Online reading of the book evgeny onegin chapter three. Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Novel in verse

Eugene Onegin. Audiobook. Read by Innokenty Smoktunovsky

Chapter Three

Elle était fille, elle était amoureuse.

I

"Where? These are the poets for me!”

- Farewell, Onegin, I have to go.

"I do not hold you; but where are you

Do you spend your evenings?

- At the Larins. – “This is wonderful.

Have mercy! and it's not hard for you

There every evening to kill?

- Nothing. - "Can not understand.

From there I see what it is:

First (listen, am I right?),

Simple, Russian family,

Great zeal for guests

Jam, eternal conversation

About the rain, about the flax, about the barnyard…”

II

“I still don’t see the problem here.

"Yes, boredom, that's the trouble, my friend."

- I hate your fashionable light;

Dearer to me is the home circle,

Where can I ... - “Again the eclogue!

Come on, honey, for God's sake.

Well? you're going: very sorry.

Ah, listen, Lensky; yes you can't

To see me this Phyllida,

The subject of both thoughts and pen,

And tears and rhymes et cetera?..

Imagine me." - "Are you kidding". - "There is not".

- I am pleased to. - "When?" - Right now

They will gladly accept us.

III

Let's go. -

Others jumped

Appeared; im lavished

Sometimes difficult services

Hospitable antiquity.

Rite famous treats:

They carry jam on saucers,

On the table put waxed

Pitcher with lingonberry water.

……………………………………

IV

They are the dearest of the shortest

Now let's listen quietly

Heroes of our conversation:

- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -

"Habit, Lensky." - But you miss

You are somehow more. - "No, it's the same.

However, it is already dark in the field;

Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!

What stupid places!

And by the way: Larina is simple,

But a very sweet old lady;

I'm afraid: lingonberry water

I wouldn't do any harm.

V

Say: which Tatiana? -

"Yes, the one that is sad

And silent, like Svetlana,

She went in and sat by the window. -

"Are you in love with a smaller one?" -

"And what?" “I would choose another

When I was like you, a poet.

Olga has no life in features,

Exactly the same in the Vandykova Madonna:

She is round, red-faced,

Like that stupid moon

In this stupid sky."

Vladimir dryly answered

And then he was silent the whole way.

VI

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance

The Larins produced

Everyone is very impressed

And all the neighbors were entertained.

Guess after guess.

Everyone began to interpret furtively,

Joking, judging is not without sin,

Tatyana to read the groom;

Others even claimed

That the wedding is perfectly coordinated,

But then stopped

That they didn’t get fashionable rings.

About Lensky's wedding for a long time

They've already decided.

VII

Tatyana listened with annoyance

Such gossip; but secretly

With inexplicable joy

I involuntarily thought about it;

And in the heart the thought was planted;

The time has come, she fell in love.

So the fallen grain into the ground

Springs are animated by fire.

For a long time her imagination

Burning with grief and longing,

Alkalo fatal food;

Long hearted languor

It pressed her young breast;

The soul was waiting ... for someone,

VIII

And waited ... Eyes opened;

She said it's him!

Alas! now days and nights

And a hot lonely dream

Everything is full of them; everything sweet girl

Incessantly magical power

Says about him. Boring her

And the sounds of affectionate speeches,

And the gaze of a caring servant.

Immersed in sadness

She does not listen to guests

And curses their leisure,

Their unexpected arrival

And a long stretch.

IX

Now with what attention is she

Reading a sweet novel

With what lively charm

Drinking seductive deception!

Happy power of dreaming

soulful creatures,

Lover of Julia Wolmar,

Malek-Adel and de Linard,

And Werther, the rebellious martyr,

which brings us to sleep,

Everything for a gentle dreamer

Clothed in a single image,

In one Onegin merged.

X

imagining a heroine

Your beloved creators

Clarice, Julia, Delphine,

Tatiana in the silence of the forests

One with a dangerous book wanders,

She seeks and finds in her

Your secret heat, your dreams

The fruits of heart fullness,

Sighs and, appropriating

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

In oblivion whispers by heart

A letter for a cute hero...

But our hero, whoever he is,

Certainly not Grandison.

XI

Your syllable in an important way of mood,

It used to be a fiery creator

He showed us his hero

Like a perfect example.

He gave a beloved object,

Always unjustly persecuted,

Sensitive soul, mind

And an attractive face.

Feeding the heat of the purest passion,

Always an enthusiastic hero

I was ready to sacrifice myself

And at the end of the last part

Vice was always punished

The wreath was worthy of kindness.

XII

And now all minds are in a fog,

Morality makes us sleepy

Vice is kind in the novel,

And there he triumphs.

British muse of fiction

The maiden's dream is disturbing,

And now her idol has become

Or a brooding Vampire

Or Melmoth, the gloomy vagabond,

Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,

Lord Byron by a lucky whim

Cloaked in dull 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 take over me

And, Phoebe's defying threats,

I will stoop to humble prose;

Then romance in the old way

Will take my cheerful sunset.

Do not torment secret villainy

I will portray menacingly in it,

But I'll just tell you

Traditions of the Russian family,

Love captivating dreams

Yes, the customs of our antiquity.

XIV

I will retell simple speeches

Father or old uncle,

Children's appointments

By the old lindens, by the brook;

Unfortunate jealousy of torment,

Separation, tears of reconciliation,

I'll quarrel again, and finally

I will lead 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

From which I now weaned.

XV

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!

With you now I shed tears;

You are in the hands of a fashion tyrant

I have given up my fate.

You will die, dear; but before

You are blindingly hopeful

You call the dark bliss,

You will know the bliss of life

You drink the magical poison of desire

Dreams haunt you

Everywhere you imagine

Happy date shelters;

Everywhere, everywhere in front of you

Your tempter is fatal.

XVI

The longing of love drives Tatyana,

And she goes to the garden to be sad,

And suddenly motionless eyes tends,

Raised chest, cheeks

Covered in instantaneous flame,

Breath stopped in the mouth

And in hearing the noise, and the sparkle in the eyes ...

The night will come; the moon goes around

Watch the distant vault of heaven,

And the nightingale in the darkness

Sounding tunes turns on.

Tatyana does not sleep in the dark

And quietly with the nanny says:

XVII

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

Open the window and sit next to me." -

"What, Tanya, what's the matter with you?" - "I'm bored,

Let's talk about old times. -

“About what, Tanya? I used to

Stored in memory a lot

Ancient stories, fables

About evil spirits and girls;

And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:

What I knew, I forgot. Yes,

The bad line has arrived!

It hurt ... "-" Tell me, nanny,

About your old years:

Were you in love then? -

XVIII

“And that’s it, Tanya! In these summers

We haven't heard of love;

And then I would drive from the world

My dead mother-in-law." -

“But how did you get married, nanny?” -

“So, apparently, God ordered. My Vanya

Younger than me, my light,

And I was thirteen years old.

For two weeks the matchmaker went

To my family, and finally

Father blessed me.

I cried bitterly from fear

They untwisted my braid with weeping

Yes, with singing they led to the church.

XIX

And then they introduced someone else into the family ...

You don't listen to me..."

"Ah, nanny, nanny, I yearn,

I'm sick, my dear

I'm crying, I'm ready to cry! .. "-

“My child, you are not well;

Lord have mercy and save!

What do you want, ask...

Let me sprinkle with holy water

You are all on fire ... "-" I'm not sick:

I… you know, nanny… am in love.”

"My child, the Lord is with you!" -

And babysit the girl with a plea

Baptized with a decrepit hand.

XX

"I'm in love," she whispered again

She is sad to the old woman.

