“My uncle had the most honest rules, when he fell seriously ill .... Alexander Pushkin - My uncle of the most honest rules: Verse Where are the lines from my uncle of the most honest rules

From the school bench I remember the first stanza from "Eugene Onegin" by A.S. Pushkin.
The novel is written exceptionally simply, with impeccable rhyme, classical iambic tetrameter. Moreover, each stanza of this novel is a sonnet. Of course, you know that the stanza with which this work of Pushkin was written is called "Onegin". But the first stanza seemed to me so classical and, as it were, applicable to the presentation of almost any topic, that I tried to write a poem using the rhyme of this stanza, that is, the last words of each line, maintaining the same rhythm.
To remind the reader, I first cite the indicated stanza of Pushkin, and then my poem.

My uncle of the most honest rules,
When I fell ill in earnest,
He forced himself to respect
And I couldn't think of a better one.
His example to others is science,
But my god, what a bore
With the patient to sit day and night
Without leaving a single step.
What low deceit
Amuse the half-dead
Fix his pillows
Sad to give medicine
Sigh and think to yourself
When will the devil take you.

Love has no special rules
You just took it and got sick.
Suddenly, someone's eyes hurt,
Ile kiss could force.
Love is a complex science
And this is joy, not boredom,
tormenting day and night,
Without leaving my heart.
Love is capable of deceit
The game is able to amuse
And correct the outcomes of wars,
Or your medicine to be blues.
On this search, do not waste yourself,
She will find you.
April 07, 2010

Somehow, a long time ago, I found an entertaining game on the Internet - collective writing sonnet. Very funny. And, after writing the above poem, I came up with the idea to offer you, dear readers, a poetic game - to write sonnets using the last words of the lines of the first stanza of "Eugene Onegin"
Good exercise for the brain.
But I was tormented by doubts, is it possible to do this? That is, there are frames of specific words that limit the topic.
I again wrote out the last words in a column and, after rereading them, for some reason I remembered V. Pikul's "At the Last Line". Probably because of the words: forced, deceit, medicine. I thought a little and wrote this:

Rasputin Grishka lived without rules,
Hypnosis from childhood fell ill
And forced me to go to bed
Half-Peter and more could.
Didn't like this science
Husbands whose wives were bored.
They decided in one night
Let the spirit out of the old man away.
After all, he invented, scoundrel, deceit
Amuse yourself with debauchery:
Improve the health of the ladies
Giving carnal medicine.
Know if you let yourself into fornication,
That poison in Madeira is waiting for you.
April 14, 2010

But even after that I had doubts - the feeling of the impossible to describe any topic. And with a laugh, I asked myself: Here, for example, how to state a simple nursery rhyme "Geese are my geese." Again wrote out the last words. It turned out that verbs are masculine nouns. Well, well, to say about the grandmother, he introduced a new character - grandfather. And here's what happened:

Reading the list of village rules
Grandfather fell ill with poultry farming.
He forced Grandma to buy
Two geese. But he himself could.
Herding geese is a science
He was tormented like boredom
And, having improved the darker night,
Geese swam away puddles, away.
Grandma groans - that's deceit,
Geese will not amuse
And improve the mood
After all, their cackle is medicine for the soul.
Moral remember - amuse yourself
Only what pleases you.
April 21, 2010

Putting aside the thought of posting these poems, I somehow thought about our fleeting life, that in an effort to make money, people often lose their souls and decided to write a poem, but, remembering my idea, without a shadow of a doubt, I expressed my thoughts with the same rhyme. And here's what happened:

Life dictates one of the rules:
Are you healthy or sick
The pragmatic age made everyone
Run so everyone can survive.
Science is advancing
And, forgetting what boredom means,
Pushes business day and night
Away from old technologies.
But there is deceit in this run:
Success will only start to amuse -
Rigidity will correct you,
That Mephistopheles medicine.
Good luck will give, but for himself,
He will take the soul out of you.
June 09, 2010

So, I invite everyone to take part in writing poems with Pushkin's rhyme from the indicated stanza of "Eugene Onegin." The first condition is any topic; second - strict adherence to Pushkin's rhythm and line length: third - of course, decent eroticism is allowed, but please, without vulgarity.
For ease of reading, with your consent, I will copy your poems below with a link to your page.
Unregistered readers can also participate. On my first page at this address: there is a line: "send a letter to the author." Write from your email and I will definitely answer you. And, with your consent, I can also place your verse below, under your name.
The final point of our game is the publication of a book for the anniversary of A.S. Pushkin entitled "My uncle has the most honest rules." You can do this as part of the almanacs published by the site owners, or you can do it separately. I can take over the organization.
The minimum is to collect fifty verses, one per page. You will get a collection of 60 pages.

With respect to all.
Yuri Bashara

P.S. Here are the players in the game:

God wrote us 10 rules
But if you feel sick,
He forced them all to break,
And I couldn't think of a better one.

Love according to God is only a science.
In His paradise such boredom -
Sit under the tree day and night
Not a step away from the neighbor.

Step left - you see - deceit,
Be fruitful - to amuse Him.
We will correct God
Walking to the left is a cure for us,

We write precepts for ourselves,
And - the main thing: I want you.

Love has few rules
But without love, you would be sick.
And with the unloved, who would force
live you? Could you?
Let the girls have science:
Oh my God what a bore
spend with him day and night,
After all - children, duty, will you go away?
Isn't that deceit?
Amuse him at night
Adjust pillows at night
And before that, take the medicine?
Isn't it a sin to forget yourself?
Oh, this is horror for you...

But suddenly he fell ill,
He made apprentices himself
Put him in a jar! could

There was boredom in the jug,
Dark as a northern night
And get out would not be away,
But here's a cruel deceit:
Nobody can entertain
And fix his posture.

Let yourself out of the darkness
And Jin prays for you.

Life has one of the rules:
Anyone, at least once, but fell ill
With a feeling of love and forced
Himself to go to the best of my ability.
And if the Testament is not a science for you,
You are betrayed by your boredom
Push, capable of day and night.
And God, and the rules - all away.
That is not love, but that is deceit,
Here the devil will amuse
Correct the laws of God
Giving false medicine.
All these are stories for themselves,
God will punish you for everything.

Laziness will kill a loafer outside the rules,
Since he got sick of her,
How rye made her eat herself,
Faster than he could fall at work.
And here's what science tells us:
Not only failures because boredom
Punishes us day and night -
Other luck - ruin away.
Laziness - the daughter of wealth - that's deceit,
Mother of poverty to amuse
Your wallet will begin to correct,
Giving medicine to idleness.
Idleness only consoles yourself,
Laziness, of course, is waiting for you.

