We read together! Fragments for reading from “Eugene Onegin. Alexander pushkin - eugene onegin my uncle of the most honest rules name
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Pétri de vanité il avait encore plus de cette espèce d'orgueil qui fait avouer avec la même indifférence les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un sentiment de supériorité, peut-être imaginaire.
Not thinking the proud light to amuse,
Attention of loving friendship,
I would like to introduce you
The pledge is worthy of you
More worthy of a beautiful soul
Holy dream fulfilled
Poetry alive and clear,
High thoughts and simplicity;
But so be it - with a biased hand
Accept the collection of variegated heads,
Half-funny, half-sad,
Common people, ideal,
The careless fruit of my amusements
Insomnia, light inspirations,
Immature and withered years
Of the minds of cold observations
And notice the sorrowful hearts.
Chapter one
And he is in a hurry to live, and in a hurry to feel.
I
“My uncle has the most honest rules,
When seriously ill,
He made himself respect
And I could not think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
But oh my god, what a boredom
Sitting with a sick person day and night,
Without leaving a single step away!
What a base deceit
To amuse half-dead
Correct his pillows,
It's sad to bring medicine
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you! "
II
So the young rake thought,
Flying in the dust on the 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, this very hour
Let me introduce you:
Onegin, my good friend,
Born on the banks of the Neva,
Where maybe you were born
Or shone, my reader;
I once walked there too:
But the north is bad for me.
III
Serving excellently, nobly,
His father lived in debt,
Gave three balls annually
And he skipped at last.
Evgeny's fate kept:
First Madame followed him,
Later Monsieur changed her;
The child was cut, but sweet.
Monsieur l'Abbé, a wretched Frenchman,
So that the child is not exhausted,
I taught him everything in jest,
I did not bother with strict morality,
Slightly scolded for pranks
And he took him for a walk to the Summer Garden.
IV
When rebellious youth
It's time for Eugene,
It's time for hopes and tender sadness
Monsieur drove out of the yard.
Here is my Onegin at large;
Cut in the latest fashion;
How dandy London dressed -
And finally I saw the light.
He is in French perfectly
I could express myself and write;
Easily danced the mazurka
And bowed at ease;
What is more to you? The light decided
That he is smart and very nice.
V
We all learned a little
Something and somehow
So education, thank God,
It's no wonder we shine.
Onegin was, in the opinion of many
(Judges decisive and strict),
Small scientist, but a pedant.
He had a lucky talent
Without coercion in conversation
Touch everything lightly
With the learned air of a connoisseur
Keep silent in an important dispute
And excite the smile of the ladies
By the fire of unexpected epigrams.
VI
Latin is out of fashion now:
So, if I tell you the truth,
He knew pretty much Latin,
To disassemble the epigraphs,
Talk about Juvenal
At the end of the letter, put vale,
Yes, I remembered, though not without sin,
Two verses from the Aeneid.
He had no desire to rummage
In chronological dust
Descriptions of the earth;
But the days of the past are anecdotes,
From Romulus to the present day,
He kept it in his memory.
Vii
Having no high passion
Do not spare for the sounds of life,
He could not have iamba from a chorea,
No matter how we fought, to distinguish.
Scolded Homer, Theocritus;
But I read Adam Smith
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he knew how to judge
As the state gets richer
And how he lives, and why
He doesn't need gold
When simple product It has.
Father could not understand him
And he gave the land as a pledge.
VIII
All that Eugene still knew was
To retell me the lack of time;
But in what he was a true genius,
What he knew harder than all sciences,
What was izmlad for him
And labor, and torment, and joy,
What took a whole day
His yearning laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Which Nazon sang,
Why did he end up as a sufferer
Its age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Away from his Italy.
IX
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X
How early could he be a hypocrite
Conceal hope, be jealous
Dissuade, make believe,
To seem gloomy, to languish,
Be proud and obedient
Attentive il indifferent!
How languid he was silent,
How ardently eloquent
How careless in letters of heart!
Breathing one, loving one,
How he knew how to forget himself!
How quick and gentle his gaze was,
Shy and impudent, and sometimes
Shone with an obedient tear!
XI
How he knew how to seem new,
Joking innocence to amaze,
Frighten with despair ready,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
Catch a moment of emotion
Innocent years of prejudice
To win with mind and passion,
An involuntary caress to expect
Pray and demand recognition
Eavesdrop on the first sound of hearts
Chase love and suddenly
Get a secret meeting ...
And after her alone
Give lessons in silence!
XII
How early could he disturb
Note coquette hearts!
When did I want to destroy
His rivals to him,
How sarcastically he slandered!
What nets he prepared for them!
But you blessed husbands
You were friends with him:
His wicked husband caressed him,
Foblas is a longtime student,
And an incredulous old man
And a stately cuckold,
Always happy with myself
With my lunch and my wife.
XIII. XIV
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Xv
Sometimes he was still in bed:
They carry notes to him.
What? Invitations? Indeed,
Three houses for the evening are called:
There will be a ball, there will be a children's party.
Where will my prankster gallop?
Who will he start with? Does not matter:
It's no wonder to keep up everywhere.
While in the morning dress,
Wearing a wide bolivar,
Onegin goes to the boulevard
And there he walks in the open,
While the awake Breget
Dinner won't ring him.
Xvi
It's already dark: he sits on the sled.
"Fall, fall!" - there was a cry;
It glistens with frosty dust
His beaver collar.
TO Talon rushed off: he is sure
That there is already waiting for him Kaverin.
Entered: and a cork in the ceiling,
The comet's fault splashed the current;
Before him roast-beef bloody
And truffles, the luxury of a young age,
French food is the best color,
And Strasbourg is an imperishable pie
Between the cheese of Limburgish live
And golden pineapple.
XVII
Thirst asks for more glasses
Pour the hot fat over the cutlets,
But the ringing of the Breguet brings them,
That a new ballet has begun.
The theater is an evil legislator
Fickle adorer
Charming actresses
Honorary Citizen of the wings,
Onegin flew to the theater,
Where everyone, breathing freedom,
Ready to clap entrechat,
Pound Phaedra, Cleopatra,
Call Moina (in order
Just to hear him).
Xviii
Magic land! there in old years,
Satyrs brave lord
Shone Fonvizin, friend of freedom,
And the perceptive Prince;
There Ozerov unwitting tributes
People's tears, applause
I shared with the young Semyonova;
There our Katenin resurrected
Corneille is a stately genius;
There he brought out the prickly Shakhovskoy
A noisy swarm of comedies,
There, Didlo was crowned with glory,
There, there, under the canopy of the wings
My youthful days rushed by.
XIX
My goddesses! what do you? Where are you?
Hear my sad voice:
Are you still the same? other virgins,
Having replaced, did they replace you?
Will I hear your choirs again?
Will I see the Russian Terpsichore
Soul-filled flight?
Or the gloomy gaze will not find
Familiar faces on a boring stage
And, directing to an alien light
Disappointed lorgnette
The viewer is indifferent to fun,
Silently I will yawn
And remember the past?
XX
The theater is already full; the lodges shine;
Parterre and chairs, everything is boiling;
They splash impatiently in the paradise,
And, flying up, the curtain makes a noise.
Brilliant, semi-airy,
The bow to the magic is obedient,
A crowd of nymphs is surrounded,
Istomin stands; she,
One foot touching the floor
The other is slowly circling
And suddenly a jump, and suddenly it flies,
Flies like fluff from the mouth of Aeolus;
Now the camp will advise, then it will develop,
And he hits the leg with a quick foot.
XXI
Everything claps. Onegin enters,
Goes between the chairs on the legs,
Double lorgnette obliquely directs
On the lodges of unknown ladies;
I looked around all the tiers,
I saw everything: faces, headdress
He is terribly displeased;
With men from all sides
Bowed, then on stage
In great distraction he looked,
Turned away - and yawned,
And he said: “It's time to replace everyone;
I endured ballets for a long time,
But I’m tired of Didlo ”.