"My dear friend, you are not well." -

"Leave me, I'm in love."

And meanwhile the moon shone

And lit up with a languid light

Tatyana pale beauty,

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 jacket:

And everything slumbered in silence

With an inspiring moon.

XXI

And my heart rushed far

Tatyana looking at the moon...

Suddenly a thought popped into her mind...

“Come on, leave me alone.

Give me, nanny, a pen and paper

Yes, move the table; I will go to bed soon;

Sorry". And here she is alone.

Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.

Leaning on, Tatyana writes.

And everything Eugene is on his mind,

And in a thoughtless letter

The love of an innocent maiden breathes.

The letter is ready, folded ...

Tatiana! for whom is it?

XXII

I knew inaccessible beauties,

Cold, pure as winter

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,

Their natural virtues

And, I confess, I fled from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Abandon hope forever .

It's hard for them to inspire love,

To scare people is a joy to them.

Perhaps on the banks of the Neva

You have seen such ladies.

XXIII

Among the obedient admirers

I saw other freaks,

proudly indifferent

For passionate sighs and praise.

And what did I find with amazement?

They, harsh behavior

Frightening timid love

They were able to attract her again,

At least sorry

At least the sound of speeches

Seemed sometimes more tender

And with a gullible blindness

Again a young lover

Ran after a sweet fuss.

XXIV

Why is Tatyana more guilty?

For the fact that in sweet simplicity

She knows no lies

And believes the chosen dream?

For what loves without art,

Obedient to the attraction of feelings,

How trusting she is

What is gifted from heaven

rebellious imagination,

Mind and will alive,

And wayward head

And with a fiery and tender heart?

Don't forgive her

Are you frivolous passions?

XXV

The coquette judges in cold blood,

Tatyana loves not jokingly

And surrender unconditionally

Love like a sweet child.

She does not say: let's postpone -

We will multiply the price of love,

Rather, we will start the network;

First, vanity with a stake

Hope, there is bewilderment

We'll torment the heart, and then

Jealous revive fire;

And then, bored with pleasure,

Slave cunning of shackles

Always ready to break out.

XXVI

I foresee more problems:

Saving the honor of the native land,

I have to, no doubt

Translate Tatyana's letter.

She didn't know Russian very well.

Didn't read our magazines

And expressed with difficulty

In your own language,

So, writing in French...

What to do! I repeat again:

To this day a lady's love

Didn't speak Russian

Until now, our proud language

I'm not used to postal prose.

XXVII

Can I imagine them

I refer to you, my poets;

Isn't it true: lovely things,

Who, for their sins,

You secretly wrote poems

To whom the heart was dedicated

Isn't it all, in Russian

Possessing weakly and with difficulty,

He was so cutely distorted

And in their mouths a foreign language

Didn't he turn to his native?

XXVIII

God forbid I get together at the ball

Ile when driving on the porch

With a seminarian in a yellow chalet

Or with an academician in a cap!

Like ruddy lips without a smile,

No grammatical error

I do not like Russian speech.

Perhaps, to my misfortune,

Beauties of the new generation,

Journals heeding a pleading voice,

Grammar will teach us;

Poems will be put into use;

But I… what do I care?

I will be faithful to the old days.

XXIX

Wrong, careless babble

Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches

Still a heartbeat

Will produce in my chest;

I don't have the strength to repent

Whenever you were with me

I would become an indiscreet request

To disturb you, my dear:

To magical tunes

You shifted the passionate maiden

Foreign words.

Where are you? come: your rights

I give you my regards...

But in the midst of sad rocks,

Weaned from the heart of praise,

Alone, under the Finnish sky,

He wanders, and his soul

He does not hear my grief.

XXXI

Tatyana's letter is in front of me;

I keep it holy

Who inspired her with this tenderness,

And words of kind negligence?

Who inspired her touching nonsense,

Crazy heart conversation

Both fascinating and harmful?

I can not understand. But here

Incomplete, weak translation,

From a living picture, the list is pale,

Or played out Freishitz

Through the fingers of timid students:

Tatyana's letter to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?

What else can I say?

Now I know in your will

Punish me with contempt.

But you, to my unfortunate lot

Though a drop of pity keeping,

You won't leave me.

At first I wanted to be silent;

Believe me: my shame

You would never know

When I had hope

Rarely, at least once a week

To see you in our village

Just to hear your words

You say a word, and then

All think, think about one thing

And day and night until a new meeting.

But they say you are unsociable;

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

And we ... we do not shine with anything,

Even though you are welcome.

Why did you visit us?

In the wilderness of a forgotten village

I would never know you

I would not know bitter torment.

Souls of inexperienced excitement

Reconciled with time (who knows?),

By heart I would find a friend,

Would be a faithful wife

And a good mother.

Another! .. No, no one in the world

I wouldn't give my heart!

That is the predestined council in the highest ...

That is the will of heaven: I am yours;

My whole life has been a pledge

Faithful goodbye to you;

I know you were sent to me by God

Until the grave you are my keeper ...

You appeared to me in dreams

Invisible, you were already sweet to me,

Your wonderful look tormented me,

For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!

You just entered, I instantly found out

All numb, blazed

And in her thoughts she said: here he is!

Isn't it true? I heard you

You spoke to me in silence

When I helped the poor

Or comforted by prayer

The anguish of an agitated soul?

And at this very moment

Aren't you, sweet vision,

Flickered in the transparent darkness,

Crouched quietly to the headboard?

Is it not you, with joy and love,

Words of hope whispered to me?

Who are you, my guardian angel

Or an 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 fate

From now on, I give you

I shed tears in front of you

I beg your protection...

Imagine I'm here alone

Nobody understands me,

My mind is failing

And I must die silently.

I'm waiting for you: with a single look

Revive the hopes of the heart

Or break a heavy dream,

Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm cumming! Scary to read...

I freeze with shame and fear ...

But your honor is my guarantee,

And I boldly entrust myself to her ...

XXXII

Tatyana now sighs, then gasps;

The letter trembles in her hand;

The pink wafer dries

Inflamed tongue.

She bowed her head to her shoulder.

The shirt is easy to go down

From her lovely shoulder...

But now the moonbeam

The glow fades. There's a valley

Clear through the steam. There's a flow

Silvered; there is a horn

The shepherd wakes up the villager.

Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,

My Tatiana doesn't care.

XXXIII

She does not notice the dawn

Sitting with a drooping head

And does not press on the letter

Cut out your seal.

But, as I slowly open the door,

Already her Filipyevna gray-haired

Brings tea on a tray.

"It's time, my child, get up:

Yes, you, beauty, are ready!

Oh my early bird!

Evening, how I was afraid!

Yes, thank God you are healthy!

Night longing and no trace,

Your face is like a poppy flower." -

XXXIV

"Oh! Nanny, do me a favor." -

"Please, dear, order."

“Don’t think… right… suspicion…

But you see... ah! don't refuse." -

"My friend, here is God's bail for you." -

"So, let's go quietly grandson

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

To a neighbor ... yes tell him,

That he didn't say a word

So that he does not call me ... "-

"To whom, my dear?

I've become clueless today.

There are many neighbors around;

Where can I read them? -

XXXV

“How slow-witted you are, nanny!” -

“My dear friend, I am already old,

Stara; the mind grows dull, Tanya;

And then, it happened, I'm awake,

It happened, the word of the master'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.

Do not be angry, my soul,

You know I don't understand...

Why are you turning pale again?" -

“So, nanny, really, nothing.

Send your grandson." -

XXXVI

But the day has passed, and there is no answer.

Another has come: all is not, as if not.

Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,

Tatyana is waiting: when is the answer?

