living his best days,

Amidst the victories that paved his pace,

Amidst the fun and leisure

Was there happiness to measure?

Was there a thing that caused unrest

In Onegin's life's ongoing fest?

No shumom bala utomlennyj

I utro v polnoch' obratya,

Spokojno spit v teni blazhennoj

Zabav i roskoshi ditya.

Prosnetsya zapolden', i snova

Do utra zhizn' ego gotova,

Olnoobrazna i pestra.

I zavtra to zhe, chto vchera,

No byl li schastliv moj Evgenij,

Svobodnyj, v cvete luchshih let,

Sredi blistatel'nyh pobed,

Sredi vsednevnyh naslazhdenij?

Votshche li by on sred' pirov

Neostorozhen i zdorov?

XXXVII

No. His sences were blunted early,

The world's smalltalk has wearied him,

The beuties are no longer storming

His mind and cause his heart to steam.

The infidelity and cheeting... Bore.

His friends are dull, and friendship sore

For he wasn't able all the time

To pour champaigne on strassbourg pie

And joke with sharp and acid words

When headache so much hurts.

Though he's a playboy, he came to disguise

His old days habits - swords and whist.

Net, rano chuvstva v nem ostyli,

Emu naskuchilsveta shum;

Krasavicy na dolgo byli

Predmet ego privychnyh dum;

Izmeny utomit' uspeli;

Druz'ya i druzhba nadoeli,

Zatem, chto ne vsegda zhe mog

Beef-steaks i strassburgskij pirog

SHampanskoj oblivat' butylkoj

I sypat' kolkie slova,

Kogda bolela golova;

I hot' on byl povesa pylkij,

No razlyubil on nakonec

I bran', i sablyu, i venec.

XXXVIII

The cause of this decease's unseen

The diagnosis - always solid:

The English word for that is spleen,

Khandrah is what the Russans call it.

And step by step the spleen took over,

But, praise the Lord, his mind was sober

Not to let him shoot himself at head

But he lost intest in life, as Byron said

Did Child-Harold so languid and morose,

Evgeniy came to salons, balls

And neither ladies' passion calls

Nor gossips, cardgames, poetry or prose

Was touching him enough

He didn't care `bout the stuff.

Nedug, kotorogo prichinu

Davno by otyskat' pora,

Podobnyj anglijskomu splinu,

Koroche: russkaya handra

Im ovladela ponemnogu;

On zastrelit'sya, slava Bogu,

Poprobovat' ne zahotel,

No k zhizni vovse ohladel.

Kak Child-Harold, ugryumyj, tomnyj,

V gostinnyh poyavlyalsya on;

Ni spletnti sveta, ni boston,

Ni milyj vzglyad, ni vzdoh neskromnyj,

Nichto ne trogalo ego,

Ne zamechal on nichego.

XXXIX.XL. XLII.

*******

****......

**************....

XLII

Oh those chic ladies of the world!

He could not take you any more

And hid from noones chained in gold

Sophisticated chitchat's such a bore!

Though there could be some dame

Interpreting Say and Bent*m,

But as a rule what they discuss

Is aggrivating, but innocent nonsence, alas!

Besides, they are so chaste and pure,

Majestic, full of intellect,

So pious, so politically correct,

So thoughtful that no man can lure

Them. When I look at them I grim -

Seeing those causes severe spleen.

Prichudnicy bol'shogo sveta!

Vseh prezhde vas ostavil on;

I pravda to, chto v nashi leta

Dovol'no skuchen vysshij ton;

Hot', mozhet byt', inaya dama

Tolkuet Seya i Bentama,

No voobshche iz razgovor nesnosnyj,

Hot' nevinnyj vzdor;

K tomu zh oni tak neporochny,

Tak velichavy, tak umny,

Tak blagochestiya polny,

Tak osmotritel'ny, tak tochny,

Tak nepristupny dlya muzhchin,

CHto vid ih uzh rozhdaet splin.

XLIII

And you, so beatiful young women

Who disappear late in night

On Petersburg's streets gleaming

In a midnight carriage ride -

Evgeniy left you just as well.