XXII
More cupids, devils, snakes
They jump and make noise on the stage;
Still tired footmen
They sleep on fur coats at the entrance;
Have not stopped stomping yet
Blow your nose, cough, boo, clap;
Still outside and inside
Lanterns shine everywhere;
Still, frozen, the horses are beating,
Bored with your harness,
And the coachman, around the lights,
They scold the gentlemen and beat them in the palms:
And already Onegin went out;
He goes home to get dressed.
XXIII
I will portray in a faithful picture
A secluded office
Where is the mod pupil exemplary
Dressed, undressed and dressed again?
Anything for a plentiful whim
Scrupulous London trades
And along the Baltic waves
Carries us for the forest and lard,
Everything that tastes hungry in Paris
Choosing a useful trade,
Invents for fun
For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -
Everything decorated the study
A philosopher at the age of eighteen.
Xxiv
Amber on the tubes of Constantinople,
Porcelain and bronze on the table
And, feelings of pampered joy,
Perfume in faceted crystal;
Combs, steel nail files,
Straight scissors, curves
And brushes of thirty kinds
Both for nails and teeth.
Russo (note in passing)
Couldn't understand how important Grim was
Dare to brush my nails in front of him,
An eloquent madcap.
Defender of liberty and rights
In this case, it is completely wrong.
Xxv
You can be a smart person
And think about the beauty of nails:
Why is it fruitless to argue with the century?
The custom is a despot among people.
Second Chadayev, my Evgeny,
Afraid of jealous judgments
There was a pedant in his clothes
And what we called dandy.
He's three hours at least
I spent in front of the mirrors
And came out of the restroom
Like windy Venus
When, putting on a man's outfit,
The goddess goes to the masquerade.
XXVI
In the last taste of the toilet
Taking your curious gaze,
I could be in front of the learned light
Describe his outfit here;
Of course, it was bold,
To describe my own business:
But pantaloons, tailcoat, vest,
All these words are not in Russian;
And I see, I blame you,
That my poor syllable is already so
I could be much less colorful
With foreign words
Even though I looked in the old days
The Academic Dictionary.
XXVII
We now have something wrong with the subject:
We'd better hurry to the ball
Where headlong in the pit carriage
Already my Onegin galloped.
Before the faded houses
Along the sleepy street in rows
Double carriage lights
Merry light is pouring out
And they lead rainbows to the snow;
Dotted with bowls all around
The magnificent house shines;
Shadows walk on solid windows,
Head profiles flash
And ladies and fashionable cranks.
XXVIII
Here our hero drove up to the entrance;
The doorman by he arrow
Soared up the marble steps
Spread my hair with my hand
Has entered. The hall is full of people;
The music is tired of thundering;
The crowd is busy with the mazurka;
All around and noise and cramped;
The spurs of the cavalry guard strum;
Legs of lovely ladies fly;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly
And the roar of the violins is drowned out
Jealous whisper of fashionable wives.
XXIX
During the days of joy and desire
I was crazy about balls:
Rather, there is no room for confessions
And for the delivery of the letter.
O you, honorable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
Please note my speech:
I want to warn you.
You too, mamas, are stricter
Follow your daughters:
Keep your lorgnette straight!
Not that ... not that, God forbid!
That's why I'm writing this,
That I have not sinned for a long time.
XXX
Alas, for different fun
I have ruined a lot of life!
But if morals did not suffer,
I still loved balls.
I love frantic youth
And tightness, and shine, and joy,
And I will give a thoughtful outfit;
I love their legs; only hardly
You will find a whole in Russia
Three pairs of slender female legs.
Oh! I couldn't forget for a long time
Two legs ... Sad, cold,
I remember them all, and in a dream
They disturb my heart.
XXXI
When and where, in what desert,
Madman, will you forget them?
Ah, legs, legs! where are you now?
Where do you crumple spring flowers?
Cherished in eastern bliss
In the northern, sad snow
You left no trace:
Loved the soft you carpets
A luxurious touch.
How long have I forgotten for you
And a thirst for fame and praise,
And the land of the fathers, and imprisonment?
The happiness of young years has disappeared,
Like your easy trail in the meadows.
XXXII
Diana's chest, Lanita Flora
Lovely, dear friends!
However, the leg of Terpsichore
Something more charming for me.
She prophesying to the sight
An invaluable reward
Attracts conditional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth of tables
In the spring on the ant of the meadows,
In winter, on a cast iron fireplace,
Hall on the mirrored floor
By the sea on the granite rocks.
XXXIII
I remember the sea before the storm:
How I envied the waves
Running in a stormy line
Lie at her feet with love!
How I wished then with the waves
Touch the cute feet with your lips!
No, never in the midst of ardent days
My boiling youth
I did not wish with such torment
Kiss the lips of the young Armids,
Or fiery roses,
Or percy, full of languor;
No, never a rush of passion
So did not torment my soul!
XXXIV
I remember another time!
Sometimes cherished dreams
I am holding a happy stirrup ...
And I feel the leg in my hands;
Imagination is boiling again
Again her touch
The blood burned in a withered heart,
Again longing, again love! ..
But full of glorification of the haughty
With her chatty lyre;
They are not worth any passions,
No songs inspired by them:
The words and gaze of these sorceresses
Deceptive ... like their legs.
XXXV
What is my Onegin? Half asleep
He goes to bed from the ball:
And Petersburg is restless
Already awakened by the drum.
A merchant gets up, a peddler walks,
A cabman stretches to the exchange,
Okhtenka is in a hurry with a jug,
Under it the morning snow crunches.
A pleasant noise woke up in the morning.
The shutters are open; chimney smoke
The pillar rises blue
And the baker, neat German,
In a paper cap, more than once
I already opened my Vasisdas.
XXXVI
But, tired of the noise of the ball,
And turning the morning into midnight,
Sleeps quietly in the shade of the blissful
Having fun and luxury child.
Wakes up at noon, and again
Until the morning his life is ready,
Monotonous and variegated,
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 the daily pleasures?
Was he in vain among the feasts
Careless and healthy?
XXXVII
No: early feelings in him cooled down;
He was bored with the noise of the light;
The beauties were not long
The subject of his usual thoughts;
Managed to tire treason;
Friends and friendship are tired
Then, that I could not always
Beef-steaks and Strasbourg pie
Pour a bottle of champagne
And sprinkle sharp words
When my head hurts;
And although he was an ardent rake,
But he finally fell out of love
And abuse, and saber, and lead.
XXXVIII
The disease, which is the cause
It would be high time to find
Similar to English spleen,
In short: Russian blues
Has taken possession of him little by little;
He shot himself, thank God,
I didn't want to try
But he completely lost interest in life.
How Child-Harold, gloomy, languid
He would appear in the drawing-rooms;
No gossip of the world, no boston,
Neither a sweet look, nor an immodest sigh,
Nothing touched him
He did not notice anything.
XXXIX. XL. XLI
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XLII
Freaks of the big world!
He left all of you before you;
And the truth is that in our summers
The higher tone is rather boring;
Maybe a different lady
Interprets Sei and Bentham,
But in general, their conversation
Obnoxious, though innocent, nonsense;
Moreover, they are so pure,
So dignified, so smart
So full of piety
So discreet, so precise
So unapproachable for men
That the sight of them already gives birth spleen.
XLIII
And you young beauties
Which sometimes
Carry away droshky daring
On the St. Petersburg pavement,
And my Eugene has left you.
Apostate of stormy pleasures
Onegin locked himself at home,
Yawning, I took up the pen,
I wanted to write - but hard work
He was sick; nothing
It did not come out of his pen,
And he did not get into the perky workshop
People, about whom I am not judging,
Then, that I belong to them.
XLIV
And again, betrayed by idleness,
Languishing in spiritual emptiness
He sat down - with a laudable purpose
To take the mind of a stranger to oneself;
I set a shelf with a detachment of books,
I read, read, but everything is useless:
There is boredom, there is deception or delirium;
There is no sense in that conscience;
On all different chains;
And the old days are outdated,
And the old is raving about novelty.
As women, he left books
And the shelf, with their dusty family,
I pulled it up with mourning taffeta.
