Goodbye onegin. Online reading of the book eugene onegin chapter three

Chapter 3

"Where? These are poets for me! "

Goodbye Onegin, I have to go.

"I do not hold you; but where are you

Do you spend your evenings? "

At the Larins. “This is wonderful.

Have mercy! and it's not difficult for you

Kill there every night? "

Not a little. - "Can not understand.

From now on I see what it is:

First of all (listen, am I right?)

Simple, Russian family,

Great zeal for guests,

Jam, eternal conversation

About rain, about flax, about a barnyard ... "

I don't see any trouble here.

"Yes, boredom, that's the problem, my friend."

I hate your fashionable light;

My home circle is sweeter

Where can I ... - “Again the eclogue!

Yes, full, dear, for God's sake.

Well? you're going: it's a pity.

Ah, listen, Lensky; yes you can’t

To see me this Phyllida,

The subject of both thoughts and pen,

And tears and rhymes et cetera? ..

Imagine me. " - Are you kidding. - "There is not".

I'm glad. - "When?" - Right now.

They will gladly accept us.

Others galloped

Have appeared; they are squandered

Sometimes heavy services

Hospitable antiquity.

Famous ritual treats:

They carry jam on saucers

They put wax on the table

A jug of lingonberry water.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They are dear the shortest

They fly home at full speed17.

Now let's eavesdrop

Our heroes' conversation:

Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -

"Habit, Lensky." - But you miss

You are somehow more. - “No, it doesn't matter.

However, it is already dark in the field;

Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!

What stupid places!

And by the way: Larina is simple,

But a very nice old lady;

I'm afraid: lingonberry water

It wouldn't hurt me.

Tell me: who is Tatiana? "

Yes, the one that is sad

And silent, like Svetlana,

She went in and sat by the window. -

"Are you in love with the smaller one?"

And what? - “I would choose another,

When I was like you, a poet.

Olga has no life in her features.

Just like in Vandikova Madona:

She is round, red in face,

Like that stupid moon

In this stupid sky. "

Vladimir answered dryly

And after that he was silent all the way.

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance

The Larins produced

Great impression on everyone

And all the neighbors were entertained.

Guess after guess went.

Everyone began to interpret furtively,

To joke, to judge not without sin,

To read the groom to Tatyana;

Others even claimed

That the wedding is perfectly harmonious

But then stopped

That the fashionable rings were not available.

About Lensky's wedding for a long time

They have already decided.

Tatiana listened with annoyance

Such gossip; but secretly

With inexplicable joy

I involuntarily thought about that;

And a thought sank into my heart;

The time has come, she fell in love.

So the grain has fallen into the ground

Spring is revived by fire.

It has long been her imagination

Burning with bliss and melancholy,

Alkalo of fatal food;

Long sincere longing

Oppressed her young breasts;

The soul was waiting ... for someone

And she waited ... Eyes were opened;

She said: it's him!

Alas! now both days and nights,

And a hot lonely dream

Everything is full of them; all the virgin is cute

Incessantly by magic power

Confirms about him. Are boring to her

And the sounds of affectionate speeches

And the gaze of a caring servant.

Immersed in despondency,

She does not listen to guests

And curses their leisure time,

Their unexpected arrival

And a long sitting.

Now with what attention is she

Reads a sweet novel

What a lively charm

Drinks seductive deception!

By the happy power of dreams

Animated creatures

Lover of Julia Volmar,

Malek-Adel and de Linard,

And Werther, rebellious martyr,

And the incomparable Grandison18,

Which brings us to sleep -

Everything for the gentle dreamer

We put on a single image,

In one Onegin merged.

Imagining a heroine?

Your beloved creators,

Clarice, Julia, Dolphin,

Tatiana in the silence of the woods

Alone with a dangerous book wanders

She looks in her and finds

Your secret heat, your dreams

Fruits of heart fullness,

Sighs and, appropriating himself

Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,

Whispers by heart into oblivion

A letter for a cute hero ...

But our hero, whoever he is,

Certainly it was not Grandison.

Your syllable in an important mood,

Used to be a fiery creator

He showed us his hero

As a perfect sample.

He gifted a beloved item,

Always unrighteously persecuted

Sensitive soul, mind

And an attractive face.

Feeding the heat of purest passion

Always an enthusiastic hero

I was ready to sacrifice myself

And at the end of the last part

Vice has always been punished

Worthy of good was a wreath.

And now all minds are in a fog,

Morality leads us to sleep

Vice is dear - and in the novel,

And there he is already triumphant.

British muse fables

Troubled by the sleep of the young lady,

And now her idol has become

Or a brooding Vampire

Or Melmoth, the gloomy tramp,

Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,

Or the mysterious Sbogar19.

Lord Byron, by the whim of a fortunate

Clothed in dull romanticism

And hopeless selfishness.

My friends, what is the use of this?

Perhaps by the will of heaven,

I will cease to be a poet

A new demon will move into me

And, Phoebe, disdaining threats,

I will humble myself to humble prose;

Then the romance in the old way

Will take my merry sunset.

Do not torment secret villainy

I will portray menacingly in it,

But I'll just tell you

Legends of the Russian family,

Love's captivating dreams

Yes, the customs of our old times.

I will retell simple speeches

Father il uncle-old man,

Children appointments

At the old lindens, by the brook;

Unhappy jealousy of torment,

Parting, tears of reconciliation,

I'll fight again, and finally

I will lead them down the aisle ...

I remember the speech of passionate bliss,

Words of yearning love

Which are in days gone by

At the feet of a beautiful mistress

They came to my tongue

From which I have now lost the habit.

Tatyana, dear Tatyana!

With you now I shed tears;

You are in the hands of a fashionable tyrant

Already gave up her fate.

You will die, dear; but before

You are in blinding hope

You call dark bliss

You will learn the bliss of life

You drink the magic poison of desires

Dreams haunt you:

Everywhere you imagine

Happy Date Shelters;

Everywhere, everywhere in front of you

Your fatal tempter.

Longing for love drives Tatiana,

And she goes to the garden to be sad,

And suddenly his eyes tend to be motionless,

Raised chest, Lanita

Covered in an instant flame,

The breath stopped in my mouth

And there is noise in the ear, and shine in the eyes ...

The night will come; moon bypasses

Watch the distant vault of heaven,

And the nightingale in the darkness of the wood

Resonant melodies start.

Tatiana does not sleep in the dark

And quietly with the nanny says:

“I can't sleep, nanny: it's so stuffy here!

Open the window and sit with me. "

What, Tanya, what's wrong with you? - "I'm bored,

Let's talk about the old days. "

What is it about, Tanya? I used to

I kept in my memory quite a few

Old stories, fables

About evil spirits and girls;

And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:

I forgot what I knew. Yes,

A thin turn has come!

It’s overwhelmed ... - “Tell me, nanny,

About your old years:

Were you in love then? "

And, complete, Tanya! These summers

We have not heard of love;

Otherwise I would have driven it out of the light

My deceased mother-in-law. -

"But how did you get married, nanny?"

So, apparently, God ordered. My Vanya

I was younger, my light,

And I was thirteen years old.

The matchmaker went for two weeks

To my family, and finally

My father blessed me.

I cried bitterly with fear

They unraveled my braid with a cry

Yes, they took me to church with singing.

And then they brought in someone else's family ...

You're not listening to me ... -

"Ah, nanny, nanny, I miss you,

I'm sick, my dear:

I cry, I am ready to cry! .. "

My child, you are not well;

Lord have mercy and save!

What do you want, ask ...

Let me sprinkle holy water

You're all on fire ... - "I'm not sick:

I ... you know, nanny ... in love. "

My child, the Lord is with you! -

And babysitting a girl with a prayer

She baptized with a decrepit hand.

"I'm in love," whispered again

To the old woman with grief she.

Heart friend, you are not well.

"Leave me: I'm in love."