And lonely decieded he to dwell

Without pleasures in a hermit den.

Once, yawning, he took up a pen,

Up to tryouts did some writing,

But working hard has made him sick -

The born was shallow, very weak,

And thus he didn't join the mighty

And roaring guild of those whom I shall judge no way

For I belong to it, and there I should stay.

I vy, krasotki molodye,

Kotoryh pozdneyu poroj

Knosyat drozhki udalye

Po peterburgskoj mostovoj,

I vas pokinul moj Evgenij..

Otstupnik burnyh naslazhenij,

Onegin doma zapersya,

Zevaya, za pero vzyalsya,

Hotel pisat' - no trud upornyj

Emu byl toshen; nechego

Ne vyshlo iz pera ego,

I ne popal on v ceh zadornyj

Lyudej, o koih ne suzhu,

Zatem, chto k nim prinadlezhu.

XLIV

Again, devouted to the bore,

Was restless with emptiness of soul,

He started with a loudable goal

Assuming other's wisdom as his own.

A bunch of books he seated on the shelf,

And read them avidly outloud, to himself,

And thought - this one is dull, the other is deceiving,

That one is dellusion with no meaning.

It seemed the authors were feeding

The old ideas as out-dated,

And new ones as very much belated.

As well as women, he gave up on reading,

And covered then the shelf with cloth,

Thus hid the books to feed the moth.

I snova, predannyj bezdel'yu,

Tomyas' dushevnoj pustotoj,

Uselsya on s pohval'noj cel'yu

Sebe prisvoit' um chuzhoj.

Otryadom knig ustavil polku,

CHital, chital, no vse bez tolku:

Tam skuka, tam obman, tam bred;

V tom sovesti, v tom smysla net;

Na vseh razlichnye verigi;

I ustarela starina

I starym bredit novizna.

Kak zhenshchin, on ostavil knigi,

I knigi s pyl'noj ih sem'ej,

Zadernul traurnoj taftoj.

XLV

Have rioted against the social demands,

And like Onegin tired with the crowd,

I met Evgeniy, we made friends,

I liked him much without a doubt.

I liked his undeliberate allegiance to his dreams,

And that original eccentrity of his,

His cold and acid-sharpened mind.

My heart was angry, his also had no trace of light.

The game of vanities we both knew well,

And life itself was wearing us out,

No song was sang in our hearts outloud,

We both expected later on to smell

The spite of Fortune, for she's blind,

And the spite of the mankind.

Uslovij sveta skinuv bremya,

Kak on, ustav ot suety,

S nim podruzhilis' my v to vremya,

Mne nravilis' ego cherty,

Mechtam nevol'naya predannost',

Nepodrazhaemaya strannost'

I rezkij, ohlazhdennyj um.

YA byl ozloblen, on ugryum;

Starstej igru my znali oba:

Tomila zhizn' oboih nas;

V oboih serdcah zhar ugas;

Oboih ozhidala zloba

Slepoj Fortuny i lyudej,

Na samom utre nashih dnej.

XLVI

Who lived and thought, he cannot help

Despising men at heart in chest,

The one who pain and love had felt

Is haunted by the ghost of past.

He has no more of great illusions,

The memory brings him confusions,

And the remorse him tantalizes

These features add to dialog with him some spices.

At first, Onegin's manner to behave

Embarressed me, but later I got used

To caustic his remarks; I got amused

With how he joked with bile, and how he gave

Birth to many mordant epigrams

That caused some laughter and some damns.

Kto zhl i myslil, tot ne mozhet

V dushe ne prezirat' lyudej;

Kto chuvstvoval, togo trevozhit

Prizrak nevozvratimyh dnej:

Tomu uzh net ocharovanij,

Togo zmiya vospominanij,

Togo raskayan'e gryzet.

Vse eto chasto pridaet

Bol'shuyu prelest' razgovoru.

Sperva Onegina yazyk

Menya smushchal, noya privyk

K ego yazvitel'nomu sporu,

I k shutkes zhelch'yu popolam

I zlosti mrachnyh epigramm.