XLV
The conditions of light overthrowing the burden,
How he, lagging behind the hustle and bustle,
I made friends with him at that time.
I liked his features
Unwitting devotion to dreams
Inimitable oddity
And a sharp, chilled mind.
I was embittered, he is gloomy;
We both knew the passion of the game;
Weighed down the life of both of us;
In both hearts, the heat died away;
Malice awaited both of them
Blind Fortune and People
In the very morning of our days.
XLVI
He who lived and thought cannot
In my heart do not despise people;
He who felt worries
The ghost of unrecoverable days:
There are no charms for that,
That snake of memories
That one gnaws at remorse.
All this often gives
Great charm to the conversation.
First Onegin's tongue
Confused me; but I'm used to
To his stinging argument,
And jokingly, with bile in half,
And the anger of gloomy epigrams.
XLVII
How often summertime
When transparent and light
Night sky over the Neva
And the waters are merry glass
Doesn't reflect Diana's face
Remembering past years of novels,
Remembering the old love
Sensitive, careless again
By the breath of the benevolent night
We revel in silence!
Like a green forest from prison
The sleepy convict has been moved,
So we were carried away by a dream
By the beginning of life, young.
XLVIII
With a soul full of regrets
And leaning on granite
Eugene stood pensively,
As Piet described himself.
Everything was quiet; only at night
The sentries called out;
Yes droshky distant knocking
From Millionnaya it suddenly rang out;
Only a boat, waving oars,
Swam along the slumbering river:
And we were captivated in the distance
Horn and daring song ...
But sweeter in the midst of nighttime fun
Chanting Torquat Octaves!
XLIX
Adriatic waves
Oh Brenta! no, i will see you
And, full of inspiration again,
I will hear your magic voice!
He is holy to the grandchildren of Apollo;
By the proud lyre of Albion
He is familiar to me, he is dear to me.
Italy's golden nights
I will enjoy bliss in freedom
With a young Venetian,
Now talkative, now dumb,
Sailing in a mysterious gondola;
With her will my lips find
The language of Petrarch and love.
L
Will the hour of my freedom come?
It's time, it's time! - I appeal to her;
I wander over the sea, waiting for the weather
Manyu sailing ships.
Under the robe of storms, arguing with the waves,
Along the free crossroads of the sea
When will I start freestyle?
Time to leave boring Breg
I hate the elements
And in the midday swell,
Under the sky of my Africa,
Sigh for gloomy Russia,
Where I suffered, where I loved,
Where I buried my heart.
LI
Onegin was ready with me
See foreign countries;
But soon we were destiny
Divorced for a long time.
His father then died.
Before Onegin he gathered
A greedy regiment of creditors.
Everyone has their own mind and sense:
Eugene, hating litigation,
Satisfied with his lot,
I gave them an inheritance,
The big loss is not seeing
Or foreseeing from afar
The death of the old man's uncle.
LII
Suddenly he really got
Report from the steward,
That uncle is dying in bed
And I would be glad to say goodbye to him.
After reading the sad message,
Eugene immediately on a date
The headlong galloped by mail
And he yawned in advance,
Getting ready, for the sake of money,
For sighs, boredom and deceit
(And so I began my novel);
But, having arrived in the uncle's village,
I found him already on the table,
As a tribute to the ready land.
LIII
He found a yard full of services;
To the deceased from all sides
Enemies and friends came together,
Hunters before the funeral.
The deceased was buried.
Priests and guests ate and drank
And then they parted importantly,
As if they were busy with business.
Here is our Onegin - a villager,
Factories, waters, forests, lands
The owner is full, but until now
Enemy and wasteful of order,
And I'm very glad that the old way
Changed to something.
LIV
Two days seemed new to him
Secluded fields
The coolness of the gloomy oak tree,
The murmur of a quiet stream;
To the third grove, hill and field
He was no longer occupied;
Then they made me sleep;
Then he saw clearly
The same boredom in the village
Although there are no streets or palaces,
No cards, no balls, no poems.
The blues were waiting for him on guard,
And she ran after him,
Like a shadow or a faithful wife.
LV
I was born for a peaceful life
For village silence:
In the wilderness, the lyre voice is louder,
More vivid creative dreams.
Leisure dedicated to the innocent,
I wander over a desert lake,
AND far niente my law.
I'm awake every morning
For sweet bliss and freedom:
I read a little, I sleep for a long time,
I don't catch flying glory.
Wasn't that how I was in the old days
Spent in inaction, in the shadows
My happiest days?
LVI
Flowers, love, village, idleness,
Fields! I am devoted to you in my soul.
I'm always glad to notice the difference
Between Onegin and me,
To the mocking reader
Or some publisher
Intricate slander
Comparing my features here,
I did not repeat then shamelessly,
That I have smeared my portrait
Like Byron, the poet of pride,
As if it’s impossible for us
Write poems about something else
As soon as about yourself.Permeated with vanity, he possessed, moreover, a special pride, which prompts him to confess with equal indifference to his both good and bad deeds - a consequence of a feeling of superiority, perhaps imaginary. From a private letter (fr.).
A trait of chilled sentiment worthy of Chad-Harold. The ballets of Mr. Didlot are full of vivid imagination and extraordinary charm. One of our romantic writers found much more poetry in them than in all of French literature.
Tout le monde sut qu'il mettait du blanc; et moi, qui n'en croyais rien, je commençai de le croire, non seulement par l'embellissement de son teint et pour avoir trouvé 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 exprès, ouvrage qu'il continua fièrement 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 white; and I, who did not believe it at all, began to guess that not only because of the improvement in the color of his face or because I found jars of white on his toilet, but because, having entered his room one morning, I found him behind cleaning nails with a special brush; this occupation he proudly continued in my presence. I figured that someone who spends two hours every morning brushing their nails could take a few minutes to paint over the imperfections of their skin with whitewash. ("Confession" by J.-J. Rousseau) (fr.). Makeup was ahead of his time: nowadays, in all enlightened Europe, they clean their nails with a special brush.
Vasisdas - a play on words: in French - a window, in German - the question "are you ist das?" - "what is this?", Used by the Russians to refer to the Germans. Trade in small shops was carried out through the window. That is, the German baker managed to sell more than one roll.
All this ironic stanza is nothing more than a subtle praise to our beautiful compatriots. So Boileau, under the guise of reproach, praises Ludovik XIV. Our ladies combine enlightenment with courtesy and strict purity of morals with this oriental charm that captivated Madame Steel so much (see Dix années d'exil / Ten Years of Exile).
Readers will remember the charming description of the Petersburg night in Gnedich's idyll: Here is the night; But the golden streaks of clouds grow dim. Without stars and without a month, all the distance illuminates. On the distant seaside, silvery sails are visible. A few visible ships, as if sailing in the blue sky. The night sky shines with a gloomy glow, And the purple of the sunset merges with the gold of the East: As if the day-case followed in the evening. displays a rosy morning. `` It was a golden time. '' As summer days abduct the dominion of the night; As the gaze of a foreigner in the northern sky captivates The magic glow of shadow and sweet light, As the sky of noon has never been adorned; That clarity, like the delights of the northern maiden, Whose eyes are blue and scarlet cheeks Barely shaded by blond curls waves. Then over the Neva and over the magnificent Petropolis they see the evening without twilight and fast nights without a shadow; Then Philomela's midnight songs only finish And the songs starts, welcoming the rising day. But it's late; breathed freshness on the Neva tundra, the dew fell; ……………………… Here is midnight: the Neva, rustling with a thousand oars in the evening, does not shake; the guests of the city have departed; No voice on the shore, no swell on the moisture, everything is quiet; Only occasionally the rumble from the bridges will run over the water; Only an extended cry from a distant village will rush, Where in the night the military guard with the guards calls out. Everything is asleep. ………………………
Express the favor of the goddess Seeing an enthusiastic drink That spends the night sleepless Leaning on granite (Muravyov. To the Goddess of the Neva)
The book includes a novel in verse by Alexander Pushkin (1799–1837) "Eugene Onegin", which is compulsory for reading and studying in a secondary school.