And meanwhile the moon was shining

And shone with a languid light

Tatyana's pale beauties,

And loose hair

And drops of tears, and on the bench

Before the young heroine,

With a handkerchief on his gray head,

An old woman in a long quilted jacket;

And everything was dozing in silence

With an inspiring moon.

And my heart was running far away

Tatiana, looking at the moon ...

Suddenly a thought was born in her mind ...

“Go, leave me alone.

Give me a pen, paper, nanny,

Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;

Sorry". And here she is alone.

Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.

Leaning, Tatiana writes,

And all Eugene is on his mind,

And in a thoughtless letter

The love of an innocent maiden breathes.

The letter is ready, folded ...

Tatiana! for whom is it?

I knew beauties inaccessible,

Cold, clean as winter

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,

Their natural virtues,

And, I confess, I fled from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Leave Hope Forever 20.

To instill love for them is a misfortune,

It is a joy for them to scare people.

Perhaps on the banks of the Neva

You have seen such ladies.

Among the fans of the obedient

I've seen other freaks

Proudly indifferent

For sighs of passion and praise.

And what did I find with amazement?

They, by a stern command

Scaring timid love

They knew how to attract her again

At least sorry

At least the sound of speeches

Sometimes seemed more tender

And with gullible blinding

Young lover again

I ran after the sweet vanity.

Why is Tatyana more guilty?

For the fact that in sweet simplicity

She knows no deception

And believes the chosen dream?

For the fact that he loves without art,

Obedient to the attraction of feeling,

That she is so trusting

What is gifted from heaven

Rebellious imagination,

Alive with mind and will,

And a wayward head

And with a fiery and tender heart?

Do not forgive her

Are you frivolous passions?

The coquette judges in cold blood,

Tatiana loves not jokingly

And indulges unconditionally

Love is like a sweet child.

She does not say: put off -

We will increase the price of love,

Rather, we will start on the network;

Vanity stab first

Hope, perplexity there

We'll torture the heart, and then

Let us revive with jealous fire;

And then, bored with pleasure,

The cunning slave of the shackles

Ready for the hour.

I also foresee difficulties:

Saving the honor of the native land,

I will have to, no doubt,

Translate Tatiana's letter.

She did not know Russian well,

I haven't read our magazines

And expressed herself with difficulty

In your own language,

So, I wrote in French ...

What to do! I repeat again:

Until now, ladies' love

I didn’t speak Russian,

Hitherto our proud language

I'm not used to postal prose.

Can I imagine them

With "Blagonamerenny" 21 in hand!

I aim at you, my poets;

Isn't it true: cute objects,

Which, for their sins,

You secretly wrote poetry,

To which the heart was dedicated

Isn't it all, in Russian

Possessing weakly and with difficulty,

He was so sweetly distorted

And in their mouths a foreign language

Have you turned to your native?

God forbid me to meet at the ball

Or when passing on the porch

With a seminarian in a yellow chalet

Or with an academician in a cap!

Like a rosy mouth without a smile,

No grammatical error

I don't like Russian.

Perhaps, for my misfortune,

Beauties new generations,

Magazines heeding a pleading voice,

It will teach us to grammar;

Poems will be put into use;

But I ... what do I care?

I will be faithful to the old days.

Incorrect, careless babbling

Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches

Still heart flutter

They will produce in my breast;

I have no strength to repent

Gallicisms will be nice to me,

As the sins of the past youth,

Like Bogdanovich's poems.

But complete. It's time for me to get busy

A letter from my beauty;

I gave my word, and what then? she-she

Now I'm ready to refuse.

I know: gentle Guys

The pen is out of fashion these days.

Singer of feasts and languid sadness22,

When else would you be with me

I would become an immodest request

To disturb you, my dear:

To magic tunes

You moved the passionate maiden

Foreign words.

Where are you? come: your rights

I convey to you with a bow ...

But in the midst of the sad rocks

Having weaned my heart from praise,

Alone, under the Finnish sky,

He wanders, and his soul

He does not hear my grief.

Tatiana's letter is before me;

I sacredly shore him,

Who inspired her and this tenderness,

And words of kind negligence?

Who instilled in her sweet nonsense,

Crazy heart talk

And addicting and mischievous?

I can not understand. But here

Incomplete, weak translation,

From a living picture, the list is pale

Or played by Freyschitz

By the fingers of timid students:

Tatyana to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?

What else can I say?

Now, I know, in your will

Punish me with contempt.

But you, to my unfortunate lot

Keeping a drop of pity

You will not leave me.

At first I wanted to be silent;

Trust me: my shame

You would never know

If I had hope

Though rarely, even once a week

To see you in our village,

Just to hear your speeches

You have a word to say, and then

Think about everything, think about one thing

And day and night until we meet again.

But, they say, you are unsociable;

In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,

And we ... we do not shine with anything,

Though you are welcomed innocently.

Why did you visit us?

In the wilderness of a forgotten village

I never knew you

I would not know the bitter torment.

Souls of inexperienced excitement

Humbled over time (who knows?),

I would find a friend after my heart

There would be a faithful spouse

And a virtuous mother.

Another! .. No, no one in the world

I would not give my heart!

That in the above is destined advice ...

That is the will of heaven: I am yours;

My whole life has been a pledge

The faithful meet with you;

I know you were sent to me by God

Until the grave, you are my keeper ...

You appeared to me in dreams

Invisible, you were already nice to me

Your wonderful look tormented me

For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!

You just entered, I instantly knew

All was stunned, flamed

And in my thoughts she said: here he is!

Isn't that so? I heard you:

You spoke to me in silence

When I helped the poor

Or she delighted with prayer

The longing of an agitated soul?

And at this very moment

Is it not you, dear vision,

I flickered in the transparent darkness,

Crouched quietly to the headboard?

Do not you, with joy and love,

Whispered words of hope to me?

Who are you, my guardian angel,

Or an insidious tempter:

Resolve my doubts.

Maybe it's all empty

Deception of an inexperienced soul!

And completely different is destined ...

But so be it! My destiny

From now on I give you

I shed tears in front of you,

I beg your protection ...

Imagine: I'm here alone

Nobody understands me,

My mind is exhausted,

And I must die in silence.

I'm waiting for you: with a single gaze

Revive the hopes of the heart

Or interrupt a heavy dream,

Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm finishing! It's scary to reread ...

I freeze with shame and fear ...

But your honor is my guarantee,

And boldly I entrust myself to her ...

Tatyana will sigh, then gasp;

The letter trembles in her hand;

The pink wafer dries

On a sore tongue.

She bent her head to her shoulder,

The shirt is light went down

From her lovely shoulder ...

But now the moonbeam

The glow is extinguished. There is a valley

Through the steam it becomes clear. There is a stream

I got silvery; there is a horn

The shepherd wakes up the peasant.

Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,

My Tatiana doesn't care.

She does not notice the dawn

Sits with drooping head

And does not press on the letter

Your print is notched.

But, quietly unlocking the door,

Already her gray-haired Filipyevna

Brings tea on a tray.

“It's time, my child, get up:

Yes, you, beauty, are ready!

Oh, my early bird!

Evening how I was afraid!

Yes, thank God, you're healthy!

The yearning is night and there is no trace,

Your face is like the color of poppies. "

Oh! nanny, do me a favor. -

"Please, dear, order."

Don't think ... really ... suspicion ...

But see ... ah! do not refuse. -

"My friend, here is God your guarantee."

So, let's go quietly grandson

With this note to O ... to that ...

To a neighbor ... yes tell him

So that he does not say a word,

So that he does not call me ... -

“To whom, my dear?

I have become stupid these days.

There are many neighbors around;

Where can I read them. "

How slow-witted you are, nanny! -

"My dear friend, I am too old,

Old; mind grows dull, Tanya;

And then, it used to be, I'm delighted,

It used to be the word of the lordly will ... "

Ah, nanny, nanny! before?