XLVII

How often in the summertime

The Niva night skies are so transperent and cyan,

The broken water glass does not reflect that fine

The Moon - the sole domain of Diane.

And we slipped into th'days that now are gone,

Recalling gone affairs with a mourn,

Recalling love, that struck the heart with joy and grief

And we became again more sencible and youthfully naive,

We saturated in the silence, being deaf and mute,

The viscous breath of night,

As if a prisoner who flies into the wood

When he's about to take to Morpheus a ride.

And so did we. We fled to the beginning of the youth

Led by the dream by which we were seduced.

Kak chasto letneyu poroyu,

Kogda prozrachno i svetlo

Nochnoe nebo nad Nevoyu

I vod veseloe steklo

Ne otrazhaet lik Diany,

Vospomnya prezhnie romany,

Vospomnya prezhnuyu lyubov',

CHuvstvitel'ny, bespechny vnov',

Dyhan'em nochi blagoklonnoj

Bezmolvno upivalis' my!

Kak v les zelenyj iz tyur'my

Perenesen kolodnik sonnyj,

Tak unosilis' my mechtoj

K nachalu zhizni molodoj.

XLVIII

And with his heart full of regrets,

Onegin leaned onto the bank's granite

`Through meditation guts he gets'-

As a poet once had rhymed.

It was so quiet. It was only heard

As the night guards were on the full alert,

And coaches' soft and distant rumble

From Millionannaya occasionaly mumbled.

And down the sleepy river a boat slid,

Flapping with her wooden oars,

She charmed us with a distant chorus

Of a clarion and song that meet...

But I prefer above those catchy rythms

The song and euphony of Torquato's hymns.

S dushoj, polnoj sozhalenij,

I opershisya na granit,
Stoyal zadumchivo Evgenij,

Kak opisal sebya piit.

Vse bylo tiho, lish' nochnye

Pereklikalis' chasovye;

Da drozhek otdalennyj stuk

S Mil'onnoj razdavalsya vdrug;

Lish' lodka, veslami mahaya,

Plyla po dremlyushchej reke:

I nas plenyali vdaleke

Rozhok i pesnya udalaya...

No slashche, sred' nochnyh zabav,

Napev Torkvatovyh oktav.

XLIX

The Adriatic sea, the Brenta,

Again I see you torquaise blaze.

My soul gets filled with inspiration

When their voice reaches my face.

The voice's sacred for Appolo's descendants,

I am familiar with it due to Byron's lyre crescendos,

I know it well as if we are related.

When daytime light in Italy has faded,

I will enjoy Italian nights' bliss

And a Venician beatiful young miss,

Who's talkative, then calm and taciturn

When we sail in a gondola. My lips then start to burn

With the language of Petrarca, tonge of love,

Noone knows it but the lovers and the dove.

Adriaticheskie volny,

O Brenta! net, uvizhu vas

I, vdohnovenij polnyj,

Uslyshu vash volshebnyj glas!

On svyat dlya vnukov Apollona;

Po gordoj lire Al'biona

On mne znakom, on mne rodnoj.

No chej Itali zlatoj

YA negoj naslazhus' na vole,

S veneciankoyu mladoj,

To govorlivoj, to nemoj,

Plyvya v tainstvennoj gondole;

S nej obretut usta moi

YAzyk Petrarki i lyubvi.

Will there be the day when I am free?

It is the time! - I call for it, I cry,

I wait for wind, I walk along the sea,

Allure the sails of vessels passing by.

When will I start my run, that's free and wild,

Arguing with billows during my glide

On the face of the restless sea? -

Away from the boring shore I need to flee

(And my dislike of it's on rise)

And be amidst African hot sands

In my forbears' native lands,

And there recall the murky Russian skies

Under which I suffered and I loved

And where I bured my broken heart.

Pridet li chas moej svobody?

Pora, pora! - vzyvayu k nej.

Brozhu nad morem, zhdu pogody,

Manyu vetrila korablej.

Pod rizoj bur', s volnami sporya,

Po vol'nomu rasput'yu morya

Kogda zh nachnu ya vol'nyj beg?

