Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse
    Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse
    Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse
    Ebook262 pages3 hours

    Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse

    By Alexander Pushkin

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The most highly acclaimed of Pushkin's works, this 1831 romance depicts a post-Napoleonic society in which a jaded young aristocrat rejects the love of a country maiden. Adapted by Tchaikovsky for his opera, this classic tale appears in an outstanding translation that reproduces the 14-line stanza format of the original. Evocative lithographs grace the start of each chapter, and extensive supplements include an introduction, notes, and an appendix.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateApr 30, 2012
    ISBN9780486158006
    Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse

    Read more from Alexander Pushkin

    Related to Eugene Onegin

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Ulysses: Good or Bad?

      Feb 2, 2018

      Ulysses: Good or Bad?
      10 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Hisham Matar

      Dec 18, 2018

      The fact that this isn’t recognized for what it is, a magisterial work and a 20th-century masterpiece, makes me even more anxious about our times. The post A Year in Reading: Hisham Matar appeared first on The Millions.

      3 min read

    • Article

      What’s So Great About Jane?

      Mar 26, 2020

      What’s So Great About Jane?
      3 min read

    • Article

      Three Poems by Sheri Benning

      Mar 9, 2021

      the baby, name lost. 1906. Spring born,almond and blackthorn in bloom. Meadowsweet,chickweed, petals of milk on her lips. Spider-silk saliva from mouth to crab apple fists,on Mother’s lap, the train from Kiev to Minskafter the last harvest in Tiegeno

      2 min read

    • Article

      He Was Imprisoned And Losing His Mind. 'Anna Karenina' Saved Him

      Apr 5, 2019

      A man is trapped in prison for a made-up crime. He's overwhelmed by hopelessness and anger. That is until he hears a knock on the wall ... and words from another time and place.

      4 min read

    • Article

      Seven Books I’ll Never Read

      Aug 7, 2018

      Seven Books I’ll Never Read
      6 min read

    • Article

      In Summary

      Jul 1, 2021

      There’s some good writing here. This short extract has covered a lot of ground and established that Edwina is a recently widowed woman thanks to the sinking of the Titanic. Her interior voice is skilfully rendered and there are some subtle touches su

      1 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Sarah Thankam Mathews

      Dec 18, 2020

      By May I was clenching my teeth so hard when I slept that it eventually cracked a filling. The post A Year in Reading: Sarah Thankam Mathews appeared first on The Millions.

      4 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Stephen Dodson

      Dec 3, 2018

      I’ve read a lot of Russian literature and a lot about it, several general histories (starting with D.S. Mirsky’s classic) and a bunch of more specialized ones. Frankly, I didn’t think any book could add much to my understanding. But the massive new A

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Art of Fiction No. 243

      Dec 15, 2018

      The Art of Fiction No. 243
      24 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Eugene Onegin

    4/5

    732 ratings15 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      Fan-bloody-tastic. A novel in verse with a translation that maintained the original rhyme scheme. So good on the truth of young love, so light and so funny. The duel is genuinely shocking and the ending abrupt and sad.

      I hadn't realized that this would be a novel in sonnets. What a treat to find out that this translation was the inspiration for Vikram Seth's The Golden Gate which I read 20 years ago. I kinda feel that I should seek out Nabokov's non-rhymed translation for comparison.
    • 5/5
      I read the Roger Clarke translation-one this is in prose. There are a number of other translations in English that are poetry. Which translation is best, well the original (Russian one) of course. But this classic literature is brilliant even in English. It is a book to be read many times so I plan to read a new translation each time.
      Regarding the work itself (not the translations which all must fall short) Pushkin's Eugene Onegin is a work of genius. It is truly genius, but written over many, many years so indeed a work. I found it absolutely hilarious at times. The humor stands out in my mind. So read this edition or any other. If you have not read it you are missing out.
    • 3/5
      Duidelijk romantisch geïnspireerd: gevoelens zijn sterker dan we denken. De structuur mangelt, vooral op het einde, de overgang van Tatjana komt niet helemaal geloofwaardig over. De korte versmaat werkt in het begin het lichtvoetige sterk in de hand (het zijn meer puntdichten). Opvallend is de bijna voortdurende commentaar van de auteur.
    • 5/5
      I've read it when I was 11, at school, and liked it. Re-read it as an adult and loved it. Re-read again. Absolutely admired it... It becomes better every time.
    • 5/5
      I've read another translation before in proper verse, and while I understand that the story's not the same without the rhymes, Nabokov's rendering is, I think, as close to perfection as I will come until I can read the original.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this translation by Charles Johnston of "Evgeny Onegin". Johnston, unlike Nabokov, translated it as a novel in verse and was enjoyable to read. I've read "Eugene Onegin" in Russian and various translations, and though none of the translations come close to the ease, the wit, the sheer joy of expression as the original, Johnston's translation was certainly adequate. The plot is simple. The hero is a bored, rich young man who is out of sync emotionally. He acts out in ways that destroy those who would in other circumstances be his closest friends or faithful lover. The digressions, however, are the best thing about the tale. Here we find a second story about creativity, writing, inspiration, memory and love. Lovely.
    • 4/5
      This is a classic poem from the early romantic tradition in Russian literature. The romantic intrigue involved in the story of Tatyana, Lensky and Onegin has inspired readers and artists alike for more than a century. I found this verse translation very satisfying reading.
    • 5/5
      A wonderful novel from early 19th century Russia, translated into clear and readable English prose in this edition. The narrator is a minor character and keeps us entertained throughout, with a great variety of tone and digression, but always coming back to the main story. The story is intensely Russian - vastness of sky and countryside, contrast between country and city, country customs, fashionable society in town, ways to avoid boredom or to succumb to it, family entertainments, love-hate relations with France and the French, memorable characters, even the minor ones - and packs a wonderful story into less than 150 pages. Amid all this, the central love story, between Onegin and Tatiana, is told with delicacy, beauty and psychological insight. Definitely one to re-read.
    • 5/5
      Lyrical, tragic, comical, romantic. Russian lit at its best.
    • 5/5
      Holy crap, this thing is good. It's amazing. And it's only around 200 pages, so it's not as much of a commitment as, y'know, those other Russian assholes who can't stop writing.

