Eugene Onegin

A novel in verse by

Alexander Pushkin
Translated and with a commentary
by Roger Clarke

ONEWORLD
CLASSICS

oneworld classics ltd

London House
243-253 Lower Mortlake Road
Richmond
Surrey TW9 2LL
United Kingdom
www.oneworldclassics.com
An earlier version of this translation, in prose, first published by Milner
and Co. in 1999 and later republished by Wordsworth Editions in 2005
This revised edition first published by Oneworld Classics Limited in 2011
English translation Roger Clarke, 2011
Introduction and commentary Roger Clarke, 2011
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe
isbn:

978-1-84749-160-2

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Contents
Introduction5
Eugene Onegin

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Onegins Journey 

9
11
49
77
111
141
171
201
237
275

Note on the Text

Notes and Commentary
Notes to Chapter One
Notes to Chapter Two 
Notes to Chapter Three
Notes to Chapter Four 
Notes to Chapter Five
Notes to Chapter Six
Notes to Chapter Seven
Notes to Chapter Eight
Notes to Ongins Journey 
Note on Chapter Ten

292
293
294
309
315
323
331
339
345
353
363
370

Extra Material
Alexander Pushkins Life
Eugene Onegin
Translators Note 
Select Bibliography 

373
375
383
396
400

Acknowledgements402
Appendix403
Passages of Eugene Onegin excluded
by Pushkin from the 1837 edition
Notes on the Appendix

405
412

Introduction
Russians regard Pushkin as their greatest writer, and his novel in
verse Eugene Onegin as his greatest work. Moreover, as one Russian
writer has put it, Onegin has long been recognized as the parent
of the Russian novel, the source to which the full stream of Russian
fiction must be traced. For these reasons Onegin ought to occupy
a pre-eminent place in the literature not only of Russia, but of the
wider world too.
Yet outside Russia, certainly among the English-speaking peoples,
Onegin is little read and little known. Even those with a live interest in
wider European literature and civilization will commonly encounter
it through Tchaikovskys operatic adaptation, rather than through
Pushkins original verse novel. Why should such an important and
interesting, and beautiful, and moving, and amusing work as
Onegin have remained till now so unfamiliar to the generality of
English-speaking readers?
I discuss this question in detail in the Translators Note on
page 396. In brief, nearly all previous translations of Onegin
into English have attempted to replicate the same verse form
stanzas, metre, rhyme scheme as Pushkins original. Adherence
to Pushkins complex rhyme scheme, in particular, has frustrated
the clear, natural and accurate rendering of the authors words for
the English reader. Vladimir Nabokov recognized this in his edition
of 1964, but his controversial translation, though literally accurate,
can hardly be characterized as clear or natural.
In my new version I have taken a different approach. Like Nabokov, I
have freed myself from the shackles of rhyme; but, while I have retained
Pushkins fourteen-line stanzas and something of his word rhythms, I
have given absolute primacy to the accurate reproduction of Pushkins
meaning and intonation in a clear, fluent and modern English that
matches the originals clear, fluent and modern Russian. In this way I
hope that Eugene Onegin can at last be enjoyed in the English-reading
world both as a novel and as poetry, and that Pushkins work will
attract more and more the admiration and enthusiasm it deserves.
5

eugene onegin

The translation is followed by an extensive commentary

the fullest, apart from Nabokovs, that has appeared in English.
Although I have not attempted to repeat Nabokovs exhaustive
analysis of Onegins antecedents in French and English literature, I
have of course drawn extensively on him and other commentators,
English and Russian, in compiling my notes. The commentary also
contains, however, much new material, notably on structure and
on the significance of the epigraphs, which I hope will intrigue
both students and general readers who wish to penetrate below the
surface of this many-layered work.
Roger Clarke
March 2011

Eugene Onegin

Ptri de vanit il avait encore plus de

cette espce dorgueil qui fait avouer
avec la mme indiffrence les bonnes
comme les mauvaises actions, suite
dun sentiment de supriorit peut-tre
imaginaire.
Tir dune lettre particulire

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DEDICATION

I never thought to amuse a disdainful world;

but friendly interest I do prize;
and you, my friend, Id like to have presented
with a token worthier of you,
yes, worthier of your noble spirit,
so full of sublime imagination,
of lively, limpid poetry,
of lofty ideas and of simplicity.
But there it is. Be kind:
accept this batch of patchy chapters,
half-funny and half-sad,
idealistic, down-to-earth
the slapdash product of my leisure hours,
my sleepless nights, my momentary inspirations,
of a life blighted ere its prime,
of a minds chilling observations,
and of a hearts experience of pain.