Pora pokinut' skuchnyj breg

Mne nepryaznennoj stihii,

I sred' poludennyh zybej,

Pod nebom Afriki moej,

Vzdyhat' o sumrachnoj Rssii,

Gde ya stradal, gde ya lyubil,

Gde serdce ya pohoronil.

Onegin said that he was ready

With me to travel other lands,

But we by chance got separated

For long time though we had been friends.

His father died and left a desert:

In front of Evgeniy got gathered

A hungry regiment of lenders,

Who were there own's defenders.

Onegin, in disguise of suits and courts,

Gave them the legacy, preferring peace to swords,

Still kept on being happy with the state of things

Not seeing a big loss in it as winds

Had gossiped (and he overheard)

That his beloved uncle soon would see the Lord.

Onegin byl gotov so mnoyu

Uvidet' chuzhdye strany;

No skoro byli my sud'boyu
Na dolgij srok razvedeny.

Otec ego togda skonchalsya.

Pered Oneginym sobralsya

Zaimodavcev zhadnyj polk.

U kazhdogo svoj um i tolk:

Evgenij, tyazhby nenavidya,

Dovol'nyj zhrebiem svoim,

Nasledstvo predostavil im,

Bol'shoj poteri v tom ne vidya

Il' predugadav izdaleka

Konchinu dyadi-starika.

LII

Indeed, he got one day

From the manager a note:

The uncle soon will pass away,

His nephew's farewell then he sought.

At once, as soon as finished reading,

Evgeniy parted for the meeting,

He rushed headlong with the post-chaise,

And yawned, forseeing boring days,

And for the money got prepared

To sigh, deceive and worry

(With these I have begun the story)

But when arrived - no loger cared:

The uncle was already dead

And on the table he was laid.

Vdrug poluchil on v samom dele

Ot upravitelya doklad:

CHto dyadya pri smerti v postele

I s nim prostit'sya byl by rad.

Prochtya pechal'noe poslan'e,

Evgenij totchas na svidan'e

Stremglav po pochte poskakal

I uzh zaranee zeval,

Prigotovlyayas', deneg radi,

Na vzdohi, skuku i obman

( I tem ya nachal svoj roman).

No, priletev v derevnyu dyadi,

Ego nashel uzh na stole,

Kak dan' gotovuyu zemle.

LIII

He found the courtyard full of people

From all the places nearby,

Both friends and rivals were coming

To mourn a little and to dine,

Then left for home with dignity and grace

As have fullfilled their duty with all As.

Onegin now in countyside resides.

And woods, and rivers, factories and land

Belong to him, though he had been forehand

With any order in non-ending fights.

He welcomes changes in the way he lived:

At least there is a slightest drift.

Nashel on polon dvor uslugi;

K pokojniku so vseh storon

S�ezzhalis' nedrugi i drugi,

Ohotniki do pohoron.

Pokojnika pohoronili.

Popy i gosti eli, pili

I posle vazhno razoshlis',

Kak budto delom zanyalis'.

Vot nash Onegin sel'skij zhitel',

Zavodov , vod, lesov, zemel'

Hozyain polnyj, a dosel'

Poryadka vrag i rastochitel',

I ochen' rad, chto prezhnij put'

Peremenil na chto-nibud'.

LIV

For 2 seqvensive days secluded fields

Seemed new and fresh to him

As well as shady oak trees,

And murmur of a quiet spring.

But on the third, the field, the grove, the hill

Caused his heart not a thing to feel.

They made him sleepy later on,

He realized that he was wrong;

The countryside is boring just as well.

Though there - no palaces, no streets,

No balls, no poems with their wits.

The bore is guarding by his cell,

Or follows him as shadow does

Or a wive that too much loves.

Dva dnya emu kazalis' novy

Uedinennye polya,

Prohlada sumrachnoj dubrovy,

ZHurchan'e tihogo ruch'ya;

Na tretij roshcha, holm i pole

Ego ne zanimali bole;

Potom uzh navodili son;

Potom uvidel yasno on,

CHto i v derevne skuka ta zhe

Hot' net ni ulic, ni dvorcov,

Ni kart, ni balov, ni stihov.