The novel in verse "Eugene Onegin" became the central event in the literary life of the Pushkin era. And since then, the masterpiece of A.S. Pushkin has not lost its popularity, it is still loved and revered by millions of readers.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
Eugene Onegin
Novel in verse
Pétri de vanité il avait encore plus de cette espèce d'orgueil qui fait avouer avec la même indifférence les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un sentiment de supériorité, peut-être imaginaire.
Not thinking the proud light to amuse,
Attention of loving friendship,
I would like to introduce you
The pledge is worthy of you
More worthy of a beautiful soul
Holy dream fulfilled
Poetry alive and clear,
High thoughts and simplicity;
But so be it - with a biased hand
Accept the collection of variegated heads,
Half-funny, half-sad,
Common people, ideal,
The careless fruit of my amusements
Insomnia, light inspirations,
Immature and withered years
Of the minds of cold observations
And notice the sorrowful hearts.
XLIII
And you young beauties
Which sometimes
Carry away droshky daring
On the St. Petersburg pavement,
London dressed -
And finally I saw the light.
He is in French perfectly
I could express myself and write;
He had a lucky talent
Without coercion in conversation
Touch everything lightly
With the learned air of a connoisseur
Keep silent in an important dispute
And excite the smile of the ladies
Vi.
Latin is out of fashion now:
So, if I tell you the truth,
He knew pretty much Latin,
At the end of the letter, put vale ,
Yes, I remembered, though not without sin,
No matter how we fought, to distinguish.
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he knew how to judge
As the state gets richer
And how he lives, and why
He doesn't need gold
Father could not understand him
VIII.
All that Eugene still knew was
To retell me the lack of time;
But in what he was a true genius,
What he knew harder than all sciences,
And labor and torment and joy,
What took a whole day
His yearning laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Why did he end up as a sufferer
Its age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Away from his Italy.
IX.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
X.
How early could he be a hypocrite
Conceal hope, be jealous
Dissuade, make believe,
To seem gloomy, to languish,
Be proud and obedient
Attentive il indifferent!
How languid he was silent,
How ardently eloquent
How careless in letters of heart!
Breathing one, loving one,
How he knew how to forget himself!
How quick and gentle his gaze was,
Shy and impudent, and sometimes
Shone with an obedient tear!
XI.
How he knew how to seem new,
Joking innocence to amaze,
Frighten with despair ready,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
Catch a moment of emotion
Innocent years of prejudice
To win with mind and passion,
An involuntary caress to expect
Pray and demand recognition
Eavesdrop on the first sound of hearts
Chase love, and suddenly
Get a secret meeting ...
And after her alone
Give lessons in silence!
XII.
How early could he disturb
When did I want to destroy
His rivals to him,
How sarcastically he slandered!
What nets he prepared for them!
But you blessed husbands
You were friends with him:
His wicked husband caressed him,
And there he walks in the open,
Dinner won't ring him.
XVI.
It's already dark: he sits on the sled.
Entered: and a cork in the ceiling,
And golden pineapple.
XVII.
Thirst asks for more glasses
Pour the hot fat over the cutlets,
But the ringing of the Breguet brings them,
That a new ballet has begun.
The theater is an evil legislator
Fickle adorer
Charming actresses
Honorary Citizen of the wings,
Onegin flew to the theater,
Where everyone, breathing freedom,
Pound Phaedra, Cleopatra,
A noisy swarm of comedies,
Soul-filled flight?
Or the gloomy gaze will not find
Familiar faces on a boring stage
And, directing to an alien light
The viewer is indifferent to fun,
Silently I will yawn
And remember the past?
XX.
The theater is already full; the lodges shine;
Parterre and chairs, everything is boiling;
One foot touching the floor
The other is slowly circling
And suddenly a jump, and suddenly it flies,
Now the camp will advise, then it will develop,
And he hits the leg with a quick foot.
XXI.
Everything claps. Onegin enters,
Goes between the chairs on the legs,
XXII.
Have not stopped stomping yet
Blow your nose, cough, boo, clap;
Still outside and inside
Lanterns shine everywhere;
Still, frozen, the horses are beating,
Bored with your harness,
And the coachman, around the lights,
They scold the gentlemen and beat them in the palms:
And already Onegin went out;
He goes home to get dressed
XXIII.
I will portray in a faithful picture
A secluded office
Where is the mod pupil exemplary
Dressed, undressed and dressed again?
Anything for a plentiful whim
Scrupulous London trades
And along the Baltic waves
Carries us for the forest and lard,
Everything in Paris tastes hungry
Choosing a useful trade,
Invents for fun
For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -
Everything decorated the study
A philosopher at the age of eighteen.
XXIV.
Amber on the tubes of Constantinople,
Porcelain and bronze on the table
And, feelings of pampered joy,
Perfume in faceted crystal;
Combs, steel nail files,
Straight scissors, curves
And brushes of thirty kinds
And for nails and teeth.
Dare to brush my nails in front of him,
Defender of liberty and rights
In this case, it is not at all right.
XXV.
You can be a smart person
And think about the beauty of nails:
Why is it fruitless to argue with the century?
The custom is a despot among people.
He's three hours at least
I spent in front of the mirrors
When, putting on a man's outfit,
The goddess goes to the masquerade.
XXVI.
In the last taste of the toilet
Taking your curious gaze,
I could be in front of the learned light
Describe his outfit here;
Of course it would be bold
To describe my own business:
But pantaloons, tailcoat, vest,
All these words are not in Russian;
And I see, I blame you,
That my poor syllable is already so
I could be much less colorful
With foreign words
Even though I looked in the old days
XXVII.
We now have something wrong with the subject:
We'd better hurry to the ball
Where headlong in the pit carriage
Already my Onegin galloped.
Before the faded houses
Along the sleepy street in rows
Merry light is pouring out
And rainbows lead to the snow:
The magnificent house shines;
Legs of lovely ladies fly;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly
And the roar of the violins is drowned out
XXIX.
During the days of joy and desire
I was crazy about balls:
Rather, there is no room for confessions
And for the delivery of the letter.
O you, honorable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
Please note my speech:
I want to warn you.
You too, mamas, are stricter
Follow your daughters:
Keep your lorgnette straight!
Not that ... not that, God forbid!
That's why I'm writing this,
That I have not sinned for a long time.
XXX.
Alas, for different fun
I have ruined a lot of life!
But if morals did not suffer,
I still loved balls.
I love frantic youth
And tightness, and shine, and joy,
And I will give a thoughtful outfit;
I love their legs; only hardly
You will find a whole in Russia
Three pairs of slender female legs.
Oh! I couldn't forget for a long time
Two legs ... Sad, cold,
I remember them all, and in a dream
They disturb my heart.
XXXI.
When, and where, in what desert,
Madman, will you forget them?
Ah, legs, legs! where are you now?
In the northern, sad snow
You left no trace:
Loved the soft you carpets
A luxurious touch.
How long have I forgotten for you
And a thirst for fame and praise,
And the land of the fathers, and imprisonment?
The happiness of young years has disappeared -
Like your easy trail in the meadows.
XXXII.
Lovely, dear friends!
However, the leg of Terpsichore
Something more charming for me.
She prophesying to the sight
An invaluable reward
Attracts conditional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
Under the long tablecloth of tables
In the spring on the ant of the meadows,
In winter, on a cast iron fireplace,
Hall on the mirrored floor
By the sea on the granite rocks.
XXXIII.
I remember the sea before the storm:
Running in a stormy line
Lie at her feet with love!
How I wished then with the waves
No, never in the midst of ardent days
My boiling youth
I did not wish with such torment
Or fiery roses,
A merchant gets up, a peddler walks,
Under it the morning snow crunches.
A pleasant noise woke up in the morning.
The shutters are open; chimney smoke
The pillar rises blue
And the baker, neat German,
In a paper cap, more than once
XXXVI.
But, tired of the noise of the ball,
And turning the morning into midnight,
Sleeps quietly in the shade of the blissful
Having fun and luxury child.