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Chapter One
In a hurry to live, in haste for experience.
Prince Vyzemsky

Man of the highest principles, my uncle

When he fell ill in earnest,
he won respect he couldnt
have thought of a better way.
His examples a lesson to others
But, God! what a bore
to sit with an invalid day and night,
never moving one step away!
What base hypocrisy
to try to amuse a man half-dead,
straighten his pillows,
solemnly administer medicine,
keep sighing and think to oneself,
Will the Devil never take you?!

These were a young scapegraces reflections,

as he rode post-haste through the dust
heir, by the sovereign will of Zeus,
to all of his familys wealth.
You friends of Lyudmla and Rusln,
Id like to have you meet
without preamble or ado,
my novels hero.
Ongin, a good friend of mine,
was born in St Petersburg by the Nev,
where maybe, reader, you too were born
or made your name.
I was once out and about there too
but the north disagrees with me now.
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eugene onegin

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chapter one

Ongins father had served the state

with honour and distinction (as they say);
thereafter he lived on credit, gave three balls a year,
and finally went broke.
But Fate was looking after young Eugene.
A governess fussed over him at first;
then a monsieur replaced madame.
The boy was mischievous, but sweet.
The French monsieur (a God-forsaken cleric),
not wanting to harass the lad,
cracked jokes through all his lessons,
spared him the rigours of morality,
scolded him lightly for his pranks
and took him on outings to the Summer Park.

But once Eugene attained the age

of rebellious adolescence
that age of hopes and tender moodiness
monsieur was shown the door.
My friend Ongin was now free!
He had his hair cut to the latest fashion,
dressed like a London dandy,
and took a look at high society.
He could speak perfect French
and write it too,
dance the mazurka gracefully,
and greet with an elegant bow
what more could you want? Society judged him
clever, and awfully nice.

Weve all tried fitfully to study

some random subject in a random way;
so in our circles its not hard, thank God,
to dazzle with erudition.
Societys instant pundits
(and they were many) reckoned Ongin
a well-read chap indeed, a know-all.
He had the happy knack in conversation
of touching naturally and lightly
on all and every topic,
of holding his peace in serious debate
with an experts knowing look,
and of making the ladies smile
with the flash of a sudden jibe.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

Latins gone out of fashion these days.

Yet, to do Ongin justice,
he knew enough of it
to decipher an inscription,
expatiate on Juvenal,
and end a letter with vale;
and he could quote (not faultlessly, its true)
two lines from the Aeneid.
For him there was no urge to delve
deep in the dusty archives
of world historiography;
but anecdotes of earlier days,
from Romulus to now,
he memorized with ease.

Ongin harboured no sublime ambition

to devote his life to verse;
indeed, for all our efforts, he never learnt
to tell an iambus from a trochee.
He had no use for Homer or Theocritus.
Instead he took to reading Adam Smith,
and mastered the inwardness of economics:
that is, he could lay down the law
on what it is a nation lives on,
what makes it prosper,
and why it has no need of gold
when output more than covers costs.
Ongins father couldnt make him out,
and went on mortgaging his lands.

I havent time to itemize

all that Ongin knew.
He was a genius, though, in one thing:
of this hed a surer grasp than of any branch of study;
from earliest youth
it had been his work, his pain, his joy;
day in day out it had occupied
his aching idleness.
I mean the Art of Love
the art that Ovid celebrated,
and for which he ended
his glittering and turbulent career
a martyr on Moldavias empty plains,
remote from Italy, his home.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

10

How soon hed learnt to act a part!

to hide his hopes, exhibit jealousy,
destroy belief and re-establish it,
affect resentment or despondency,
haughtiness or humility,
attention or indifference.
He was adept at languishing in silence,
at speaking out with blazing eloquence,
and at writing a lovers artless billets-doux.
Obsessive in his feelings and affections,
he was yet able to forget himself.
The look in his eye could be curt or tender,
bashful or bold and on occasion
could gleam with an obedient tear.

11

How well he knew how to play the novice,

startle the innocent with a joke,
terrify with opportune despair,
charm with beguiling blandishments,
grasp the right moment for emotion,
and marshal argument and passion
to overcome the scruples of the young!
Hed lie in wait for a stray sign of fondness,
entreat, demand a declaration,
listen for the hearts first shy response,
keep up loves pressure, clinch
there and then a secret rendezvous
and later in the stillness give her
tuition one to one.