Handra zhdala ego na strazhe,

I begala za nim ona,

Kak ten' il' vernaya zhena.

Well, I was born for peaceful life,

For soft bucolic soundlessness,

Where my voice sounds stronger

And dreams are full of vividness.

And being fully into leisure,

I wander by the lake for pleasure,

And far niente as a law I'm taking.

And every morning I'm awaken

For feeling great, and free, and strong.

I read a little, sleep a lot,

I seek no fame I could have got.

And have I spent the years gone

In doing nothing, in the shade,

The days of mine, that were great?

YA byl rozhden dlya zhizni mirnoj,

Dlya derevenskoj tishiny:

V glushi zvuchnee golos lirnyj,

ZHivee tvorcheskie sny.

Dosugam posvetyas' nevinnym,

Brozhu nad ozerom pustynnym,

I far niente moj zakon.

YA kazhdym utrom probuzhden

Dlya sladkoj negi i svobody:

CHitayu malo, mnogo splyu,

Letuchej slavy ne lovlyu.

Ne tak li ya v bylye gody

Provel v bezdejstvii, v teni

Moi schastlivejshie dni..

LVI

Oh flowers, love, oh fields and leisure-

My heart is yours or even more so.

I'd like to note: the gap quite wide to measure

Exists between Ongin and the author.

For if it happens that a mocking avid reader,

Or a publisher of witty-crafted litter,

Compares then my features to Onegin's,

And will conclude and spread the word

That it's my portrait what I wrote

Like Byron did, as if we cannot ever since

Write poems 'bout all other things

Except for our precious ego

With which we have vertigo.

Cvety, lyubov', derevnya, prazdnost',

Polya! ya predan vam dushoj.

Vsegda ya rad zametit' raznost'

Mezhdu Oneginym i mnoj.

CHtoby nasmeshlivyj chitatel'

Ili kakoj-nibud' izdatel'

Zamyslovatoj klevety,

Slichaya zdes' moi cherty,

Ne povtoryal potom bezbozhno,

CHto namaral ya svoj portret,

K ak Bajron, gordosti poet,

Kak budto nam uzh nevozmozhno

Pisat' poemy o drugom,

Kak tol'ko o sebe samom.

LVII

All poets, by the way I note,

Are friends with love, that never is disturbed.

I dreamt `bout nice things quite a lot,

And their secret images my soul has preserved.

The muse refreshed the images in me,

And I (so careless) sang praise and plea

Both to the girl of mounts, who doesn't ever fear,

And to the beuties prisoned on the banks of the Salgir.

And nowadays I hear from you, friends,

A question asked quite often:

Who caused your lyre to sigh and heart to soften?

Who is the one you want to kiss in dance?

Who is the one among that jellous crowd,

Who has inspired you to play your lyre so loud?

Zamechu kstati: vse poety -

Lyubvi mechtitel'noj druz'ya.

Byvalo, milye predmety

Mne snilis', i dusha moya

Ih obraz tajnyj sohranila;

Ih posle muza ozhivila%

Tak ya, bespechen, vospeval,

I devu gor, moj ideal,

I plennic beregov Salgira.

Teper' ot vas, moi druz'ya,

Vopros neredko slyshu ya:

O kom tvoya vzdyhaet lira?

Komu, v tolpe revnivyh dev,

Ty posvyatil ee napev?

LVIII

Whose sights have caused your inspiration?

Who has awarded you with touch

For how you sang so thoughtfully with passion,

To whom your poetry's been worshiping so much?

She is noone, there isn't any one.

Love's madness, and distortion and the fun

I have experianced in vain.

Be blessed the one who managed to contain

Both loving and the fever of the rhyme:

He doubles the poetry's sacred dellusion

And is a Petrarka's follower with no confusion,

Thus he reduces pain in heart. This very time

He begets the fame. But I am not that kind of dude-

When I'm in love - I'm dumb and mute.

CHej vzor, volnuya vdohnoven'e,

Umil'noj laskoj nagradil

Tvoe zadumchivoe pen'e?