Reviews

Amused and infected:
...
Long ago, Jin ruled the country
But suddenly he fell ill,
He made apprentices himself
Put him in a jug! could
Only the smartest. All science,
There was boredom in the jug,
Dark as a northern night
And get out would not be away,
But here's a cruel deceit:
Nobody can entertain
And fix his posture.
And to warm up there is medicine.
Let yourself out of the darkness
And Jin prays for you.

Hello dear.
We will continue to read "Eugene Onegin" together. Last time we stopped here:

No high passion
For the sounds of life do not spare,
He could not iambic from a chorea,
No matter how we fought, to distinguish.
Branil Homer, Theocritus;
But read Adam Smith
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he was able to judge
How does the state grow rich?
And what lives, and why
He doesn't need gold
When a simple product has.
Father could not understand him
And gave the land as a pledge.

The fact that Eugene could not distinguish an iambic from a chorea suggests that there were gaps in his education, and most importantly, he was alien to versification, and everything connected with it. Both iambic and trochee are poetic sizes. Yamb - the simplest size, which is widely and widely used. This is a two-syllable poetic foot with the stress on the second syllable. Here is an example of iambic pentameter:
You are a wolf! I despise you!
You are leaving me for Ptiburdukov!
In Chorea, the stress is on the first syllable. Example:
Clouds are melting in the sky
And, radiant in the heat,
In sparks the river rolls
Like a steel mirror

metric feet

Who is Homer, I think, it is not necessary to explain (His surname is not Simpson - I immediately say), but few are familiar with Theocritus, I think. Also a Greek, also a poet who became famous for his idylls. I learned more about him when I was on the beautiful Greek island of Kos, where this poet worked at the temple of Asclepius. And you know, got into it. The place is right there...

Theokritos on Kos

Adam Smith is actually a prophet and apostle of modern economic theory. If you had economics at the university, you read the works of this Scot. Well, at least the work "On the Wealth of Nations", which was extremely popular in those days. Eugene, read it (and naturally in French, because English was not in honor) - and began to consider himself a prominent expert and teach his father.

Adam Smith

By the way, apparently, Pushkin deliberately played the title of this book "could judge how the state is getting richer." A simple product is land, and these are the theories of French economists of that time. Here Pushkin apparently shows us a kind of conflict between a more erudite son and a more "patriarchal father. But in fact, there is no conflict, because the author is ironic, calling Eugene a "deep" expert. And could a young man who superficially picked up knowledge in the basics of economics help his father avoid ruin? No, of course, only in theory.
But let's quote the last part for today.

Everything that Eugene knew,
Retell me lack of time;
But in what he was a true genius,
What he knew more firmly than all sciences,
What was madness for him
And labor, and flour, and joy,
What took all day
His melancholy laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Which Nazon sang,
Why did he end up a sufferer
Your age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Far away from Italy.

Ovid.

In general, Onegin was not only a sybarite and a lazy white hand, but also an insidious seducer. Which we will see later. Not only an amateur, but also a real pro :-)
Not everyone knows who Nason is, but they certainly heard the name Ovid at least once. This is the same person. Full name Publius Ovid Naso. An ancient Roman poet and wit, one of the most famous and popular, who lived at the turn of the 1st century AD. If you haven't read his metamorphoses, I highly recommend it. And interesting, and they acted as a role model for a bunch of authors. The same Pushkin, as far as I know, loved and appreciated Ovid very much. He sang the science of tender passion, most likely, in his other well-known major work, The Science of Loving. Or maybe in love elegies.

I discovered this while reading "The Science of Love" in the book of the "Amber Skaz" Publishing House, Kaliningrad, 2002

Under Emperor Augustus, who knows why, an extremely popular poet was exiled to the Black Sea region in the city of Tomy (now Constanta). The fun is. That this is not Moldova, but Dobruja, and moreover, this city is on the seashore, and not in the steppes. Pushkin, who was in exile in Chisinau, knows this absolutely clearly. Why he made a deliberate mistake is unclear. Although, looking at his grades in geography at the Lyceum, maybe the mistake was unconscious :-)

To be continued…
Have a nice time of the day

My uncle of the most honest rules,
When I fell ill in earnest,
He forced himself to respect
And I couldn't think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
But my god, what a bore
With the sick to sit day and night,
Not leaving a single step away!
What low deceit
Amuse the half-dead
Fix his pillows
Sad to give medicine
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you!

Analysis of "My uncle has the most honest rules" - the first stanza of Eugene Onegin

In the opening lines of the novel, Pushkin describes Uncle Onegin. The phrase "the most honest rules" is taken from him. Comparing the uncle with a character from a fable, the poet hints that his "honesty" was only a cover for cunning and resourcefulness. Uncle knew how to skillfully adapt to public opinion and, without arousing any suspicion, turn their dark deeds. Thus he earned a good name and respect.

The uncle's serious illness was another reason to attract attention. The line “I couldn’t think of anything better” reveals the idea that even from an ailment that can cause death, Uncle Onegin is trying (and he succeeds) to extract practical benefit. Those around him are sure that he fell ill due to a neglect of his health for the sake of his neighbors. This seemingly selfless service to people becomes the cause of even greater respect. But he is unable to deceive his nephew, who knows all the ins and outs. Therefore, in the words of Eugene Onegin about the disease there is irony.

In the line "his example to others is science," Pushkin again uses irony. Representatives of high society in Russia have always made a sensation out of their illness. This was mainly due to issues of inheritance. A crowd of heirs gathered around the dying relatives. They tried their best to achieve the favor of the patient in the hope of a reward. The merits of the dying man and his imaginary virtue were loudly proclaimed. This is the situation the author sets as an example.

Onegin is the heir of his uncle. By the right of close kinship, he is obliged to spend "both day and night" at the head of the patient and provide him with any assistance. The young man understands that he must do this if he does not want to lose his inheritance. Do not forget that Onegin is just a "young rake." In his sincere reflections, he expresses real feelings, which are aptly indicated by the phrase "low deceit." And he, and his uncle, and everyone around him understands why the nephew does not leave the bed of a dying man. But the real meaning is covered with a false coating of virtue. Onegin is incredibly bored and disgusted. A single phrase constantly turns on his tongue: “When the devil takes you!”.

The mention of the devil, and not God, further emphasizes the unnaturalness of Onegin's experiences. In reality, uncle's "fair rules" do not deserve a heavenly life. Everyone around, led by Onegin, is looking forward to his death. Only by doing this will he render society a real invaluable merit.

London clothes -

And finally saw the light.

He's completely French

Could speak and write;

He had a lucky talent

No compulsion to speak

Touch everything lightly

With a learned air of a connoisseur

Keep silent in an important dispute

And make the ladies smile

VI.