What do I need in your mind?

You see, the letter case

To Onegin. - “Well, business, business.

Do not be angry, my soul,

You know, I am incomprehensible ...

Why have you turned pale again? "

So, nanny, really nothing.

Send your grandson.

But the day has passed and there is no answer.

Another came: everything is not as not.

As pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,

Tatiana is waiting: when is the answer?

Holguin, the adorer, has arrived.

“Tell me: where is your friend? -

The mistress's question was for him. -

He has completely forgotten us. "

Tatiana, flushing, trembled.

Today he promised to be, -

Lensky answered the old woman, -

Yes, apparently, the mail was delayed. -

Tatyana lowered her gaze,

As if hearing an evil reproach.

It was getting dark; on the table, shining,

The evening samovar hissed,

Chinese teapot heating;

Light steam billowed beneath him.

Spilled by Olga's hand,

Through the cups in a dark stream

Already fragrant tea was running,

And the boy served the cream;

Tatyana stood in front of the window,

Breathing cold on the glass,

Lost in thought, my soul,

I wrote with a lovely finger

On the fogged glass

The cherished monogram Oh yes E.

And meanwhile the soul ached in her,

And the languid eyes were full of tears.

Suddenly a stomp! .. her blood froze.

Here is closer! jumping ... and into the yard

Evgeniy! "Oh!" - and lighter than shadow

Tatiana jumped into other hallways,

From the porch to the courtyard, and straight to the garden,

Flies, flies; look back

Doesn't dare; ran in a flash

Curtains, bridges, meadow,

Alley to the lake, woods,

I broke the bushes of sirens,

Flying through the flower beds to the stream.

And breathlessly on the bench

“Here he is! Eugene is here!

Oh my God! what did he think! "

She has a heart full of torment

A dark dream keeps hope;

She trembles and burns with heat,

And he is waiting: will he not? But he doesn't hear.

In the maid's garden, on the ridges,

Picked berries in the bushes

And they sang in chorus on order

(Order based on

So that the master's berries secretly

The crafty lips did not eat

And they were busy singing:

The idea of rural acuity!)

Song of girls

Girls, beauties,

Darling, girlfriends,

Play out girls

Take a walk, dear!

Tighten the song

The cherished song

Lure the fellow

To our round dance,

How to lure a fellow

How we can see from afar

Run away, dear ones,

We throw cherries

Cherries, raspberries,

Red currant.

Don't go eavesdrop

Treasured songs

Do not go to spy

Our games are girlish.

They sing, and, with negligence

Tatiana was waiting impatiently,

So that the tremor of the heart in her has subsided,

To let the glowing glow pass.

But in the Persians the same trembling,

And the fever does not pass,

But it only burns brighter, brighter ...

So the poor moth shines

And beats with a rainbow wing

Captured by a school rascal;

So a bunny in winter trembles,

Seeing suddenly from afar

Into the bushes of the fallen arrow.

But finally she sighed

And she got up from her bench;

I went, but only turned

Into the alley, right in front of her,

Shining eyes, Eugene

It stands like a formidable shadow

And, as burned by fire,

She stopped.

But the consequences of an unexpected meeting

Today, dear friends,

I cannot retell;

I owe after a long speech

And take a walk and relax:

I'll finish after sometime

... it wouldn't hurt me. - Eugene Onegin was not accidentally afraid of this simple drink. After all, the main advantage of any ancient drink is its safety. Which was achieved either by fermentation (alcoholic or fermented milk), or simply by adding alcohol. Clean water is a huge problem in all medieval countries. And it was relevant almost to the endXIXcentury.

Our ancestors, of course, had only a distant idea of this. And yet the popularity of honey (as a drink), booze, home brew, beer, and just kvass was based precisely on this - disinfection. In warm weather, some of these drinks could be as intoxicating as bread wine (a term that today refers to moonshine of various qualities).

“We drink lingonberry water. Suddenly Denis Vasilyevich Davydov comes out, limping ... famous! His Excellency was then accommodated in Tinkov's house, on Prechistenka, and Tinkov's wife was my godmother. There I met this famous hero. He wrote poetry and sometimes read them at his godmother's. Denis Vasilyevich came out of the bathhouse, threw a sheet over and sat down next to me, and Dmitriev told him: "Enjoy your meal, your Excellency. Would you like lingonberry? Fragrant!" - "Aren't you afraid?" - asks. "What?" - "But drink it? Pushkin says about her like this:

"I'm afraid the lingonberry water wouldn't harm me," and that's why he drank it with arak. "

Denis Vasilyevich blinked, and the attendant was already carrying two bottles of lingonberry water and a bottle of arak.

And Denis Vasilyevich began to pour himself and us: half a glass of water, half a glass of arak. I'm trying it, it's delicious. And he himself reads some poems about the arak ...

I don't remember how I got home » .

Mixing fruit water with vodka - we have known this trick for a long time. However, it is obvious that completely non-alcoholic drink could be prepared from the same products - fruits and berries. In Russia there were many varieties and varieties of it. The popularity of these drinks was promoted by the fact that they could be prepared at home without any special technology or equipment.

Let's try to classify them. Even at first glance, three groups can be distinguished:

1. Drinks that provide for the dilution of fruit juice with water in a more or less strong proportion. Among them are unfermented, fermented fruit waters, lemonade, orshad. And yes, the same "lingonberry water" from "Eugene Onegin". This is the recipe given by Nikolai Yatsenkov in one of the first Russian cookbooks:

As you can see, the problem of safety and health safety of this drink was solved by heat treatment of the ingredients. And then ripening and storage at a low temperature in the cellar. It is clear that it was not in the hands of some collegiate assessor or teacher in a rented city apartment to prepare it. But in the tavern, he could taste it easily. So the correspondent of the magazine "Moskvityanin" in the middle of the century talks about this pleasure.

“Once in this former Vorontsov tavern, after eating pancakes with granular caviar, I was terribly thirsty, ordered to serve myself kvass, sour cabbage soup or lemonade. The latter was not there, and the chandelier brought me a mug of lingonberry water, very tasty. Then, when calculating, he did not put a penny for it. When I noticed this to him, he answered me: Have mercy, sir, we serve drinks for the pleasure of visitors without money. ".

Various "voditsa" belonged to this category of drinks. However, there is no consensus on this term in Russian cuisine. Some authors used it to describe non-alcoholic fruit and berry drinks (in contrast to the spikes, which we wrote about earlier). Others (and perhaps the majority of them - from N. Osipov, N. Yatsenkov, to E. Molokhovets and beyond) prepared "voditsa" in different ways, including on the basis of alcoholic fermentation or the addition of alcohol (wine). For example, here are some recipes from E. Molokhovets:

Here - the same thing, but with the "degrees" from the addition of wine:

And finally, a similar drink, but prepared on the basis of fermentation:

Perhaps the only criterion for distinguishing according to the “alcoholic / non-alcoholic” criterion was the term “Moscow waters”. Here they were just made without any admixture of alcohol.

2. Drinks that have preserved the strength and concentration of real fruit juice. Among them, we can mention fruit juices - pasteurized and sterilized (this, of course, is already the endXIX century), - as well as fruit drinks. Here, for example, is one of E. Molokhovets.

3858) Blackcurrant fruit drink.
Pour a full pot of ripe, albeit mint, black currant, tie with a rag, coat with dough, put in the oven, after the bread; the next day, take out, overturn on a sieve, let the juice drain, rub the berries through a sieve; measure this mashed potatoes and for every 2 stack. put 1 stack. sugar, beat well with a spatula until the sugar is completely dissolved. Keep on ice, because it will spoil soon in a warm place. It's delicious; You can even serve it instead of dessert. Juice that will drain to syrup by placing ½ pound sugar on the juice bottle, boil several times, cool, cork, grind

Sometimes in Russian cuisine "syrups" belonged to this category, although the digestion of the juice to a thickeness was not envisaged.