Kogo tvoj stih bogotvoril?

I, drugi, nikogo, ej-bogu!

Lyubvi bkzumnuyu trevogu

YA bezotradno ispytal.

Blazhen, kto s neyu sochetal

Goryachku rifm: ot tem udvoil

Poezii svyashchennyj bred,

Petrarke shestvuya vosled,

A muki serdca uspokoil,

Pojmal i slavu mezhdu tem;

No ya, lyubya, byl glu i nem.

LIX

When love was gone, the muse stood up in front,

The murky mind became more clear,

I'm free again and searching for concord

Of senses, thoughts, and sounds of magic that are dear.

The heart's not sad when I write,

The pen, half-consious, by the side

Of poems draws no more seducing eyes,

Or women legs, or their profiles.

Extingushed ashes will light up no more,

I am still sad, though tears aren't seen,

And very soon the storm will dim

Inside my soul - it shall not sore.

And there in writing I will strive

To craft some verses - maybe twenty five.

Proshla lyubov', yavilas' muza,

Proyasnilsya temnyj um.

Svoboden, vnov' ishchu soyuza

Volshebnyh zvukov, chuvstv i dum|;

Pishu, i serdce ne toskuet,

Pero, zabyvshis', ne risuet,

Bliz neokonchennyh stihov

Ni zhenskih nozhek, ni golov;

Pogasshij pepel uzh ne vspyhnet,

YA vse grushchu; no slez uzh net,

I skoro, skoro buri sled

V dushe moej sovsem utihnet:

Togda-to ya nachnu pisat'

Poemu pesen v dvadcat' pyat'.

I've thought about the story's plot

And what will name the hero,

And now you see what I have wrote:

The chapter number one is here.

I looked it through, I was severe:

The contradiction are, but, well, I fear

I won't correct them - they amuse,

Thus paying sensors their dues.

And will give up my own creation

To journalists for humilation.

Now go, go to the Niva banks

And earn me fame, and earn me thanks,

And the rest of the hommage of glory:

Noise, gossips and eternal worry.

YA dumal uzh o forme plana,

I kak geroya nazovu;

Pokamest moeg romana

YA konchil pervuyu glavu;

Peresmotrel vse eto strogo:

Protivorechij ochen' mnogo,

No ih ispravit' ne hochu.

Cenzure dolg svoj zaplachu,

I zhurnalistam na s�eden'e

Plody trudov svoih otdam:

Idi zhe k nevskim beregam,

Novorozhdennoe tvoren'e,

I zasluzhi mne slavy dan':

Krivye tolki, shum i bran'!

* CHAPTER II

The country where Eugeniy lived in bore

Was place of lavish, tranquil nature

Its sky would bless the one who has a secret lore

Of simple joy of its majestic stature.

The master's mansion lonely, by river stood,

Where not a wind it reach there could

In front of it as far as one's eye sees,

Spread meadows, framed with trees,

And fields of many shades of gold,

And villages; and here and there

The cattle rambled everywhere,

And orchard, though unkempt and old

Grew by the mansion. Taciturn dryads

Found in the orchard shelter for their heads.

Derevnya, gde skuchal Evgenij,

Byla prelestnyj ugolok;

Tam drug nevinnyh naslazhdenij

Blagoslovit' by nebo mog.

Gospodskij dom uedinennyj,

Goroj ot vetrov ograzhdennyj,

Stoyal nad rechkoyu. Vdali

Pred nim pestreli i cveli

Luga i nivy zolotye,

Mel'kali s�la; zdes' i tam

Stada brodili po lugam,

I seni rasshiryal gustye

Ogromnyj, zapushch�nnyj sad,

Priyut zadumchivyh driad.

The estate's mansion had been built

The way such buildings are to be erected:

Was mighty firm, with calmness filled,

And by the good ol' fashion was effected.

In every room high ceilings were,

Wall papers from Damascus were there,

And Royal portraits hang on walls,

And motley tiles were decorating stoves.

But everything has fallen now into decay,

I don't know why that happened so.

