Notes to Chapter One
1
``Written in Bessarabia.'' Pushkin's note.
2
Stanzas IX, XIII, XIV, XXXIX, XL and XLI were omitted by Pushkin.
3
Hero of Louvet's novel about betrayed husbands.
4
``Well-known restaurateur.'' Pushkin's note.
5
Hussar and friend of Pushkin.
6
Vintage 1811, the year of the Comet.
7
Heroine of Ozerov's tragedy
Fingal
.
8
Playwrights of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.
9
Actress in tragedy.
10
Dancer and choreographer.
11
Ballerina, once courted by Pushkin.
12
Constantinople.
13
French encyclopedist.
14
Pushkin leaves blank the name of Onegin's model dandy.
15
A mocking reference to Mikhail Muraviev's poem ``To the Goddess of the Neva.''
16
Millyonaya, a street parallel to the Neva, and one block away from it.
17
``Written at Odessa.'' Pushkin's note.
18
``The author, on his mother's side, is of African descent...'' Pushkin's note.
19
Refers to the Circassian girl in Pushkin's poem
The Caucasian Prisoner
.
20
River in the Crimea. The reference is to the harem girls in Pushkin's poem
The Fountain of Bakhchisarai
. --------
Chapter Two
O rus! Horace O Russia! I The place where Eugene loathed his leisure was an enchanting country nook: there any friend of harmless pleasure would bless the form his fortune took. The manor house, in deep seclusion, screened by a hill from storm's intrusion, looked on a river: far away before it was the golden play of light that flowering fields reflected: villages flickered far and near, and cattle roamed the plain, and here a park, enormous and neglected, spread out its shadow all around -- the pensive Dryads' hiding-ground. {63} II The
château
was of a construction befitting such a noble pile: it stood, defiant of destruction in sensible old-fashioned style. High ceilings everywhere abounded; in the saloon, brocade-surrounded, ancestral
1
portraits met the view and stoves with tiles of various hue. All this has now gone out of fashion, I don't know why, but for my friend interior décor in the end excited not a hint of passion: a modish taste, a dowdy touch -- both set him yawning just as much. III The rustic sage, in that apartment, forty years long would criticise his housekeeper and her department look through the pane, and squash the flies. Oak-floored, and simple as a stable: two cupboards, one divan, a table, no trace of ink, no spots, no stains. And of the cupboards, one contains a book of household calculations, the other, jugs of applejack, fruit liqueurs and an Almanack for 1808: his obligations had left the squire no time to look at any other sort of book. {64} IV Alone amid all his possessions, to pass the time was Eugene's theme: it led him, in these early sessions, to institute a new regime. A thinker in a desert mission, he changed the
corvée
of tradition into a small quit-rent -- and got his serfs rejoicing at their lot. But, in a fearful huff, his thrifty neighbour was sure, from this would flow consequences of hideous woe; another's grin was sly and shifty, but all concurred that, truth to speak, he was a menace, and a freak. V At first they called; but on perceiving invariably, as time went on, that from the backdoor he'd be leaving on a fast stallion from the Don, once on the highway he'd detected the noise their rustic wheels projected -- they took offence at this, and broke relations off, and never spoke. ``The man's a boor; his brain is missing, he's a freemason too; for him, red wine in tumblers to the brim -- but ladies' hands are not for kissing; it's
yes
or
no,
but never
sir.
'' The vote was passed without demur. {65} VI Meanwhile another new landowner came driving to his country seat, and, in the district, this
persona
drew scrutiny no less complete -- Vladimir Lensky, whose creator was Göttingen, his
alma mater,
good-looking, in the flower of age, a poet, and a Kantian sage. He'd brought back all the fruits of learning from German realms of mist and steam, freedom's enthusiastic dream, a spirit strange, a spirit burning, an eloquence of fevered strength, and raven curls of shoulder-length. VII He was too young to have been blighted by the cold world's corrupt finesse; his soul still blossomed out, and lighted at a friend's word, a girl's caress. In heart's affairs, a sweet beginner, he fed on hope's deceptive dinner; the world's
éclat,
its thunder-roll, still captivated his young soul. He sweetened up with fancy's icing the uncertainties within his heart; for him, the objective on life's chart was still mysterious and enticing -- something to rack his brains about, suspecting wonders would come out. {66} VIII He was convinced, a kindred creature would be allied to him by fate; that, meanwhile, pinched and glum of feature, from day to day she could but wait; and he believed his friends were ready to put on chains for him, and steady their hand to grapple slander's cup, in his defence, and smash it up; < that there existed, for the indulgence of human friendship, holy men, immortals picked by fate for when, with irresistible refulgence, their breed would (some years after this) shine out and bring the world to bliss. >
2
IX Compassion, yes, and indignation, honest devotion to the good, bitter-sweet glory's inspiration, already stirred him as they should. He roamed the world, his lyre behind him; Schiller and Goethe had refined him, and theirs was the poetic flame that fired his soul, to burn the same; the Muses' lofty arts and fashions, fortunate one, he'd not disgrace; but in his songs kept pride of place for the sublime, and for the passions of virgin fancy, and again the charm of what was grave and plain. {67} X He sang of love, to love subjected, his song was limpid in its tune as infant sleep, or the unaffected thoughts of a girl, or as the moon through heaven's expanse serenely flying, that queen of secrets and of sighing. He sang of grief and parting-time, of something vague, some misty clime; roses romantically blowing; of many distant lands he sang where in the heart of silence rang his sobs, where his live tears were flowing; he sang of lifetime's yellowed page -- when not quite eighteen years of age. XI But in that desert his attainments only to Eugene showed their worth; Lensky disliked the entertainments of neighbouring owners of the earth -- he fled from their resounding chatter! Their talk, so sound on every matter, on liquor, and on hay brought in, on kennels, and on kith and kin, it had no sparkle of sensation, it lacked, of course, poetic heart, sharpness of wit, and social art, and logic; yet the conversation upon the side of the distaff -- that was less clever still by half. {68} XII Vladimir, wealthy and good-looking, was asked around as quite a catch -- such is the usual country cooking; and all the neighbours planned a match between their girls and this
half-Russian.