"Where? These are poets for me! "
- Goodbye, Onegin, I have to go.
"I do not hold you; but where are you
Do you spend your evenings? "
- At the Larins. “This is wonderful.
Have mercy! and it's not difficult for you
Kill there every night? "
- Not a little. - "Can not understand.
From now on I see what it is:
First of all (listen, am I right?)
Simple, Russian family,
Great zeal for guests,
Jam, eternal conversation
About rain, about flax, about a barnyard ... ".

II.

I don't see any trouble here.
"Yes, boredom, that's the problem, my friend."
- I hate your fashionable light;
My home circle is sweeter
Where can I ... - “Again the eclogue!
Yes, full, dear, for God's sake.
Well? you're going: it's a pity.
Ah, listen, Lenskoy; yes you can’t
To see me this Phyllida,
The subject of both thoughts and pen,
And tears and rhymes et cetera? ..
Imagine me. " - Are you kidding. - "There is not".
- I'm glad. - "When?" - Right now.
They will gladly accept us.

III.

Let's go. -
Others galloped
Have appeared; they are squandered
Sometimes heavy services
Hospitable antiquity.
Famous ritual treats:
They carry jam on saucers
They put wax on the table
A jug of lingonberry water,
(In the village day there is a chain of lunch.
Hands clasped at the door
The girls came running quickly
Take a look at the new neighbor
And there is a crowd of people in the yard
Criticized their horses.)

IV.

They are dear the shortest
They fly home at full speed (17).
Now let's listen stealthily
Our heroes' conversation:
- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -
- "Habit, Lenskoy." - But you miss
You are somehow more. - “No, it doesn't matter.
However, it is already dark in the field;
Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!
What stupid places!
And by the way: Larina is simple,
But a very sweet old woman,
Afraid: lingonberry water
It wouldn't hurt me.

V.

Tell me: who is Tatiana? "
- Yes, the one who is sad
And silent, like Svetlana,
She went in and sat by the window. -
"Are you in love with the smaller one?"
- And what? - “I would choose another,
When I was like you, a poet.
Olga has no life in her features.
Just like in Vandikova Madona:
She is round, red in face,
Like that stupid moon
In this stupid sky. "
Vladimir answered dryly
And after that he was silent all the way.

Vi.

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance
The Larins produced
Great impression on everyone
And all the neighbors were entertained.
Guess after guess went.
Everyone began to interpret furtively,
To joke, to judge not without sin,
To read the groom to Tatyana;
Others even claimed
That the wedding is perfectly harmonious
But then stopped
That the fashionable rings were not available.
About Lensky's wedding for a long time
They have already decided.

Vii.

Tatiana listened with annoyance
Such gossip; but secretly
With inexplicable joy
I involuntarily thought about that;
And a thought sank into my heart;
The time has come, she fell in love.
So the grain has fallen into the ground
Spring is revived by fire.
Her imagination has long been
Burning with bliss and melancholy,
Alkalo of fatal food;
Long sincere longing
Her young breasts were pressed against her;
The soul was waiting ... for someone

VIII.

And she waited ... Eyes were opened;
She said: it's him!
Alas! now both days and nights,
And a hot lonely dream
Everything is full of them; everything is cute to the virgin
Incessantly by magic power
Confirms about him. Are boring to her
And the sounds of affectionate speeches
And the gaze of a caring servant.
Immersed in despondency,
She does not listen to guests
And curses their leisure time,
Their unexpected arrival
And a long sitting.

IX.

Now with what attention is she
Reads a sweet novel
What a lively charm
Drinks a seductive deception!
By the happy power of dreams
Inspired creatures
Lover of Julia Volmar,
Malek-Adel and de Linard,
And Werther, rebellious martyr,
And unmatched Grandison (18)
Which brings us to sleep -
Everything for the gentle dreamer
We put on a single image,
In one Onegin merged.

X.

Imagining a heroine
Your beloved creators,
Clarice, Julia, Dolphin,
Tatiana in the silence of the woods
Alone with a dangerous book wanders
She looks in her and finds
Your secret heat, your dreams
Fruits of heart fullness,
Sighs and, appropriating himself
Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,
In oblivion whispers by heart
A letter for a sweet hero ...
But our hero, whoever he is,
Certainly it was not Grandison.

XI.

Your syllable in an important mood,
Used to be a fiery creator
He showed us his hero
As a perfect sample.
He gifted a beloved item,
Always unrighteously persecuted
Sensitive soul, mind
And an attractive face.
Feeding the heat of purest passion
Always an enthusiastic hero
I was ready to sacrifice myself
And at the end of the last part
Vice has always been punished
Worthy of good was a wreath.

XII.

And now all minds are in a fog,
Morality leads us to sleep
Vice is dear - and in the novel,
And there he is already triumphant.
British muse fables
Troubled by the sleep of the young lady,
And now her idol has become
Or a brooding Vampire
Or Melmoth, the gloomy tramp,
Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,
Or the mysterious Sbogar (19).
Lord Byron, by the whim of a fortunate
Clothed in dull romanticism
And hopeless selfishness.

XIII.

My friends, what is the use of this?
Perhaps by the will of heaven,
I will cease to be a poet
A new demon will take over me
And, Phoebe, disdaining threats,
I will humble myself to humble prose;
Then the romance in the old way
Will take my cheerful sunset.
Do not torment secret villainy
I will portray menacingly in it,
But I'll just tell you
Legends of the Russian family,
Love's captivating dreams
Yes, the customs of our old times.

XIV.

I will retell simple speeches
Father or uncle old man,
Children appointments
At the old lindens, by the brook;
Unhappy jealousy of torment,
Parting, tears of reconciliation,
I'll fight again, and finally
I will lead them down the aisle ...
I remember the speech of passionate bliss,
Words of yearning love
Which are in days gone by
At the feet of a beautiful mistress
They came to my tongue
From which I have now lost the habit.

XV.

Tatyana, dear Tatyana!
With you now I shed tears;
You are in the hands of a fashionable tyrant
Already gave up her fate.
You will die, dear; but before
You are in blinding hope
You call dark bliss
You will learn the bliss of life
You drink the magic poison of desires
Dreams haunt you:
Everywhere you imagine
Happy Date Shelters;
Everywhere, everywhere in front of you
Your fatal tempter.

XVI.

Longing for love drives Tatiana,
And she goes to the garden to be sad
And suddenly the eyes of the clonite are motionless,
And she is too lazy to step further.
Raised chest, Lanita
Covered in an instant flame,
The breath stopped in my mouth
And there is noise in the ear, and shine in the eyes ...
The night will come; moon bypasses
Watch the distant vault of heaven,
And the nightingale in the darkness of the wood
Resonant melodies start.
Tatiana does not sleep in the dark
And quietly with the nanny says:

XVII.

“I can't sleep, nanny: it's so stuffy here!
Open the window and sit with me. "
- What, Tanya, what's wrong with you? - "I'm bored,
Let's talk about the old days. "
- About what, Tanya? I used to
I kept in my memory quite a few
Old stories, fables
About evil spirits and girls;
And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:
I forgot what I knew. Yes,
A thin turn has come!
It’s overwhelmed ... - “Tell me, nanny,
About your old years:
Were you in love then? "

XVIII.

And, complete, Tanya! In these years
We have not heard of love;
Otherwise I would have driven it out of the light
My deceased mother-in-law. -
"But how did you get married, nanny?"
- So, apparently, God ordered. My Vanya
I was younger, my light,
And I was thirteen years old.
The matchmaker went for two weeks
To my family, and finally
My father blessed me.
I cried bitterly with fear
They unraveled me with a cry,
Yes, they took me to church with singing.

XIX.