      It's a "novel in verse," which means epic poem, wtf, in iambic tetrameter. It's organized in stanzas that are almost sonnets, but far enough off to kindof fuck with your head, or mine anyway. The scheme is abab, ccdd, effe, gg, so he's switching it up in each quatrain, which leaves me constantly off-balance. But in a good way! Tetrameter has a dangerous tendency to sound sing-songy to me, and this helps counterbalance that somehow.

      It also makes a tough challenge for a translator, and for a long time Onegin was considered untranslatable. My boy Stanley Mitchell has done what feels like an admirable job; I'm sure if I knew Russian I'd say he brutalized the thing, but one takes what one can get and this version felt readable and elegant. He's no Mos Def, but he's pretty good with the rhymes.

      The story ends abruptly at Chapter VIII; Pushkin had to do some last-minute rearranging, by which I mean burning most of a chapter that was critical of the government, which really throws the pace off there. The version I have includes some fragments after VIII - stuff that survived the flames for whatever reason - but it's really not enough to be more than a curiosity.

      Tolstoy called this the major influence for Anna Karenina, and you can see it. He kinda took this story and said what if, at a crucial moment, things had gone differently? So if you read these two together it's basically like a really long Choose Your Own Adventure with only one choice. Rad!

      And as an added bonus, Pushkin includes what I can only assume must be the most beautiful ode to foot fetishes ever written. It's five stanzas long, so that's 70 lines of foot fetishing. I almost wish I had a foot fetish so I could've really gotten into that bit.

      Here's a stanza that's not about feet, so you can get a feel for how good this shit is:

      Let me glance back. Farewell, you arbours
      Where, in the backwoods, I recall
      Days filled with indolence and ardours
      And dreaming of a pensive soul.
      And you, my youthful inspiration,
      Keep stirring my imagination,
      My heart's inertia vivify,
      More often to my corner fly.
      Let not a poet's soul be frozen,
      Made rough and hard, reduced to bone
      And finally be turned to stone
      In that benumbing world he goes in,
      In that intoxicating slough
      Where, friends, we bathe together now.

      And if that doesn't kick your ass, you're no friend of mine.