Holguin's adorer has arrived.

“Tell me, where is your friend? -

He had a question from the hostess. -

He completely forgot us."

Tatyana flared up and trembled.

"Today he promised to be, -

Lensky answered the old woman, -

Yes, apparently, the mail 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 kettle heating;

Light steam swirled beneath him.

Spilled by Olga's hand,

In cups with a dark stream

Already fragrant tea ran,

And the boy served the cream;

Tatyana stood before the window,

Breathing on cold glass

Thinking my soul

Written with a lovely finger

On foggy glass

Cherished monogram O Yes E.

XXXVIII

And meanwhile her soul ached,

And tears were full of languid eyes.

Suddenly, a clatter!.. Her blood froze.

Here is closer! jumping ... and into the yard

Evgeniy! "Oh!" - and lighter shadows

Tatyana jumped into another hallway,

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

Flying, flying; look back

Don't dare; immediately ran around

Curtains, bridges, meadow,

Alley to the lake, forest,

I broke the bushes of sirens,

Flying through the flower beds to the stream,

And, out of breath, on the bench

XXXIX

“Here he is! Eugene is here!

Oh my God! what did he think!

She has a heart full of pain

A dark dream keeps hope;

She trembles and glows with heat,

And he waits: will he not? But he doesn't hear.

In the maid's garden, on the ridges,

Gathered berries in the bushes

And they sang in chorus

(A command based on

So that the master's berry secretly

Evil lips do not eat

And they were busy singing:

Rural witticism!).

Song of the Girls

Girls, beauties,

Darlings, girlfriends,

Play around, girls

Take a walk, darlings!

Put on a song

cherished song,

Lure the fellow

To our round dance.

How do we lure the young man

As we see from afar,

Run away, darlings

Throw cherries,

Cherries, raspberries,

Redcurrant.

Don't go eavesdrop

cherished songs,

Don't go look

Our girls' games.

XL

They sing and, carelessly

Tatyana waited impatiently,

So that the trembling of the heart in her subsides,

For the blaze to pass.

But in the Persians the same trembling,

And the heat does not go away,

But brighter, brighter only burns ...

So the poor moth shines,

And beats with a rainbow wing,

Captivated by the school naughty;

So the bunny in winter trembles,

Seeing suddenly from afar

In the bushes of the fallen shooter.

XLI

But at last she sighed

And she got up from her bench;

Went but only turned back

In the alley, right in front of her

Shining eyes, Eugene

It stands like a formidable shadow,

The Vampire is a story incorrectly attributed to Lord Byron. Melmoth is a brilliant work of Maturin. Jean Sbogar is a famous novel by Carl Podier.

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 rather faulty. The publisher once apologized in print to the public by saying that he was on holidays walked .

CHAPTER THREE

Elle etait fille, elle etait amoureuse.

Malfilatre

She was a girl, she was in love.

Malfilatr(French)

"Where? These are the poets for me!”
- Farewell, Onegin, I have to go.
"I do not hold you; but where are you
Do you spend your evenings?
- At the Larins. - “This is wonderful.
Have mercy! and it's not hard for you
There every evening to kill?
- Nothing. - "I can't understand.
From there I see what it is:
First (listen, am I right?),
Simple, Russian family,
Great zeal for guests
Jam, eternal conversation
About the rain, about the flax, about the barnyard…”

I still don't see a problem here.
"Yes, boredom, that's the trouble, my friend."
- I hate your fashionable light;
Dearer to me is the home circle,
Where can I ... - “Again eclogue!
Come on, honey, for God's sake.
Well? you're going: very sorry.
Ah, listen, Lensky; yes you can't
To see me this Phyllida,
The subject of both thoughts and pen,
And tears, and rhymes et cetera?..
Imagine me. - You're joking. - "No."
- I'm glad. - "When?" - Right now.
They will gladly accept us.

Let's go.-
Others jumped
Appeared; im lavished
Sometimes difficult services
Hospitable antiquity.
Rite famous treats:
They carry jam on saucers,
On the table put waxed
Pitcher with lingonberry water.
………………………………
………………………………
………………………………

They are the dearest of the shortest
They fly home at full speed.
Now let's eavesdrop
Heroes of our conversation:
- Well, Onegin? you are yawning.-
“A habit, Lensky.” - But you miss
You're somehow more. - "No, it's the same.
However, it is already dark in the field;
Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!
What stupid places!
And by the way: Larina is simple,
But a very sweet old lady;
I'm afraid: lingonberry water
I wouldn't do any harm.

Say: which Tatiana?
- Yes, the one that is sad
And silent, like Svetlana,
She came in and sat by the window.-
"Are you in love with a smaller one?"
- And what? - "I would choose another,
When I was like you, a poet.
Olga has no life in features.
Exactly the same in the Vandykova Madona:
She is round, red-faced,
Like that stupid moon
In this stupid sky."
Vladimir dryly answered
And then he was silent the whole way.

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance
The Larins produced
Everyone is very impressed
And all the neighbors were entertained.
Guess after guess.
Everyone began to interpret furtively,
Joking, judging is not without sin,
Tatyana to read the groom;
Others even claimed
That the wedding is perfectly coordinated,
But then stopped
That they didn’t get fashionable rings.
About Lensky's wedding for a long time
They've already decided.

Tatyana listened with annoyance
Such gossip; but secretly
With inexplicable joy
I involuntarily thought about it;
And in the heart the thought was planted;
The time has come, she fell in love.
So the fallen grain into the ground
Springs are animated by fire.
For a long time her imagination
Burning with grief and longing,
Alkalo fatal food;
Long hearted languor
It pressed her young breast;
The soul was waiting ... for someone,

And waited ... Eyes opened;
She said it's him!
Alas! now days and nights
And a hot lonely dream
Everything is full of them; all the maiden is cute
Incessantly magical power
Says about him. Boring her
And the sounds of affectionate speeches,
And the gaze of a caring servant.
Immersed in sadness
She does not listen to guests
And curses their leisure,
Their unexpected arrival
And a long stretch.

Now with what attention is she
Reading a sweet novel
With what lively charm
Drinking seductive deception!
Happy power of dreaming
soulful creatures,
Lover of Julia Wolmar,
Malek-Adel and de Linard,
And Werther, the rebellious martyr,
And incomparable Grandison,
which brings us to sleep,
Everything for a gentle dreamer
Clothed in a single image,
In one Onegin merged.

imagining a heroine
Your beloved creators
Clarice, Julia, Delphine,
Tatiana in the silence of the forests
One with a dangerous book wanders,
She seeks and finds in her
Your secret heat, your dreams
The fruits of heart fullness,
Sighs and, appropriating
Someone else's delight, someone else's sadness,
In oblivion whispers by heart
A letter for a cute hero...
But our hero, whoever he is,
Certainly not Grandison.

Your syllable in an important way of mood,
It used to be a fiery creator
He showed us his hero
Like a perfect example.
He gave a beloved object,
Always unjustly persecuted,
Sensitive soul, mind
And an attractive face.
Feeding the heat of the purest passion,
Always enthusiastic naked
I was ready to sacrifice myself
And at the end of the last part
Vice was always punished
The wreath was worthy of kindness.

And now all minds are in a fog,
Morality pas induces sleep,
Vice is kind - and in the novel,
And there the op triumphs.
British muse of fiction
The maiden's dream is disturbing,
And now her idol has become
Or a brooding Vampire
Or Melmoth, the gloomy vagabond,
Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,
Or the mysterious Sbogar.
Lord Byron by a lucky whim
Cloaked in dull 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 take over me
And, Phoebe's defying threats,
I will stoop to humble prose;
Then romance in the old way
Will take my cheerful sunset.
Do not torment secret villainy
I will portray menacingly in it,
But I'll just tell you
Traditions of the Russian family,
Love captivating dreams
Yes, the customs of our antiquity.