And then they brought in someone else's family ...
You're not listening to me ... -
"Ah, nanny, nanny, I miss you,
I'm sick, my dear:
I cry, I am ready to cry! .. "
- My child, you are not well;
Lord have mercy and save!
What do you want, ask ...
Let me sprinkle holy water
You are all on fire ... - "I'm not sick:
I ... you know, nanny ... in love "
- My child, the Lord is with you! -
And babysitting a girl with a prayer
She baptized with a decrepit hand.

XX.

"I'm in love," whispered again
To the old woman with grief she.
- My dear friend, you are not well. -
"Leave me: I'm in love."
And meanwhile the moon was shining
And shone with a languid light
Tatyana's pale beauties,
And loose hair
And drops of tears, and on the bench
Before the young heroine,
With a handkerchief on his gray head,
An old woman in a long quilted jacket
And everything slept in silence
With an inspiring moon.

XXI.

And my heart was running far
Tatyana, looking at the moon ...
Suddenly a thought was born in her mind ...
“Go, leave me alone.
Give me a pen, paper, nanny,
Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;
Sorry". And here she is alone.
Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.
Leaning, Tatiana writes.
And everything is Eugene on his mind,
And in a thoughtless letter
The love of an innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, folded ...
Tatiana! for whom is it?

XXII.

I knew beauties inaccessible
Cold, clean as winter
Relentless, incorruptible,
Incomprehensible to the mind;
I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,
Their natural virtues,
And, I confess, I fled from them,
And, I think, I read with horror
Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:
Give up hope forever (20) .
To instill love for them is a misfortune,
It is a joy for them to scare people.
Perhaps on the banks of the Neva
You have seen such ladies.

XXIII.

Among the fans of the obedient
I've seen other freaks
Proudly indifferent
For sighs of passion and praise.
And what did I find with amazement?
They, by their harsh behavior
Scaring timid love
They knew how to attract her again
At least regret
At least the sound of speeches
Sometimes seemed more tender
And with gullible blinding
Young lover again
I ran after the sweet vanity.

XXIV.

Why is Tatyana more guilty?
For the fact that in sweet simplicity
She knows no deception
And believes the chosen dream?
For the fact that he loves without art,
Obedient to the attraction of feeling,
That she is so trusting
What is gifted from heaven
Rebellious imagination,
Alive with mind and will,
And a wayward head
And with a fiery and tender heart?
Do not forgive her
Are you frivolous passions?

XXV.

The coquette judges in cold blood,
Tatiana loves not jokingly
And indulges unconditionally
Love is like a sweet child.
She does not say: put off -
We will increase the price of love,
Rather, we will start in the network;
First we prick the vanity
Hope, perplexity there
We'll torture the heart, and then
We will revive those who are jealous with fire;
And then, bored with pleasure,
The cunning slave of the shackles
Ready for the hour.

XXVI.

I also foresee difficulties:
Saving the honor of the native land,
I will have to, no doubt,
Translate Tatiana's letter.
She did not know Russian well,
I haven't read our magazines,
And expressed herself with difficulty
In your native language,
So, I wrote in French ...
What to do! I repeat again:
Until now, ladies' love
Didn't speak Russian,
Hitherto our proud language
I'm not used to postal prose.

XXVII.

I know: they want to force the ladies
Read in Russian. Right, fear!
Can I imagine them
With "Blagonomerenny" (21) in hand!
I aim at you, my poets;
Isn't it true: cute objects,
Which, for their sins,
You secretly wrote poetry,
To which the heart was dedicated
Isn't it all, in Russian
Possessing weakly and with difficulty,
He was so sweetly distorted
And in their mouths a foreign language
Have you turned to your native?

XXVIII.

God forbid me to meet at the ball
Or when passing on the porch
With a seminarian in a yellow chalet
Or with an academician in a cap!
Like a rosy mouth without a smile,
No grammatical error
I don't like Russian.
Perhaps, for my misfortune,
New generation beauties
Magazines heeding a pleading voice,
It will teach us to grammar;
Poems will be put into use;
But I ... what do I care?
I will be faithful to the old days.

XXIX.

Incorrect, careless babbling
Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches
Still heart flutter
They will produce in my breast;
I have no strength to repent
Gallicisms will be nice to me,
As the sins of the past youth,
Like Bogdanovich's poems.
But complete. It's time for me to get busy
A letter from my beauty;
I gave my word, and what then? she-she
Now I'm ready to refuse.
I know: gentle Guys
The pen is out of fashion these days.

XXX.

Singer of feasts and languid sadness (22),
When else would you be with me
I would become an immodest request
To disturb you, my dear:
To magic tunes
You moved the passionate maiden
Foreign words.
Where are you? come: your rights
I convey to you with a bow ...
But in the midst of the sad rocks
Having weaned my heart from praise,
Alone, under the Finnish sky,
He wanders, and his soul
He does not hear my grief.

XXXI.

Tatiana's letter is before me;
I sacredly shore him,
I read with secret longing
And I can't read.
Who inspired her and this tenderness,
And words of kind negligence?
Who instilled in her sweet nonsense,
Crazy heart talk
And addicting and mischievous?
I can not understand. But here
Incomplete, weak translation,
From a living picture, the list is pale,
Or played by Freyschitz
By the fingers of timid students:

Letter
Tatyana to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?
What else can I say?
Now, I know, in your will
Punish me with contempt.
But you, to my unfortunate lot
Keeping a drop of pity
You will not leave me.
At first I wanted to be silent;
Trust me: my shame
You would never know
If I had hope
Though rarely, even once a week
To see you in our village,
Just to hear your speeches
You have a word to say, and then
Think about everything, think about one thing
And day and night until we meet again.
But they say you are unsociable;
In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,
And we ... we do not shine with anything,
Though you are welcomed innocently.

Why did you visit us?
In the wilderness of a forgotten village
I never knew you
I would not know the bitter torment.
Souls of inexperienced excitement
Humbled over time (who knows?),
I would find a friend after my heart
There would be a faithful spouse
And a virtuous mother.

Another! .. No, no one in the world
I would not give my heart!
That in the above is destined advice ...
That is the will of heaven: I am yours;
My whole life has been a pledge
The faithful meet with you;
I know you were sent to me by God,
Until the grave, you are my keeper ...
You appeared to me in dreams
Invisible, you were already nice to me
Your wonderful look tormented me
In my soul, your voice rang out
For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!
You just entered, I instantly knew
All was stunned, flamed
And in my thoughts she said: here he is!
Isn't that so? I heard you:
You spoke to me in silence
When I helped the poor
Or she delighted with prayer
The longing of an agitated soul?
And at this very moment
Is it not you, dear vision,
I flickered in the transparent darkness,
Crouched quietly to the headboard?
Do not you, with joy and love,
Whispered words of hope to me?
Who are you, my guardian angel,
Or an insidious tempter:
Resolve my doubts.
Maybe it's all empty
Deception of an inexperienced soul!
And completely different is destined ...
But so be it! My destiny
From now on I give you
I pour tears in front of you,
I beg your protection ...
Imagine: I'm here alone
Nobody understands me,
My mind is exhausted,
And I must die in silence.
I'm waiting for you: with a single gaze
Revive the hopes of the heart
Or interrupt a heavy dream,
Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm finishing! It's scary to reread ...
I freeze with shame and fear ...
But your honor is my guarantee,
And boldly I entrust myself to her ...

XXXII.

Tatiana will sigh, then gasp;
The letter trembles in her hand;
The pink wafer dries
In a sore tongue.
She bent her head to her shoulder.
Light shirt went down
From her lovely shoulder ...
But now the moonbeam
The glow is extinguished. There is a valley
Through the steam it becomes clear. There is a stream
I got silvery; there is a horn
The shepherd wakes the peasant.
Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,
My Tatiana doesn't care.

XXXIII.