Latin is out of fashion now:

So, if you tell the truth,

He knew enough Latin

At the end of the letter put vale ,

Yes, I remember, though not without sin,

No matter how we fought, to distinguish.

And there was a deep economy,

That is, he was able to judge

How does the state grow rich?

And what lives, and why

He doesn't need gold

Father could not understand him

VIII.

Everything that Eugene knew,

Retell me lack of time;

But in what he was a true genius,

What he knew more firmly than all sciences,

And labor and flour and joy,

What took all day

His melancholy laziness, -

There was a science of tender passion,

Why did he end up a sufferer

Your age is brilliant and rebellious

In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,

Far away from Italy.

IX.

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

x.

How early could he be hypocritical,

Hold hope, be jealous

disbelieve, make believe

To seem gloomy, to languish,

Be proud and obedient

Attentive or indifferent!

How languidly he was silent,

How eloquently eloquent

How careless in heartfelt letters!

One breathing, one loving,

How could he forget himself!

How swift and gentle his gaze was,

Shameful and impudent, and sometimes

He shone with an obedient tear!

XI.

How could he be new?

Joking innocence to amaze

To frighten with despair ready,

To amuse with pleasant flattery,

Catch a moment of tenderness

Innocent years of prejudice

Mind and passion to win,

Expect involuntary affection

Pray and demand recognition

Listen to the first sound of the heart

Chase love, and suddenly

Get a secret date...

And after her alone

Give lessons in silence!

XII.

How early could he disturb

When did you want to destroy

Him his rivals,

How vehemently he cursed!

What nets he prepared for them!

But you, blessed husbands,

You were friends with him:

He was caressed by the crafty husband,

And there he walks in the open,

Lunch will not ring for him.

XVI.

It's already dark: he sits in the sled.

Entered: and a cork in the ceiling,

And golden pineapple.

XVII.

More glasses of thirst asks

Pour hot fat cutlets,

But the sound of a breguet informs them,

That a new ballet has begun.

The theater is an evil legislator,

Fickle Admirer

charming actresses,

Honorary citizen backstage,

Onegin flew to the theater

Where everyone, breathing freely,

Sheath Phaedra, Cleopatra,

Noisy swarm of their comedies,

Soul filled flight?

Or a dull look will not find

Familiar faces on a boring stage

And, aiming at an alien light

Fun indifferent spectator,

Silently I will yawn

And remember the past?

XX.

The theater is already full; lodges shine;

Parterre and armchairs, everything is in full swing;

One foot touching the floor

Another slowly circles

And suddenly a jump, and suddenly it flies,

Now the camp will soviet, then it will develop,

And he beats his leg with a quick leg.

XXI.

Everything is clapping. Onegin enters,

Walks between the chairs on the legs,

XXII.

Haven't stopped stomping yet

Blow your nose, cough, hiss, clap;

Still outside and inside

Lanterns are shining everywhere;

Still, vegetating, the horses are fighting,

Bored with your harness,

And the coachmen, around the lights,

Scold the gentlemen and beat in the palm of your hand:

And Onegin went out;

He goes home to get dressed

XXIII.

Will I portray in a true picture

secluded office,

Where is the mod pupil exemplary

Dressed, undressed and dressed again?

All than for a plentiful whim

Trades London scrupulous

And along the Baltic waves

For the forest and fat carries us,

Everything in Paris tastes hungry,

Having chosen a useful trade,

Inventing for fun

For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -

Everything decorates the office.

Philosopher at the age of eighteen.

XXIV.

Amber on the pipes of Tsaregrad,

Porcelain and bronze on the table

And, feelings of pampered joy,

Perfume in cut crystal;

Combs, steel files,

Straight scissors, curves,

And brushes of thirty kinds

For both nails and teeth.

I dared to clean my nails in front of him,

Defender of Liberty and Rights

In this case, it's completely wrong.

XXV.

You can be a good person

And think about the beauty of nails:

Why fruitlessly argue with the century?

Custom despot among people.

It's three hours at least

Spent in front of the mirrors

When, wearing a man's outfit,

The goddess is going to the masquerade.

XXVI.

In the last taste of the toilet

Taking your curious gaze,

I could before the learned light

Here describe his attire;

Of course it would be bold

Describe my case:

But pantaloons, tailcoat, vest,

All these words are not in Russian;

And I see, I blame you,

What is it my poor syllable

I could dazzle much less

In foreign words,

Even though I looked in the old days

XXVII.

We now have something wrong in the subject:

We'd better hurry to the ball

Where headlong in a pit carriage

My Onegin has already galloped.

Before the faded houses

Along a sleepy street in rows

Merry pour out light

And rainbows on the snow suggest:

A splendid house shines;

The legs of lovely ladies are flying;

In their captivating footsteps

Fiery eyes fly

And drowned out by the roar of violins

XXIX.

In the days of fun and desires

I was crazy about balls:

There is no place for confessions

And for delivering a letter.

O you venerable spouses!

I will offer you my services;

I ask you to notice my speech:

I want to warn you.

You also, mothers, are stricter

Look after 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 lost a lot of life!

But if morals had not suffered,

I would still love balls.

I love crazy youth

And tightness, and brilliance, and joy,

And I will give a thoughtful outfit;

I love their legs; only hardly

You will find in Russia a whole

Three pairs of slender female legs.

Oh! for a long time I could not forget

Two legs ... Sad, cold,

I remember them all, and in a dream

They trouble my heart.

XXXI.

When, and where, in what desert,

Fool, will you forget them?

Ah, legs, legs! where are you now?

On the northern, sad snow

You left no trace

You loved soft carpets

Luxurious touch.

How long have I forgotten for you

And I crave glory and praise

And the land of fathers, and imprisonment?

The happiness of youth has disappeared -

As in the meadows your light footprint.

XXXII.

Adorable, dear friends!

However, Terpsichore's leg

Prettier than something for me.

She, prophesying the look

An invaluable reward

Attracts by conditional beauty

Desires masterful swarm.

Under the long tablecloth

In the spring on the ants of the meadows,

In winter, on a cast-iron fireplace,

On the mirror parquet hall,

By the sea on granite rocks.

XXXIII.

I remember the sea before the storm:

Running in a stormy line

Lie down at her feet with love!

How I wished then with the waves

No, never in hot days

Boiling my youth

I did not want with such torment

Or roses of fiery cheeks,

The merchant gets up, the peddler goes,

Beneath it, the morning snow crunches.

I woke up in the morning with a pleasant noise.

The shutters are open; pipe smoke

A column rises blue,

And a baker, a neat German,

In a paper cap, more than once

XXXVI.

But, exhausted by the noise of the ball,

And turning the morning at midnight

Sleeps peacefully in the shadow of the blissful

Fun and luxury child.

Wakes up after 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 everyday pleasures?

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

XLII.

