Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin. Александр Пушкин

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      How well he played the greenhorn’s part

      To cheat the inexperienced fair,

      Sometimes by pleasing flattery’s art,

      Sometimes by ready-made despair;

      The feeble moment would espy

      Of tender years the modesty

      Conquer by passion and address,

      Await the long-delayed caress.

      Avowal then ’twas time to pray,

      Attentive to the heart’s first beating,

      Follow up love – a secret meeting

      Arrange without the least delay —

      Then, then – well, in some solitude

      Lessons to give he understood!

      How soon he learnt to titillate

      The heart of the inveterate flirt!

      Desirous to annihilate

      His own antagonists expert,

      How bitterly he would malign,

      With many a snare their pathway line!

      But ye, O happy husbands, ye

      With him were friends eternally:

      The crafty spouse caressed him, who

      By Faublas in his youth was schooled[4],

      And the suspicious veteran old,

      The pompous, swaggering cuckold too,

      Who floats contentedly through life,

      Proud of his dinners and his wife!

      One morn whilst yet in bed he lay,

      His valet brings him letters three.

      What, invitations? The same day

      As many entertainments be!

      A ball here, there a children’s treat,

      Whither shall my rapscallion flit?

      Whither shall he go first? He’ll see,

      Perchance he will to all the three.

      Meantime in matutinal dress

      And hat surnamed a “Bolivar”[5]

      He hies unto the “Boulevard,”

      To loiter there in idleness

      Until the sleepless Breguet chime[6]

      Announcing to him dinner-time.

      ‘Tis dark. He seats him in a sleigh,

      “Drive on!” the cheerful cry goes forth,

      His furs are powdered on the way

      By the fine silver of the north.

      He bends his course to Talon’s[7], where

      He knows Kaverine[8] will repair.

      He enters. High the cork arose

      And Comet champagne foaming flows.

      Before him red roast beef is seen

      And truffles, dear to youthful eyes,

      Flanked by immortal Strasbourg pies,

      The choicest flowers of French cuisine,

      And Limburg cheese alive and old

      Is seen next pine-apples of gold.

      Still thirst fresh draughts of wine compels

      To cool the cutlets’ seething grease,

      When the sonorous Breguet tells

      Of the commencement of the piece.

      A critic of the stage malicious,

      A slave of actresses capricious,

      Onegin was a citizen

      Of the domains of the side-scene.

      To the theatre he repairs

      Where each young critic ready stands,

      Capers applauds with clap of hands,

      With hisses Cleopatra scares,

      Moina recalls for this alone

      That all may hear his voice’s tone.

      Thou fairy-land! Where formerly

      Shone pungent Satire’s dauntless king,

      Von Wisine, friend of liberty,

      And Kniajnine, apt at copying.

      The young Simeonova too there

      With Ozeroff was wont to share

      Applause, the people’s donative.

      There our Katenine did revive

      Corneille’s majestic genius,

      Sarcastic Shakhovskoi brought out

      His comedies, a noisy rout,

      There Didelot became glorious,

      There, there, beneath the side-scene’s shade

      The drama of my youth was played[9].

      My goddesses, where are your shades?

      Do ye not hear my mournful sighs?

      Are ye replaced by other maids

      Who cannot conjure former joys?

      Shall I your chorus hear anew,

      Russia’s Terpsichore review

      Again in her ethereal dance?

      Or will my melancholy glance

      On the dull stage find all things changed,

      The disenchanted glass direct

      Where I can no more recollect? —

      A careless looker-on estranged

      In silence shall I sit and yawn

      And dream of life’s delightful dawn?

      The house is crammed. A thousand СКАЧАТЬ