I will retell simple speeches
Father or old uncle,
Children's appointments
By the old lindens, by the brook;
Unfortunate jealousy of torment,
Separation, tears of reconciliation,
I'll quarrel again, and finally
I will lead 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
From which I now weaned.

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!
With you now I shed tears;
You are in the hands of a fashion tyrant
I have given up my fate.
You will die, dear; but before
You are blindingly hopeful
You call the dark bliss,
You will know the bliss of life
You drink the magical poison of desire
Dreams haunt you
Everywhere you imagine
Happy date shelters;
Everywhere, everywhere in front of you
Your tempter is fatal.

“I can’t sleep, nanny: it’s so stuffy here!
Open the window and sit next to me."
- What, Tanya, what's the matter with you? -
"I'm bored,
Let's talk about old times.
- About what, Tanya? I used to
Stored in memory a lot
Ancient stories, fables
About evil spirits and girls;
And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:
What I knew, I forgot. Yes,
The bad line has arrived!
Zashiblo ... - "Tell me, nanny,
About your old years:
Were you in love then?

And yes, Tanya! In these summers
We haven't heard of love;
And then I would drive from the world
My dead mother-in-law. -
“But how did you get married, nanny?”
Yes, it looks like God ordered it. My Vanya
- He was younger than me, my light,
And I was thirteen years old.
For two weeks the matchmaker went
To my family, and finally
Father blessed me.
I cried bitterly from fear
They untwisted my braid with weeping
Yes, with singing they led to the church.

And then they introduced someone else into the family ...
You don't listen to me...
"Ah, nanny, nanny, I yearn,
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 with holy water
You're on fire ... - "I'm not sick:
I… you know, nanny… am in love.”
- My child, the Lord is with you! -
And babysit the girl with a plea
Baptized with a decrepit hand.

"I'm in love" - whispered again
She is sad to the old woman.
- Dear friend, you are unwell.
"Leave me, I'm in love."
And meanwhile the moon shone
And lit up with a languid light
Tatyana pale beauty,
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 jacket;
And everything slumbered in silence
With an inspiring moon.

And my heart rushed far
Tatyana looking at the moon...
Suddenly a thought popped into her mind...
“Come on, leave me alone.
Give me, nanny, a pen, paper,
Yes, move the table; I will go to bed soon;
Sorry". And here she is alone.
Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.
Lean on, Tatyana writes,
And all Eugene is on my mind,
And in a thoughtless letter
The love of an innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, folded ...
Tatiana! for whom is it?

I knew inaccessible beauties,
Cold, pure as winter
Relentless, incorruptible,
Incomprehensible to the mind;
I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,
Their natural virtues
And, I confess, I fled from them,
And, I think, I read with horror
Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:
Abandon hope forever.
It's hard for them to inspire love,
To scare people is a joy to them.
Perhaps on the banks of the Neva
You have seen such ladies.

Why is Tatyana more guilty?
For the fact that in sweet simplicity
She knows no lies
And believes the chosen dream?
For what loves without art,
Obedient to the attraction of feelings,
How trusting she is
What is gifted from heaven
rebellious imagination,
Mind and will alive,
And wayward head
And with a fiery and tender heart?
Don't forgive her
Are you frivolous passions?

The coquette judges in cold blood,
Tatyana loves not jokingly
And surrender unconditionally
Love like a sweet child.
She does not say: postpone -
We will multiply the price of love,
Rather, we will start the network;
First, vanity with a stake
Hope, there is bewilderment
We'll torment the heart, and then
Jealous revive fire;
And then, bored with pleasure,
Slave cunning of shackles
Always ready to break out.

I foresee more problems:
Saving the honor of the native land,
I have to, no doubt
Translate Tatyana's letter.
She didn't know Russian very well.
Didn't read our magazines
And expressed with difficulty
In your own language,
So, writing in French...
What to do! I repeat again:
To this day a lady's love
Didn't speak Russian
Until now, our proud language
I'm not used to postal prose.

I know they want to force the ladies
Read in Russian. Right fear!
Can I imagine them
With "Good-meaning" in hand!
I refer to you, my poets;
Isn't it true: lovely things,
Who, for their sins,
You secretly wrote poems
To whom the heart was dedicated
Isn't it all, in Russian
Possessing weakly and with difficulty,
He was so cutely distorted
And in their mouths a foreign language
Didn't he turn to his native?

God forbid I get together at the ball
Ile when driving on the porch
With a seminarian in a yellow chalet
Or with an academician in a cap!
Like ruddy lips without a smile,
No grammatical error
I do not like Russian speech.
Perhaps, to my misfortune, -
Beauties of the new generation,
Journals heeding a pleading voice,
Grammar will teach us;
Poems will be put into use;
But I… what do I care?
I will be faithful to the old days.

Wrong, careless babble
Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches
Still a heartbeat
Will produce in my chest;
I don't have the strength to repent
Gallicisms will be nice to me,
Like the sins of past youth
Like Bogdanovich's poetry.
But full. It's time for me to get busy
A letter from my beauty;
I gave my word, so what? oh-oh
Now I'm ready to give up.
I know: gentle Guys
Feather is out of fashion these days.

Singer of feasts and languid sadness,
Whenever you were with me
I would become an indiscreet request
To disturb you, my dear:
To magical tunes
You shifted the passionate maiden
Foreign words.
Where are you? come: your rights
I give you my regards...
But in the midst of sad rocks,
Weaned from the heart of praise,
Alone, under the Finnish sky,
He wanders, and his soul
He does not hear my grief.

Tatyana's letter is in front of me;
I keep it holy
I read with secret anguish
And I can't read.
Who inspired her with this tenderness,
And words of kind negligence?
Who inspired her touching nonsense,
Crazy heart conversation
Both fascinating and harmful?
I can not understand. But here
Incomplete, weak translation,
From a living picture, the list is pale
Or played out Freishitz
Through the fingers of timid students:

TATIANA'S LETTER TO ONEGIN

I am writing to you - what more?
What else can I say?
Now I know in your will
Punish me with contempt.
But you, to my unfortunate lot
Though a drop of pity keeping,
You won't leave me.
At first I wanted to be silent;
Believe me: my shame
You would never know
When I had hope
Rarely, at least once a week
To see you in our village
Just to hear your words
You say a word, and then
All think, think of one
And day and night until a new meeting.
But, they say, you are unsociable;
In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,
And we ... we do not shine with anything,
Even though you are welcome.

Why did you visit us?
In the wilderness of a forgotten village
I would never know you
I would not know bitter torment.
Souls of inexperienced excitement
Reconciled with time (who knows?),
By heart I would find a friend,
Would be a faithful wife
And a good mother.

Another! .. No, no one in the world
I wouldn't give my heart!
That is the predestined council in the highest ...
That is the will of heaven: I am yours;
My whole life has been a pledge
Faithful goodbye to you;
I know you were sent to me by God
Until the grave you are my keeper ...
You appeared to me in dreams
Invisible, you were already sweet to me,
Your wonderful look tormented me,
Your voice resounded in my soul
For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!
You just entered, I instantly found out
All numb, blazed
And in her thoughts she said: here he is!
Isn't it true? I heard you
You spoke to me in silence
When I helped the poor
Or comforted by prayer
The anguish of an agitated soul?
And at this very moment,
Aren't you, sweet vision,
In the transparent darkness flashed, ‘
Crouched quietly to the headboard?
Is it not you, with joy and love,
Words of hope whispered to me?
Who are you, my guardian angel
Or an 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 fate
From now on, I give you
I shed tears in front of you
I beg your protection...
Imagine I'm here alone
Nobody understands me,
My mind is failing
And I must die silently.
I'm waiting for you: with a single look
Revive the hopes of the heart
Or break a heavy dream,
Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm cumming! Scary to read...
I freeze with shame and fear ...
But your honor is my guarantee,
And I boldly entrust myself to her ...