Freaks of the big world!
He left you all before;
And the truth is that in our summer
The higher tone is rather boring;
Though maybe a different lady
Interprets Sey and Bentham,
But in general their conversation
Unbearable, though innocent nonsense;
And besides, they are so innocent.
So majestic, so smart
So full of piety
So careful, so precise
So impregnable for men
That the sight of them already gives birth spleen .

XLIII.

And you, young beauties,
Which later sometimes
Carry away the droshky
Petersburg bridge,
And my Eugene left you.
Renegade of violent pleasures,
Onegin locked himself at home,
Yawning, took up the pen,
I wanted to write - but hard work
He was sick; nothing
did not come out of his pen,
And he did not get into the fervent shop
People I don't judge
Then, that I belong to them.

XLIV.

And again, devoted to idleness,
languishing in spiritual emptiness,
He sat down - with a laudable purpose
Assign someone else's mind to yourself;
He set up a shelf with a detachment of books,
I read and read, but to no avail:
There is boredom, there is deceit or delirium;
In that conscience, in that there is no sense;
On all different chains;
And outdated old
And the old is delirious with novelty.
Like women, he left books
And the shelf, with their dusty family,
Draped with mourning taffeta.

XLV.

The conditions of light overthrowing the burden,
How he, lagging behind the hustle and bustle,
I became friends with him at that time.
I liked his features
Dreams involuntary devotion
Inimitable strangeness
And a sharp, chilled mind.
I was embittered, he is sullen;
We both knew the passion game:
The life tormented both of us;
In both hearts the heat died down;
Anger awaited both
Blind Fortune and people
In the very morning of our days.

XLVI.

Who lived and thought, he cannot
In the soul do not despise people;
Who felt, that worries
The ghost of the irretrievable days:
So there is no charm.
That serpent of memories
That repentance gnaws.
All this often gives
Great charm of conversation.
First Onegin's language
Confused me; but I'm used to
To his caustic argument,
And to the joke with bile in half,
And the anger of gloomy epigrams.

XLVII.

How often in the summer
When transparent and light
Night sky over the Neva
And waters cheerful glass
Does not reflect the face of Diana,
Remembering past years novels,
Remembering the old love
Sensitive, careless again
With the breath of a supportive night
We silently drank!
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 heart full of regrets
And leaning on granite
Yevgeny stood thoughtfully,
How Piit described himself
Everything was quiet; only night
Sentinels called to one another;
Yes, a distant knock
With Millionne it suddenly resounded;
Only a boat, waving oars,
Floated on a dormant river:
And we were captivated in the distance
The horn and the song are remote ...
But sweeter, in the midst of nightly fun,
Chant of Torquat octaves!

XLIX.

L.

Will the hour of my freedom come?
It's time, it's time! - I call to her;
Wandering over the sea, waiting for the weather,
Manyu sails ships.
Under the robe of storms, arguing with the waves,
Along the freeway of the sea
When will I start freestyle running?
It's time to leave the boring beach
I hostile elements,
And among the midday swells,
Under the sky of my Africa
Sigh about gloomy Russia,
Where I suffered, where I loved
Where I buried my heart.

L.I.

Onegin was ready with me
See foreign countries;
But soon we were fate
Divorced for a long time.
His father then died.
Gathered before Onegin
Lenders greedy regiment.
Everyone has their own mind and sense:
Eugene, hating litigation,
Satisfied with his lot,
gave them an inheritance,
Big loss in not seeing
Ile foretelling from afar
The death of an old uncle.

LII.

Suddenly got it really
From the manager's report,
That uncle is dying in bed
And I would be glad to say goodbye to him.
Reading the sad message
Eugene immediately on a date
Rushed through the mail
And already yawned in advance,
Getting ready for the money
On sighs, boredom and deceit
(And so I began my novel);
But, having arrived in the uncle's village,
I found it on the table
As a tribute to the ready land.

III.

He found the yard full of services;
To the dead from all sides
Enemies and friends gathered
Funeral hunters.
The deceased was buried.
Priests and guests ate, drank,
And after importantly parted,
As if they were doing business.
Here is our Onegin villager,
Factories, waters, forests, lands
The owner is complete, but hitherto
The order of the enemy and the waster,
And I am very glad that the old way
Changed to something.

LIV.

Two days seemed new to him
solitary fields,
The coolness of the gloomy oak,
The murmur of a quiet stream;
On the third grove, hill and field
He was no longer interested;
Then they would induce sleep;
Then he saw clearly
As in the village boredom is the same
Although there are no streets, no palaces,
No cards, no balls, no poetry.
The blues was 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 rural silence:
In the wilderness, the lyrical voice is louder,
Live creative dreams.
Leisure devotion to the innocent,
Wandering over the desert lake
And far niente my law.
I wake up every morning
For sweet bliss and freedom:
I read little, I sleep a lot,
I do not catch flying glory.
Isn't it me 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 soul.
I'm always glad to see the difference
Between Onegin and me
To the mocking reader
Or any publisher
Intricate slander
Matching here my features,
I did not repeat later shamelessly,
That I smeared my portrait,
Like Byron, poet of pride,
As if we can't
Write poems about others
As soon as about himself.

LVII.

I note by the way: all poets -
Love dreamy friends.
Used to be cute things
I dreamed and my soul
She kept their secret image;
After the Muse revived them:
So I, careless, chanted
And the maiden of the mountains, my ideal,
And the captives of the banks of the Salgir.
Now from you my friends
I often hear the question:
“O whom does your lyre sigh?
To whom, in the crowd of jealous maidens,
Did you dedicate a chant to her?

LVIII.

Whose gaze, exciting inspiration,
He rewarded with touching affection
Your thoughtful singing?
Whom did your verse idolize?
And, others, no one, by God!
Love crazy anxiety
I have experienced it remorselessly.
Blessed is he who combined with her
The fever of rhymes: he doubled that
Poetry sacred nonsense,
Petrarch walking after
And calmed the torment of the heart,
Caught and fame meanwhile;
But I, loving, was stupid and mute.

LIX.

Love passed, the Muse appeared,
And the dark mind cleared.
Free, again looking for an alliance
Magic sounds, feelings and thoughts;
I write, and my heart does not yearn,
The pen, forgetting, does not draw,
Close to unfinished verses
No women's legs, no heads;
The extinguished ashes will no longer flare up,
I'm sad; but there are no more tears
And soon, soon the storm will follow
In my soul it will completely subside:
Then I'll start writing
A poem of twenty-five songs.

LX.

I was already thinking about the form of the plan,
And as a hero I will name;
While my romance
I finished the first chapter;
Revisited it all rigorously:
There are a lot of contradictions
But I don't want to fix them.
I will pay my debt to censorship,
And journalists to eat
I will give the fruits of my labors:
Go to the Neva shores
newborn creation,
And earn me glory tribute:
Crooked talk, noise and abuse!

