From "Eugene Onegin". Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

32. Like Bogdanovich's poems.– Bogdanovich Ippolit Fedorovich (1743–1803) – poet, author of the poetic fairy tale “Darling”, based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche. The propaganda of Bogdanovich, who was seen as the founder of Russian “light poetry,” was of fundamental nature for the Karamzinists. “Bogdanovich was the first in the Russian language to play with the imagination in light verse,” wrote Karamzin in 1803; “The poetic story of Bogdanovich, the first and charming flower of light Poetry in our language, marked by true and great talent...” (Batyushkov K.N. Soch. L., 1934. P. 364).
In the spirit of Karamzin’s article and enthusiastic assessments of Bogdanovich’s “Darling” in P’s Lyceum poem “Town” (1815). However, a careful examination of the verse allows us to see in it not only a continuation of the Karamzin tradition, but also a hidden polemic with it: Karamzinists glorified Bogdanovich as the creator of the norm of easy poetic speech, elevating his verse to a model of correctness; Pushkin appreciates in him his mistakes against language, which, contrary to the intentions of Bogdanovich himself, they brought into his poetry the immediate charm of oral speech. For Pushkin, Bogdanovich’s poems are a document of the era, not an artistic example. (

I knew unattainable beauties,

Cold, clean like winter,

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their copper arrogance,

And, I admit, I ran away from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Give up hope forever.

An attempt to escape, to escape, is doomed to failure. Time passes, and he is again drawn to their hellish cold.

It is amazing that Pushkin, possessing a prophetic gift, did not notice or did not want to notice “the inscription of hell above the eyebrows” of the young beauty. He can't run. With some tragic doom, he admits in a letter to his sister: “I’m afraid, Olga, for myself, but sometimes I can’t look at my Natasha without tears; We are unlikely to be happy, and our wedding, I feel, will not lead to good. It’s my own fault: it slipped my mind not to get married on February 18, but I remembered about it late - at that moment when they took us around, they were already around the lectern.”

During the wedding, the cross and the gospel fell from the lectern, the candles went out, sowing superstitious fear in the soul of the groom.

By the way, the newlywed's mother's mirror breaks. Natalya Ivanovna prophetically exclaims: “No good will happen!”

Marina Tsvetaeva, with her characteristic nervous precision, noted the irresistible force that united the incompatible: “A couple in terms of force going in different directions, I would like to say: a couple from each other. The couple is apart." And one more thing: “Natalia Goncharova is simply a femme fatale, that empty place to which they are drawn, around which all forces and passions collide. Deadly place."

But Pushkin, feeling that he was rapidly aging, dreamed of a completely different family life, which was reflected in his autobiographical novel “Eugene Onegin”, in the last chapter of which the poet writes:

I need other paintings:

I love the sandy slope,

There are two rowan trees in front of the hut,

A gate, a broken fence,

There are gray clouds in the sky,

Heaps of straw in front of the threshing floor

Yes, a pond under the canopy of thick willows,

The expanse of young ducks;

Now the balalaika is dear to me

Yes, the drunken tramp of a trepak

In front of the threshold of the tavern.

My ideal is now a mistress,

My desires are peace,

Yes, a pot of cabbage soup, and a big one.

The last line reproduces a Russian proverb. “The big one” is his own boss, this is a feeling of newfound family independence. This is how Pushkin saw his house. And the wife entered into this atmosphere of a homely, peaceful, prosperous life as the main and creative principle. Was young Natalie suitable for the role of such a mistress?

It is clear from Pushkin’s letters that it was not easy for her. Firstly, money matters were upset from the very beginning and darkened the lives of the future spouses even from the engagement. Natalya Ivanovna Goncharova refused to give a dowry to her daughter, but demanded that the groom make up for the lack of one. This, from her point of view, was required by decency.

In a letter to P.A. To Pletnev on February 16, 1831, from Moscow to St. Petersburg, Pushkin seems to be reporting on his financial affairs and expects the family budget to be replenished only through literary activity: “In a few days I will get married: and I present you with an economic report: I pledged my 200 souls, took 38,000 - and here is the distribution to them: 11,000 to the mother-in-law, who certainly wanted her daughter to have a dowry - good luck. 10,000 to Nashchokin, - to help him out of bad circumstances: the money is sure. 17,000 remains for establishment and living expenses for a year. I’ll be with you in June and start living en bourgeois, but here it’s impossible to cope with the aunts - the demands are stupid and ridiculous - and there’s nothing to do. Now, do you understand what dowry means and why I was angry? I am able to take a wife without a fortune, but I am not able to go into debt for her rags. But I am stubborn and should have insisted on at least the wedding. There is nothing to do: I will have to print my stories. I’ll send it to you in the second week, and we’ll emboss it to the saint...”

Young Natalie had to manage the household and house in conditions of, so to speak, increased risk. The Pushkins had no reliable income. His father’s Boldino estate was ruined, there was a long-term family dispute surrounding Mikhailovsky, which was constantly fueled by the husband of Pushkin’s sister Olga, there was no need to expect help from the Goncharovs, and the St. Petersburg way of life could not be supported by literary works.

Novel in verse

Eugene Onegin. Audiobook. Read by Innokenty Smoktunovsky

Chapter Three

Elle était fille, elle était amoureuse.

I

"Where? These are poets for me!”

- Goodbye, Onegin, I have to go.

"I do not hold you; but where are you

Are you spending your evenings?

- At the Larins'. - “This is wonderful.

Have mercy! and it's not difficult for you

Kill there every evening?”

- Not at all. - "Can not understand.

Now I see what it is:

First of all (listen, am I right?),

A simple Russian family,

There is great zeal for guests,

Jam, eternal conversation

About the rain, about the flax, about the barnyard..."

II

“I don’t see any trouble here yet.”

“Yes, boredom, that’s the problem, my friend.”

- I hate your fashionable world;

My home circle is dearer to me,

Where can I... - “An eclogue again!

Yes, that's enough, honey, for God's sake.

Well? you're going: it's a pity.

Oh, listen, Lensky; can't it be

I want to see this Phyllida,

The subject of both thoughts and pen,

And tears and rhymes et cetera?..

Imagine me." - "Are you kidding". - "No".

- I'm glad. - “When?” - Right now

They will gladly accept us.

III

Let's go. –

Others galloped

Appeared; they are lavished

Sometimes difficult services

Hospitable old times.