      Frankly, even if it does we're probably not friends. But we could be, if you want.
    • 5/5
      Excellent book. The flow and rhythm of the poetry is very good and makes the book very readable. Very impressed with the translation. I would like to read another translation for comparison. Here is a great example of the poetry:Suppose your pistol-shot has endedA comrade's promising career,One who, by a rash glance offended,Or by an accidental sneer,During a drunken conversationOr in a fit of bind vexationWas bold enough to challenge you -Will not your soul be filled with rueWhen on the ground you see him, stricken,Upon his brow the mark of death,And watch the failing of his breath,And know that heart will never quicken?Say, now, my friend, what will you feelWhen he lies deaf to your appeal?
    • 5/5
      Pushkin's verse novel shows him as the masterful powerhouse of language, weaving together an intricate web of characters to create an affecting story full of wit and beauty. A testament to love and the power of the Muse and of ennui. Falen's translation is musical and readable, making the experience of this novel in verse a highly pleasant one for the modern reader.
    • 2/5
      Read it, didn't hate it, but for me the translation just didn't work. I think, though, that it's probably difficult to translate something like this in an all-around satisfactory way - I shall have to read the original now, I think.
    • 3/5
      The high school I went to had a very different curriculum from most. The overwhelming number of choices we had for classes was amazing, and for an English and history loving geek like me, the best thing ever. I took elective classes like 20th Century Wars, an Asian history class, the Hero in Literature, Literary Outcasts, and Russian-Soviet Life. The latter class was a cross-departmental english and history class and we read some of the great Russian and Soviet authors. I still have my copy of The Complete Prose Tales of Alexandr Sergeyevitch Pushkin on my shelves. But as the title suggests, we never did read Pushkin's poetry, not even his most famous work, the novel in verse, Eugene Onegin. But because I have long been susceptible to buying all the works I can find by an author I enjoy, said novel in verse has been sitting on my shelves unread for literally decades. Note I said I acquire the books, not actually read them. Although in this case, I did finally tackle this most Russian of poems. And it was surprisingly accessible.Eugene Onegin's eponymous main character is a young man who enjoyed the social whirl and was a hit with women but he became jaded and tired of this life, retreating to his country estate and a fairly hermetic life there until Vladimir Lensky, a young poet moves into the area and the two men strike up a friendship. Lensky takes Onegin to dinner with his love Olga's family where Olga's older sister Tatyana falls for the experienced Onegin. She writes him an impassioned letter and is coldly and effectively rebuffed. After a disastrous evening at a country ball where Onegin unthinkingly flirts with Olga, Lensky calls him out and a duel ensues. Our hero flees the countryside, wandering for a couple of years, during which time Tatyana goes to St. Petersburg and marries, becoming a cosmopolitan young woman. And now Onegin falls head over heels in love with her, now that she is unavailable.I expected this to a tough read for a couple of reasons. I am (too many to count) years out of school and so not liable to find anyone willing to discuss this with me to help tease out meaning. I have never been a wild poetry fan and the thought of an entire novel in verse was daunting (Sharon Creech's lovely middle grade book Love That Dog being my only other attempt at it and while charming, that one is hardly in the same league as this one). I have to be in the proper mood for the dour Russians (which is why a class for moody high schoolers was genius, I tell you, genius). But I was pleasantly surprised. While tragedy and frustrated love abound here, the mood of the poem is not bleak and unremitting. There is much playfulness and light in it. The depictions of Russian society are detailed and wonderful as are the contrasting depictions of the regular Russian. I know much has been made of the difficulty of translating this poem in particular given the unnaturalness of the rhyme in English but I hardly noticed the oddness of the Pushkin stanza and since my own Russian was never very good, I'm unlikely to ever read it in the original to make an unflattering comparison. In any case, this Johnston translation captures the romance and the heartbreak of this long but engaging work. Those not too intimidated by poetry who want a less dense entry into Russian classics would be smart to start here.
    • 5/5
      Essential reading for anyone who loves the masters of Russia's golden age of literature; as Yarmolinsky says in the introduction to this volume, "Indeed, the accuracy with which the Russian scene in the post-Napoleonic era is delineated, the realistic concern with contemporary manners, makes this poem something of a social document. It opens that imaginative history of Russian society that may be constructed from the richly humorous tales of Gogol, the neat fictions of Turgenev, the substantial narratives of Goncharov, Doestoevsky's tortured inventions, Tolstoy's broad canvases."Tatyana is a fascinating character, and it's ironic reading Onegin duel with Lensky in light of Pushkin's own death at age 38 from a duel with his wife's alleged lover.Quotes:On unrequited love:"It was for you that I neglectedThe call of fame, for you forgotMy country, and an exile’s lot –All thoughts, but those of you, rejected.Brief as your footprints on the grass,The happiness of youth must pass.""One who has lived and thought, grows scornful,Disdain sits silent in his eye;One who has felt, is often mournful,Disturbed by ghosts of days gone by."On the transience of life:"Alas! by God’s strange will we mustBehold each generation flourish,And watch life’s furrows briefly nourishThe perishable human crop,Which ripens fairly, but to drop;And where one falls, another surges…The race of men recks nothing, saveIts reckless growth: into the graveThe grandfathers it promptly urges.Our time will come when it is due,Our grandchildren evict us too.""But at the late and sterile season,At the sad turning of the years,The tread of passion augurs tears:Thus autumn gusts deal death and treason.""But oh, how deeply we must rue it,That youth was given us in vain,That we were hourly faithless to it,And that it cheated us again;That our bright pristine hopes grew battered,Our freshest dreams grew sear, and scatteredLike leaves that in wet autumn stray,Wind-tossed, and all too soon decay."On youth:"Youth’s fever is its own excuseFor ravings that it may induce."On youth and the human condition:"And you, oh youthful inspiration,Come, rouse anew imagination –Upon the dull mind’s slumbers break,My little nook do not forsake;Let not the poet’s heart know captureBy sullen time, and soon grow wryAnd hard and cold, and petrifyHere in the world’s benumbing rapture,This pool we bathe in, friends, this muckIn which, God help us, we are stuck."