3) - loafer, naughty.

4) Postal - horses carrying mail and passengers; mail horses.

5) Zeus - the ancient Greek omnipotent god Zeus - the main god in the pantheon of Greek gods.

6) - a poem by Pushkin A.S., written in 1820.

7) Written in Bessarabia (Note by A. S. Pushkin).

8) "Having served excellently nobly" - the official characteristic for certification of a civil service official.

9) Madame, tutor, governess.

10) "Monsieur l" Abbe "- Mr. Abbot (French); Catholic priest.

11) - a public garden in the Central District, on Palace embankment, a monument of landscape gardening art of the first third of the 18th century.

12) Dandy, dandy (Note by A. S. Pushkin).

13) "Mazurka" - Polish folk dance.

14) Pedant - According to the definition of Pushkin's Dictionary of Language, "a person who flaunts his knowledge, his scholarship, judging everything with aplomb."

15) An epigram is a small satirical poem ridiculing a person or social phenomenon.

16) To parse epigraphs - parse brief aphoristic inscriptions on ancient monuments and tombs.

17) Decimus Junius Juvenal (lat. Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis), very often just Juvenal (c. 60 - c. 127) is a Roman satirist poet.

18) Vale - Be healthy (lat.).

19) Aeneid (lat. Aeneis) - an epic work in Latin, authored by Virgil (70 - 19 BC). Written between 29 and 19 BC. e., and is dedicated to the story 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 Latin course.

20) - fictional, short story about a funny incident.

21) Romulus is one of the two brothers who, according to legend, founded Rome. The brothers Romulus and Remus (lat. Romulus et Remus), according to legend, were born in 771 BC. e. Remus died in April 754/753, and Romulus on July 7, 716 BC. e.

22) Iambic - a poetic size, consisting of a two-syllable foot with an emphasis on the second syllable. An example is “My uncle, the most honest rules ...” (Pushkin).

23) Chorey - poetic size with emphasis on odd syllables of the verse. An example is “The wind is walking on the sea” (A. S. Pushkin).

24) (8th century BC) - a 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 ethical philosopher, one of the founders of economic theory as a science.

27) "Simple product" - The original product of agriculture, raw materials.

28) "And he pledged the land" - That is, he pledged estates to the bank in exchange for receiving money (loans). With a pledge, in case of not returning the money to the bank, the estate was sold at auction

29) From youth - from youth.

30) Publius Ovid Nason (lat. Publius Ovidius Naso) (43 BC - 17 or 18 AD) - ancient Roman poet, author of the poems "Metamorphoses" and "The Science of Love", as well as elegies - " Love elegies" and "Sorrowful elegies". According to one version, due to the discrepancy between the ideals of love he promoted and the official policy of Emperor Augustus regarding family and marriage, he was exiled from Rome to the western Black Sea region, where he spent last years life. Pushkin in 1821 dedicated an extensive epistle in verse to Ovid.

31) Note - Here: inveterate.

32) Foblas (fr. Faublas) - the hero of the novel "The Love Adventures of the Cavalier de Foblas" (1787-1790) French writer J.-B. Louve de Couvray. Foblas is a handsome and resourceful, elegant and depraved youth, the embodiment of the manners of the 18th century. The name of this skillful seducer of women has become a household name.

33) Bolivar - hat à la Bolivar (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Hat style. Bolivar Simon (1783-1830) - the leader of the national liberation movement in Latin America.

34) Boulevard - it was found that Pushkinsky Onegin was going to the Admiralteisky Boulevard that existed in St. Petersburg

35) Breguet - watch. Trademark clock, existing since the end of the 18th century. The Breguet company came to Russia in 1801 and quickly gained popularity among the nobility.

36) "Drop, drop!" - The cry of a coachman dispersing pedestrians while driving fast through crowded streets.

37) Talon is a famous restaurateur (Note by A. S. Pushkin).

38) Kaverin Pyotr Pavlovich (1794 - 1855) - Russian military leader, colonel, participant in foreign campaigns of 1813-1815. He was known as a reveler, a dashing rake and a brat.

39) Comet wine" - Champagne of an unusually rich harvest in 1811, which was associated with the appearance of a bright comet in the sky that year.

40) "roast-beef bloody" - a dish of English cuisine, a novelty in 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 pate with the addition of truffles, hazel grouse and ground pork. Baked in dough to keep its shape. It was invented by the Norman chef Jean-Joseph Clouse in 1782.

43) Limburg cheese is a semi-soft cheese made from cow's milk with a strong aroma, a characteristic sharp taste and a yellow creamy mass covered with a thin red-brown rind.

44) Antrasha - jump, ballet pas (French).

45) "Phaedra, Cleopatra, Moina" - The most notable roles in the theatrical repertoire of that time: Phaedra - 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 the tragedy by V. Ozerov "Fingal", in which in 1818 debuted A. M. Kolosova.

46) (1745 - 1792) - Russian writer.

47) Knyazhnin Ya. 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 and patriotic tragedies, which were a huge 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) Corneille Pierre (1606 - 1684) - one of the founders 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 repertory policy of the imperial theaters.

53) Karl Didlo (1767 - 1837) - French choreographer and dancer. From 1801 to 1830 chief Petersburg choreographer.

54) Terpsichore is the muse of dance. Depicted with a lyre and a plectrum.

55) - folding glasses in a frame with a handle.

56) Rayek - the upper balcony in the auditorium.

57) Nymphs - forest deities; characters of classical operas and ballets.

58) Istomina A. I. (1799 - 1848) - prima ballerina of the St. Petersburg theater, one of the best students of Didlo, performer of the role of the Circassian in his ballet on the plot " Caucasian prisoner". It is known that in his youth Pushkin was fond of Istomina. Her images are 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 Child Harold. The ballets of Mr. Didlo are filled with the wonder of imagination and extraordinary charm. One of our romantic writers found much more poetry in them than in the whole French literature(Note by A. S. Pushkin).

62) - in mythology and poetry - the deity of love, depicted as a winged child with a bow and arrows.

63) "Sleeping on fur coats at the entrance" - in the theater early XIX century there was no wardrobe. Servants guarded the dress of their masters.

64) "Amber on pipes of Tsaregrad" - about long Turkish smoking pipes with amber mouthpieces.

65) Rousseau Jean Jacques (1712 - 1778) - the famous French educator, writer and publicist.

66) Grim (Grimm) Frederick-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: now in all enlightened Europe they clean their nails with a special brush. (Note by A. S. Pushkin).

