Eugene Oneguine [Onegin]. Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

II

       Thus mused a madcap young, who drove

       Through clouds of dust at postal pace,

       By the decree of Mighty Jove,

       Inheritor of all his race.

       Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1)

       Let me present ye to the man,

       Who without more prevarication

       The hero is of my narration!

       Oneguine, O my gentle readers,

       Was born beside the Neva, where

       It may be ye were born, or there

       Have shone as one of fashion's leaders.

       I also wandered there of old,

       But cannot stand the northern cold.(2)

       [Note 1: Ruslan and Liudmila, the title of Pushkin's first important work, written 1817–20. It is a tale relating the adventures of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who has been carried off by a kaldoon, or magician.] [Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.] III Having performed his service truly, Deep into debt his father ran; Three balls a year he gave ye duly, At last became a ruined man. But Eugene was by fate preserved, For first "madame" his wants observed, And then "monsieur" supplied her place;(3) The boy was wild but full of grace. "Monsieur l'Abbe," a starving Gaul, Fearing his pupil to annoy, Instructed jestingly the boy, Morality taught scarce at all; Gently for pranks he would reprove And in the Summer Garden rove. [Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly styled "monsieur" or "madame."] IV When youth's rebellious hour drew near And my Eugene the path must trace— The path of hope and tender fear— Monsieur clean out of doors they chase. Lo! my Oneguine free as air, Cropped in the latest style his hair, Dressed like a London dandy he The giddy world at last shall see. He wrote and spoke, so all allowed, In the French language perfectly, Danced the mazurka gracefully, Without the least constraint he bowed. What more's required? The world replies, He is a charming youth and wise. V We all of us of education A something somehow have obtained, Thus, praised be God! a reputation With us is easily attained. Oneguine was—so many deemed [Unerring critics self-esteemed], Pedantic although scholar like, In truth he had the happy trick Without constraint in conversation Of touching lightly every theme. Silent, oracular ye'd see him Amid a serious disputation, Then suddenly discharge a joke The ladies' laughter to provoke. VI Latin is just now not in vogue, But if the truth I must relate, Oneguine knew enough, the rogue A mild quotation to translate, A little Juvenal to spout, With "vale" finish off a note; Two verses he could recollect Of the Aeneid, but incorrect. In history he took no pleasure, The dusty chronicles of earth For him were but of little worth, Yet still of anecdotes a treasure Within his memory there lay, From Romulus unto our day. VII For empty sound the rascal swore he Existence would not make a curse, Knew not an iamb from a choree, Although we read him heaps of verse. Homer, Theocritus, he jeered, But Adam Smith to read appeared, And at economy was great; That is, he could elucidate How empires store of wealth unfold, How flourish, why and wherefore less If the raw product they possess The medium is required of gold. The father scarcely understands His son and mortgages his lands. VIII But upon all that Eugene knew I have no leisure here to dwell, But say he was a genius who In one thing really did excel. It occupied him from a boy, A labour, torment, yet a joy, It whiled his idle hours away And wholly occupied his day— The amatory science warm, Which Ovid once immortalized, For which the poet agonized Laid down his life of sun and storm On the steppes of Moldavia lone, Far from his Italy—his own.(4) [Note 4: Referring to Tomi, the reputed place of exile of Ovid. Pushkin, then residing in Bessarabia, was in the same predicament as his predecessor in song, though he certainly did not plead guilty to the fact, since he remarks in his ode to Ovid: To exile self-consigned, With self, society, existence, discontent, I visit in these days, with melancholy mind, The country whereunto a mournful age thee sent. Ovid thus enumerates the causes which brought about his banishment: "Perdiderint quum me duo crimina, carmen et error, Alterius facti culpa silenda mihi est." Ovidii Nasonis Tristium, lib. ii. 207.]

      IX

       How soon he learnt deception's art,

       Hope to conceal and jealousy,

       False confidence or doubt to impart,

       Sombre or glad in turn to be,

       Haughty appear, subservient,

       Obsequious or indifferent!

       What languor would his silence show,

       How full of fire his speech would glow!

       How artless was the note which spoke

       Of love again, and yet again;

       How deftly could he transport feign!

       How bright and tender was his look,

       Modest yet daring! And a tear

       Would at the proper time appear.

       X

       How well he played the greenhorn's part

       To cheat the inexperienced fair,

       Sometimes by pleasing flattery's art,

       Sometimes by ready-made despair;

       The feeble moment would espy

       Of tender years the modesty

       Conquer by passion and address,

       Await the long-delayed caress.

       Avowal then 'twas time to pray,

       Attentive to the heart's first beating,

       Follow up love—a secret meeting

       Arrange without the least delay—

       Then, then—well, in some solitude

       Lessons to give he understood!

       XI

       How soon he learnt to titillate

       The heart of the inveterate flirt!

       Desirous to annihilate

       His own antagonists expert,

       How bitterly he would malign,

       With many a snare their pathway line!

       But ye, O happy husbands, ye

       With him were friends eternally:

       The crafty spouse caressed him, who

       By Faublas in his youth was schooled,(5)

       And the suspicious veteran old,

       The pompous, swaggering cuckold too,

       Who floats contentedly through life,

       Proud of his dinners and his wife!

       [Note 5: Les Aventures du Chevalier de Faublas, a romance of a loose character by Jean Baptiste Louvet de Couvray, b. 1760, d. 1797, famous for his bold oration denouncing Robespierre, Marat and Danton.] XII One morn whilst yet in bed he lay, His valet brings him letters three. What, invitations? The same day As many entertainments be! A ball here, there a children's treat, Whither shall my rapscallion flit? Whither shall he go first? He'll see, Perchance he will to all the three. Meantime in matutinal dress And hat surnamed a "Bolivar"(6) He hies unto the "Boulevard," To loiter there in idleness Until the sleepless Breguet chime(7) Announcing to him dinner-time. [Note 6: A la "Bolivar," from the founder of Bolivian independence.] [Note 7: M. Breguet, a celebrated Parisian watchmaker—hence a slang term for a watch.] XIII 'Tis dark. He seats him in a sleigh, "Drive on!" the cheerful cry goes forth, His furs are powdered on the way By the fine silver of the north. He bends his course to Talon's, where(8) He knows Kaverine will repair.(9) He enters. High the cork arose And Comet champagne foaming flows. Before him red roast beef is seen And truffles, dear to youthful eyes, Flanked by immortal Strasbourg pies, The choicest flowers of French cuisine, And Limburg cheese alive and old Is seen next pine-apples of gold. [Note 8: Talon, a famous St. Petersburg restaurateur.] [Note 9: Paul Petrovitch Kaverine, a friend for whom Pushkin in