Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Stanzas from Eugene Onegin lyrics

1.I "My uncle, man of true conviction... By falling genuinely sick He's won respect in his affliction And could have planned no better trick. His model is worth replicating; But Christ is it excruciating To attend a patient night and day And never move a step away! And oh, what shameful machination To humor one so nearly dead, Fluff out the pillows for his head, Morosely bring his medication And think, with every practiced sigh, 'Get on with it already. Die!'" 1.II Thus mused a rakehell in reflection Riding by post through dust and din. He was, through natural selection By Jove, sole heir to all his kin. Friends of Ruslan from my last story, Let me spare you all prefatory Delay, and introduce this new Protagonist of mine to you: Onegin, my good friend and brother, Was born beside the Neva's swell, Where maybe, reader, you as well Were born, or shone some way or other. There I myself once played and strolled Until I caught that northern cold. 1.III A noble man who'd served sincerely, His father lived by borrowing, He entertained with three balls yearly And finally squandered everything. Fate handled my Onegin gently Madame first cared for him intently Till someone else took on from her The nice, if boisterous, boy: Monsieur L'Abbée, a feckless wretch from Paris Taught the boy everything in jest, Kept moral strictures slight at best Lest he should bother or embarra**. He'd punish pranks with one remark And then a stroll in Summer Park 1.IV But when our young man reached the morrow Of adolescence and ado, The time of hope and tender sorrow, Monsieur was made to say Adieu. Eugene's at large now. Taking care to Display the latest voguish hairdo, And dressed like a London Dandy, he At last saw high society. In French which he had quite perfected He could express himself and write, And when he danced, his step was light His bow completely unaffected. What's more to want? The verdict ran: A witty, charming, gentle man. 1. V We've all received some education In something, somehow, have we not? So thank the Lord that in our nation Playing the thinker takes no thought. Eugene was in the view of many (Judges as strict and fair as any) Learnèd, if prone to pedantry. He had the happy ability For free and easy conversation, For handling any grave dispute With an air of learning and astute Silence in lieu of confrontation, And lighting up a lady's gaze With sudden fiery turns of phrase. 1. VI Latin's gone out of fashion for us. But he had learned, be in no doubt, Enough of the great tongue of Horace To figure Latin phrases out, Cite Juvenal from French translations, Add "vale" in his salutations. There was a line (on good days, two) By Virgil that he nearly knew. He had no scholar's predilection To delve through diachronic dust Of the world's histories caked with must. There was, though, quite a large collection Of anecdotes he could recite From Troy's destruction to last night. ......... 1.XLVI He who has lived and thought can never Look on mankind without disgust, He who has felt is plagued forever By ghosts of days forever lost. Gone are enchantment and affection. In him the snake of recollection And sick repentance eats the heart. All this will oftentimes impart A savory charm to conversations. Though first unsettled and confused By Eugene's tongue, I did get used To his abrasive disputations, His blend of bile and comedy, His somber, vicious repartee. .......... 8.I In those days when I bloomed serenely In Lycée gardens, long ago, I'd read my Apuleius keenly But ne'er a word of Cicero - In those spring days, in secret dales Where swans called out along the trails By lakes in stilly air agleam, The Muse first came to bid me dream. My student cell filled with enchanted And sudden light. The Muse spread there A feast of youthful fancies fair. She sang of childhood cheers, and chanted The glory of our lays of old, The tremulous reveries hearts can hold. 8.II And with a smile my Muse was greeted. What wings our first successes gave! By Old Derzhávin we were heeded And blessed before he reached the grave..... ........... 8.XXIX To love all ages must surrender. But to young hearts its tumults bring A gale as plentiful and tender As tempests to the fields of spring They freshen under pa**ion's shower Renew themselves, and come to flower, As potent life takes fertile root To bring rich blooms and yield sweet fruit. But when our age has left us older, That barren turning of our years, Dead pa**ion's traces just bear tears- So autumn stormwinds just blow colder, Make swamps of meadows everywhere And leave the forests stripped and bare.