“Everyone knew that he used whitewash; and I, who did not believe it at all, began to guess not only from the improvement in the complexion of his face or because I found jars of whitewash on his toilet, but because, going into his room one morning, I found him 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 brushing his nails could spend a few minutes whitewashing imperfections in his skin. (French).

"My uncle has the most honest rules,
When I fell ill in earnest,
He forced himself to respect
And I couldn't think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
But my god, what a bore
With the sick to sit day and night,
Not leaving a single step away!
What low deceit
Amuse the half-dead
Fix his pillows
Sad to give medicine
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you!

II.

So thought the young rake,
Flying in the dust on postage,
By the will of Zeus
Heir of 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 might you have been born?
Or shone, my reader;
I once walked there too:
But the north is bad for me (1).

III.

Serving excellently, nobly,
His father lived in debt
Gave three balls annually
And finally screwed up.
The fate of Eugene kept:
At first Madame followed him,
Then Monsieur replaced her.
The child was sharp, but sweet.
Monsieur l'Abbé, poor Frenchman,
So that the child is not exhausted,
Taught him everything jokingly
I did not bother with strict morality,
Slightly scolded for pranks
And in Summer garden drove for a walk.

IV.

When will the rebellious youth
It's time for Eugene
It's time for hope and tender sadness,
Monsieur was driven out of the yard.
Here is my Onegin at large;
Cut in the latest fashion;
How dandy (2) London dressed -
And finally saw the light.
He's completely French
Could speak and write;
Easily danced the mazurka
And bowed at ease;
What do you want more? The world decided
That he is smart and very nice.

v.

We all learned a little
Something and somehow
So education, thank God,
It's easy for us to shine.
Onegin was, according to many
(Judges decisive and strict)
A small scientist, but a pedant:
He had a lucky talent
No compulsion to speak
Touch everything lightly
With a learned air of a connoisseur
Keep silent in an important dispute
And make the ladies smile
The fire of unexpected epigrams.

VI.

Latin is out of fashion now:
So, if you tell the truth,
He knew enough Latin
To parse epigraphs,
Talk about Juvenal
Put vale at the end of the letter
Yes, I remember, though not without sin,
Two verses from the Aeneid.
He had no desire to rummage
In chronological dust
Genesis of the earth;
But the days of the past are jokes
From Romulus to the present day
He kept it in his memory.

VII.

No high passion
For the sounds of life do not spare,
He could not iambic from a chorea,
No matter how we fought, to distinguish.
Branil Homer, Theocritus;
But read Adam Smith,
And there was a deep economy,
That is, he was able to judge
How does the state grow rich?
And what lives, and why
He doesn't need gold
When a simple product has.
Father could not understand him
And gave the land as a pledge.

VIII.

Everything that Eugene knew,
Retell me lack of time;
But in what he was a true genius,
What he knew more firmly than all sciences,
What was madness for him
And labor and flour and joy,
What took all day
His melancholy laziness, -
There was a science of tender passion,
Which Nazon sang,
Why did he end up a sufferer
Your age is brilliant and rebellious
In Moldova, in the wilderness of the steppes,
Far away from Italy.

IX.

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

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

x.

How early could he be hypocritical,
Hold hope, be jealous
disbelieve, make believe
To seem gloomy, to languish,
Be proud and obedient
Attentive or indifferent!
How languidly he was silent,
How eloquently eloquent
How careless in heartfelt letters!
One breathing, one loving,
How could he forget himself!
How swift and gentle his gaze was,
Shameful and impudent, and sometimes
He shone with an obedient tear!

XI.

How could he be new?
Joking innocence to amaze
To frighten with despair ready,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
Catch a moment of tenderness
Innocent years of prejudice
Mind and passion to win,
Expect involuntary affection
Pray and demand recognition
Listen to the first sound of the heart
Chase love, and suddenly
Get a secret date...
And after her alone
Give lessons in silence!

XII.

How early could he disturb
Hearts of note coquettes!
When did you want to destroy
Him his rivals,
How vehemently he cursed!
What nets he prepared for them!
But you, blessed husbands,
You were friends with him:
He was caressed by the crafty husband,
Foblas is an old student,
And the distrustful old man
And the majestic cuckold
Always happy with myself
With my dinner and my wife.

XIII. XIV.

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

XV.

He used to be in bed:
They carry notes to him.
What? Invitations? Indeed,
Three houses for the evening call:
There will be a ball, there is a children's party.
Where will my prankster go?
Who will he start with? Doesn't matter:
It is no wonder to be in time everywhere.
While in the morning dress,
Wearing a wide bolivar(3)
Onegin goes to the boulevard
And there he walks in the open,
Until the dormant breguet
Lunch will not ring for him.

XVI.

It's already dark: he sits in the sled.
"Drop, drop!" - there was a cry;
Frost dust silver
His beaver collar.
To Talon (4) rushed: he is sure
What is Kaverin waiting for him there.
Entered: and a cork in the ceiling,
The comet's guilt splashed current,
Before him roast-beef bloodied,
And truffles, the luxury of youth,
French cuisine best color,
And Strasbourg's imperishable pie
Between Limburg cheese alive
And golden pineapple.

XVII.

More glasses of thirst asks
Pour hot fat cutlets,
But the sound of a breguet informs them,
That a new ballet has begun.
The theater is an evil legislator,
Fickle Admirer
charming actresses,
Honorary citizen backstage,
Onegin flew to the theater
Where everyone, breathing freely,
Ready to slam entrechat,
Sheath Phaedra, Cleopatra,
call Moina (in order
Just to be heard).

XVIII.

Magic edge! there in the old days,
Satyrs are a bold ruler,
Fonvizin shone, friend of freedom,
And the capricious Knyazhnin;
There Ozerov involuntary tribute
People's tears, applause
I shared with the young Semyonova;
There our Katenin resurrected
Corneille is a majestic genius;
There he brought out the sharp Shakhovskoy
Noisy swarm of their comedies,
There Didlo was crowned with glory,
There, there under the shadow of the wings
My young days flew by.

XIX.

My goddesses! what do you? Where are you?
Hear my sad voice:
Are you all the same? other le maidens,
Replacing, did not replace you?
Will I hear your choruses again?
Will I see the Russian Terpsichore
Soul filled flight?
Or a dull look will not find
Familiar faces on a boring stage
And, aiming at an alien light
Disappointed lorgnette,
Fun indifferent spectator,
Silently I will yawn
And remember the past?

XX.

The theater is already full; lodges shine;
Parterre and armchairs, everything is in full swing;
In heaven they splash impatiently,
And, having risen, the curtain rustles.
Brilliant, half-air,
obedient to the magic bow,
Surrounded by a crowd of nymphs
Worth Istomin; she is,
One foot touching the floor
Another slowly circles
And suddenly a jump, and suddenly it flies,
It flies like fluff from the mouth of Eol;
Now the camp will soviet, then it will develop,
And he beats his leg with a quick leg.