Ritual of famous treats:

They carry jam on saucers,

They put a waxed one on the table

Jug with lingonberry water.

……………………………………

IV

They are dear to the shortest

Now let's listen secretly

Our heroes talk:

- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. –

“Habit, Lensky.” - But you miss

You're somehow bigger. - “No, it’s the same.

However, it is already dark in the field;

Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!

What stupid places!

By the way: Larina is simple,

But a very sweet old lady;

I'm afraid: lingonberry water

It wouldn't harm me.

V

Tell me: which one is Tatyana?” –

"Yes, the one who is sad

And silent, like Svetlana,

She came in and sat by the window.” –

“Are you really in love with the smaller one?” –

"And what?" - “I would choose another,

If only I were like you, a poet.

Olga has no life in her features,

Exactly like Vandice's Madonna:

She's round and red-faced,

Like this stupid moon

On this stupid horizon."

Vladimir answered dryly

And then he was silent the whole way.

VI

Meanwhile, Onegin's phenomenon

The Larins produced

Everyone is very impressed

And all the neighbors were entertained.

Guess after guess went on.

Everyone began to interpret furtively,

It is not without sin to joke and judge,

Tatiana predicts a groom;

Others even claimed

That the wedding is completely coordinated,

But then stopped

That they didn’t get any fashionable rings.

About Lensky's wedding for a long time

They had already decided.

VII

Tatyana listened with annoyance

Such gossip; but secretly

With inexplicable joy

I couldn’t help but think about it;

And a thought sank into my heart;

The time has come, she fell in love.

So the grain fell into the ground

Spring is animated by fire.

Her imagination has long been

Burning with bliss and melancholy,

Hungry for fatal food;

Long-time heartache

Her young breasts were tight;

The soul was waiting... for someone,

VIII

And she waited... The eyes opened;

She said: it's him!

Alas! now both days and nights,

And a hot lonely dream,

Everything is full of it; everything to the sweet girl

Incessantly magical power

Talks about him. They're annoying to her

And the sounds of gentle speeches,

And the gaze of a caring servant.

I am plunged into despondency,

She doesn't listen to guests

And curses their leisure time,

Their unexpected arrival

And a long squat.

IX

Now with what attention she

Reading a sweet novel

With such living charm

Drinks seductive deception!

Happy power of dreams

Animated creatures

Lover of Julia Volmar,

Malek-Adele and de Linard,

And Werther, the rebellious martyr,

Which makes us sleep, -

Everything for the tender dreamer

They have clothed themselves in a single image,

Merged into one Onegin.

X

Imagining a heroine

Your beloved creators,

Clarissa, Julia, Delphine,

Tatyana in the silence of the forests

One wanders with a dangerous book,

She searches and finds in her

Your secret heat, your dreams,

The fruits of heart fullness,

Sighs and, taking it for himself

Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,

Whispers into oblivion by heart

A letter for a dear hero...

But our hero, whoever he is,

It certainly wasn't Grandison.

XI

Your own syllable in an important mood,

Used to be a fiery creator

He showed us his hero

Like a sample of perfection.

He gave away his favorite object,

Always unjustly persecuted

Sensitive soul, mind

And an attractive face.

Feeding the heat of pure passion,

Always an enthusiastic hero

I was ready to sacrifice myself

And at the end of the last part

Vice was always punished

It was a worthy wreath.

XII

And now all minds are in the fog,

Morality puts us to sleep,

Vice is also kind in a novel,

And there he triumphs.

British Muse of Tall Tales

The girl's sleep is disturbed,

And now her idol has become

Or a brooding Vampire,

Or Melmoth, the gloomy tramp,

Or the Eternal Jew, or Corsair,

Lord Byron by a lucky whim

Cloaked in sad romanticism

And hopeless selfishness.

XIII

My friends, what's the point of this?

Perhaps, by the will of heaven,

I will stop being a poet

A new demon will inhabit me,

And the Phebovs, despising threats,

I will stoop to humble prose;

Then a novel in the old way

It will take my cheerful sunset.

Not the torment of secret villainy

I will portray it menacingly,

But I’ll just tell you again

Traditions of the Russian family,

Love's captivating dreams

Yes, the morals of our antiquity.

XIV

I will retell simple speeches

Father or old uncle,

Children's appointments

By the old linden trees, by the stream;

Unhappy jealousy torment,

Separation, tears of reconciliation,

I'll quarrel again, and finally

I will walk them down the aisle...

I will remember the speeches of passionate bliss,

Words of yearning love

Which in days gone by

At the feet of a beautiful mistress

They came to my tongue,

Which I am now unaccustomed to.

XV

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!

With you now I shed tears;

You're in the hands of a fashionable tyrant

I've already given up my fate.

You will die, dear; but first

You are in blinding hope

You call for dark bliss,

You will know the bliss of life

You drink the magical poison of desires,

Dreams haunt you:

Everywhere you imagine

Happy Date Shelters;

Everywhere, everywhere in front of you

Your tempter is fatal.

XVI

The melancholy of love drives Tatiana away,

And she goes to the garden to be sad,

And suddenly the eyes become motionless,

The chest and cheeks rose

Covered in instant flames,

The breath froze in my mouth,

And there is noise in the ears, and a sparkle in the eyes...

Night will come; the moon goes around

Watch the distant vault of heaven,

And the nightingale in the darkness of the trees

Sonorous tunes turn you on.

Tatyana doesn't sleep in the dark

And quietly says to the nanny:

XVII

“I can’t sleep, nanny: it’s so stuffy here!

Open the window and sit with me.” –

“What, Tanya, what’s wrong with you?” - "I'm bored,

Let's talk about antiquity." –

“About what, Tanya? I used to

I kept quite a bit in my memory

Ancient tales, fables

About evil spirits and maidens;

And now everything is dark to me, Tanya:

What I knew, I forgot. Yes,

A bad turn has come!

It’s a lot..." - “Tell me, nanny,

About your old years:

Were you in love then? –

XVIII

“That’s it, Tanya! These summers

We haven't heard about love;

Otherwise I would have driven you away from the world

My deceased mother-in-law.” –

“How did you get married, nanny?” –

“So, apparently, God commanded. My Vanya

Was younger than me, my light,

And I was thirteen years old.

The matchmaker went around for two weeks

To my family, and finally

My father blessed me.

I cried bitterly out of fear,

They unraveled my braid while crying

Yes, they took me to church singing.

XIX

And so they brought someone else into the family...