    Book preview

    Eugene Onegin - Alexander Pushkin

    heart.

    Chapter One

    MAKES HASTE TO LIVE AND CANNOT WAIT TO FEEL.

    K. VYAZEMSKY

    "My uncle always was respected;

    But his grave illness, I confess,

    Is more than could have been expected:

    A stroke of genius, nothing less.

    He offers all a grand example;

    But, God, such boredom who would sample?—

    Daylong, nightlong, thus to be bid

    To sit beside an invalid!

    Low cunning must assist devotion

    To one who is but half-alive:

    You smooth his pillow and contrive

    Amusement while you mix his potion;

    You sigh, and think with furrowed brow—

    ‘Why can’t the devil take you now?’"

    ‘Tis thus the gay dog’s thoughts are freighted,

    As through the dust his horses fare,

    Who by the high gods’ will is fated

    To be his relative’s sole heir.

    You knew Ruslan and fair Ludmila;

    For this new hero prithee feel a

    Like fellowship, as I regale

    You, readers, with another tale:

    Onegin, meet him, born and nourished

    Where old Neva’s gray waters flow,

    Where you were born, or, as a beau,

    It may be, in your glory flourished.

    I moved there also for a while,

    But find the North is not my style.

    A man of rank, his worthy father

    Would always give three balls a year;

    He lived in debt, and did not bother

    To keep his hopeless ledgers clear.

    Fate guarded Eugene, our young waster;

    While in due time Monsieur replaced her,

    At first Madame controlled the child;

    The charming lad was rather wild.

    Monsieur l’Abbé, a Frenchman, seedy,

    Thought sermons fashioned to annoy;

    He spared the rod to spoil the boy,

    And in a voice polite but reedy

    Would chide him, would forgive him soon,

    And walk him in the afternoon.

    When Eugene reached the restless season

    Of seething hopes and giddy play,

    And melancholy minus reason,

    Monsieur was sent upon his way.

    Now my Onegin, keen as brandy,

    Went forth, in dress—a London dandy,

    His hair cut in the latest mode;

    He dined, he danced, he fenced, he rode.

    In French he could converse politely,

    As well as write; and how he bowed!

    In the mazurka, ’twas allowed,

    No partner ever was so sprightly.

    What more is asked? The world is warm

    In praise of so much wit and charm.

    Since but a random education

    Is all they give us as a rule,

    With us, to miss a reputation

    For learning takes an utter fool.

    Onegin, wiseacres aplenty

    Pronounced most learned, though not yet twenty,

    And some harsh judges found, forsooth,

    A very pedant in the youth.

    A gifted talker, he would chatter

    With easy grace of this and that,

    But silent as a sage he sat

    When they discussed some weighty matter,

    And with the spark of a bon mot

    He set the ladies’ eyes aglow.

    Since Latin’s held not worth attention,

    His knowledge of the tongue was slight:

    Of Juvenal he could make mention,

    Decipher epigraphs at sight,

    Quote Virgil, not a long selection,

    And always needing some correction,

    And in a letter to a friend

    Place a proud vale at the end.

    He had no itch to dig for glories

    Deep in the dust that time has laid,

    He let the classic laurel fade,

    But knew the most amusing stories

    That have come down the years to us

    Since the dead days of Romulus.

    The lofty passion, the pure pleasure

    That poets feel, he lacked, nor knew

    Trochaic from iambic measure,

    In spite of all our efforts, too.

    Theocritus and Homer bored him;

    If true delight you would afford him

    You’d give him Adam Smith to read.

    A deep economist, indeed,

    He talked about the wealth of nations;

    The state relied, his friends were told,

    Upon its staples, not on gold—

    This subject filled his conversations.

    His father listened, frowned, and groaned,

    And mortgaged all the land he owned.

    All Eugene knew is past relating,

    But for one thing he had a bent,

    And I am not exaggerating

    His principal accomplishment;

    From early youth his dedication

    Was to a single occupation;

    He knew one torment, one delight

    Through empty day and idle night:

    The science of the tender passion

    That Ovid sang, that brought him

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1