Wakes up at noon, and again
Until the morning his life is ready,
Monotonous and variegated.
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 the daily pleasures?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
XLII.
Freaks of the big world!
He left all of you before you;
And the truth is that in our summers
The higher tone is rather boring;
Maybe a different lady
Interprets Sei and Bentham,
But in general, their conversation
Obnoxious, though innocent, nonsense;
Moreover, they are so pure,
So dignified, so smart
So full of piety
So discreet, so precise
So unapproachable for men
That the sight of them already gives birth spleen .
XLIII.
And you young beauties
Which sometimes
Carry away droshky daring
On the St. Petersburg pavement,
And my Eugene has left you.
Apostate of stormy pleasures
Onegin locked himself at home,
Yawning, I took up the pen,
I wanted to write - but hard work
He was sick; nothing
It did not come out of his pen,
And he did not get into the perky workshop
People, about whom I am not judging,
Then, that I belong to them.
XLIV.
And again, betrayed by idleness,
Languishing in spiritual emptiness
He sat down - with a laudable purpose
To take the mind of a stranger to oneself;
I set a shelf with a detachment of books,
I read, read, but everything is useless:
There is boredom, there is deception or delirium;
There is no sense in that conscience;
On all different chains;
And the old days are outdated,
And the old is raving about novelty.
As women, he left books
And the shelf, with their dusty family,
I pulled it up with mourning taffeta.
XLV.
The conditions of light overthrowing the burden,
How he, lagging behind the hustle and bustle,
I made friends with him at that time.
I liked his features
Unwitting devotion to dreams
Inimitable oddity
And a sharp, chilled mind.
I was embittered, he is gloomy;
We both knew the passion of the game:
Weighed down the life of both of us;
In both hearts, the heat died away;
Malice awaited both of them
Blind Fortune and People
In the very morning of our days.
XLVI.
He who lived and thought cannot
In my heart do not despise people;
He who felt worries
The ghost of unrecoverable days:
There are no charms for that.
That snake of memories
That one gnaws at remorse.
All this often gives
Great charm to the conversation.
First Onegin's tongue
Confused me; but I'm used to
To his stinging argument,
And for a joke with bile in half,
And the anger of gloomy epigrams.
XLVII.
How often summertime
When transparent and light
Night sky over the Neva
And the waters are merry glass
Doesn't reflect Diana's face
Remembering past years of novels,
Remembering the old love
Sensitive, careless again
By the breath of the benevolent night
We revel in silence!
Like a green forest from prison
The sleepy convict has been moved,
So we were carried away by a dream
By the beginning of life, young.
XLVIII.
With a soul full of regrets
And leaning on granite
Eugene stood pensively,
How Piit described himself
Everything was quiet; only at night
The sentries called out;
Yes droshky distant knocking
From Millionnaya it suddenly rang out;
Only a boat, waving oars,
Swam along the slumbering river:
And we were captivated in the distance
Horn and daring song ...
But sweeter in the midst of nighttime fun
Chanting Torquat Octaves!
XLIX.
L.
Will the hour of my freedom come?
It's time, it's time! - I appeal to her;
I wander over the sea, waiting for the weather
Manyu sailing ships.
Under the robe of storms, arguing with the waves,
Along the free crossroads of the sea
When will I start freestyle?
Time to leave boring Breg
I hate the elements
And in the midday swell,
Under the sky of my Africa
Sigh for gloomy Russia,
Where I suffered, where I loved,
Where I buried my heart.
LI.
Onegin was ready with me
See foreign countries;
But soon we were destiny
Divorced for a long time.
His father then died.
Before Onegin he gathered
A greedy regiment of creditors.
Everyone has their own mind and sense:
Eugene, hating litigation,
Satisfied with his lot,
I gave them an inheritance,
The big loss is not seeing
Or foreseeing from afar
The death of an old uncle.
LII.
Suddenly he really got
Report from the steward,
That uncle is dying in bed
And I would be glad to say goodbye to him.
After reading the sad message,
Eugene immediately on a date
The headlong galloped by mail
And he yawned in advance,
Getting ready, for the sake of money,
For sighs, boredom and deceit
(And so I began my novel);
But, having arrived in the uncle's village,
I found him already on the table,
As a tribute to the finished land.
LIII.
He found a yard full of services;
To the deceased from all sides
Enemies and friends came together,
Hunters before the funeral.
The deceased was buried.
Priests and guests ate and drank
And then they parted importantly,
As if they were busy with business.
Here is our Onegin villager,
Factories, waters, forests, lands
The owner is full, but until now
Enemy and wasteful of order,
And I'm very glad that the old way
Changed to something.
LIV.
Two days seemed new to him
Secluded fields
The coolness of the gloomy oak tree,
The murmur of a quiet stream;
To the third grove, hill and field
He was no longer occupied;
Then they made me sleep;
Then he saw clearly
The same boredom in the village
Although there are no streets or palaces,
No cards, no balls, no poems.
The blues were waiting for him on guard,
And she ran after him,
Like a shadow or a faithful wife.
LV.
I was born for a peaceful life
For village silence:
In the wilderness, the lyre voice is louder,
More vivid creative dreams.
Leisure dedicated to the innocent,
I wander over a desert lake,
AND far niente my law.
I'm awake every morning
For sweet bliss and freedom:
I read a little, I sleep for a long time,
I don't catch flying glory.
Wasn't that how I was in the old days
Spent in inaction, in the shadows
My happiest days?
LVI.
Flowers, love, village, idleness,
Fields! I am devoted to you in my soul.
I'm always glad to notice the difference
Between Onegin and me,
To the mocking reader
Or some publisher
Intricate slander
Comparing my features here,
I did not repeat then shamelessly,
That I have smeared my portrait
Like Byron, the poet of pride,
As if it’s impossible for us
Write poems about something else
As soon as about yourself.
LVII.
I will note by the way: all poets -
Love dreamy friends.
Used to be cute items
I dreamed and my soul
She kept their image secret;
After the Muse revived them:
So I, carelessly, chanted
And the maiden of the mountains, my ideal,
And the captives of the shores of Salgir.
Now from you, my friends,
I often hear the question:
“For whom does your lyre sigh?
Who, in a crowd of jealous virgins,
Have you dedicated a tune to her?
LVIII.
Whose gaze, stirring inspiration,
He rewarded with sweet affection
Your brooding singing?
Whom did your verse idolize? "
And, friends, no one, by God!
Of love's insane anxiety
I felt bleak.
Blessed is he who combined with her
The fever of rhymes: he doubled
Poetry is a sacred delirium,
Petrarch walking after,
And calmed the torment of the heart,
I caught the glory in the meantime;
But I, loving, was stupid and dumb.
LIX.
Love has passed, Muse has appeared,
And a dark mind cleared up.
Free, looking for union again
Magic sounds, feelings and thoughts;
I write, and my heart does not yearn,
The pen, forgotten, does not draw,
Near unfinished verses,
No female legs, no heads;
The extinguished ashes will not flare up,
I'm sad all the time; but there are no more tears,
And soon, soon there will be a storm
It will completely subside in my soul:
Then I'll start writing
Poem of songs at twenty-five.
LX.
I was already thinking about the form of the plan,
And as a hero I will name;
Until my romance
I have finished the first chapter;
Revised it all strictly:
There are a lot of contradictions,
But I don’t want to fix 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 to glory:
Crooked talk, noise and abuse!
3) - a bum, a mischievous person.
4) Postal - horses carrying mail and passengers; post horses.
5) Zeus - the ancient Greek omnipotent god Zeus is the main god in the pantheon of Greek gods.
6) - a poem by A.S. Pushkin, written in 1820.
7) Written in Bessarabia (Approx. A.S. Pushkin).
8) "Serving excellently nobly" - an official characteristic in the certification of a civil service official.
9) Madame, teacher, governess.
10) "Monsieur l" Abbe "- Mr. Abbot (French); Catholic priest.
11) - a public garden in the Central District, on the Palace Embankment, a monument of gardening art of the first third of the 18th century.
