Stephen Fry - Eugene Onegin. Chapter 01 | Текст песни

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• Eugene Onegin. Chapter 01

Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin
A Novel in Verse
Translated by JAMES E. FALEN
EUGENE ONEGIN
Petri de vanite il avait encore plus de cette espece
d'orgueil qui fait avouer avec la meme indifference les
bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un
sentiment de superiorite, peut-etre imaginaire.
Tire d'une lettre particuliere*
Dedication*
Not thinking of the proud world's pleasure, But
cherishing your friendship's claim, I would have wished
a finer treasure To pledge my token to your name- One
worthy of your soul's perfection, The sacred dreams
that fill your gaze, Your verse's limpid, live complexion,
Your noble thoughts and simple ways. But let it be.
Take this collection Of sundry chapters as my suit: Half
humorous, half pessimistic, Blending the plain and
idealistic- Amusement's yield, the careless fruit Of
sleepless nights, light inspirations, Born of my green
and withered years… The intellect's cold observations,
The heart's reflections, writ in tears.
Chapter 1
To live he hurries and to feel makes haste. Prince
Vjazemsky
1
'My uncle, man of firm convictions*…
By falling gravely ill, he's won
A due respect for his afflictions-
The only clever thing he's done.
May his example profit others;
But God, what deadly boredom, brothers,
To tend a sick man night and day,
Not daring once to steal away!
And, oh, how base to pamper grossly
And entertain the nearly dead,
To fluff the pillows for his head,
And pass him medicines morosely-
While thinking under every sigh:
The devil take you, Uncle. Die!'
2
Just so a youthful rake reflected, As through the dust
by post he flew, By mighty Zeus's will elected Sole heir
to all the kin he knew. Ludmila's and Ruslan's
adherents!* Without a foreword's interference, May I
present, as we set sail, The hero of my current tale:
Onegin, my good friend and brother, Was born beside
the Neva's span, Where maybe, reader, you began, Or
sparkled in one way or other. I too there used to
saunter forth, But found it noxious in the north.*
3
An honest man who'd served sincerely,
His father ran up debts galore;
He gave a ball some three times yearly,
Until he had no means for more.

Fate watched Eugene in his dependence;
At first Madame was in attendance;
And then Monsieur took on the child,
A charming lad, though somewhat wild.
Monsieur l'Abbe, a needy fellow,
To spare his charge excessive pain,
Kept lessons light and rather plain;
His views on morals ever mellow,
He seldom punished any lark,
And walked the boy in Letny Park.*
4
But when the age of restless turnings Became in time
our young man's fate, The age of hopes and tender
yearnings, Monsieur l'Abbe was shown the gate. And
here's Onegin-liberated, To fad and fashion newly
mated: A London dandy, hair all curled, At last he's
ready for the world! In French he could and did acutely
Express himself and even write; In dancing too his step
was light, And bows he'd mastered absolutely. Who'd
ask for more? The world could tell That he had wit and
charm as well.
5
We've all received an education In something
somehow, have we not? So thank the Lord that in this
nation A little learning means a lot. Onegin was, so
some decided (Strict judges, not to be derided), A
learned, if pedantic, sort. He did possess the happy
forte Of free and easy conversation, Or in a grave
dispute he'd wear The solemn expert's learned air And
keep to silent meditation; And how the ladies' eyes he
lit With flashes of his sudden wit!
6
The Latin vogue today is waning, And yet I'll say on his
behalf, He had sufficient Latin training To gloss a
common epigraph, Cite Juvenal in conversation, Put
vale in a salutation; And he recalled, at least in part, A
line or two

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