Tatyana now sighs, then gasps;
The letter trembles in her hand;
The pink wafer dries
Inflamed tongue.
She bowed her head to her shoulder.
The shirt is easy to go down
From her lovely shoulder...
But now the moonbeam
The glow fades. There's a valley
Clear through the steam. There's a flow
Silvered; there is a horn
The shepherd wakes up the villager.
Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,
My Tatiana doesn't care.

She does not notice the dawn
Sitting with a drooping head
And does not press on the letter
Cut out your seal.
But, as I slowly open the door,
Already her Filipyevna gray-haired
Brings tea on a tray.
"It's time, my child, get up:
Yes, you, beauty, are ready!
Oh my early bird!
Evening, how I was afraid!
Yes, thank God you are healthy!
Night longing and no trace,
Your face is like a poppy flower."

Oh! nanny, do me a favor.-
"Please, dear, order."
- Do not think ... right ... suspicion.
But you see... ah! do not refuse.-
"My friend, God bless you."
- So, let's go quietly grandson
With this note to O ... to that ...
To a neighbor ... yes tell him,
That he didn't say a word
So that he does not call me ... -
"To whom, my dear?
I've become clueless today.
There are many neighbors around;
Where can I read them?

How stupid you are, nanny! -
“My dear friend, I am already old,
Stara; the mind grows dull, Tanya;
And then, it happened, I'm awake,
It happened, the word of the master'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.
Do not be angry, my soul,
You know I don't understand...
Why are you turning pale again?"
- So, nanny, right nothing.
Send your grandson.

But the day has passed, and there is no answer.
Another has come: all is not as not.
Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,
Tatyana is waiting: when is the answer?
Holguin's adorer has arrived.
“Tell me, where is your friend?
He had a question from the hostess.
He completely forgot us."
Tatyana flared up and trembled.
- Today he promised to be, -
Lensky answered the old woman, -
Yes, apparently, the mail delayed.-
Tatyana lowered her gaze,
As if hearing an evil reproach.

It was getting dark; on the table, shining,
The evening samovar hissed,
Chinese kettle heating;
Light steam swirled beneath him.
Spilled by Olga's hand,
In cups with a dark stream
Already fragrant tea ran,
And the boy served the cream;
Tatyana stood before the window,
Breathing on cold glass
Thinking my soul
Written with a lovely finger
On foggy glass
Treasured monogram Oh yes E.

And meanwhile her soul ached,
And tears were full of languid eyes.
Suddenly, a clatter!.. Her blood froze.
Here is closer! jumping ... and into the yard
Evgeniy! "Oh!" - and lighter shade
Tatyana jumped into another hallway,
From the porch to the yard, and straight to the garden,
Flying, flying; look back
Don't dare; immediately ran around
Curtains, bridges, meadow,
Alley to the lake, forest,
I broke the bushes of sirens,
Flying through the flower beds to the stream.
And, out of breath, on the bench

Fell...
“Here he is! Eugene is here!
Oh my God! what did he think!
She has a heart full of pain
A dark dream keeps hope;
She trembles and glows with heat,
And he waits: will he not? But he doesn't hear.
In the maid's garden, on the ridges,
Gathered berries in the bushes
And they sang in chorus
(A command based on
So that the master's berry secretly
Evil lips do not eat
And they were busy singing:
Rural witticism!)

SONG GIRLS

Girls, beauties,
Darlings, girlfriends,
Play around, girls
Take a walk, darlings!

Put on a song
cherished song,
Lure the fellow
To our round dance.

How do we lure the young man
As we see from afar,
Run away, darlings
Throw cherries,
Cherries, raspberries,
Redcurrant.

Don't go eavesdrop
cherished songs,
Don't go look
Our girls' games.

They sing and, carelessly
Listening to their sonorous voice,
Tatyana waited impatiently,
So that the trembling of the heart in her subsides,
For the blaze to pass.
But in the Persians the same trembling,
And the heat does not go away,
But brighter, brighter only burns ...
So the poor moth shines
And beats with a rainbow wing,
Captivated by the school naughty;
So the bunny in winter trembles,
Seeing suddenly from afar
In the bushes of the fallen shooter.

But at last she sighed
And she got up from her bench;
Went but only turned back
In the alley, right in front of her
Shining eyes, Eugene
It stands like a formidable shadow,
And, as burned by fire,
She stopped.
But the consequences of an unexpected meeting
Today, dear friends,
I am unable to retell;
I must after a long speech
And take a walk and relax:
I'll finish it somehow.

Chapters of the novel "Eugene Onegin":

Pushkin began writing chapter 3 of "Eugene Onegin" in February 1824 in Odessa, and finished in October of the same year. It appeared in print in 1827.

I knew inaccessible beauties,

Cold, pure as winter

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their copper arrogance,

And, I confess, I fled from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Abandon 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” on the young beauty. He cannot 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 will hardly be happy, and our wedding, I feel, will not lead to good. I myself am to blame around and around: it fell out of my head not to get married on February 18, but I remembered it late - at the moment when we were taken, it was 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 mother of the newlywed breaks a mirror. Natalya Ivanovna prophetically exclaims: “There will be no good!”

Marina Tsvetaeva, with her characteristic nervous precision, noted the irresistible force that connected the unconnected: “A couple by 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 all forces and passions collide, 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:

Other pictures I need:

I love the sandy slope

In front of the hut are two mountain ash,

Gate, broken fence,

Gray clouds in the sky

Heaps of straw in front of the threshing floor

Yes, a pond under the canopy of dense willows,

Expanse of young ducks;

Now the balalaika is sweet to me

Yes, the drunken clatter of a trepak

Before the threshold of the tavern.

My ideal, now - the hostess,

My desire is peace

Yes, a soup pot, but a big one itself.

The last line reproduces a Russian proverb. “Big himself” is his own master, this is a feeling of newfound family independence. This is how Pushkin saw his house. And the wife entered this atmosphere of a homely, calm, prosperous life as the main and creative principle. Was young Natalie fit for the role of such a hostess?

From Pushkin's letters it is clear that she had a hard time. Firstly, money matters from the very beginning were upset and overshadowed the life of the future spouses from the engagement. Natalya Ivanovna Goncharova refused to give her daughter a dowry, but demanded that her fiancé make up for the absence of one. This, from her point of view, required decency.

In a letter to P.A. Pletnev dated February 16, 1831 from Moscow to St. Petersburg, Pushkin, as it were, reports on his financial affairs and expects the family budget to be replenished only through literary activity: - and here is their distribution: 11,000 mother-in-law, who certainly wanted her daughter to be with a dowry - write wasted. 10,000 to Nashchokin - to rescue him from bad circumstances: the money is right. It remains 17,000 to equip and live a year. In June I'll be with you and start living en bourgeois, and it's impossible to cope with aunts here - the demands are stupid and ridiculous - but there's nothing to do. Now, do you understand what a dowry means and why I was angry? To take a wife without a fortune - I am able, but to go into debt for her rags - I am not able. 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 will send it to you in the second week, and we will emboss it to the saint ... "

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

Elle etait fille, elle etait amoureuse.

Malfila^tre

She was a girl, she was in love.