12) Dandy, dandy (Approx. A.S. Pushkin).
13) "Mazurka" - Polish folk dance.
14) Pedant - According to the definition of the "Dictionary of Pushkin's Language", "a person who flaunts his knowledge, his learning, judging everything with aplomb."
15) An epigram is a small satirical poem that makes fun of any person or social phenomenon.
16) To disassemble epigraphs - disassemble short aphoristic inscriptions on ancient monuments and tombs.
17) Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis (Latin Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis), very often just Juvenal (c. 60 - c. 127) - Roman poet-satirist.
18) Vale - Be healthy (lat.).
19) Aeneid (lat. Aeneis) - an epic work in Latin, the author of which is Virgil (70 - 19 BC). Written between 29 and 19 BC e., and is dedicated to the history of Aeneas, the legendary Trojan hero who moved to Italy with the remnants of his people, who united with the Latins and founded the city of Lavinius, and his son Ascanius (Yul) founded the city of Alba Longa. Excerpts from the Aeneid were included in the initial study of Latin.
20) - a fictional, short story about a funny, amusing incident.
21) Romulus is one of the two brothers, according to legend, who founded Rome. The brothers Romulus and Remus (Latin Romulus et Remus), according to legend, were born in 771 BC. NS. Remus died in April 754/753, and Romulus on July 7, 716 BC. NS.
22) Yamb is a poetic meter, consisting of a two-syllable foot with an emphasis on the second syllable. Example - "My uncle, the most honest rules ..." (Pushkin).
23) Chorea - a poetic meter with an emphasis on the odd syllables of the verse. Example - "Wind walks by the sea" (A. Pushkin).
24) (8th century BC) - the legendary ancient Greek poet.
25) Theocritus (c. 300 - c. 260 BC) - ancient Greek poet of the 3rd century. BC e., known mainly for its idylls.
26) Adam Smith (1723 - 1790) - Scottish economist and philosopher-ethicist, one of the founders of economic theory as a science.
27) "Simple product" - The initial product of agriculture, raw materials.
28) "And he gave the land as a pledge" - That is, he pledged estates to the bank in exchange for receiving money (loans). With a pledge, in case of non-return of money to the bank, the estate was sold at auction
29) Izmlada - from a young age.
30) Publius Ovidius Nason (lat. Publius Ovidius Naso) (43 BC - 17 or 18 AD) - ancient Roman poet, author of the poems "Metamorphoses" and "Science of Love", as well as elegies - " Love Elegies "and" Sorrowful Elegies ". According to one version, due to the inconsistency of the ideals of love promoted by him, the official policy of the emperor Augustus regarding family and marriage was exiled from Rome to the western Black Sea region, where he spent the last years of his life. Pushkin in 1821 dedicated an extensive message in verse to Ovid.
31) Recorded - Here: inveterate.
32) Foblas (fr. Faublas) - the hero of the novel "The Amorous Adventures of the Chevalier de Foblas" (1787-1790) by the French writer J.-B. Louve de Couvray. Foblas is a handsome and resourceful, elegant and depraved young man, the embodiment of the mores of the 18th century. The name of this skillful seducer of women has become a household name.
33) Bolivar - hat à la Bolivar (Approx. A.S. Pushkin). Hat style. Bolivar Simon (1783-1830) - the leader of the national liberation movement in Latin America.
34) Boulevard - it has been established that Pushkin Onegin is going to the Admiralteisky Boulevard that existed in St. Petersburg
35) Breguet - hours. A watch brand that has existed since the end of the 18th century. Breguet's company came to Russia in 1801 and quickly gained popularity among the nobility.
36) "Fall, fall!" - The shout of a coachman dispering pedestrians while driving fast through crowded streets.
37) Talon is a famous restaurateur (Approx. A. S. Pushkin).
38) Kaverin Pyotr Pavlovich (1794 - 1855) - Russian military leader, colonel, participant of overseas campaigns in 1813-1815. He was known as a carousel, a dashing rake and a strapper.
39) Wine of the comet "- Champagne of an unusually rich harvest of 1811, which was associated with the appearance of a bright comet in the sky this year.
40) "roast-beef bloody" - a dish of English cuisine, a novelty on the menu of the 20s of the XIX century.
41) Truffles (truffle) - a mushroom that grows underground; brought from France; the truffle dish was very expensive.
42) Strasbourg pie - a delicious foie gras pâté with truffles, hazel grouse and ground pork. It is baked in a dough to keep the shape. It was invented by the Norman chef Jean-Joseph Clos in 1782.
43) Limburgsky cheese is a semi-soft cheese made from cow's milk with a strong aroma, a characteristic spicy taste and a yellow creamy mass, covered with a thin red-brown crust.
44) Antrasha - jump, ballet step (French).
45) "Phaedra, Cleopatra, Moinu" - The most prominent roles in the theatrical repertoire of that time: Phaedra is the heroine of the story of the same name by J.-B. Lemoine, based on the tragedy of Racine, which was staged in St. Petersburg on December 18, 1818. Cleopatra is possibly a character in one of the performances of the French troupe that toured St. Petersburg since 1819. Moina is the heroine of V. Ozerov's tragedy "Fingal", in which in 1818 A. M. Kolosova made her debut.
46) (1745 - 1792) - Russian writer.
47) Princess Y.B. (1742 - 1791) - Russian playwright who often borrowed plots from the works of French playwrights.
48) Ozerov V.A. (1769 - 1816) - Russian playwright, author of sentimental-patriotic tragedies, which had great success with the public.
49) Semenova E. S. (1786 - 1849) - a popular actress who played in the tragedies of V. A. Ozerov - "Dmitry Donskoy", "Oedipus in Athens" and others.
50) Katenin P.A. (1792 - 1853) - friend of the poet (1799 - 1837), officer of the Preobrazhensky regiment, poet, playwright.
51) Cornel Pierre (1606 - 1684) - one of the founders of French classicism. The tragedies of Corneille were translated into Russian by P.A.Katenin.
52) Shakhovskoy A.A. (1777 - 1846) - Russian poet and playwright, author of popular comedies, director, who was in charge of the repertoire policy of the imperial theaters.
53) Didlo Karl (1767 - 1837) - French choreographer and dancer. From 1801 to 1830 chief Petersburg choreographer.
54) Terpsichore - the muse of dance. Depicted with a lyre and a plectrum.
55) - foldable rimmed glasses with a handle.
56) Raek - the upper balcony in the auditorium.
57) Nymphs - forest deities; characters from classical operas and ballets.
58) AI Istomina (1799 - 1848) - prima ballerina of the St. Petersburg theater, one of Didlo's best students, performer of the role of the Cherkeshenka in his ballet on the plot of "The Prisoner of the Caucasus". It is known that in his early years Pushkin was fond of Istomina. Her images are found in the poet's manuscripts.
59) Aeolus is the god of the winds in ancient Greek mythology.
60) Double lorgnette - theater binoculars.
61) A trait of chilled feeling worthy of Chad-Harold. The ballets of Mr. Didlot are full of wondrous imagination and extraordinary charm. One of our romantic pistols found in them much more poetry than in all French literature (Approx. A. Pushkin).
62) - in mythology and poetry - the deity of love, depicted as a winged child with a bow and arrow.
63) "They are sleeping on fur coats at the entrance" - there was no wardrobe in the theater of the early 19th century. Servants guarded the dress of their masters.
64) "Amber on the pipes of Constantinople" - about long Turkish smoking pipes with amber mouthpieces.
65) Rousseau Jean Jacques (1712 - 1778) - famous French educator, writer and publicist.
66) Grim (Grimm) Frederic-Melchior (1723 - 1807) - encyclopedic writer.
67) Tout le monde sut qu'il mettait du blanc; et moi, qui n'en croyais rien, je commençais de le croir, non seulement par l'embellissement de son teint et pour avoir trouvé 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 exprès, ouvrage qu'il continua fièrement devant moi. Je jugeai qu'un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins à brosser ses onlges, peut bien passer quelques instants à remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau. (Confessions de J.J. Rousseau)
Grim defined his age: nowadays in all enlightened Europe they clean their nails with a special brush. (Approx. A.S. Pushkin).