12

How soon hed learnt to stir

the hearts of practised flirts!
Were he to wish
to eliminate a rival,
what cutting slanders he put round,
what traps he set them!
But husbands he put blissfully at ease:
they stayed his friends;
indeed, all made a fuss of him
the cunning ones (ex-pupils of the same school),
the old suspicious ones,
and those conceit had blinded to their state,
so satisfied they ever were
with themselves, their dinners and their wives.
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eugene onegin

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chapter one

13, 14
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Heres how a day would pass. Ongin

would still be in bed when messages were brought him.
What? Invitations? Yes indeed,
three houses sought his presence at soires;
at one thered be a ball; elsewhere a youngsters dance.
Which would my playboy friend dash off to?
Whered he begin? No problem there:
easy to make a quick round of them all.
But first, in morning dress
and wide-brimmed hat Bolvar-style,
Ongin rode off to the Boulevard
and took a stroll there out of doors
until his ever-wakeful watch from Paris
chimed out the hour for dinner.

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Now it was dark. He climbed aboard a sleigh;

Make way! Make way! the shout rang out;
and a frosty dust
besilvered his beaver-skin collar.
He rushed to Talons, quite sure
that Kavrin would now be there waiting.
As soon as he entered, a cork hit the ceiling,
and vintage champagne gushed out in a flood.
Before him were spread roast beef carved rare,
and truffles that treat the youngsters love,
the finest flower of French cuisine
and ever-fresh Strasbourg pt,
with ripened Limburg cheese
and golden pineapple slices.

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The friends were thirsting for more champagne

to wash down the hot fat of cutlets,
but the chime of Ongins watch informed them
the new ballet had now begun.
Ongin, theatrelands malign trendsetter,
the wayward worshipper
of witching actresses
and honorary citizen backstage
Ongin dashed off to the playhouse,
where all, in uninhibited excitement,
were ready to applaud each entrechat,
hiss wicked Phdre and Cleopatra,
and encore good Mona their only aim,
to have their voices heard.
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eugene onegin

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chapter one

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Ah, theatre, land of enchantment!

It was there, years back, that Fonvzin sparkled,
daring master of satire and libertys friend,
as did that great adapter Knyazhnn.
There zerov would share with young Semynova
the nations spontaneous tribute
of weeping and applause.
There our Katnin resurrected
Corneilles majestic genius.
There caustic Shakhovsky
released his buzzing swarm of comedies.
There Didelot, too, won his crown of acclaim.
And there yes there, as I lurked backstage,
my own young days sped by.

19

You actresses I worshipped! What has become of you?

Where are you now? (How sad I have to ask!)
Are you still as you were? Or have some other girls
succeeded (without superseding) you?
Shall I hear you singing again in chorus?
Shall I see a Russian Terpsichore
leaping with verve and inspiration?
Or maybe my dejected gaze
will find no familiar face on the dreary stage:
so Ill focus my opera glasses
in disillusion on an alien world;
Ill watch the frivolous spectacle with indifference,
yawn quietly,
and think back on the past.

20

The theatre was full; the boxes glittered;

stalls, pit the whole place seethed.
Up in the gods folk clapped impatiently.
With a swoosh the curtain rose.
There, radiant, light as air,
encircled by nymphs,
spellbound by the string-players bow
there stood Istmina.
With the tip of one foot on the stage,
the other she gently gyrated;
then up she leapt, and off she flew,
flew like fluff on a puff of wind,
now twisting, now untwisting her figure,
and deftly tapping foot with foot.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

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The whole house cheered Enter Ongin,

stepping over legs between the rows.
He trained his opera glasses sideways;
scanned boxes of ladies he didnt know;
ran his eye along every tier;
took it all in. But faces and dresses
disappointed him dreadfully.
He greeted the men on every side;
next, greatly distracted,
he glanced at the stage,
then turned away and yawned.
Time to get rid of the lot, he muttered.
Ive put up with ballets a good long time,
but now even Didelot bores me stiff.

22

Cupids, demons and dragons were still

prancing noisily round the stage;
weary footmen were still
dozing on furs in the porch;
spectators were still incessantly stamping,
snuffling, coughing, hissing and clapping;
everywhere lamps
still shone within and without;
horses still fidgeted, feeling the cold,
and chafed at their gear;
and coachmen still clustered round fires,
running down masters and slapping their palms.
But Ongin had left already;
he was riding home to change.