Malfilatre (fr.)

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

"Where? These are the poets for me!”

- Farewell, Onegin, I have to go.

"I do not hold you; but where are you

Do you spend your evenings?

- At the Larins. – “This is wonderful.

Have mercy! and it's not hard for you

There every evening to kill?

- Nothing. - "Can not understand.

From there I see what it is:

First (listen, am I right?),

Simple, Russian family,

Great zeal for guests

Jam, eternal conversation

About the rain, about the flax, about the barnyard…”

“I still don’t see the problem here.

"Yes, boredom, that's the trouble, my friend."

- I hate your fashionable light;

Dearer to me is the home circle,

Where can I ... - “Again the eclogue! Eclogue is a genre of idyllic shepherd poetry.

Come on, honey, for God's sake.

Well? you're going: very sorry.

Ah, listen, Lensky; yes you can't

To see me this Phyllida,

The subject of both thoughts and pen,

And tears, and rhymes et cetera?..

Imagine me." - "Are you kidding". - "There is not".

- I am pleased to. - "When?" - Right now

They will gladly accept us.

Others jumped

Appeared; im lavished

Sometimes difficult services

Hospitable antiquity.

Rite famous treats:

They carry jam on saucers,

On the table put waxed

Pitcher with lingonberry water.

……………………………………

They are the dearest of the shortest

Flying home at full speed In the previous edition, instead of flying home, it was printed by mistake in the winter they are flying (which made no sense). Critics, without understanding it, found an 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 quietly

Heroes of our conversation:

- Well, Onegin? you are yawning. -

"Habit, Lensky." - But you miss

You are somehow more. - "No, it's the same.

However, it is already dark in the field;

Hurry! go, go, Andryushka!

What stupid places!

And by the way: Larina is simple,

But a very sweet old lady;

I'm afraid: lingonberry water

I wouldn't do any harm.

Say: which Tatiana? -

"Yes, the one that is sad

And silent, like Svetlana,

She went in and sat by the window. -

"Are you in love with a smaller one?" -

"And what?" “I would choose another

When I was like you, a poet.

Olga has no life in features,

Exactly the same in the Vandykova Madonna:

She is round, red-faced,

Like that stupid moon

In this stupid sky."

Vladimir dryly answered

And then he was silent the whole way.

Meanwhile, Onegin's appearance

The Larins produced

Everyone is very impressed

And all the neighbors were entertained.

Guess after guess.

Everyone began to interpret furtively,

Joking, judging is not without sin,

Tatyana to read the groom;

Others even claimed

That the wedding is perfectly coordinated,

But then stopped

That they didn’t get fashionable rings.

About Lensky's wedding for a long time

They've already decided.

Tatyana listened with annoyance

Such gossip; but secretly

With inexplicable joy

I involuntarily thought about it;

And in the heart the thought was planted;

The time has come, she fell in love.

So the fallen grain into the ground

Springs are animated by fire.

For a long time her imagination

Burning with grief and longing,

Alkalo fatal food;

Long hearted languor

It pressed her young breast;

The soul was waiting ... for someone,

And waited ... Eyes opened;

She said it's him!

Alas! now days and nights

And a hot lonely dream

Everything is full of them; everything sweet girl

Incessantly magical power

Says about him. Boring her

And the sounds of affectionate speeches,

And the gaze of a caring servant.

Immersed in sadness

She does not listen to guests

And curses their leisure,

Their unexpected arrival

And a long stretch.

Now with what attention is she

Reading a sweet novel

With what lively charm

Drinking seductive deception!

Happy power of dreaming

soulful creatures,

Lover of Julia Wolmar,

Malek-Adel and de Linard,

And Werther, the rebellious martyr,

And the incomparable Grandison Julia Wolmar - New Eloise. Marek-Adel is the hero of a mediocre novel M-me Cottin. Gustav de Linar is the hero of a charming story by Baroness Krüdner.,

which brings us to sleep,

Everything for a gentle dreamer

Clothed in a single image,

In one Onegin merged.

imagining a heroine

Your beloved creators

Clarice, Julia, Delphine,

Tatiana in the silence of the forests

One with a dangerous book wanders,

She seeks and finds in her

Your secret heat, your dreams

The fruits of heart fullness,

Sighs and, appropriating

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

In oblivion whispers by heart

A letter for a cute hero...

But our hero, whoever he is,

Certainly not Grandison.

Your syllable in an important way of mood,

It used to be a fiery creator

He showed us his hero

Like a perfect example.

He gave a beloved object,

Always unjustly persecuted,

Sensitive soul, mind

And an attractive face.

Feeding the heat of the purest passion,

Always an enthusiastic hero

I was ready to sacrifice myself

And at the end of the last part

Vice was always punished

The wreath was worthy of kindness.

And now all minds are in a fog,

Morality makes us sleepy

Vice is kind in the novel,

And there he triumphs.

British muse of fiction

The maiden's dream is disturbing,

And now her idol has become

Or a brooding Vampire

Or Melmoth, the gloomy vagabond,

Or the Eternal Jew, or the Corsair,

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

Lord Byron by a lucky whim

Cloaked in dull 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 take over me

And, Phoebe's defying threats,

I will stoop to humble prose;

Then romance in the old way

Will take my cheerful sunset.

Do not torment secret villainy

I will portray menacingly in it,

But I'll just tell you

Traditions of the Russian family,

Love captivating dreams

Yes, the customs of our antiquity.

I will retell simple speeches

Father or old uncle,

Children's appointments

By the old lindens, by the brook;

Unfortunate jealousy of torment,

Separation, tears of reconciliation,

I'll quarrel again, and finally

I will lead 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

From which I now weaned.

Tatiana, dear Tatiana!

With you now I shed tears;

You are in the hands of a fashion tyrant

I have given up my fate.

You will die, dear; but before

You are blindingly hopeful

You call the dark bliss,

You will know the bliss of life

You drink the magical poison of desire

Dreams haunt you

Everywhere you imagine

Happy date shelters;

Everywhere, everywhere in front of you

Your tempter is fatal.

The longing of love drives Tatyana,

And she goes to the garden to be sad,

And suddenly motionless eyes tends,

Raised chest, cheeks

Covered in instantaneous flame,

Breath stopped in the mouth

And in hearing the noise, and the sparkle in the eyes ...

The night will come; the moon goes around

Watch the distant vault of heaven,

And the nightingale in the darkness

Sounding tunes turns on.

Tatyana does not sleep in the dark

And quietly with the nanny says:

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

Open the window and sit next to me." -

"What, Tanya, what's the matter with you?" - "I'm bored,

Let's talk about old times. -

“About what, Tanya? I used to

Stored in memory a lot

Ancient stories, fables

About evil spirits and girls;

And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:

What I knew, I forgot. Yes,

The bad line has arrived!

It hurt ... "-" Tell me, nanny,

About your old years:

Were you in love then? -

“And that’s it, Tanya! In these summers

We haven't heard of love;

And then I would drive from the world

My dead mother-in-law." -

“But how did you get married, nanny?” -

“So, apparently, God ordered. My Vanya

Younger than me, my light,

And I was thirteen years old.

For two weeks the matchmaker went

To my family, and finally

Father blessed me.

I cried bitterly from fear

They untwisted my braid with weeping

Yes, with singing they led to the church.

And then they introduced someone else into the family ...

You don't listen to me..."

"Ah, nanny, nanny, I yearn,

I'm sick, my dear

I'm crying, I'm ready to sob! .. "-

“My child, you are not well;

Lord have mercy and save!

What do you want, ask...

Let me sprinkle with holy water

You are all on fire ... "-" I'm not sick:

I… you know, nanny… am in love.”