You’re not listening to me..." -

“Oh, nanny, nanny, I’m sad,

I'm sick, my dear:

I’m ready to cry, I’m ready to cry!..” –

“My child, you are unwell;

Lord have mercy and save!

What do you want, ask...

Let me sprinkle you with holy water,

You’re all burning...” – “I’m not sick:

I... you know, Nanny... is in love.”

“My child, the Lord is with you!” –

And the nanny girl with a prayer

She baptized with a decrepit hand.

XX

“I’m in love,” she whispered again

She is sad for the old lady.

“Dear friend, you are unwell.” –

"Leave me: I'm in love."

And meanwhile the moon was shining

And illuminated with a languid light

Tatiana's pale beauties,

And loose hair,

And drops of tears, and on the bench

Before the young heroine,

With a scarf on his gray head,

An old woman in a long padded jacket:

And everything was dozing in silence

Under an inspiring moon.

XXI

And my heart ran far

Tatyana, looking at the moon...

Suddenly a thought appeared in her mind...

“Go ahead, leave me alone.

Give me a pen and paper, nanny.

Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;

Sorry". And here she is alone.

Everything is quiet. The moon is shining on her.

Leaning on her elbows, Tatyana writes.

And everything is on Evgeny’s mind,

And in a thoughtless letter

The love of an innocent maiden breathes.

The letter is ready, folded...

Tatiana! Who is it for?

XXII

I knew unattainable beauties,

Cold, clean like winter,

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,

Their natural virtues,

And, I admit, I ran away from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Give up hope forever .

Inspiring love is a problem for them,

It's their joy to scare people.

Perhaps on the banks of the Neva

You've seen ladies like this.

XXIII

Among obedient fans

I've seen other eccentrics

Selfishly indifferent

For passionate sighs and praise.

And what did I find with amazement?

They, with harsh behavior

Scaring timid love

They knew how to attract her again,

At least regret

At least the sound of speeches

Sometimes it seemed more tender,

And with gullible blindness

Young lover again

I ran after the sweet vanity.

XXIV

Why is Tatyana more guilty?

Because in sweet simplicity

She knows no deception

And believes in his chosen dream?

Because he loves without art,

Obedient to the attraction of feeling,

Why is she so trusting?

What is gifted from heaven

With a rebellious imagination,

Alive in mind and will,

And wayward head,

And with a fiery and tender heart?

Won't you forgive her?

Are you frivolous passions?

XXV

The coquette judges in cold blood,

Tatiana loves seriously

And he surrenders unconditionally

Love like a sweet child.

She doesn’t say: let’s put it aside -

We will multiply the price of love,

Or rather, let’s start it online;

First vanity is stabbed

Hope, there is bewilderment

We'll torture our hearts, and then

We will revive the jealous with fire;

And then, bored with pleasure,

The slave is cunning from the shackles

Ready to break out at all times.

XXVI

I also foresee difficulties:

Saving the honor of our native land,

I will have to, without a doubt,

Translate Tatiana's letter.

She didn't speak Russian well

I haven’t read our magazines,

And it was difficult to express myself

In your native language,

So, I wrote in French...

What to do! I repeat again:

Until now, ladies' love

Didn't speak Russian

Our language is still proud

I'm not used to postal prose.

XXVII

Can I imagine them?

I swear at you, my poets;

Isn't it true: lovely objects,

Who, for their sins,

You wrote poems in secret,

To whom you dedicated your heart,

Isn't that all, in Russian?

Possessing weakly and with difficulty,

He was so cutely distorted

And in their mouths a foreign language

Didn't you turn to your native?

XXVIII

God forbid I get together at the ball

Or while driving around on the porch

With a seminarian in a yellow chalet

Or with an academician in a cap!

Like rosy lips without a smile,

No grammatical error

I don't like Russian speech.

Perhaps, for my misfortune,

New generation of beauties,

The magazines heeded the pleading voice,

He will teach us grammar;

Poems will be put into use;

But I... why should I care?

I will be faithful to the old days.

XXIX

Incorrect, careless babble,

Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches

Still heart fluttering

They will produce in my breast;

I have no strength to repent,

If only you were with me,

I would become an immodest request

To disturb you, my dear:

So that magical melodies

You shifted the passionate maiden

Foreign words.

Where are you? come: your rights

I bow to you...

But among the sad rocks,

Having weaned my heart from praise,

Alone, under the Finnish sky,

He wanders, and his soul

He does not hear my grief.

XXXI

Tatiana's letter is in front of me;

I cherish it sacredly,

Who inspired her with this tenderness,

And words of kind negligence?

Who inspired her with touching nonsense,

Crazy heart conversation

Both fascinating and harmful?

I can not understand. But here

Incomplete, weak translation,

The list is pale from a living picture,

Or the pranked Freischitz

By the fingers of timid students:

Tatiana's letter to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?

What more can I say?

Now I know it's in your will

Punish me with contempt.

But you, to my unfortunate fate

Keeping at least a drop of pity,

You won't leave me.

At first I wanted to remain silent;

Believe me: my shame

You would never know

If only I had hope

At least rarely, at least once a week

To see you in our village,

Just to hear your speeches,

Say your word, and then

Think everything, think about one thing

And day and night until we meet again.

But they say you are unsociable;

In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,

And we... we don’t shine with anything,

Even though you are welcome in a simple-minded way.

Why did you visit us?

In the wilderness of a forgotten village

I would never have known you

I wouldn't know bitter torment.

Souls of inexperienced excitement

Having come to terms with time (who knows?),

I would find a friend after my heart,

If only I had a faithful wife

And a virtuous mother.

Another!.. No, no one in the world

I wouldn't give my heart!

It is destined in the highest council...

That is the will of heaven: I am yours;

My whole life was a pledge

The faithful's meeting with you;

I know you were sent to me by God,

Until the grave you are my keeper...

You appeared in my dreams,

Invisible, you were already dear to me,

Your wonderful gaze tormented me,

A long time ago... no, it was not a dream!

You barely walked in, I instantly recognized

Everything was stupefied, on fire

And in my thoughts I said: here he is!

Isn't it true? I heard you:

You spoke to me in silence

When I helped the poor

Or she delighted me with prayer

The longing of a worried soul?

And at this very moment

Isn't it you, sweet vision,

Flashed in the transparent darkness,

Quietly leaning against the headboard?

Isn’t it you, with joy and love,

Did you whisper words of hope to me?