XXI.

Everything is clapping. Onegin enters,
Walks between the chairs on the legs,
Double lorgnette slanting induces
On the lodges of unfamiliar ladies;
I looked at all the tiers,
I saw everything: faces, headwear
He is terribly dissatisfied;
With men from all sides
Bowed, then on stage
I looked in great confusion,
Turned away - and yawned,
And he said: “It’s time for everyone to change;
I endured ballets for a long time,
But I'm tired of Didlo" (5)).

XXII.

More cupids, devils, snakes
They jump and make noise on the stage;
More tired lackeys
They sleep on fur coats at the entrance;
Haven't stopped stomping yet
Blow your nose, cough, hiss, clap;
Still outside and inside
Lanterns are shining everywhere;
Still, vegetating, the horses are fighting,
Bored with your harness,
And the coachmen, around the lights,
Scold the gentlemen and beat in the palm of your hand:
And Onegin went out;
He goes home to get dressed.

XXIII.

Will I portray in a true picture
secluded office,
Where is the mod pupil exemplary
Dressed, undressed and dressed again?
All than for a plentiful whim
Trades London scrupulous
And along the Baltic waves
For the forest and fat carries us,
Everything in Paris tastes hungry,
Having chosen a useful trade,
Inventing for fun
For luxury, for fashionable bliss, -
Everything decorates the office.
Philosopher at the age of eighteen.

XXIV.

Amber on the pipes of Tsaregrad,
Porcelain and bronze on the table
And, feelings of pampered joy,
Perfume in cut crystal;
Combs, steel files,
Straight scissors, curves,
And brushes of thirty kinds
For both nails and teeth.
Rousseau (notice in passing)
Could not understand how important Grim
I dared to clean my nails in front of him,
An eloquent madcap (6) .
Defender of Liberty and Rights
In this case, it's completely wrong.

XXV.

You can be a good person
And think about the beauty of nails:
Why fruitlessly argue with the century?
Custom despot among people.
The second Chadaev, my Eugene,
Fearing jealous judgments
There was a pedant in his clothes
And what we called a dandy.
It's three hours at least
Spent in front of the mirrors
And came out of the restroom
Like windy Venus
When, wearing a man's outfit,
The goddess is going to the masquerade.

XXVI.

In the last taste of the toilet
Taking your curious gaze,
I could before the learned light
Here describe his attire;
Of course it would be bold
Describe my case:
But pantaloons, tailcoat, vest,
All these words are not in Russian;
And I see, I blame you,
What is it my poor syllable
I could dazzle much less
In foreign words,
Even though I looked in the old days
In the Academic Dictionary.

XXVII.

We now have something wrong in the subject:
We'd better hurry to the ball
Where headlong in a pit carriage
My Onegin has already galloped.
Before the faded houses
Along a sleepy street in rows
Double carriage lights
Merry pour out light
And rainbows on the snow suggest:
Dotted with bowls all around,
A splendid house shines;
Shadows walk through solid windows,
Flashing head profiles
And ladies and fashionable eccentrics.

XXVIII.

Here our hero drove up to the entrance;
Doorman past he's an arrow
Climbing up the marble steps
I straightened my hair with my hand,
Has entered. The hall is full of people;
The music is already tired of thundering;
The crowd is busy with the mazurka;
Loop and noise and tightness;
The spurs of the cavalry guard jingle;
The legs of lovely ladies are flying;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly
And drowned out by the roar of violins
Jealous whisper of fashionable wives.

XXIX.

In the days of fun and desires
I was crazy about balls:
There is no place for confessions
And for delivering a letter.
O you venerable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
I ask you to notice my speech:
I want to warn you.
You also, mothers, are stricter
Look after 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 lost a lot of life!
But if morals had not suffered,
I would still love balls.
I love crazy youth
And tightness, and brilliance, and joy,
And I will give a thoughtful outfit;
I love their legs; only hardly
You will find in Russia a whole
Three pairs of slender female legs.
Oh! for a long time I could not forget
Two legs ... Sad, cold,
I remember them all, and in a dream
They trouble my heart.

XXXI.

When, and where, in what desert,
Fool, will you forget them?
Ah, legs, legs! where are you now?
Where do you crumple spring flowers?
Cherished in eastern bliss,
On the northern, sad snow
You left no trace
You loved soft carpets
Luxurious touch.
How long have I forgotten for you
And I crave glory and praise
And the land of fathers, and imprisonment?
The happiness of youth has disappeared -
As in the meadows your light footprint.

XXXII.

Diana's chest, Flora's cheeks
Adorable, dear friends!
However, Terpsichore's leg
Prettier than something for me.
She, prophesying the look
An invaluable reward
Attracts by conditional beauty
Desires masterful swarm.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth
In the spring on the ants of the meadows,
In winter, on a cast-iron fireplace,
On the mirror parquet hall,
By the sea on granite rocks.

XXXIII.

I remember the sea before the storm:
How I envied the waves
Running in a stormy line
Lie down at her feet with love!
How I wished then with the waves
Touch cute feet with your mouth!
No, never in hot days
Boiling my youth
I did not want with such torment
To kiss the lips of the young Armides,
Or roses of fiery cheeks,
Ile percy, full of languor;
No, never a rush of passion
So did not torment my soul!

XXXIV.

I remember another time!
In cherished dreams sometimes
I hold a happy stirrup...
And I feel the leg in my hands;
Again the imagination boils
Again her touch
Ignite the blood in the withered heart,
Again longing, again love! ..
But full of praise for the haughty
With his chatty lyre;
They are not worth the passion
No songs inspired by them:
The words and gaze of these sorceresses
Deceptive ... like their legs.

XXXV.

What about my Onegin? half asleep
In bed from the ball he rides:
And Petersburg is restless
Already awakened by the drum.
The merchant gets up, the peddler goes,
A cabman is pulling to the stock exchange,
The okhtenka is in a hurry with a jug,
Beneath it, the morning snow crunches.
I woke up in the morning with a pleasant noise.
The shutters are open; pipe smoke
A column rises blue,
And a baker, a neat German,
In a paper cap, more than once
I have already opened my vasisdas.

XXXVI.

But, exhausted by the noise of the ball,
And turning the morning at midnight
Sleeps peacefully in the shadow of the blissful
Fun and luxury child.
Wakes up after 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 everyday pleasures?
Was he really among the feasts
Careless and healthy?

XXXVII.

No: early feelings in him cooled down;
He was tired of the light noise;
The beauties didn't last long
The subject of his habitual thoughts;
Treason managed to tire;
Friends and friendship are tired,
Then, which could not always
Beef-steaks and Strasbourg pie
Pouring champagne in a bottle
And pour sharp words
When the head hurt;
And though he was an ardent rake,
But he fell out of love at last
And abuse, and a saber, and lead.