"My child, the Lord is with you!" -

And babysit the girl with a plea

Baptized with a decrepit hand.

"I'm in love," she whispered again

She is sad to the old woman.

"My dear friend, you are not well." -

"Leave me, I'm in love."

And meanwhile the moon shone

And lit up with a languid light

Tatyana pale beauty,

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 jacket:

And everything slumbered in silence

With an inspiring moon.

And my heart rushed far

Tatyana looking at the moon...

Suddenly a thought popped into her mind...

“Come on, leave me alone.

Give me, nanny, a pen and paper

Yes, move the table; I will go to bed soon;

Sorry". And here she is alone.

Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.

Leaning on, Tatyana writes.

And everything Eugene is on his mind,

And in a thoughtless letter

The love of an innocent maiden breathes.

The letter is ready, folded ...

Tatiana! for whom is it?

I knew inaccessible beauties,

Cold, pure as winter

Relentless, incorruptible,

Incomprehensible to the mind;

I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,

Their natural virtues

And, I confess, I fled from them,

And, I think, I read with horror

Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:

Abandon 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. .

It's hard for them to inspire love,

To scare people is a joy to them.

Perhaps on the banks of the Neva

You have seen such ladies.

Among the obedient admirers

I saw other freaks,

proudly indifferent

For passionate sighs and praise.

And what did I find with amazement?

They, harsh behavior

Frightening timid love

They were able to attract her again,

At least sorry

At least the sound of speeches

Seemed sometimes more tender

And with a gullible blindness

Again a young lover

Ran after a sweet fuss.

Why is Tatyana more guilty?

For the fact that in sweet simplicity

She knows no lies

And believes the chosen dream?

For what loves without art,

Obedient to the attraction of feelings,

How trusting she is

What is gifted from heaven

rebellious imagination,

Mind and will alive,

And wayward head

And with a fiery and tender heart?

Don't forgive her

Are you frivolous passions?

The coquette judges in cold blood,

Tatyana loves not jokingly

And surrender unconditionally

Love like a sweet child.

She does not say: postpone -

We will multiply the price of love,

Rather, we will start the network;

First, vanity with a stake

Hope, there is bewilderment

We'll torment the heart, and then

Jealous revive fire;

And then, bored with pleasure,

Slave cunning of shackles

Always ready to break out.

I foresee more problems:

Saving the honor of the native land,

I have to, no doubt

Translate Tatyana's letter.

She didn't know Russian very well.

Didn't read our magazines

And expressed with difficulty

In your own language,

So, writing in French...

What to do! I repeat again:

To this day a lady's love

Didn't speak Russian

Until now, our proud language

I'm not used to postal prose.

Can I imagine them

With "The Well-Meaning" The magazine once published by the late A. Izmailov is rather faulty. The publisher once apologized in print to the public that he walked on holidays. in hand!

I refer to you, my poets;

Isn't it true: lovely things,

Who, for their sins,

You secretly wrote poems

To whom the heart was dedicated

Isn't it all, in Russian

Possessing weakly and with difficulty,

He was so cutely distorted

And in their mouths a foreign language

Didn't he turn to his native?

God forbid I get together at the ball

Ile when driving on the porch

With a seminarian in a yellow chalet

Or with an academician in a cap!

Like ruddy lips without a smile,

No grammatical error

I do not like Russian speech.

Perhaps, to my misfortune,

Beauties of the new generation,

Journals heeding a pleading voice,

Grammar will teach us;

Poems will be put into use;

But I… what do I care?

I will be faithful to the old days.

Wrong, careless babble

Inaccurate pronunciation of speeches

Still a heartbeat

Will produce in my chest;

I don't have the strength to repent

Me gallicisms Gallicisms are words and expressions borrowed from French. will be nice

Like the sins of past youth

Like Bogdanovich's poetry.

But full. It's time for me to get busy

A letter from my beauty;

I gave my word, so what? she-she,

Now I'm ready to give up.

I know: gentle Guys

Feather is out of fashion these days.

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

Whenever you were with me

I would become an indiscreet request

To disturb you, my dear:

To magical tunes

You shifted the passionate maiden

Foreign words.

Where are you? come: your rights

I give you my regards...

But in the midst of sad rocks,

Weaned from the heart of praise,

Alone, under the Finnish sky,

He wanders, and his soul

He does not hear my grief.

Tatyana's letter is in front of me;

I keep it holy

Who inspired her with this tenderness,

And words of kind negligence?

Who inspired her touching nonsense,

Crazy heart conversation

Both fascinating and harmful?

I can not understand. But here

Incomplete, weak translation,

From a living picture, the list is pale,

Or played out Freishitz

Through the fingers of timid students:

Tatyana's letter to Onegin

I am writing to you - what more?

What else can I say?

Now I know in your will

Punish me with contempt.

But you, to my unfortunate lot

Though a drop of pity keeping,

You won't leave me.

At first I wanted to be silent;

Believe me: my shame

You would never know

When I had hope

Rarely, at least once a week

To see you in our village

Just to hear your words

You say a word, and then

All think, think about one thing

And day and night until a new meeting.

But they say you are unsociable;

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

And we ... we do not shine with anything,

Even though you are welcome.

Why did you visit us?

In the wilderness of a forgotten village

I would never know you

I would not know bitter torment.

Souls of inexperienced excitement

Reconciled with time (who knows?),

By heart I would find a friend,

Would be a faithful wife

And a good mother.

Another! .. No, no one in the world

I wouldn't give my heart!

That is the predestined council in the highest ...

That is the will of heaven: I am yours;

My whole life has been a pledge

Faithful goodbye to you;

I know you were sent to me by God

Until the grave you are my keeper ...

You appeared to me in dreams

Invisible, you were already sweet to me,

Your wonderful look tormented me,

For a long time ... no, it was not a dream!

You just entered, I instantly found out

All numb, blazed

And in her thoughts she said: here he is!

Isn't it true? I heard you

You spoke to me in silence

When I helped the poor

Or comforted by prayer

The anguish of an agitated soul?

And at this very moment

Aren't you, sweet vision,

Flickered in the transparent darkness,

Crouched quietly to the headboard?

Is it not you, with joy and love,

Words of hope whispered to me?

Who are you, my guardian angel

Or an 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 fate

From now on, I give you

I shed tears in front of you

I beg your protection...

Imagine I'm here alone

Nobody understands me,

My mind is failing

And I must die silently.

I'm waiting for you: with a single look

Revive the hopes of the heart

Or break a heavy dream,

Alas, a well-deserved reproach!

I'm cumming! Scary to read...

I freeze with shame and fear ...

But your honor is my guarantee,

And I boldly entrust myself to her ...

Tatyana now sighs, then gasps;

The letter trembles in her hand;

The pink wafer dries

Inflamed tongue.

She bowed her head to her shoulder.

The shirt is easy to go down

From her lovely shoulder...

But now the moonbeam

The glow fades. There's a valley

Clear through the steam. There's a flow

Silvered; there is a horn

The shepherd wakes up the villager.

Here is the morning: everyone got up a long time ago,

My Tatiana doesn't care.

She does not notice the dawn

Sitting with a drooping head

And does not press on the letter

Cut out your seal.

But, as I slowly open the door,

Stara; the mind grows dull, Tanya;

And then, it happened, I'm awake,

It happened, the word of the master'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.

Do not be angry, my soul,

You know I don't understand...

Why are you turning pale again?" -

“So, nanny, really, nothing.

Send your grandson." -

But the day has passed, and there is no answer.

Another has come: all is not, as if not.