She does not notice the dawn
Sits with drooping head
And does not press on the letter
Your print is notched.
But, quietly unlocking the door,
Already her gray-haired Filipyevna
Brings tea on a tray.
“It's time, my child, get up:
Yes, you, beauty, are ready!
Oh, my early bird!
Evening how I was afraid!
Yes, thank God, you are healthy!
The yearning is night and there is no trace,
Your face is like a poppy color. "

XXXIV.

Oh! nanny, do me a favor. -
"Please, dear, order."
“Don't think ... really ... suspicion ...
But you see ... ah! do not refuse. -
"My friend, here is the guarantee of God."
- So, let's go quietly grandson
With this note to O ... to that ...
To a neighbor ... yes tell him -
So that he does not say a word,
So that he does not call me ... -
“To whom, my dear?
Today I have become senseless.
There are many neighbors around;
Where can I read them. "

XXXV.

How slow-witted you are, nanny! -
"My dear friend, I am too old,
Old: mind grows dull, Tanya;
And then, it used to be, I'm delighted,
It used to be the word of the lordly will ... "
- Ah, nanny, nanny! before?
What do I need in your mind?
You see, the letter case
To Onegin. - “Well, business, business,
Do not be angry, my soul,
You know, I am incomprehensible ...
Why have you turned pale again? "
- So, nanny, really nothing.
Send your grandson. -

XXXVI.

But the day has passed and there is no answer.
Another has arrived: everything is not, how not.
Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,
Tatiana is waiting: when is the answer?
Holguin, the adorer, has arrived.
"Tell me: where is your friend?"
The mistress's question was for him.
"He has forgotten us completely."
Tatiana, flushing, trembled.
- Today he promised to be,
To the old lady Lenskoy answered:
Yes, apparently, the mail was delayed. -
Tatyana lowered her gaze,
As if hearing an evil reproach.

XXXVII.

It was getting dark; shining on the table
The evening samovar hissed.
Chinese teapot heating;
Light steam billowed under him.
Spilled by Olga's hand,
On the cups in a dark stream
Already fragrant tea was running,
And the boy served the cream;
Tatyana stood in front of the window,
Breathing cold on the glass,
Lost in thought, my soul,
I wrote with a lovely finger
On the fogged glass
Cherished monogram O Yes E.

XXXVIII.

And meanwhile the soul ached in her,
And the languid eyes were full of tears.
Suddenly a stomp! .. her blood froze.
Here is closer! jumping ... and into the yard
Evgeniy! "Oh!" - and lighter than shadow
Tatiana jumped into other hallways,
From the porch to the courtyard, and straight to the garden,
Flies, flies; look back
Doesn't dare; ran in a flash
Curtains, bridges, meadow,
Alley to the lake, woods,
I broke the bushes of sirens,
Flying through the flower beds to the stream,
And choking on the bench

XXXIX.

Fell ...
“Here he is! Eugene is here!
Oh my God! what did he think! "
She has a heart full of torment
The dark dream keeps hope;
She trembles and burns with heat,
And he waits: is it not there? But he doesn't hear.
In the maid's garden, on the ridges,
Picked berries in the bushes
And they sang in chorus on order
(Order based on
So that the master's berries secretly
Wicked lips did not eat,
And they were busy singing:
The idea of rural acuity!).

Song of girls

Girls, beauties,
Darling, girlfriends,
Play it out, girls,
Take a walk, dear!
Tighten the song
The cherished song
Lure the fellow
To our round dance.
How to lure a fellow
How we can see from afar
Run away, dear ones,
We throw cherries
Cherries, raspberries,
Red currant.
Don't go eavesdrop
Treasured songs
Do not go to spy
Our games are girlish.

XL.

They sing, and with carelessness
Listening to their sonorous voice,
Tatiana was waiting impatiently,
So that the tremor of the heart in her has subsided,
To let the glowing glow pass.
But in the Persians the same trembling,
And the fever does not pass,
But it only burns brighter, brighter ...
So the poor moth shines
And beats with a rainbow wing
Captivated by the school naughty
So a bunny in winter trembles,
Seeing suddenly from afar
Into the bushes of the fallen arrow.

XLI.

But finally she sighed
And she got up from her bench;
I went, but only turned
Into the alley, right in front of her,
Shining eyes, Eugene
It stands like a formidable shadow,
And, as scorched by fire,
She stopped.
But the consequences of an unexpected meeting
Today, dear friends,
I cannot retell;
I owe after a long speech
And take a walk and relax:
I'll finish it later sometime.

Hello dear.
Well, last time you and I finished the second chapter of the great work "The Sun of Russian Poetry" (c):, and now we will start the third.
So, let's go!

Elle était fille, elle était amoureuse.
Malfilâtre.

"Where? These are poets for me! "
- Goodbye, Onegin, I have to go.
"I do not hold you; but where are you
Do you spend your evenings? "
- At the Larins. - “This is wonderful.
Have mercy! and it's not difficult for you
Kill there every night? "
- Not a little. - “I can't understand.
From now on I see what it is:
First of all (listen, am I right?)
Simple, Russian family,
Great zeal for guests,
Jam, eternal conversation
About rain, about flax, about a barnyard ... "

- I don't see any trouble here.
"Yes, boredom, that's the problem, my friend."
- I hate your fashionable light;
My home circle is sweeter
Where can I ...— “Again the eclogue!
Yes, full, dear, for God's sake.
Well? you're going: it's a pity.
Ah, listen, Lensky; yes you can’t
To see me this Phyllida,
The subject of both thoughts and pen,
And tears and rhymes et cetera? ..
Imagine me. "- You're kidding. -" No. "
- I'm glad. - "When?" - Right now.
They will gladly accept us.

So let's start with the epigraph. This phrase can be translated from French as: "She was a girl, she was in love." He definitely studied him at the Lyceum, and, apparently, mourned his unenviable fate - the Frenchman died in complete poverty.
Next, we have the prerequisites for Evgeny to go to the Larins. And there are two prerequisites - boredom and curiosity.
A couple of unfamiliar words may come across to you. First of all, Eclogue. This term originated from the Latin ecloga, which was borrowed from ancient Greek. εκλογή - selection, choice. In ancient poetry, this term meant a chosen idyll, that is, a scene from a shepherd's life (usually love), expressed in the form of a narrative or drama.

Filida, on the other hand, is a conventional poetic name common in idyllic poetry. The same Karamzin used this more than once. That is, Onegin is a little joking with us ... so easy, not offensive :-)
Well, Et cetera is a Latin expression meaning "and others", "and the like", "and so on."

They are dear the shortest
They fly home at full speed.
Now let's listen stealthily
Our heroes' conversation:
- Well, Onegin? you are yawning.-
- "Habit, Lensky." - But you miss
You are somehow more. - “No, it doesn’t matter.
However, it is already dark in the field;
Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!
What stupid places!
And by the way: Larina is simple,
But a very nice old lady;
Afraid: lingonberry water
It wouldn't hurt me.

And yet I wonder what kind of jam they were served with, eh? :-))) How do you think? :-)) Here's another interesting remark about lingonberry water. We can learn what lingonberry water is from the trendy cookbooks of those years. Well, for example, here's what you can subtract: “How to make lingonberry water. Take a quadruple of lingonberries, of which half put into a pot, put in the oven overnight to steam, take it out of the oven the next day, rub it through a sieve, put in a barrel; and on the other half of the four, which is not steamed, pour three buckets of water, and let it stand in the cellar; from which in twelve days there will be lingonberry water. " It would seem - how can this be damaged? here again, or Onegin's banter, or another option. It was fashionable in those days to combine the so-called "French vodka", that is, strong alcoholic drinks based on grapes (but not cognac) with lingonberry water. A sort of fashionable cocktail turned out. And you could really sort it out ...

Well, let's go further.

Tell me: who is Tatiana? "
- Yes, the one who is sad
And silent, like Svetlana,
She entered and sat by the window.
"Are you in love with the smaller one?"
- And what? - “I would choose another,
When I was like you, a poet.
Olga has no life in her features.
Just like in the Vendic Madonna:
She is round, red in face,
Like that stupid moon
In this stupid sky. "
Vladimir answered dryly
And after that he was silent all the way.