“Everyone knew that he used white; and I, who did not believe this at all, began to guess that not only because of the improvement in the color of his face or because I found jars of white on his toilet, but because, having entered his room one morning, I found him behind cleaning nails with a special brush; this occupation he proudly continued in my presence. I decided that a person who spends two hours every morning cleaning their nails can spend a few minutes to cover up the imperfections of the skin with white. " (French).
My uncle has the most honest rules
When seriously ill,
He made himself respect
And I could not think of a better one.
EO, Ch. 1, I
And what does it say? Is it realistic to retell it in your own words?
These lines are often quoted, especially in the press. Let's say the goalkeeper takes a penalty - an article immediately appears about how he thereby “forced himself to respect”! But the venerable Pushkinists, as one, keep deathly silence on this matter.
“And everything - absolutely everything: dads, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, children, grandchildren, actors, readers, directors, translators into other languages and even researchers of Pushkin, - together they said nonsense about an uncle of high moral qualities who finally made himself respect , or began to look for another, fantastic meaning. "
Do you understand anything? All I understood was that it was not appropriate to climb into the Kalash row with a pig's snout, trying to delve into the meaning of the lines of our folk poet. In other words, Pushkin is for God-chosen researchers, who certainly know what and why he wrote piit, but they do not want to explain it in their own words, since the subject of the scholarly dispute is too subtle for the uninitiated. By the way, instead of answering the question posed, the venerable Pushkin scholar preferred to step aside, turning his attention to some mediocre proofreader who, after the word “sick,” once put a comma instead of a semicolon. And thus killed the entire Pushkin plan.
Well, perhaps the scientist knows better. Only the question ultimately remained unanswered: what does the phrase “forced to respect myself” mean? At least with a comma, at least with anything else ... Is it absolutely nothing?
I have not found an answer to this question in any phraseological or other dictionary. On one of the forums I happened to see a link to the book by M.I. Michelson “Russian thought and speech. Experience of Russian phraseology. Ours and others' "of the century before last. Say, there it is! I was delighted, rushed in search, managed to find, discovered - alas ... There is nothing about it.
At the same time, many interlocutors immediately gave an answer, which seems to me to be correct, and to the justification of which I will try to get close to a little later. They were so ... taught at school! Probably, once there were teachers who loved their subject and honestly tried to understand it. Even today, in the newly published versions of Onegin, in some places there are modern comments that neither Brodsky, nor Nabokov, nor Lotman had ... But I wanted to "invent a bicycle" on my own.
The result of "invention" is below.
Let's start with "fair rules." All researchers point to Krylov's fable "The Donkey and the Man", whose tailed hero was just "the most honest rules." They also say that even without this fable, this phraseology in those days was recognizable.
Let's remember the fable:
Man for the summer in the garden
Having hired a Donkey, he put
Ravens and sparrows chase a cheeky race.
The donkey had the most honest rules:
I am not familiar with predation or theft:
He did not profit from the master's not a single leaf,
And to the birds, it would be a sin to say to give the wheel;
But the peasant was not profitable from the garden.
Donkey, chasing birds, from all donkey legs,
Along all the ridges and along and across,
I lifted such a jump,
That he crushed and trampled everything in the garden.
Seeing here that his labor was gone,
Peasant on the back of a donkey
He took out the loss with a club.
"And nishto!" everybody shouts: “it serves the cattle!
With his mind
To take on this business? "
And I will say, not in order to intercede for the Donkey;
He is, for sure, to blame (a calculation has been made with him),
But it seems that he is not right either
Who instructed the Donkey to guard his garden.
I would like to note that Krylov's Donkey is a decent creature. After all, he "... is not familiar with either predation or theft: he did not profit from the master's even a leaf." It was ordered to keep watch - he goes and watches as best he can. A kind of disinterested and naive worker - as a rule, we do not respect such people. And, worse than that - they beat me painfully! Honest Donkey, for example, was thrashed on the back with a club ... Only after that Krylov partially removed the blame from him and noticed that it would not be bad to ask the dunce-Man who foolishly hired the wrong performer.
Respect in the end, in general.
Onegin, as we know, honored his uncle with the same epithets as Krylov his Donkey. What kind of troubles the old man had - it doesn't matter: the main thing is that in the end he, too, "got seriously ill." And - alas! - only when a person dies or, even worse, has already died, do all sorts of "pleasantries" begin to pour in his address, which he so lacked during his lifetime. As a show of belated respect.
And what does the word "respect" mean? According to Dahl's dictionary - “to honor, honor, mentally recognize someone's dignity; appreciate highly ... ". By the way, already in our time, Faina Ranevskaya used to say: "To get recognition, one must, even must, die" ...
In my opinion, it was this simple meaning that Pushkin put into Onegin's lips. It's simple - "he forced himself to respect" means: "died"! For this is a guaranteed way to hear something respectful about yourself, even from those who have always hated you.
All his life, Onegin was deeply indifferent to his uncle - as well as to everyone else. And he rushed to him solely "for the sake of money", deep in his soul sincerely wishing that death ("When will the devil take you?").
Suddenly he really got
Report from the steward,
That uncle is dying in bed
And I would be glad to say goodbye to him.
After reading the sad message,
Eugene immediately on a date
The headlong galloped by mail
And he yawned in advance,
Getting ready, for the sake of money,
For sighs, boredom and deceit
(And so I began my novel);
Well, he really didn't want to "amuse the half-dead" ... And here - a gift of fate: his uncle turned out to be a fine fellow and quickly died before his arrival!
But, having arrived in the uncle's village,
I found him already on the table,
As a tribute to the finished land.
Onegin is completely sincerely grateful to him for this: after all, out of all the options for the development of events, his uncle chose the ideal one!
And I could not think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
- Well done, old man! Onegin grins to himself. - Respect!
It's too early to rejoice. If everything is so good, then why is this "But":
His example to others is science;
But oh my god, what a boredom
Sitting with a sick person ...
And it doesn't matter anymore, because there is a semicolon before the "but"! The thought is over, the next one begins. There is no opposition. Here is a similar example from the fifth chapter of the same Onegin:
What a joy: there will be a ball!
The girls jump ahead of time;
But the food was served.
EO, Ch.5, XXVIII
The ball has not been canceled by the upcoming dinner: everything just has its time. So it is here: the death of the old uncle is not canceled by reasoning about how disgusting Onegin would be to sit with a lean face at his bedside. Bored Eugene is prone to philosophizing and just ponders what would happen if ...
After reading the sad message,
Eugene immediately on a date
The headlong galloped by mail
And he yawned in advance,
Getting ready, for the sake of money,
For sighs, boredom and deceit
(And so I began my novel);
It turns out that hints of confidence in the death of his uncle seem to be inappropriate ... But the novel begins not with the first stanza of the first chapter, but with the epigraph:
Eugene Onegin
Novel in verse
Petri de vanite il avait encore plus de cette espece d'orgueil qui fait avouer avec la meme indifférence les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un sentiment de superariorite peut-etre imaginaire.
Tire d'une lettre particulier
Permeated with vanity, he also possessed that special pride that prompts him to confess with equal indifference both his good and bad deeds - a consequence of a feeling of superiority, perhaps imaginary. From a private letter (French).
Thus, first of all, we are once again informed that people like Onegin indifferently admit that they are doing wrong. Yes, Eugene rushed headlong to sigh and lie for the sake of money. And only later, having made sure that he really inherited his uncle's economy, the "heir to all his relatives" immediately flew away somewhere "in the dust at the post office." Where to? Most likely to the notary! Or to settle business in the city before moving to the village for a long time. That is, in any case - not to the uncle, but from the uncle.
Impolite? There, the commemoration is in full swing: the priests and guests eat and drink ... Yes, the "young rake" did not act very well. And what do you want from him: a rake, according to Dahl's dictionary, is "impolite, impudent mischievous."
So the young rake thought,
Flying in the dust on the postage
By the Almighty will of Zeus
Heir to all his relatives.