Who are you, my guardian angel

Or the insidious tempter:

Resolve my doubts.

Maybe it's all empty

Deception of an inexperienced soul!

And something completely different is destined...

But so be it! my destiny

From now on I give you

I shed tears before you,

I beg your protection...

Imagine: I'm here alone,

Nobody understands me,

My mind is exhausted

And I must die in silence.

I'm waiting for you: with one glance

Revive the hopes of your heart

Or break the heavy dream,

Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm cumming! It's scary to read...

I freeze with shame and fear...

But your honor is my guarantee,

And I boldly entrust myself to her...

XXXII

Tatiana alternately sighs and groans;

The letter trembles in her hand;

The pink wafer is drying

On a sore tongue.

She leaned her head towards his shoulder.

The light shirt came down

From her lovely shoulder...

But now there's a moonbeam

The glow goes out. There's a valley there

It becomes clearer through the steam. There's a flow

Silvered; there's a horn

The shepherd wakes up the villager.

It’s morning: everyone got up a long time ago,

My Tatyana doesn't care.

XXXIII

She doesn't notice the dawn

Sits with drooping head

And he doesn’t press on the letter

Your seal is cut out.

But, quietly unlocking the door,

She's already gray-haired Filipyevna

He brings tea on a tray.

“It’s time, my child, get up:

Yes, you, beauty, are ready!

Oh my early bird!

I was so afraid this evening!

Yes, thank God, you are healthy!

There is no trace of nocturnal melancholy,

Your face is like the color of poppies.” –

XXXIV

"Oh! Nanny, do me a favor.” –

“If you please, dear, give orders.”

“Don’t think... really... suspicion...

But you see... ah! don’t refuse.” –

“My friend, God is your guarantee.” –

“So, let’s go quietly grandson

With this note to O... to that...

To the neighbor... and tell him to

So that he doesn't say a word,

So that he doesn’t call me...” –

“To whom, my dear?

I've become clueless these days.

There are a lot of neighbors around;

Where can I count them? –

XXXV

“How slow-witted you are, nanny!” –

“Dear friend, I’m already old,

Stara; the mind is growing dull, Tanya;

And then, it happened, I was excited,

It happened that the word of the lord’s will..." -

“Oh, nanny, nanny! before that?

What do I need in your mind?

You see, it's about the letter

To Onegin." - “Well, business, business.

Don't be angry, my soul,

You know, I’m incomprehensible...

Why are you turning pale again?” –

“So, nanny, really, nothing.

Send your grandson.” –

XXXVI

But the day passed and there was no answer.

The other one has arrived: it’s all gone.

Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,

Tatyana is waiting: when will the answer be?

Olga, the admirer, has arrived.

“Tell me: where is your friend? –

He had a question from the hostess. –

He somehow completely forgot about us.”

Tatyana flushed and trembled.

“Today he promised to be,”

Lensky answered the old lady:

Yes, apparently the post office was delayed.” –

Tatyana lowered her gaze,

As if hearing an evil reproach.

XXXVII

It was getting dark; on the table, shining,

The evening samovar hissed,

Chinese teapot heating;

Light steam swirled beneath him.

Spilled by Olga's hand,

Through the cups in a dark stream

Already the fragrant tea was running,

And the boy served the cream;

Tatiana stood in front of the window,

Breathing on the cold glass,

Thoughtful, my soul,

She wrote with a pretty finger

On foggy glass

Treasured monogram ABOUT Yes E.

XXXVIII

And meanwhile her soul ached,

And the languid gaze was full of tears.

Suddenly there was a stomp!.. her blood froze.

Here's closer! jump... and into the yard

Eugene! "Oh!" – and lighter than a shadow

Tatyana jumped into another hallway,

From the porch to the yard, and straight into the garden,

Flying, flying; look back

He doesn't dare; ran around instantly

Curtains, bridges, meadows,

Alley to the lake, woods,

I broke the siren bushes,

Flying through the flower beds to the stream,

And, out of breath, onto the bench

XXXIX

“Here he is! Evgeniy is here!

Oh my God! What did he think!

She has a heart full of torment,

A dark dream keeps hope;

She trembles and glows with heat,

And waits: is it coming? But he doesn't hear.

In the maid's garden, on the ridges,

Picking berries in the bushes

And they sang in chorus as ordered

(Order based on

So that the master's berries secretly

Evil lips do not eat

And they were busy singing:

An idea of ​​rural wit!).

Song of the girls

Girls, beauties,

Darlings, girlfriends,

Play around, girls!

Have fun, darlings!

Play a song

The cherished song,

Lure the fellow

To our round dance.

How can we lure the young man?

As we see from afar,

Let's run away, darlings,

Let's throw cherries

Cherry, raspberry,

Red currants.

Don't go eavesdropping

Treasured songs,

Don't go peeking

Our games are girls' ones.

XL

They sing, and, with carelessness

Tatyana waited impatiently,

So that the trembling of her heart subsides,

So that the glow goes away.

But in the Persians there is the same trembling,

And the heat on the cheeks does not go away,

But brighter, brighter it only burns...

So the poor moth shines,

And beats with a rainbow wing,

Captivated by the school naughty boy;

So a bunny trembles in the winter,

Suddenly seeing from afar

Into the bushes of a fallen shooter.

XLI

But finally she sighed

And she rose from her bench;

I went, but only turned around

In the alley, right in front of her,

Shining eyes, Evgeniy

Stands like a menacing shadow,

Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate (Abandon all hope, you who enter here (it.).). Our modest author translated only the first half of the glorious verse.

The magazine, once published by the late A. Izmailov, is quite faulty. The publisher once apologized in print to the public by saying that he was on holiday walked .

Elle e €tait fille, elle e €tait amoureuse.

Malfila^tre

She was a girl, she was in love.

Malfilatre (French)

The epigraph is taken from the poem by S. L. Malfilatre “Narcissus, or “The Island of Venus”.

"Where? These are poets for me!”

- Goodbye, Onegin, I have to go.

"I do not hold you; but where are you

Are you spending your evenings?

- At the Larins'. - “This is wonderful.

Have mercy! and it's not difficult for you

Kill there every evening?”

- Not at all. - "Can not understand.

Now I see what it is:

First of all (listen, am I right?),

A simple Russian family,

There is great zeal for guests,

Jam, eternal conversation

About the rain, about the flax, about the barnyard..."

“I don’t see any trouble here yet.”

“Yes, boredom, that’s the problem, my friend.”