The question arises - what kind of Svetlana we have drawn here. And everything is simple - this is an allusion to the heroine of Zhukovsky's ballad “Svetlana”. You and I analyzed it a little bit in my provocative old post :. It's funny with the Vandic Madonna. Most likely we are talking about the painting of the outstanding Flemish artist Van Dyck (1599-1641) - "Madonna with the Partridges". This one here:

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance
The Larins produced
Great impression on everyone
And all the neighbors were entertained.
Guess after guess went.
Everyone began to interpret furtively,
To joke, to judge not without sin,
To Tatiana to read the groom:
Others even claimed
That the wedding is perfectly harmonious
But then stopped
That the fashionable rings were not available.
About Lensky's wedding for a long time
They have already decided.

People never change :-))) Gossip from scratch in full growth :-)

Tatiana listened with annoyance
Such gossip; but secretly
With inexplicable joy
I involuntarily thought about that;
And a thought sank into my heart;
The time has come, she fell in love.
So the grain has fallen into the ground
Spring is revived by fire.
It has long been her imagination
Burning with bliss and melancholy,
Alkalo of fatal food;
Long sincere longing
Her young breasts were pressed against her;
The soul was waiting ... for someone

Yeah ... the key phrase is "... somebody." A young lady, in the wilderness, arriving in frustration, met such an outlandish bird as Onegin ... it is clear that she fell in love, and up to her ears. Moreover, the point here is not even in the merits of Eugene, but in the fact that it's just time ...
To be continued...
Have a nice time of the day.

This piece was transferred to public domain in Russia according to Art. 1281 of the Civil Code of the Russian Federation, and in countries where the term of copyright protection is valid for the lifetime of the author plus 70 years or less.

If the work is a translation, or another derivative work, or created in co-authorship, then the exclusive copyright has expired for all authors of the original and the translation.

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← Chapter Two

Eugene Onegin (Pushkin)

Chapter four →

Eugene Onegin

Novel in verse

Chapter three

Elle était fille, elle était amoureuse. Malfilâtre

I don't see any trouble here.
"Yes, boredom, that's the problem, my friend."
- I hate your fashionable light;
My home circle is sweeter
Where can I ... - “Again the eclogue!
Yes, full, dear, for God's sake.
Well? you're going: it's a pity.
Ah, listen, Lenskoy; yes you can’t
To see me this Phyllida,
The subject of both thoughts and pen,
And tears and rhymes et cetera?..
Imagine me. " - Are you kidding. - "There is not".
- I'm glad. - "When?" - Right now.
They will gladly accept us.

Let's go. -
Let's go. Others galloped
Have appeared; they are squandered
Sometimes heavy services
Hospitable antiquity.
Famous ritual treats:
They carry jam on saucers
They put wax on the table
A jug of lingonberry water,
(In the village day there is a chain of lunch.
Hands clasped at the door
The girls came running quickly
Take a look at the new neighbor
And there is a crowd of people in the yard
Criticized their horses.)

They are dear the shortest
They fly home at full speed.
Now let's listen stealthily
Our heroes' conversation:
- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -
- "Habit, Lenskoy." - But you miss
You are somehow more. - “No, it doesn't matter.
However, it is already dark in the field;
Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!
What stupid places!
And by the way: Larina is simple,
But a very sweet old woman,
Afraid: lingonberry water
It wouldn't hurt me.

Tatiana listened with annoyance
Such gossip; but secretly
With inexplicable joy
I involuntarily thought about that;
And a thought sank into my heart;
The time has come, she fell in love.
So the grain has fallen into the ground
Spring is revived by fire.
It has long been her imagination
Burning with bliss and melancholy,
Alkalo of fatal food;
Long sincere longing
Her young breasts were pressed against her;
The soul was waiting ... for someone

Now with what attention is she
Reads a sweet novel
What a lively charm
Drinks seductive deception!
By the happy power of dreams
Animated creatures
Lover of Julia Volmar,
Malek-Adel and de Linard,
And Werther, rebellious martyr,
And the incomparable Grandison,
Which brings us to sleep -
Everything for the gentle dreamer
We put on a single image,
In one Onegin merged.

Imagining a heroine
Your beloved creators,
Clarice, Julia, Dolphin,
Tatiana in the silence of the woods
Alone with a dangerous book wanders
She looks in her and finds
Your secret heat, your dreams
Fruits of heart fullness,
Sighs and, appropriating himself
Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,
Whispers by heart into oblivion
A letter for a sweet hero ...
But our hero, whoever he is,
Certainly it was not Grandison.

And now all minds are in a fog,
Morality leads us to sleep
Vice is dear - and in the novel,
And there he is already triumphant.
British muse fables
Troubled by the sleep of the young lady,
And now her idol has become
Or a brooding Vampire
Or Melmoth, the gloomy tramp,
Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,
Or the mysterious Sbogar.
Lord Byron, by the whim of a fortunate
Clothed in dull romanticism
And hopeless selfishness.

My friends, what is the use of this?
Perhaps by the will of heaven,
I will cease to be a poet
A new demon will move into me
And, Phoebe, disdaining threats,
I will humble myself to humble prose;
Then the romance in the old way
Will take my merry sunset.
Do not torment secret villainy
I will portray menacingly in it,
But I'll just tell you
Legends of the Russian family,
Love's captivating dreams
Yes, the customs of our old times.

Longing for love drives Tatiana,
And she goes to the garden to be sad,
And suddenly his eyes tend to be motionless,
And she is too lazy to step further.
Raised chest, Lanita
Covered in an instant flame,
The breath stopped in my mouth
And there is noise in the ear, and shine in the eyes ...
The night will come; moon bypasses
Watch the distant vault of heaven,
And the nightingale in the darkness of the wood
Resonant melodies start.
Tatiana does not sleep in the dark
And quietly with the nanny says:

“I can't sleep, nanny: it's so stuffy here!
Open the window and sit with me. "
- What, Tanya, what's wrong with you? - "I'm bored,
Let's talk about the old days. "
- About what, Tanya? I used to
I kept in my memory quite a few
Old stories, fables
About evil spirits and girls;
And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:
I forgot what I knew. Yes,
A thin turn has come!
It has gone wrong ... - "Tell me, nanny,
About your old years:
Were you in love then? "

And, complete, Tanya! These summers
We have not heard of love;
Otherwise I would have driven it out of the light
My deceased mother-in-law. -
"But how did you get married, nanny?"
- So, apparently, God ordered. My Vanya
I was younger, my light,
And I was thirteen years old.
The matchmaker went for two weeks
To my family, and finally
My father blessed me.
I cried bitterly with fear
They unraveled my braid with a cry,
Yes, they took me to church with singing.

And then they brought in someone else's family ...
You're not listening to me ... -
“Ah, nanny, nanny, I miss you,
I'm sick, my dear:
I cry, I am ready to cry! .. "
- My child, you are not well;
Lord have mercy and save!
What do you want, ask ...
Let me sprinkle holy water
You're on fire ... - “I'm not sick:
I ... you know, nanny ... in love "
- My child, the Lord is with you! -
And babysitting a girl with a prayer
She baptized with a decrepit hand.

"I'm in love" - whispered again
To the old woman with grief she.
- My dear friend, you are not well. -
"Leave me: I'm in love."
And meanwhile the moon was shining
And shone with a languid light
Tatyana's pale beauties,
And loose hair
And drops of tears, and on the bench
Before the young heroine,
With a handkerchief on his gray head,
An old woman in a long quilted jacket
And everything was dozing in silence
With an inspiring moon.