Pale as a shadow, dressed in the morning,

Tatyana is waiting: when is the answer?

Holguin's adorer has arrived.

“Tell me, where is your friend? -

He had a question from the hostess. -

He completely forgot us."

Tatyana flared up and trembled.

"Today he promised to be, -

Lensky answered the old woman, -

Yes, apparently, the mail delayed. -

Tatyana lowered her gaze,

As if hearing an evil reproach.

Alley to the lake, forest,

I broke the bushes of sirens,

Flying through the flower beds to the stream,

And, out of breath, on the bench

“Here he is! Eugene is here!

Oh my God! what did he think!

She has a heart full of pain

A dark dream keeps hope;

She trembles and glows with heat,

And he waits: will he not? But he doesn't hear.

In the maid's garden, on the ridges,

Gathered berries in the bushes

And they sang in chorus

(A command based on

So that the master's berry secretly

Evil lips do not eat

And they were busy singing:

Rural witticism!).

Song of the Girls

Girls, beauties,

Darlings, girlfriends,

Play around, girls

Take a walk, darlings!

Put on a song

cherished song,

Lure the fellow

To our round dance.

How do we lure the young man

As we see from afar,

Run away, darlings

Throw cherries,

Cherries, raspberries,

Redcurrant.

Don't go eavesdrop

cherished songs,

Don't go look

Our girls' games.

They sing and, carelessly

Tatyana waited impatiently,

So that the trembling of the heart in her subsides,

For the blaze to pass.

But in the Persians the same trembling,

And the heat does not go away,

But brighter, brighter only burns ...

So the poor moth shines,

And beats with a rainbow wing,

Captivated by the school naughty;

So the bunny in winter trembles,

Seeing suddenly from afar

In the bushes of the fallen shooter.

But at last she sighed

And she got up from her bench;

Went but only turned back

In the alley, right in front of her

Shining eyes, Eugene

It stands like a formidable shadow,

And, as burned by fire,

She stopped.

But the consequences of an unexpected meeting

Today, dear friends,

I am unable to retell;

I must after a long speech

And take a walk and relax:

I'll finish it somehow.

Hello dear.
We continue to read and analyze the great work of Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin with you. Last time we stopped here:
So...
I will retell simple speeches
Father or uncle old man,
Children's appointments
By the old lindens, by the brook;
Unfortunate jealousy of torment,
Separation, tears of reconciliation,
I'll quarrel again, and finally
I will lead 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
From which I now weaned.

Here we have Alexander Sergeyevich suggesting lyrics :-)

The longing of love drives Tatyana,
And she goes to the garden to be sad,
And suddenly motionless eyes tends,
And she's too lazy to go further.
Raised chest, cheeks
Covered in instantaneous flame,
Breath stopped in the mouth
And in hearing the noise, and the sparkle in the eyes ...
The night will come; the moon goes around
Watch the distant vault of heaven,
And the nightingale in the darkness
Sounding tunes turns on.
Tatyana does not sleep in the dark
And quietly with the nanny says:

Everyone understands - you have to go to the garden to be sad. This is also Sam Saruel, in the sense of Sir Samuel Harris in his "Comic couplets" proved to everyone :-) Lanites are not what you thought, but cheeks. Although I agree, a strange connection - the chest rose, and then the cheeks. It can't be that the cheeks were reclining on the chest, right? In the end, Tatyana Larina is not a bulldog with us ... :-) But we digress from the conversation ....

"I can't sleep, nanny: it's so stuffy in here!
Open the window and sit next to me."
- What, Tanya, what's the matter with you? - "I'm bored,
Let's talk about old times."
- About what, Tanya? I used to
Stored in memory a lot
Ancient byle, fables
About evil spirits and girls;
And now everything is dark for me, Tanya:
What I knew, I forgot. Yes,
The bad line has arrived!
Zashiblo ... - "Tell me, nanny,
About your old years:
Were you in love then?"

And yes, Tanya! In these summers
We haven't heard of love;
And then I would drive from the world
My dead mother-in-law. -
"But how did you get married, nanny?"
Yes, it looks like God ordered it. My Vanya
Younger than me, my light,
And I was thirteen years old.
For two weeks the matchmaker went
To my family, and finally
Father blessed me.
I cried bitterly from fear
They untwisted my braid with weeping,
Yes, with singing they led to the church.

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

And then they brought someone else into the family ...
Yes, you do not listen to me ... -
"Oh, nanny, nanny, I yearn,
I'm sick, my dear
I'm crying, I'm ready to cry! .. "
- My child, you are unwell;
Lord have mercy and save!
What do you want, ask...
Let me sprinkle with holy water
You're on fire... - "I'm not sick:
I... you know, nanny... in love"
- My child, the Lord is with you! -
And babysit the girl with a plea
Baptized with a decrepit hand.

"I'm in love," she whispered again
She is sad to the old woman.
- Dear friend, you are unwell. -
"Leave me, I'm in love."
And meanwhile the moon shone
And lit up with a languid light
Tatyana pale beauty,
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 jacket
And everything slumbered in silence
With an inspiring moon.

And the old woman is right ... Unhealthy Tatiana .. completely. She inspired herself, having read books of something there .. now she walks under the moon - she yearns :-) In vain she only teased the old woman. By the way, I would listen to the end of the story about the life of a nanny with her Ivan :-)

And my heart rushed far
Tatyana looking at the moon...
Suddenly a thought popped into her mind...
"Come on, leave me alone.
Give me, nanny, a pen, paper,
Yes, move the table; I will go to bed soon;
I'm sorry." And here she is alone.
Everything is quiet. The moon shines on her.
Leaning on, Tatyana writes.
And everything Eugene is on his mind,
And in a thoughtless letter
The love of an innocent maiden breathes.
The letter is ready, folded...
Tatiana! for whom is it?

Yes, such an intrigue .... To whom is the letter, eh? Just a detective... :-))

I knew inaccessible beauties,
Cold, pure as winter
Relentless, incorruptible,
Incomprehensible to the mind;
I marveled at their fashionable arrogance,
Their natural virtues
And, I confess, I fled from them,
And, I think, I read with horror
Above their eyebrows is the inscription of hell:
Abandon hope forever. twenty
It's hard for them to inspire love,
To scare people is a joy to them.
Perhaps on the banks of the Neva
You have seen such ladies.

Among the obedient admirers
I saw other freaks,
proudly indifferent
For passionate sighs and praise.
And what did I find with amazement?
They, harsh behavior
Frightening timid love
They were able to attract her again,
At least regret
At least the sound of speeches
Seemed sometimes more tender
And with a gullible blindness
Again a young lover
Ran after a sweet fuss.

No, look at Pushkin, eh? In the best traditions of serial serials, at the most interesting place he begins to tell us about something else. Moreover, he simply boasts to be envied ... You see, he "knew" a lot of beauties. We are aware of his Don Juan list. "Abandon hope, everyone who enters here" - a line from Dante, but why this inscription over the ladies' eyebrows, that is, on the forehead - this is a big question .... :-) And I also liked the expression - "clean as winter." Ah, Alexander Sergeevich, dear ...... :-)))

The coquette judges in cold blood,
Tatyana loves not jokingly
And surrender unconditionally
Love like a sweet child.
She does not say: let's postpone -
We will multiply the price of love,
Rather, we will start the network;
First, vanity with a stake
Hope, there is bewilderment
We'll torment the heart, and then
Jealous revive fire;
And then, bored with pleasure,
Slave cunning of shackles
Always ready to break out.

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? Look at the line - "We will multiply the price of love, Or rather, we will start it on the network .." Probably, VKontakte was meant :-)
To be continued...
Have a nice time of the day.