XXXVIII.

Illness whose cause
It's high time to find
Like an English spin
In short: Russian melancholy
She took possession of him little by little;
He shoot himself, thank God,
Didn't want to try
But life has completely cooled off.
Like Child-Harold, sullen, languid
He appeared in drawing rooms;
No gossip of light, no boston,
Neither a sweet look, nor an immodest sigh,
Nothing touched him
He did not notice anything.

XXXIX. XL. XLI.

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

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XLV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

How often in the summer
When transparent and light
Night sky over the Neva (8) ,
And waters cheerful glass
Does not reflect the face of Diana,
Remembering past years novels,
Remembering the old love
Sensitive, careless again
With the breath of a supportive night
We silently drank!
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 heart full of regrets
And leaning on granite
Yevgeny stood thoughtfully,
How Piit described himself (9) .
Everything was quiet; only night
Sentinels called to one another;
Yes, a distant knock
With Millionne it suddenly resounded;
Only a boat, waving oars,
Floated on a dormant river:
And we were captivated in the distance
The horn and the song are remote ...
But sweeter, in the midst of nightly fun,
The chant of Torquat octaves!

XLIX

Adriatic waves,
Oh Brent! no, I see you
And full of inspiration again
Hear your magical 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.
Golden nights of Italy
I will enjoy the bliss in the wild,
With a young Venetian
Now talkative, then dumb,
Floating in a mysterious gondola;
With her my mouth will find
The language of Petrarch and love.

L

Will the hour of my freedom come?
It's time, it's time! - I call to her;
Wandering over the sea (10), waiting for the weather,
Manyu sails ships.
Under the robe of storms, arguing with the waves,
Along the freeway of the sea
When will I start freestyle running?
It's time to leave the boring beach
I hostile elements,
And among the midday swells,
Under the sky of my Africa (11)
Sigh about gloomy Russia,
Where I suffered, where I loved
Where I buried my heart.

LI

LII.

III. LIV.

Lv.

I was born for a peaceful life
For rural silence:
In the wilderness, the lyrical voice is louder,
Live creative dreams.
Leisure devotion to the innocent,
Wandering over the desert lake
And far niente is my law.
I wake up every morning
For sweet bliss and freedom:
I read little, I sleep a lot,
I do not catch flying glory.
Isn't it me in the old days
Spent in inaction, in the shadows
My happiest days?

LVI.

LVII.

I note by the way: all poets -
Love dreamy friends.
Used to be cute things
I dreamed and my soul
She kept their secret image;
After the Muse revived them:
So I, careless, chanted
And the girl of the mountains, my ideal,
And the captives of the banks of the Salgir.
Now from you my friends
I often hear the question:
“O whom does your lyre sigh?
To whom, in the crowd of jealous maidens,
Did you dedicate a chant to her?

LVIII.

LIX.

LX.

An epigraph from P. A. Vyazemsky's Poem (1792-1878) "The First Snow". See the fable of I. A. Krylov “Donkey and Man”, line 4. (1) Written in Bessarabia (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Madame, tutor, governess. Monsieur abbot (French). (2) Dandy, dandy (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Be healthy (lat.). See missing stanza. See missing stanzas. (3) Hat à la Bolivar (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Hat style. Bolivar Simon (1783-1830) - leader of the national liberation. movements in Latin America. It has been established that Pushkinsky Onegin is going to the Admiralteisky Boulevard that existed in St. Petersburg. (4) A well-known restaurateur (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Antrasha - jump, ballet pas (French). (5) A trait of chilled feeling worthy of Child Harold. The ballets of Mr. Didlo are filled with the wonder of imagination and extraordinary charm. One of our romantic writers found much more poetry in them than in all of French literature (A. S. Pushkin's note). (6) 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: now in all enlightened Europe they clean their nails with a special brush. (Note by A. S. Pushkin).
“Everyone knew that he used whitewash; and I, who did not believe it at all, began to guess not only from the improvement in the complexion of his face or because I found jars of whitewash on his toilet, but because, going into his room one morning, I found him 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 brushing his nails could spend a few minutes whitewashing imperfections in his skin. (French). Boston is a card game. Stanzas XXXIX, XL and XLI are marked by Pushkin as missing. In Pushkin's manuscripts, however, there is no trace of any gap in this place. Probably Pushkin did not write these stanzas. Vladimir Nabokov considered the pass "fictitious, having a certain musical meaning - a pause of thought, an imitation of a missed heart beat, an apparent horizon of feelings, false stars to indicate false uncertainty" (V. Nabokov. Comments on "Eugene Onegin". Moscow 1999, p. 179. (7) This whole ironic stanza is nothing but subtle praise for our beautiful compatriots. So Boileau, under the guise of reproach, praises Louis XIV. Our ladies combine education with courtesy and strict purity of morals with this oriental charm that so captivated Madame Stael (See Dix anées d "exil). (Note by A. S. Pushkin). (8) Readers remember the delightful description of the St. Petersburg night in the idyll of Gnedich. Self-portrait with Onegin on the Neva embankment: self-illustration to Ch. 1 novel "Eugene Onegin". Litter under the picture: “1 is good. 2 should be leaning on granite. 3. boat, 4. Peter and Paul Fortress. In a letter to L. S. Pushkin. PD, No. 1261, l. 34. Neg. No. 7612. 1824, early November. Bibliographic notes, 1858, vol. 1, no. 4 (the figure is reproduced on a sheet without pagination, after column 128; publication by S. A. Sobolevsky); Librovich, 1890, p. 37 (rev.), 35, 36, 38; Efros, 1945, p. 57 (play), 98, 100; Tomashevsky, 1962, p. 324, note. 2; Tsyavlovskaya, 1980, p. 352 (play), 351, 355, 441. (9) Reveal the favored goddess
Sees an enthusiastic piit,
That spends sleepless nights
Leaning on granite.
(Ants. Goddess of the Neva). (Note by A. S. Pushkin). (10) Written in Odessa. (Note by A. S. Pushkin). (11) See the first edition of Eugene Onegin. (Note by A. S. Pushkin). Far niente - idleness, idleness (Italian)

Women's Portal Flero

Analysis of "My uncle has the most honest rules" - the first stanza of Eugene Onegin

VI.

VIII.

IX.

x.

XI.

XII.

XVI.

XVII.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXVI.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XLV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

XLVIII.

XLIX.

L.

L.I.

LII.

III.

LIV.

Lv.

LVI.

LVII.

LVIII.

LIX.

LX.

II.

III.

IV.

v.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

x.

XI.

XII.

XIII. XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX. XL. XLI.