- I hate your fashionable world;

My home circle is dearer to me,

Where can I... - “An eclogue again! Eclogue is a genre of idyllic poetry with shepherd content.

Yes, that's enough, honey, for God's sake.

Well? you're going: it's a pity.

Oh, listen, Lensky; can't it be

I want to see this Phyllida,

The subject of both thoughts and pen,

And tears, and rhymes et cetera?..

Imagine me." - "Are you kidding". - "No".

- I'm glad. - “When?” - Right now

They will gladly accept us.

Others galloped

Appeared; they are lavished

Sometimes difficult services

Hospitable old times.

Ritual of famous treats:

They carry jam on saucers,

They put a waxed one on the table

Jug with lingonberry water.

……………………………………

They are dear to the shortest

They fly home at full speed In the previous edition, instead of flying home, it was mistakenly printed as flying in winter (which made no sense). Critics, without understanding it, found anachronism in the following stanzas. We dare to assure you that in our novel time is calculated according to the calendar..

Now let's listen secretly

Our heroes talk:

- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -

“Habit, Lensky.” - But you miss

You're somehow bigger. - “No, it’s the same.

However, it is already dark in the field;

Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!

What stupid places!

By the way: Larina is simple,

But a very sweet old lady;

I'm afraid: lingonberry water

It wouldn't harm me.

Tell me: which one is Tatyana?” -

"Yes, the one who is sad

And silent, like Svetlana,

She came in and sat by the window.” -

“Are you really in love with the smaller one?” -

"And what?" - “I would choose another,

If only I were like you, a poet.

Olga has no life in her features,

Exactly like Vandice's Madonna:

She's round and red-faced,

Like this stupid moon

On this stupid horizon."

Vladimir answered dryly

And then he was silent the whole way.

Meanwhile, Onegin's phenomenon

The Larins produced

Everyone is very impressed

And all the neighbors were entertained.

Guess after guess went on.

Everyone began to interpret furtively,

It is not without sin to joke and judge,

Tatiana predicts a groom;

Others even claimed

That the wedding is completely coordinated,

But then stopped

That they didn’t get any fashionable rings.

About Lensky's wedding for a long time

They had already decided.

Tatyana listened with annoyance

Such gossip; but secretly

With inexplicable joy

I couldn’t help but think about it;

And a thought sank into my heart;

The time has come, she fell in love.

So the grain fell into the ground

Spring is animated by fire.

Her imagination has long been

Burning with bliss and melancholy,

Hungry for fatal food;

Long-time heartache

Her young breasts were tight;

The soul was waiting... for someone,

And she waited... The eyes opened;

She said: it's him!

Alas! now both days and nights,

And a hot lonely dream,

Everything is full of it; everything to the sweet girl

Incessantly magical power

Talks about him. They're annoying to her

And the sounds of gentle speeches,

And the gaze of a caring servant.

I am plunged into despondency,

She doesn't listen to guests

And curses their leisure time,

Their unexpected arrival

And a long squat.

Now with what attention she

Reading a sweet novel

With such living charm

Drinks seductive deception!

Happy power of dreams

Animated creatures

Lover of Julia Volmar,

Malek-Adele and de Linard,

And Werther, the rebellious martyr,

And the incomparable Grandison Julia Volmar - New Eloise. Marek-Adele is the hero of the mediocre novel M-me Cottin. Gustav de Linard is the hero of Baroness Krudner's charming story.,

Which makes us sleep, -

Everything for the tender dreamer

They have clothed themselves in a single image,

Merged into one Onegin.

Imagining a heroine

Your beloved creators,

Clarissa, Julia, Delphine,

Tatyana in the silence of the forests

One wanders with a dangerous book,

She searches and finds in her

Your secret heat, your dreams,

The fruits of heart fullness,

Sighs and, taking it for himself

Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,

Whispers into oblivion by heart

A letter for a dear hero...

But our hero, whoever he is,

It certainly wasn't Grandison.

Your own syllable in an important mood,

Used to be a fiery creator

He showed us his hero

Like a sample of perfection.

He gave away his favorite object,

Always unjustly persecuted

Sensitive soul, mind

And an attractive face.

Feeding the heat of pure passion,

Always an enthusiastic hero

I was ready to sacrifice myself

And at the end of the last part

Vice was always punished

It was a worthy wreath.

And now all minds are in the fog,

Morality puts us to sleep,

Vice is also kind in a novel,

And there he triumphs.

British Muse of Tall Tales

The girl's sleep is disturbed,

And now her idol has become

Or a brooding Vampire,

Or Melmoth, the gloomy tramp,

Ile the Eternal Jew, or Corsair,

Or the mysterious Sbogar The Vampire is a story incorrectly attributed to Lord Byron. Melmoth is a brilliant work by Maturin. Jean Sbogar is a famous novel by Karl Podier..

Lord Byron by a lucky whim

Cloaked in sad romanticism

And hopeless selfishness.

My friends, what's the point of this?

Perhaps, by the will of heaven,

I will stop being a poet

A new demon will inhabit me,

And the Phebovs, despising threats,

I will stoop to humble prose;

Then a novel in the old way

It will take my cheerful sunset.

Not the torment of secret villainy

I will portray it menacingly,

But I’ll just tell you again

Traditions of the Russian family,

Love's captivating dreams

Yes, the morals of our antiquity.

I will retell simple speeches

Father or old uncle,

Children's appointments

By the old linden trees, by the stream;

Unhappy jealousy torment,

Separation, tears of reconciliation,

I'll quarrel again, and finally

I will walk them down the aisle...

I will remember the speeches of passionate bliss,

Words of yearning love

Which in days gone by

At the feet of a beautiful mistress

They came to my tongue,

Which I am now unaccustomed to.

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!

With you now I shed tears;

You're in the hands of a fashionable tyrant

I've already given up my fate.

You will die, dear; but first

You are in blinding hope

You call for dark bliss,

You will know the bliss of life

You drink the magical poison of desires,

Dreams haunt you:

Everywhere you imagine

Happy Date Shelters;

Everywhere, everywhere in front of you

Your tempter is fatal.

The melancholy of love drives Tatiana away,

And she goes to the garden to be sad,

And suddenly the eyes become motionless,

The chest and cheeks rose

Covered in instant flames,

The breath froze in my mouth,

And there is noise in the ears, and a sparkle in the eyes...

Night will come; the moon goes around

Watch the distant vault of heaven,

And the nightingale in the darkness of the trees

Sonorous tunes turn you on.