My friend didn't care `bout the house though

I should take notice by the way

For old-style fashioned rooms bored him

As bad as modern ones he'd seen.

Pochtennyj zamok byl postroen,

Kak zamki stroit'sya dolzhny:

Otmenno prochen i spokoen

Vo vkuse umnoj stariny.

Veede vysokie pokoi,

V gostinoj shtofnye oboi,

Carej portrety na stenah,

I pechi v pestryh izrazcah.

Vs� eto nyne obvetshalo,

Ne znayu pravo pochemu;

Da, vprochem, drugu moemu

V tom nuzhdy bylo ochen' malo,

Zatem chto on ravno zeval

Sred' modnyh i starinnyh zal.

III
He took the room in which for 4 decades

The country-side old-timer wrangled

With housekeeper, mistress to all keys and spades,

Looked at the window, flies he strangled.

The furnishing was simple: on the oak floor

Stood a bookcase, cupboard, sofa and bureau

On them had not been smallest ink-spot left.

Onegin opened bookcase not bereft:

He found expenses-book recorded up-to-date,

And in the cupboard - fruit moonshine,

And row of jugs of apple wine,

Expired calendar for year 18 and 08

As was too busy the old man now gone

To be to other kinds of reading prone.

III

On v tom pokoe poselilsya,

Gde derevenskij starozhil

Let sorok s klyuchnicej branilsya,

V okno smotrel i muh davil.

Vse bylo prosto: pol dubovyj,

Dva shkafa, stol, divan puhovyj,

Nigde ni pyatnyshka chernil.

Onegin shkafy otvoril:

V odnom nashel tetrad' rashoda,

V drugom nalivok celyj stroj,

Kuvshiny s yablochnoj vodoj

I kalendar' os'mogo goda;

Starik, imeya mnogo del,

V inye knigi ne glyadel.

Amidst his vast domains alone,

To pass his spear time,

Eugeniy sought establishing new law,

New order of some kind.

A sage of place at back of the beyond,

He substituted the corvee's old bond

With quit-rent easy to be paid;

The serf then started thanking fate.

But in his home at once got pauted

Perceiving awful harm in what Onegin did

A thrifty neighbor. Another one just hid

An archly smile observing what Eugeniy started.

But out loud decision t'which they all agreed:

Onegin's an eccentric, dang'rous kid.

Odin sredi svoih vladenij,

CHtob tol'ko vremya provodit',

Sperva zadumal nash Evgenij

Poryadok novyj uchredit'.

V svoej glushi mudrec pustynnyj,

YArem on barshchiny starinnoj

Obrokom legkim zamenil;

I rab sud'bu blagoslovil.

Zato v uglu svoem nadulsya,

Uvidya v etom strashnyj vred,

Ego raschetlivyj sosed.

Drugoj lukavo ulybnulsya,

I v golos vse reshili tak,

CHto on opasnejshij chudak.

At first all neighbours came to visit.

But once hoofs clattered down the road

Onegin had Don stallion exquisite

Sent up to back porch and was gone.

The neighbours soon got hurt, insulted

Amicability was halted

And word-to-mouth passed a notion

(and many shared this emotion):

Onegin's full of extravagance,

He's ignoramus, un mason,

With red wine has strong liason,

And never kisses ladies' hands

And never uses `nay' or `yes'

As only `nope' and `yeah' he says.

Snachala vse k nemu ezzhali;

No tak kak s zadnego kryl'ca

Obyknovenno podavali

Emu donskogo zherebca,

Lish' tol'ko vdol' bol'shoj dorogi

Zaslyshit ih domashni drogi,-

Postupkom oskorbyas' takim,

Vse druzhbu prekratili s nim.

"Sosed nash neuch, sumasbrodit,

On farmazon; on p'et odno

Stakanom krasnoe vino;

On damam k ruchke ne podhodit;

Vse da da net; ne skazhet da-s

Il' net-s". Takov byl obshchij glas.

That very time to near-by estate

Arrived its new land-lord.

The neighbours rated him the same

And put him on the spot.