And my heart was running far away
Tatiana, looking at the moon ...
Suddenly a thought was born in her mind ...
“Go, leave me alone.
Give me a pen, paper, nanny,
Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;
Sorry". And here she is alone.
Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.
Leaning, Tatiana writes.
And everything is Eugene on his mind,
And in a thoughtless letter
The love of an innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, folded ...
Tatiana! for whom is it?

I knew beauties inaccessible
Cold, clean as winter
Relentless, incorruptible,
Incomprehensible to the mind;
I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,
Their natural virtues,
And, I confess, I fled from them,
And, I think, I read with horror
Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:
Give up hope forever .
To instill love for them is a misfortune,
It is a joy for them to scare people.
Perhaps on the banks of the Neva
You have seen such ladies.

Among the fans of the obedient
I've seen other freaks
Proudly indifferent
For sighs of passion and praise.
And what did I find with amazement?
They, by their harsh behavior
Scaring timid love
They knew how to attract her again,
At least regret
At least the sound of speeches
Sometimes seemed more tender
And with gullible blinding
Young lover again
I ran after the sweet vanity.

The coquette judges in cold blood,
Tatiana loves not jokingly
And indulges unconditionally
Love is like a sweet child.
She does not say: put off -
We will increase the price of love,
Rather, we will start on the network;
Vanity stab first
Hope, perplexity there
We'll torture the heart, and then
Let us revive with jealous fire;
And then, bored with pleasure,
The cunning slave of the shackles
Ready for the hour.

I also foresee difficulties:
Saving the honor of the native land,
I will have to, no doubt,
Translate Tatiana's letter.
She did not know Russian well,
I haven't read our magazines,
And expressed herself with difficulty
In your own language,
So, I wrote in French ...
What to do! I repeat again:
Until now, ladies' love
Didn't speak Russian,
Hitherto our proud language
I'm not used to postal prose.

I know: they want to force the ladies
Read in Russian. Right, fear!
Can I imagine them
With the "Well-intentioned" in hand!
I aim at you, my poets;
Isn't it true: cute objects,
Which, for their sins,
You secretly wrote poetry,
To which the heart was dedicated
Isn't it all, in Russian
Possessing weakly and with difficulty,
He was so sweetly distorted
And in their mouths a foreign language
Have you turned to your native?

Singer of feasts and languid sadness,
When else would you be with me
I would become an immodest request
To disturb you, my dear:
To magic tunes
You moved the passionate maiden
Foreign words.
Where are you? come: your rights
I convey to you with a bow ...
But in the midst of the sad rocks
Having weaned my heart from praise,
Alone, under the Finnish sky,
He wanders, and his soul
He does not hear my grief.

Tatyana's letter to Onegin

Another! .. No, no one in the world
I would not give my heart!
That in the above is destined advice ...
That is the will of heaven: I am yours;
My whole life has been a pledge
The faithful meet with you;
I know you were sent to me by God,
Until the grave, you are my keeper ...
You appeared to me in dreams
Invisible, you were already nice to me
Your wonderful look tormented me
In my soul, your voice rang out
For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!
You just entered, I instantly knew
All was stunned, flamed
And in my thoughts she said: here he is!
Isn't that so? I heard you:
You spoke to me in silence
When I helped the poor
Or she delighted with prayer
The longing of an agitated soul?
And at this very moment
Is it not you, dear vision,
I flickered in the transparent darkness,
Crouched quietly to the headboard?
Do not you, with joy and love,
Whispered words of hope to me?
Who are you, my guardian angel,
Or an insidious tempter:
Resolve my doubts.
Maybe it's all empty
Deception of an inexperienced soul!
And completely different is destined ...
But so be it! My destiny
From now on I give you
I shed tears in front of you,
I beg your protection ...
Imagine: I'm here alone
Nobody understands me,
My mind is exhausted,
And I must die in silence.
I'm waiting for you: with a single gaze
Revive the hopes of the heart
Or interrupt a heavy dream,
Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm finishing! It's scary to reread ...
I freeze with shame and fear ...
But your honor is my guarantee,
And boldly I entrust myself to her ...

Tatyana will sigh, then gasp;
The letter trembles in her hand;
The pink wafer dries
On a sore tongue.
She bent her head to her shoulder.
The shirt is light went down
From her lovely shoulder ...
But now the moonbeam
The glow is extinguished. There is a valley
Through the steam it becomes clear. There is a stream
I got silvery; there is a horn
The shepherd wakes up the peasant.
Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,
My Tatiana doesn't care.

She does not notice the dawn
Sits with drooping head
And does not press on the letter
Your print is notched.
But, quietly unlocking the door,
Already her gray-haired Filipyevna
Brings tea on a tray.
“It's time, my child, get up:
Yes, you, beauty, are ready!
Oh, my early bird!
Evening how I was afraid!
Yes, thank God, you're healthy!
The yearning is night and there is no trace,
Your face is like the color of poppies. "

Oh! nanny, do me a favor. -
"Please, dear, order."
“Don't think ... really ... suspicion ...
But you see ... ah! do not refuse. -
"My friend, here is God your guarantee."
- So, let's go quietly grandson
With this note to O ... to that ...
To a neighbor ... yes tell him -
So that he does not say a word,
So that he does not call me ... -
“To whom, my dear?
I have become stupid these days.
There are many neighbors around;
Where can I read them. "

But the day has passed and there is no answer.
Another has arrived: everything is not, as it is not.
Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,
Tatiana is waiting: when is the answer?
Holguin, the adorer, has arrived.
"Tell me: where is your friend?"
The mistress's question was for him.
"He has forgotten us completely."
Tatiana, flushing, trembled.
- Today he promised to be,
To the old lady Lenskoy answered:
Yes, apparently, the mail was delayed. -
Tatyana lowered her gaze,
As if hearing an evil reproach.

It was getting dark; shining on the table
The evening samovar hissed.
Chinese teapot heating;
Light steam billowed beneath him.
Spilled by Olga's hand,
Through the cups in a dark stream
Already fragrant tea was running,
And the boy served the cream;
Tatyana stood in front of the window,
Breathing cold on the glass,
Lost in thought, my soul,
I wrote with a lovely finger
On the fogged glass
Cherished monogram O Yes E.

And meanwhile the soul ached in her,
And the languid eyes were full of tears.
Suddenly a stomp! .. her blood froze.
Here is closer! jumping ... and into the yard
Evgeniy! "Ah!" - and lighter than a shadow
Tatiana jumped into other hallways,
From the porch to the courtyard, and straight to the garden,
Flies, flies; look back
Doesn't dare; ran in a flash
Curtains, bridges, meadow,
Alley to the lake, woods,
I broke the bushes of sirens,
Flying through the flower beds to the stream,
And choking on the bench

Fell ...
She fell ... “Here he is! Eugene is here!
Oh my God! what did he think! "
She has a heart full of torment
A dark dream keeps hope;
She trembles and burns with heat,
And he is waiting: will he not? But he doesn't hear.
In the maid's garden, on the ridges,
Picked berries in the bushes
And they sang in chorus on order
(Order based on
So that the master's berries secretly
Wicked lips did not eat,
And they were busy singing:
The idea of rural acuity!).

Song of girls

They sing, and with carelessness
Listening to their sonorous voice,
Tatiana was waiting impatiently,
So that the tremor of the heart in her has subsided,
To let the glowing glow pass.
But in the Persians the same trembling,
And the fever does not pass,
But it only burns brighter, brighter ...
So the poor moth shines
And beats with a rainbow wing
Captivated by the school naughty
So the bunny in the winter trembles,
Seeing suddenly from afar
Into the bushes of the fallen arrow.

But finally she sighed
And she got up from her bench;
I went, but only turned
Into the alley, right in front of her,
Shining eyes, Eugene
It stands like a formidable shadow
And, as burned by fire,
She stopped.
But the consequences of an unexpected meeting
Today, dear friends,
I cannot retell;
I owe after a long speech
And take a walk and relax:
I'll finish it later sometime.