Tatyana doesn't sleep in the dark

And quietly says to the nanny:

“I can’t sleep, nanny: it’s so stuffy here!

Open the window and sit with me.” -

“What, Tanya, what’s wrong with you?” - "I'm bored,

Let's talk about antiquity." -

“About what, Tanya? I used to

I kept quite a bit in my memory

Ancient tales, fables

About evil spirits and maidens;

And now everything is dark to me, Tanya:

What I knew, I forgot. Yes,

A bad turn has come!

It’s a lot..." - “Tell me, nanny,

About your old years:

Were you in love then? -

“That’s it, Tanya! These summers

We haven't heard about love;

Otherwise I would have driven you away from the world

My deceased mother-in-law.” -

“How did you get married, nanny?” -

“So, apparently, God commanded. My Vanya

Was younger than me, my light,

And I was thirteen years old.

The matchmaker went around for two weeks

To my family, and finally

My father blessed me.

I cried bitterly out of fear,

They unraveled my braid while crying

Yes, they took me to church singing.

And so they brought someone else into the family...

You’re not listening to me..." -

“Oh, nanny, nanny, I’m sad,

I'm sick, my dear:

I’m ready to cry, I’m ready to cry!..” -

“My child, you are unwell;

Lord have mercy and save!

What do you want, ask...

Let me sprinkle you with holy water,

You’re all burning...” – “I’m not sick:

I... you know, Nanny... is in love.”

“My child, the Lord is with you!” -

And the nanny girl with a prayer

She baptized with a decrepit hand.

“I’m in love,” she whispered again

She is sad for the old lady.

“Dear friend, you are unwell.” -

"Leave me: I'm in love."

And meanwhile the moon was shining

And illuminated with a languid light

Tatiana's pale beauties,

And loose hair,

And drops of tears, and on the bench

Before the young heroine,

With a scarf on his gray head,

An old woman in a long padded jacket:

And everything was dozing in silence

Under an inspiring moon.

And my heart ran far

Tatyana, looking at the moon...

Suddenly a thought appeared in her mind...

“Go ahead, leave me alone.

Give me a pen and paper, nanny.

Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;

Sorry". And here she is alone.

Everything is quiet. The moon is shining on her.

Leaning on her elbows, Tatyana writes.

And everything is on Evgeny’s mind,

And in a thoughtless letter

The love of an innocent maiden breathes.

The letter is ready, folded...

Tatiana! Who is it for?

I knew unattainable beauties,

Cold, clean like winter,

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,

Their natural virtues,

And, I admit, I ran away from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Give up hope forever Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate (Abandon all hope, you who enter here (it.).). Our modest author translated only the first half of the glorious verse. .

Inspiring love is a problem for them,

It's their joy to scare people.

Perhaps on the banks of the Neva

You've seen ladies like this.

Among obedient fans

I've seen other eccentrics

Selfishly indifferent

For passionate sighs and praise.

And what did I find with amazement?

They, with harsh behavior

Scaring timid love

They knew how to attract her again,

At least regret

At least the sound of speeches

Sometimes it seemed more tender,

And with gullible blindness

Young lover again

I ran after the sweet vanity.

Why is Tatyana more guilty?

Because in sweet simplicity

She knows no deception

And believes in his chosen dream?

Because he loves without art,

Obedient to the attraction of feeling,

Why is she so trusting?

What is gifted from heaven

With a rebellious imagination,

Alive in mind and will,

And wayward head,

And with a fiery and tender heart?

Won't you forgive her?

Are you frivolous passions?

The coquette judges in cold blood,

Tatiana loves seriously

And he surrenders unconditionally

Love like a sweet child.

She doesn’t say: let’s put it aside -

We will multiply the price of love,

Or rather, let’s start it online;

First vanity is stabbed

Hope, there is bewilderment

We'll torture our hearts, and then

We will revive the jealous with fire;

And then, bored with pleasure,

The slave is cunning from the shackles

Ready to break out at all times.

I also foresee difficulties:

Saving the honor of our native land,

I will have to, without a doubt,

Translate Tatiana's letter.

She didn't speak Russian well

I haven’t read our magazines,

And it was difficult to express myself

In your native language,

So, I wrote in French...

What to do! I repeat again:

Until now, ladies' love

Didn't speak Russian

Our language is still proud

I'm not used to postal prose.

Can I imagine them?

With "Well Intentioned" The magazine, once published by the late A. Izmailov, is quite faulty. The publisher once apologized in print to the public by saying that he was out on holidays. in hand!

I swear at you, my poets;

Isn't it true: lovely objects,

Who, for their sins,

You wrote poems in secret,

To whom you dedicated your heart,

Isn't that all, in Russian?

Possessing weakly and with difficulty,

He was so cutely distorted

And in their mouths a foreign language

Didn't you turn to your native?

God forbid I get together at the ball

Or while driving around on the porch

With a seminarian in a yellow chalet

Or with an academician in a cap!

Like rosy lips without a smile,

No grammatical error

I don't like Russian speech.

Perhaps, for my misfortune,

New generation of beauties,

The magazines heeded the pleading voice,

He will teach us grammar;

Poems will be put into use;

But I... why should I care?

I will be faithful to the old days.

Incorrect, careless babble,

Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches

Still heart fluttering

They will produce in my breast;

I have no strength to repent,

Gallicisms for me Gallicisms are words and expressions borrowed from the French language. they will be nice

Like the sins of past youth,

Like Bogdanovich's poems.

But it's complete. It's time for me to get busy

A letter from my beauty;

I gave my word, so what? hey,

Now I'm ready to give up.

I know: gentle guys

Feather is not in fashion these days.

Singer of Feasts and languid sadness E. A. Baratynsky.,

If only you were with me,

I would become an immodest request

To disturb you, my dear:

So that magical melodies

You shifted the passionate maiden

Foreign words.

Where are you? come: your rights

I bow to you...

But among the sad rocks,

Having weaned my heart from praise,

Alone, under the Finnish sky,

He wanders, and his soul

He does not hear my grief.

Tatiana's letter is in front of me;

I cherish it sacredly,

Who inspired her with this tenderness,

And words of kind negligence?

Who inspired her with touching nonsense,

Crazy heart conversation

Both fascinating and harmful?

I can not understand. But here

Incomplete, weak translation,

The list is pale from a living picture,

Or the pranked Freischitz

By the fingers of timid students:

Tatiana's letter to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?

