genius, but written over many, many years so indeed a work. I found it absolutely hilarious at times. The humor stands out in my mind. So read this edition or any other. If you have not read it you are missing out.

[bookomaniac-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Duidelijk romantisch geïnspireerd: gevoelens zijn sterker dan we denken. De structuur mangelt, vooral op het einde, de overgang van Tatjana komt niet helemaal geloofwaardig over. De korte versmaat werkt in het begin het lichtvoetige sterk in de hand (het zijn meer puntdichten). Opvallend is de bijna voortdurende commentaar van de auteur.

[rezeda-10 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I've read it when I was 11, at school, and liked it. Re-read it as an adult and loved it. Re-read again. Absolutely admired it... It becomes better every time.

[amydross · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I've read another translation before in proper verse, and while I understand that the story's not the same without the rhymes, Nabokov's rendering is, I think, as close to perfection as I will come until I can read the original.

[marse_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this translation by Charles Johnston of "Evgeny Onegin". Johnston, unlike Nabokov, translated it as a novel in verse and was enjoyable to read. I've read "Eugene Onegin" in Russian and various translations, and though none of the translations come close to the ease, the wit, the sheer joy of expression as the original, Johnston's translation was certainly adequate. The plot is simple. The hero is a bored, rich young man who is out of sync emotionally. He acts out in ways that destroy those who would in other circumstances be his closest friends or faithful lover. The digressions, however, are the best thing about the tale. Here we find a second story about creativity, writing, inspiration, memory and love. Lovely.

[jwhenderson_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a classic poem from the early romantic tradition in Russian literature. The romantic intrigue involved in the story of Tatyana, Lensky and Onegin has inspired readers and artists alike for more than a century. I found this verse translation very satisfying reading.

[giraldus_papyrus · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A wonderful novel from early 19th century Russia, translated into clear and readable English prose in this edition. The narrator is a minor character and keeps us entertained throughout, with a great variety of tone and digression, but always coming back to the main story. The story is intensely Russian - vastness of sky and countryside, contrast between country and city, country customs, fashionable society in town, ways to avoid boredom or to succumb to it, family entertainments, love-hate relations with France and the French, memorable characters, even the minor ones - and packs a wonderful story into less than 150 pages. Amid all this, the central love story, between Onegin and Tatiana, is told with delicacy, beauty and psychological insight. Definitely one to re-read.

[hadriantheblind · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lyrical, tragic, comical, romantic. Russian lit at its best.

[mathmaverick-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent book. The flow and rhythm of the poetry is very good and makes the book very readable. Very impressed with the translation. I would like to read another translation for comparison. Here is a great example of the poetry:Suppose your pistol-shot has endedA comrade's promising career,One who, by a rash glance offended,Or by an accidental sneer,During a drunken conversationOr in a fit of bind vexationWas bold enough to challenge you -Will not your soul be filled with rueWhen on the ground you see him, stricken,Upon his brow the mark of death,And watch the failing of his breath,And know that heart will never quicken?Say, now, my friend, what will you feelWhen he lies deaf to your appeal?

[poetontheone · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Pushkin's verse novel shows him as the masterful powerhouse of language, weaving together an intricate web of characters to create an affecting story full of wit and beauty. A testament to love and the power of the Muse and of ennui. Falen's translation is musical and readable, making the experience of this novel in verse a highly pleasant one for the modern reader.

[imshi_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Read it, didn't hate it, but for me the translation just didn't work. I think, though, that it's probably difficult to translate something like this in an all-around satisfactory way - I shall have to read the original now, I think.