23

Let me now draw you a true-to-life picture

of the inner sanctum
where this exemplary pupil of fashion
would dress, undress and dress once more.
All that the haberdashers of London sell
to meet the demands of extravagant fancy
and ship to us across the Baltic
in exchange for timber and tallow;
all that chic entrepreneurs in Paris,
with an eye to good business,
devise to amuse, to pamper
and to divert with idle pleasures
all this adorned the dressing room
of our eighteen-year-old sophisticate.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

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Hed amber-stemmed pipes from Istanbul,

a table of china and bronzes,
and (special delight of the over-refined)
perfumes in cut crystal jars.
There were combs and small steel files,
and scissors straight and curved,
and brushes of thirty kinds
for nails and teeth.
(Rousseau, by the way, that eloquent crank,
could not comprehend
how a man of standing like Grimm
could clean his nails in his callers presence.
The defender of freedom and human rights
was in this case not right at all

25

for you can be a capable chap

and still take care that your nails look nice.
Why pick a pointless quarrel with your times?
Its custom dictates how humankind behaves.)
My friend Ongin, like Chaadyev,
feared jealous criticism
and took excessive trouble with his dress;
in short, he was a fop.
He used to spend three hours at least
in front of mirrors,
emerging from his boudoir
just as though Venus on a whim
were off to a fancy-dress ball
in male attire.

26

Having engaged your inquisitive gaze

with the latest taste in toilette,
I could now regale the literary world
by describing Ongins manner of dress.
That would be rash, Im sure.
Its my job to describe, thats true;
but in Russian we have no words
for pantalons, frac and gilet;
and its with shame that I observe
my threadbare styles
already far too patched
with foreign words,
despite the time I once spent browsing
in the Russian Academys Lexicon.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

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But this is by the by.

Wed better hurry to the ball,
where Ongin has already dashed
at breakneck speed in a hired carriage.
Coaches were parked in rows
in a slumbering street by darkened houses.
Their double lamps
diffused a cheerful light
and scattered rainbow patterns on the snow.
A splendid mansion sparkled
with encircling lanterns.
One saw, through plate-glass windows, shadows passing
and glimpsed the silhouetted heads
of ladies and male fashion freaks.

28

Ongin had driven up to the porch.

He darted past the doorman,
flew up the marble stairs,
smoothed his hair with a hand,
and entered the crowded ballroom.
The blare of music was flagging already;
a mazurka gripped the companys attention;
on every side was noise and crush;
a cavalry officers spurs were jangling;
the dainty feet of pretty ladies
flashed by, and tracking their entrancing footsteps
there flashed the menfolks ardent glances too;
and screeching strings drowned jealous whispers
from fashion-conscious wives.

29

In my days of cheery lustfulness

I used to be madly fond of balls.
Theres nowhere safer to declare your love
or slip a letter into someones hand.
Respected husbands,
I offer you my services:
I beg you, mark well what I say;
I want to warn you in advance.
And you too, fond mamas,
keep stricter watch over your daughters;
hold your lorgnettes up straight!
Or else or else, God help you!
(I can write this as its a long time now
since I have misbehaved.)

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

30

Sad to say, Ive wasted too much of my life

on various frivolities.
But balls I would still love today,
if they werent so bad for morals.
I love the youngsters recklessness,
the crush, the glitter and the gaiety
and I love the careful way the ladies dress.
I love their dainty feet as well
though in all of Russia youll hardly find
three pairs of shapely female feet.
Ah! one such pair Ive long tried to forget
but even now, though sad and chill at heart,
I still remember them,
and still in my dreams they stir me deep within.

31

Fool that I am, will I forget them

at any time, in any place, in any wilderness?
Those dainty feet where are they now?
Where are they treading the springtime flowers?
Groomed in the sumptuous idleness of eastern lands,
theyve never left their print
in desolate northern snows:
the luxurious feel
of yielding carpets is what they loved.
Was it so long ago that for their sake
I was forgetting my thirst for fame and honour,
my homeland, and my loss of liberty?
My youthful happiness has vanished now, though,
like her light footprint on the meadow grass.

32

A Dianas naked breast, a Floras blooming cheeks,

dear friends, are indeed delightful;
but the dainty foot of a dancing Terpsichore
is somehow for me more delightful still.
A girls foot promises the gaze
a reward beyond all price,
and with its hints of beauty draws behind it
a swarm of uncontrollable desires.
I love it, dear Elvna,
whether beneath long tablecloths,
or on the meadow turf in spring,
or on the fender of a hearth in winter,
or on a ballrooms polished parquet floor,
or by the sea on granite rocks.