What more can I say?

Now I know it's in your will

Punish me with contempt.

But you, to my unfortunate fate

Keeping at least a drop of pity,

You won't leave me.

At first I wanted to remain silent;

Believe me: my shame

You would never know

If only I had hope

At least rarely, at least once a week

To see you in our village,

Just to hear your speeches,

Say your word, and then

Think everything, think about one thing

And day and night until we meet again.

But they say you are unsociable;

In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,

And we... we don’t shine with anything,

Even though you are welcome in a simple-minded way.

Why did you visit us?

In the wilderness of a forgotten village

I would never have known you

I wouldn't know bitter torment.

Souls of inexperienced excitement

Having come to terms with time (who knows?),

I would find a friend after my heart,

If only I had a faithful wife

And a virtuous mother.

Another!.. No, no one in the world

I wouldn't give my heart!

It is destined in the highest council...

That is the will of heaven: I am yours;

My whole life was a pledge

The faithful's meeting with you;

I know you were sent to me by God,

Until the grave you are my keeper...

You appeared in my dreams,

Invisible, you were already dear to me,

Your wonderful gaze tormented me,

A long time ago... no, it was not a dream!

You barely walked in, I instantly recognized

Everything was stupefied, on fire

And in my thoughts I said: here he is!

Isn't it true? I heard you:

You spoke to me in silence

When I helped the poor

Or she delighted me with prayer

The longing of a worried soul?

And at this very moment

Isn't it you, sweet vision,

Flashed in the transparent darkness,

Quietly leaning against the headboard?

Isn’t it you, with joy and love,

Did you whisper words of hope to me?

Who are you, my guardian angel

Or the insidious tempter:

Resolve my doubts.

Maybe it's all empty

Deception of an inexperienced soul!

And something completely different is destined...

But so be it! my destiny

From now on I give you

I shed tears before you,

I beg your protection...

Imagine: I'm here alone,

Nobody understands me,

My mind is exhausted

And I must die in silence.

I'm waiting for you: with one glance

Revive the hopes of your heart

Or break the heavy dream,

Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm cumming! It's scary to read...

I freeze with shame and fear...

But your honor is my guarantee,

And I boldly entrust myself to her...

Tatiana alternately sighs and groans;

The letter trembles in her hand;

The pink wafer is drying

On a sore tongue.

She leaned her head towards his shoulder.

The light shirt came down

From her lovely shoulder...

But now there's a moonbeam

The glow goes out. There's a valley there

It becomes clearer through the steam. There's a flow

Silvered; there's a horn

The shepherd wakes up the villager.

It’s morning: everyone got up a long time ago,

My Tatyana doesn't care.

She doesn't notice the dawn

Sits with drooping head

And he doesn’t press on the letter

Your seal is cut out.

But, quietly unlocking the door,

Stara; the mind is growing dull, Tanya;

And then, it happened, I was excited,

It happened that the word of the lord’s will..." -

“Oh, nanny, nanny! before that?

What do I need in your mind?

You see, it's about the letter

To Onegin." - “Well, business, business.

Don't be angry, my soul,

You know, I’m incomprehensible...

Why are you turning pale again?” -

“So, nanny, really, nothing.

Send your grandson.” -

But the day passed and there was no answer.

The other one has arrived: it’s all gone.

Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,

Tatyana is waiting: when will the answer be?

Olga, the admirer, has arrived.

“Tell me: where is your friend? -

He had a question from the hostess. -

He somehow completely forgot about us.”

Tatyana flushed and trembled.

“Today he promised to be,”

Lensky answered the old lady:

Yes, apparently the post office was delayed.” -

Tatyana lowered her gaze,

As if hearing an evil reproach.

Alley to the lake, woods,

I broke the siren bushes,

Flying through the flower beds to the stream,

And, out of breath, onto the bench

“Here he is! Evgeniy is here!

Oh my God! What did he think!

She has a heart full of torment,

A dark dream keeps hope;

She trembles and glows with heat,

And waits: is it coming? But he doesn't hear.

In the maid's garden, on the ridges,

Picking berries in the bushes

And they sang in chorus as ordered

(Order based on

So that the master's berries secretly

Evil lips do not eat

And they were busy singing:

An idea of ​​rural wit!).

Song of the girls

Girls, beauties,

Darlings, girlfriends,

Play around, girls!

Have fun, darlings!

Play a song

The cherished song,

Lure the fellow

To our round dance.

How can we lure the young man?

As we see from afar,

Let's run away, darlings,

Let's throw cherries

Cherry, raspberry,

Red currants.

Don't go eavesdropping

Treasured songs,

Don't go peeking

Our games are girls' ones.

They sing, and, with carelessness

Tatyana waited impatiently,

So that the trembling of her heart subsides,

So that the glow goes away.

But in the Persians there is the same trembling,

And the heat on the cheeks does not go away,

But brighter, brighter it only burns...

So the poor moth shines,

And beats with a rainbow wing,

Captivated by the school naughty boy;

So a bunny trembles in the winter,

Suddenly seeing from afar

Into the bushes of a fallen shooter.

But finally she sighed

And she rose from her bench;

I went, but only turned around

In the alley, right in front of her,

Shining eyes, Evgeniy

Stands like a menacing shadow,

And, as if burned by fire,

She stopped.

But the consequences of an unexpected meeting

Today, dear friends,

I am not able to retell it;

I owe it after a long speech

And take a walk and relax:

I'll finish it sometime later.

Hello dears.
We continue to read and analyze the great work of Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin. Last time we stopped here:
So...
I will retell simple speeches
Old man's father or uncle,
Children's appointments
By the old linden trees, by the stream;
Unhappy jealousy torment,
Separation, tears of reconciliation,
I'll quarrel again, and finally
I'll walk them down the aisle...
I will remember the speeches of passionate bliss,
Words of yearning love
Which in days gone by
At the feet of a beautiful mistress
They came to my tongue,
Which I am now unaccustomed to.

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!
With you now I shed tears;
You're in the hands of a fashionable tyrant
I've already given up my fate.
You will die, dear; but first
You are in blinding hope
You call for dark bliss,
You will know the bliss of life
You drink the magical poison of desires,
Dreams haunt you:
Everywhere you imagine
Happy Date Shelters;
Everywhere, everywhere in front of you
Your tempter is fatal.