[whitreidtan · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The high school I went to had a very different curriculum from most. The overwhelming number of choices we had for classes was amazing, and for an English and history loving geek like me, the best thing ever. I took elective classes like 20th Century Wars, an Asian history class, the Hero in Literature, Literary Outcasts, and Russian-Soviet Life. The latter class was a cross-departmental english and history class and we read some of the great Russian and Soviet authors. I still have my copy of The Complete Prose Tales of Alexandr Sergeyevitch Pushkin on my shelves. But as the title suggests, we never did read Pushkin's poetry, not even his most famous work, the novel in verse, Eugene Onegin. But because I have long been susceptible to buying all the works I can find by an author I enjoy, said novel in verse has been sitting on my shelves unread for literally decades. Note I said I acquire the books, not actually read them. Although in this case, I did finally tackle this most Russian of poems. And it was surprisingly accessible.Eugene Onegin's eponymous main character is a young man who enjoyed the social whirl and was a hit with women but he became jaded and tired of this life, retreating to his country estate and a fairly hermetic life there until Vladimir Lensky, a young poet moves into the area and the two men strike up a friendship. Lensky takes Onegin to dinner with his love Olga's family where Olga's older sister Tatyana falls for the experienced Onegin. She writes him an impassioned letter and is coldly and effectively rebuffed. After a disastrous evening at a country ball where Onegin unthinkingly flirts with Olga, Lensky calls him out and a duel ensues. Our hero flees the countryside, wandering for a couple of years, during which time Tatyana goes to St. Petersburg and marries, becoming a cosmopolitan young woman. And now Onegin falls head over heels in love with her, now that she is unavailable.I expected this to a tough read for a couple of reasons. I am (too many to count) years out of school and so not liable to find anyone willing to discuss this with me to help tease out meaning. I have never been a wild poetry fan and the thought of an entire novel in verse was daunting (Sharon Creech's lovely middle grade book Love That Dog being my only other attempt at it and while charming, that one is hardly in the same league as this one). I have to be in the proper mood for the dour Russians (which is why a class for moody high schoolers was genius, I tell you, genius). But I was pleasantly surprised. While tragedy and frustrated love abound here, the mood of the poem is not bleak and unremitting. There is much playfulness and light in it. The depictions of Russian society are detailed and wonderful as are the contrasting depictions of the regular Russian. I know much has been made of the difficulty of translating this poem in particular given the unnaturalness of the rhyme in English but I hardly noticed the oddness of the Pushkin stanza and since my own Russian was never very good, I'm unlikely to ever read it in the original to make an unflattering comparison. In any case, this Johnston translation captures the romance and the heartbreak of this long but engaging work. Those not too intimidated by poetry who want a less dense entry into Russian classics would be smart to start here.

[gbill_7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Essential reading for anyone who loves the masters of Russia's golden age of literature; as Yarmolinsky says in the introduction to this volume, "Indeed, the accuracy with which the Russian scene in the post-Napoleonic era is delineated, the realistic concern with contemporary manners, makes this poem something of a social document. It opens that imaginative history of Russian society that may be constructed from the richly humorous tales of Gogol, the neat fictions of Turgenev, the substantial narratives of Goncharov, Doestoevsky's tortured inventions, Tolstoy's broad canvases."Tatyana is a fascinating character, and it's ironic reading Onegin duel with Lensky in light of Pushkin's own death at age 38 from a duel with his wife's alleged lover.Quotes:On unrequited love:"It was for you that I neglectedThe call of fame, for you forgotMy country, and an exile’s lot –All thoughts, but those of you, rejected.Brief as your footprints on the grass,The happiness of youth must pass.""One who has lived and thought, grows scornful,Disdain sits silent in his eye;One who has felt, is often mournful,Disturbed by ghosts of days gone by."On the transience of life:"Alas! by God’s strange will we mustBehold each generation flourish,And watch life’s furrows briefly nourishThe perishable human crop,Which ripens fairly, but to drop;And where one falls, another surges…The race of men recks nothing, saveIts reckless growth: into the graveThe grandfathers it promptly urges.Our time will come when it is due,Our grandchildren evict us too.""But at the late and sterile season,At the sad turning of the years,The tread of passion augurs tears:Thus autumn gusts deal death and treason.""But oh, how deeply we must rue it,That youth was given us in vain,That we were hourly faithless to it,And that it cheated us again;That our bright pristine hopes grew battered,Our freshest dreams grew sear, and scatteredLike leaves that in wet autumn stray,Wind-tossed, and all too soon decay."On youth:"Youth’s fever is its own excuseFor ravings that it may induce."On youth and the human condition:"And you, oh youthful inspiration,Come, rouse anew imagination –Upon the dull mind’s slumbers break,My little nook do not forsake;Let not the poet’s heart know captureBy sullen time, and soon grow wryAnd hard and cold, and petrifyHere in the world’s benumbing rapture,This pool we bathe in, friends, this muckIn which, God help us, we are stuck."