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eugene onegin

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chapter one

33

I remember the sea before a storm:

how I envied the waves
running in boisterous succession
to cast themselves lovingly at her feet!
How I longed at that moment to join the waves
in touching those dear feet with my lips!
No, never in the most passionate years
of my fervent youth
had I longed with such anguish
to kiss a young Armidas lips,
or the roses of her burning cheeks,
or her languorous breasts.
No, never before had such an outburst
of passion rent my heart.

34

Another time too comes to mind.

Sometimes in my most cherished dreams
I thrill to hold a stirrup for her
and feel her foot between my hands.
Again my imagination boils;
again the very touch
sets the blood aflame in my weary heart;
again, the torment; again, the love!
Im chattering on, though: thats enough
of celebrating women who know their power.
The passion and the poetry they inspire
those women just arent worth it.
Witches they are: their words and looks deceive
as do their dainty feet.

35

Well, what of Ongin? Half-asleep,

he was riding from ball to bed.
The restless cityd already been roused
by the dawn drum roll.
Shopkeepers getting up;
street sellers on the move;
cab-drivers sauntering to the rank;
an Okhta dairy girl hurrying with milk churn
and crunching the fresh snow underfoot
the cheerful bustle of morning had sprung to life;
shutters were open; blue columns of smoke
rose up from chimneys; and already
the ever-punctual German baker, cotton-capped,
had served folk through his Halbtr more than once.

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eugene onegin

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But Ongin, exhausted by the din of the ball,

turned morning to midnight
and slept on in peace in the blissful darkness
like a cosseted, carefree child.
Past midday hed wake up, and then once more
till morning his routine was settled,
unchanging in its variety,
tomorrow same as yesterday.
Ongin was in the prime of life, with no commitments
everywhere brilliant conquests,
every day spent in pleasure.
But was he happy? His rude health,
his heedless way of life, his constant partying
were these enough to give him satisfaction?

37

Not so. His feelings soon grew numb.

Societys clamour wore him out.
Beautiful women did not for long
remain the constant topic of his thoughts:
their infidelities exhausted him.
He sickened of friends and of friendship itself;
for he could not go on for ever
sprinkling bons mots
and washing down steaks and Strasbourg pt
with champagne by the bottle,
while his head kept aching.
Eventually too,
hot-headed though hed been and wild,
he lost his love of quarrels, swords and shot.

38

He gradually fell victim

to the malady (the cause of which
should long ago have been researched)
thats like the English spleen
in short, what we know as depression.
He never thought, thank God, of trying
to shoot himself;
he grew, though, utterly cold to life.
When he appeared in the salons,
he seemed like Childe Harold, morose and listless.
Nothing engaged his interest
not society scandal, a game of cards,
an affectionate glance, a suggestive sigh.
He noticed nothing.

33

eugene onegin

3941
42

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43

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44

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34

chapter one

3941
42

High-society women with their affectations

they were the first Ongin dropped.
And, undeniably, life in the grandest circles
is these days tiresome enough.
One lady, perhaps,
may talk of Say and Bentham,
but on the whole their conversation
is insufferable, if harmless, rubbish.
Theyre all so pure,
so dignified, so knowing,
so full of piety,
so circumspect, so precious,
so inaccessible to men
the very sight of them will bring on spleen.

43

Next it was the pretty young girls

he gave up seeing
the ones who late at night
are driven boldly off in open carriages
along St Petersburgs paved streets.
Forsaking wild pleasures such as these
Ongin shut himself at home
and with a yawn reached for a pen.
He thought hed take up writing,
but couldnt face the unremitting work,
so the output of his pen was nil,
and he never joined the unruly guild
of folk on whom Ill not pass judgement,
being one of them myself.

44

So Ongin succumbed to indolence once more.

Oppressed by emptiness within,
he settled down, with the estimable aim
of making others thoughts his own.
He filled a shelf with a platoon of books
and read and read; but all in vain. He found
some boring, some untrue and incoherent;
one work would lack morality; another, reason.
They all showed various cramping limitations:
the ones of past date were outdated,
the new ones were besotted with the past.
Ongin abandoned books, as he had women,
and over shelf and dusty occupants
he draped a shroud of taffeta.
35