Here we have Alexander Sergeich making lyrics :-)

The melancholy of love drives Tatiana away,
And she goes to the garden to be sad,
And suddenly the eyes become motionless,
And she’s too lazy to move on.
The chest and cheeks rose
Covered in instant flames,
The breath froze in my mouth,
And there is noise in the ears, and a sparkle in the eyes...
Night will come; the moon goes around
Watch the distant vault of heaven,
And the nightingale in the darkness of the trees
Sonorous tunes turn you on.
Tatyana doesn't sleep in the dark
And quietly says to the nanny:


Everyone understands that when you are sad you should go to the garden. This is Sam Saruel, in the sense that Sir Samuel Harris in his “Comic Couples” proved it to everyone :-) Lanits are not what you thought, but cheeks. Although I agree, it’s a strange connection - the chest rose, and then the cheeks. It can’t be that the cheeks were lying on the chest, right? In the end, Tatyana Larina is not our bulldog...:-) But we digress from the conversation....

“I can’t sleep, nanny: it’s so stuffy here!
Open the window and sit with me."
- What, Tanya, what’s wrong with you? - "I'm bored,
Let's talk about old times."
- About what, Tanya? I used to
I kept quite a bit in my memory
Ancient tales, fables
About evil spirits and maidens;
And now everything is dark to me, Tanya:
What I knew, I forgot. Yes,
A bad turn has come!
It's crazy... - "Tell me, nanny,
About your old years:
Were you in love then?"

And, that's it, Tanya! These summers
We haven't heard about love;
Otherwise I would have driven you away from the world
My deceased mother-in-law. -
“How did you get married, nanny?”
- So, apparently, God ordered it. My Vanya
Was younger than me, my light,
And I was thirteen years old.
The matchmaker went around for two weeks
To my family, and finally
My father blessed me.
I cried bitterly out of fear,
They unraveled my braid while crying,
Yes, they took me to church singing.

However, the relationship between daughter-in-law and mother-in-law, in principle, does not change despite the passing of centuries and possible class differentiations :-) In general, such a peasant wedding is normal. The girl (nanny) is 13, her husband is even younger. They didn’t see each other, the parents agreed through a matchmaker and off they went! Stone Age, damn...:-(((
Unbraiding a braid is one of the ceremonies of transition into adulthood, an element of marriage, which we have already talked about a little here: . But let's continue...

And so they brought someone else into the family...
Yes, you don’t listen to me... -
"Oh, nanny, nanny, I'm sad,
I'm sick, my dear:
I'm ready to cry, I'm ready to cry!.."
- My child, you are unwell;
Lord have mercy and save!
What do you want, ask...
Let me sprinkle you with holy water,
You're burning all over... - "I'm not sick:
I... you know, nanny... is in love"
- My child, God be with you! -
And the nanny girl with a prayer
She baptized with a decrepit hand.

“I’m in love,” she whispered again
She is sad for the old lady.
- Dear friend, you are unwell. -
"Leave me: I'm in love."
And meanwhile the moon was shining
And illuminated with a languid light
Tatiana's pale beauties,
And loose hair,
And drops of tears, and on the bench
Before the young heroine,
With a scarf on his gray head,
An old woman in a long padded jacket
And everything was dozing in silence
Under an inspiring moon.

And the old lady is right... Unhealthy Tatyana... at all. She inspired it to herself, having read books about something... now she walks under the moon - she’s sad :-) It was in vain that she was fiddling with the old lady. By the way, I would listen to the end of the story about the life of the nanny with her Ivan :-)

And my heart ran far
Tatyana, looking at the moon...
Suddenly a thought appeared in her mind...
"Go ahead, leave me alone.
Give me a pen and paper, nanny,
Yes, move the table; I'll go to bed soon;
I'm sorry." And here she is alone.
Everything is quiet. The moon is shining on her.
Leaning on her elbows, Tatyana writes.
And everything is on Evgeny’s mind,
And in a thoughtless letter
The love of an innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, folded...
Tatiana! Who is it for?

Yes, such an intrigue....Who is the letter to, huh? Just a detective...:-))

I knew unattainable beauties,
Cold, clean like winter,
Relentless, incorruptible,
Incomprehensible to the mind;
I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,
Their natural virtues,
And, I admit, I ran away from them,
And, I think, I read with horror
Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:
Give up hope forever. 20
Inspiring love is a problem for them,
It's their joy to scare people.
Perhaps on the banks of the Neva
You've seen ladies like this.

Among obedient fans
I've seen other eccentrics
Selfishly indifferent
For passionate sighs and praise.
And what did I find with amazement?
They, with harsh behavior
Scaring timid love
They knew how to attract her again,
At least I'm sorry
At least the sound of speeches
Sometimes it seemed more tender,
And with gullible blindness
Young lover again
I ran after the sweet vanity.

No, look at Pushkin, huh? In the best traditions of multi-part series, at the most interesting point he begins to tell us about something else. Moreover, he simply brags so that people envy him... You see, he “knew” a lot of beauties. We are aware of his Don Juan list. “Abandon hope, all who enter here” is a line from Dante, but why this inscription above the lady’s eyebrows, that is, on the forehead, is a big question.... :-) And I also liked the expression - “clean as winter.” Ah, Alexander Sergeevich, dear......:-)))

Why is Tatyana more guilty?
Because in sweet simplicity
She knows no deception
And believes in his chosen dream?
Because he loves without art,
Obedient to the attraction of feeling,
Why is she so trusting?
What is gifted from heaven
With a rebellious imagination,
Alive in mind and will,
And wayward head,
And with a fiery and tender heart?
Won't you forgive her?
Are you frivolous passions?


Well, how can you not forgive a sweet girl? We forgive...:-)

The coquette judges in cold blood,
Tatiana loves seriously
And he surrenders unconditionally
Love like a sweet child.
She doesn’t say: let’s put it aside -
We will multiply the price of love,
Or rather, let’s start it online;
First vanity is stabbed
Hope, there is bewilderment
We'll torture our hearts, and then
We will revive the jealous with fire;
And then, bored with pleasure,
The slave is cunning from the shackles
Ready to break out at all times.

Do you have a plan, Mr. Fix? Do I have a plan, do I have a plan...(c) And by the way, I realized who the first bloggers were. Back in the 19th century. Cold-blooded coquettes (the main thing is that they are not cocottes). Don't believe me? Look at the line - “We will multiply the price of love, Or rather, we will start it online..” Probably VKontakte was meant :-)
To be continued...
Have a nice time of day.