Vladimir Lensky was the name of man,

His soul coined in that German Gettingen,

Was handsome in the age of bloom

Kant's devotee, a poet of the gloom,

He brought from Germany a lot

Fruits of enlighted education:

Dreams vague about liberalization,

L'esprit of passion, l'esprit odd,

And burlesque manner of the speech

And curly darkish hair that his shoulders reach

V svoyu derevnyu v tu zhe poru

Pomeshchik novyj priskakal

I stol' zhe strogomu razboru

V sosedstve povod podaval.

Po imeni Vladimir Lenskij,

S dushoyu pryamo gettingenskoj,

Krasavec, v polnom cvete let,

Poklonnik Kanta i poet.

On iz Germanii tumannoj

Privez uchenosti plody:

Vol'nolyubivye mechty,

Duh pylkij i dovol'no strannyj,

Vsegda vostorzhennuyu rech'

I kudri chernye do plech.

VII

He hasn't been yet burned and faded

With world's hypocrisy and lies

As soul was warmed and well protected

By friends and young shy ladies' smiles;

At heart he cutely knew a thing,

As rose of hope there grew within,

Yet captured was his avid mind

By shine of world, its glitter side.

With most enlighted visions, sweetest dreams

He pacified all doubts of his soul;

He searched for porpose of the life, its goal,

And tried to hack enigma of the realms.

In doing that he racked his brains,

Suspecting miracles and saints.

VII

Ot hladnogo razvrata sveta

Eshche uvyanut' ne uspev,

Ego dusha byla sogreta

Privetom druga, laskoj dev.

On serdcem milyj byl nevezhda,

Ego leleyala nadezhda,

I mira novyj blesk i shum

Eshche plenyali yunyj um.

On zabavlyal mechtoyu sladkoj

Somnen'ya serdca svoego;

Cel' zhizni nashej dlya nego

Byla zamanchivoj zagadkoj,

Nad nej on golovu lomal

I chudesa podozreval.

VIII

With all his heart Vladimir then believed

There's a mate soul with which he is to join.

Until that day the soul had to live

Without joy and crawing for the moment.

His friends, he thought, would go to prison

If thus defend his honor they had reason

And they would fight against insulting rumour

That him defames the way does cancer tumor.

He knew there were chosen guides,

Some chosen friends of the mankind.

One day, immortal, they, with brightest light

That passes far to all the sides,

Would gift the world salvation with its ray.

He knew - there had to be such day.

VIII

On veril, chto dusha rodnaya

Soedinit'sya s nim dolzhna,

CHto, bezotradno iznyvaya,

Ego vsednevno zhdet ona;

On veril, chto druz'ya gotovy

Za chest' ego priyat' okovy,

I chto ne drognet ih ruka

Razbit' sosud klevetnika;

CHto est' izbrannye sud'bami,

Lyudej svyashchennye druz'ya;

CHto ih bessmertnaya sem'ya

Neotrazimymi luchami,

Kogda-nibud', nas ozarit

I mir blazhenstvom odarit.

From early days his blood was steaming

With fury, passion and regret,

He loved the good to which was leaning

As was to glory, sweet and sad.

He traveled world, rolled like a dice,

Beneath the Schiller-Goethe skies,

And with their poetic fire

His soul flamed as did his lyre.

He was no shame, -of lucky him! -

To airy muses of creative

In songs of his was pride of native

Pure snow-white virgin dream,

And songs to village versus city

And that cute simpli-city.

Negodovan'e, sozhalen'e,

Ko blagu chistaya lyubov'

I slavy sladkoe muchen'e

V nem rano volnovali krov'.

On s liroj stranstvoval na svete;

Pod nebom SHillera i Gete

Ih poeticheskim ognem

Dusha vosplamenilas' v nem.

I muz vozvyshennyh iskusstva,

Schastlivec, on ne postydil;

On v pesnyah gordo sohranil

Vsegda vozvyshennye chuvstva,

Poryvy devstvennoj mechty

I prelest' vazhnoj prostoty.

Its humble slave, he sang to love

His song - celestially clear

Like thoughts of virgin `