And it is evident that Onegin is in a good mood. He did not have to humiliate himself in order to become the owner of "factories, waters, forests, lands."
Now let's try to write a mini-essay on the content of the first stanza in our own words.
My uncle is an honest but narrow-minded old hard worker. He, feeling an imminent death, died immediately, without causing any trouble. If everyone followed this example, the world would get rid of the sanctimonious pretense of those who, for the sake of inheritance, would have to hang out at the bedside of unnecessary capricious patients, cursing everything in the world and wanting to quickly go to hell!
It is clear that Pushkin expressed all this more elegantly and shorter.
By the way, one respected researcher of his work, whom I “turned on” with my interest in this issue, came to the conclusion that “Forced to respect myself” is an idiom introduced into everyday life by Pushkin.
It may very well be. Therefore, you need to be careful with thoughtless quotations. The goalkeeper mentioned at the beginning, who took the penalty, may be offended by this. However, he is hardly interested in such questions ...
Reviews
I cannot agree with your extensive research.
It seems to me that you have heaped up a lot of unnecessary speculation in it.
1. "Honest rules", without any allegories, means decency, dignified behavior and the absence of defamatory actions. This turnover does not imply any narrow-mindedness and limitations.
2. "Forced to respect himself" - without any allegories, it was FORCED to respect himself in the sense of forced to reckon with himself, forced to perform the rituals of reverence in relation to his person.
Society in pre-Bolshevik Russia was extremely rich in rituals; in the hierarchy of values of many bearers of high status, the "collection" of honors occupied a very important place. Such a "collection of honors" was considered reprehensible only by the so-called. "freethinkers".
After the destruction of the estate society, we simply ceased to understand such things.
3. For those who have an idea of secular and diplomatic etiquette, after reading this paragraph, the imagination completes the content of the uncle's letter. Something like: "Unfortunately, we paid little attention to each other and communicated little. In the last days of your life, you acutely regret such omissions. I would like to finally see you, with xxx, with uuu, with nnn, talk with you all, get to know you all better, so as not to allow injustice in the will ... "
What could be better than such a letter so that a young rake, the owner of the mortgaged and re-mortgaged father's estate, abandoning everything, flew head over heels to a dying relative, ready to compete with other competitors in respect, sympathy, even in caring for the sick?
(Given that a dying servant has. Care from relatives for a dying person is a ritual of reverence, not a necessity).
4. Whether the dying man found out that "The young master was going, as he read the letter, he laid the carriage in and left at two o'clock ..." ...
But, in my opinion, this is not required to understand the first paragraph.
5. By the way, for a real character, not a literary one, complaints about the burdensome respect for older relatives, in those days, were outright dangerous. And Alexander I and Nicholas I, for such complaints, if they reached their ears, could easily send a young nobleman to the estate, and they could transfer them to the Caucasus.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
Eugene Onegin
Novel in verse
Pe € tri de vanite € il avait encore plus de cette espe`ce d'orgueil qui fait avouer avec la me ^ me indiffe € rence les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions, suite d'un sentiment de supe € riorite €, peut-e ^ tre imaginaire.
Tire € d'une lettre particulie`reNot thinking the proud light to amuse,
Attention of loving friendship,
I would like to introduce you
The pledge is worthy of you
More worthy of a beautiful soul
Holy dream fulfilled
Poetry alive and clear,
High thoughts and simplicity;
But so be it - with a biased hand
Accept the collection of variegated heads,
Half-funny, half-sad,
Common people, ideal,
The careless fruit of my amusements
Insomnia, light inspirations,
Immature and withered years
Of the minds of cold observations
And notice the sorrowful hearts.
Chapter one
And he is in a hurry to live, and in a hurry to feel.
Prince Vyazemsky“My uncle has the most honest rules,
When seriously ill,
He made himself respect
And I could not think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
But oh my god, what a boredom
Sitting with a sick person day and night,
Without leaving a single step away!
What a base deceit
To amuse half-dead
Correct his pillows,
It's sad to bring medicine
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you! "
So the young rake thought,
Flying in the dust on the 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, this very hour
Let me introduce you:
Onegin, my good friend,
Born on the banks of the Neva,
Where maybe you were born
Or shone, my reader;
I once walked there too:
But the north is bad for me.
Serving excellently, nobly,
His father lived in debt,
Gave three balls annually
And he skipped at last.
Evgeny's fate kept:
First Madame followed him,
Later Monsieur changed her;
The child was cut, but sweet.
Monsieur l'Abbe €, a wretched Frenchman,
So that the child is not exhausted,
I taught him everything in jest,
I did not bother with strict morality,
Slightly scolded for pranks
And he took him for a walk to the Summer Garden.
When rebellious youth
It's time for Eugene,
It's time for hopes and tender sadness
Monsieur drove out of the yard.
Here is my Onegin at large;
Cut in the latest fashion;
How dandy London dressed -
And finally I saw the light.
He is in French perfectly
I could express myself and write;
Easily danced the mazurka
And bowed at ease;
What is more to you? The light decided
That he is smart and very nice.
We all learned a little
Something and somehow
So education, thank God,
It's no wonder we shine.
Onegin was, in the opinion of many
(Judges decisive and strict),
Small scientist, but a pedant.
He had a lucky talent
Without coercion in conversation
Touch everything lightly
With the learned air of a connoisseur
Keep silent in an important dispute
And excite the smile of the ladies
By the fire of unexpected epigrams.
Latin is out of fashion now:
So, if I tell you the truth,
He knew pretty much Latin,
To disassemble the epigraphs,
Talk about Juvenal
At the end of the letter, put vale,
Yes, I remembered, though not without sin,
Two verses from the Aeneid.
He had no desire to rummage
In chronological dust
Descriptions of the earth;
But the days of the past are anecdotes,
From Romulus to the present day,
He kept it in his memory.
Having no high passion
Do not spare for the sounds of life,
He could not have iamba from a chorea,
No matter how we fought, to distinguish.
Scolded Homer, Theocritus;
But I read Adam Smith
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he knew how to judge
As the state gets richer
And how he lives, and why
He doesn't need gold
When simple product It has.
Father could not understand him
And he gave the land as a pledge.
All that Eugene still knew was
To retell me the lack of time;
But in what he was a true genius,
What he knew harder than all sciences,
What was izmlad for him
And labor, and torment, and joy,
What took a whole day
His yearning laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Which Nazon sang,
Why did he end up as a sufferer
Its age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Away from his Italy.
……………………………………
……………………………………
……………………………………
How early could he be a hypocrite
Conceal hope, be jealous
Dissuade, make believe,
To seem gloomy, to languish,
Be proud and obedient
Attentive il indifferent!
How languid he was silent,
How ardently eloquent
How careless in letters of heart!
Breathing one, loving one,
How he knew how to forget himself!
How quick and gentle his gaze was,
Shy and impudent, and sometimes
Shone with an obedient tear!
How he knew how to seem new,
Joking innocence to amaze,
Frighten with despair ready,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
Catch a moment of emotion
Innocent years of prejudice
To win with mind and passion,
An involuntary caress to expect
Pray and demand recognition
Eavesdrop on the first sound of hearts
Chase love and suddenly
Get a secret meeting ...
And after her alone
Give lessons in silence!
How early could he disturb
Note coquette hearts!
When did I want to destroy
His rivals to him,
How sarcastically he slandered!
What nets he prepared for them!
But you blessed husbands
You were friends with him:
His wicked husband caressed him,
Foblas is a longtime student,
And an incredulous old man
And a stately cuckold,
Always happy with myself
With my lunch and my wife.
……………………………………
……………………………………
……………………………………
Sometimes he was still in bed:
They carry notes to him.
What? Invitations? Indeed,
Three houses for the evening are called:
There will be a ball, there will be a children's party.
Where will my prankster gallop?
Who will he start with? Does not matter:
It's no wonder to keep up everywhere.
While in the morning dress,
Wearing a wide bolivar,
Onegin goes to the boulevard
And there he walks in the open,
While the awake Breget
Dinner won't ring him.