Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Excerpts from the novel "Eugene Onegin"

“That year the autumn weather…”

That year the autumn weather
Stood in the yard for a long time
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow fell only in January
On the third night.
Waking up early
Tatyana saw through the window
Whitewashed yard in the morning,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
Light patterns on glass
Trees in winter silver
Forty merry in the yard
And softly padded mountains
Winters are a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white around.

“Here is the north, catching up the clouds ...”

Here is the north, catching up the clouds,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The magical winter is coming.
Came, crumbled; shreds
Hung on the branches of oaks;
She lay down with wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
A shore with a motionless river
Leveled with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
I'll tell mother winter's leprosy.

"Dawn rises in a cold haze ..."

The dawn rises in a cold haze;
On the fields, the noise of work ceased;
With her hungry wolf
A wolf comes out on the road;
Feeling him, road horse
Snoring - and a cautious traveler
Rushing uphill at full speed;
Shepherd at dawn
Doesn't drive the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
His horn does not call them ...

"Driven by spring rays ..."

Chased by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped by muddy streams
To flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream meets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
More transparent forests
As if they are turning green.
Bee for tribute in the field
Flies from the wax cell.
The valleys dry and dazzle;
The herds are noisy, and the nightingale
Already sang in the silence of the nights.

"Winter! .. Peasant, triumphant ..."

Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On firewood updates the path;
His horse, smelling snow,
Trotting somehow;
Reins fluffy exploding,
A remote wagon flies;
The coachman sits on the irradiation
In a sheepskin coat, in a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Planting a bug in a sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The scoundrel already froze his finger:
It hurts and it's funny
And his mother threatens him through the window ...

“How often in sorrowful separation…”

How often in sorrowful separation,
In my wandering destiny
Moscow, I thought about you!
Moscow ... how much in this sound
Merged for the Russian heart!
How much resonated in it!

Here, surrounded by its oak forest,
Petrovsky castle. He is gloomy
Proud of recent glory.
Napoleon waited in vain
Intoxicated with last happiness,
Moscow kneeling
With the keys of the old Kremlin:
No, my Moscow did not go
To him with a guilty head.
Not a holiday, not an accepting gift,
She was preparing a fire
An impatient hero.
From here, immersed in thought,
He looked at the terrible flame.

"Already the sky was breathing in the autumn..."

Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
With a sad noise she was naked,
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.

“Tier than fashionable parquet…”

Neater than fashionable parquet,
The river shines, dressed in ice.
Boys joyful people
Skates cut the ice loudly;
On red paws a goose is heavy,
Having thought to swim in the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully on the ice
Slides and falls; funny
Flickering, winding the first snow,
Stars falling on the shore.

CHAPTER FOUR

But our northern summer
southern winters cartoon,
Flickers and no: it is known,
Even if we don't want to admit it.
Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
With a sad noise she was naked,
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.

The dawn rises in a cold haze;
On the fields, the noise of work ceased;
With his hungry she-wolf A wolf comes out on the road;
Feeling him, road horse
Snoring - and a cautious traveler
Rushing uphill at full speed;
Shepherd at dawn
Doesn't drive the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
They are not called by his horn;
Singing in the hut, maiden
Spins, and, winter friend of nights,
A torch crackles in front of her.

And now the frosts are cracking
And silver in the fields...
(The reader is waiting for the rhyme of the rose;
Here, take it quickly!)
Neater than fashionable parquet
The river shines, dressed in ice.
Boys joyful people
Skates cut the ice loudly;
On red paws a goose is heavy,
Having thought to swim in the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully on the ice
Slides and falls; funny
Flashes, curls the first snow,
Stars falling on the shore.

CHAPTER FIVE

This year's autumn weather
Stood in the yard for a long time
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting,
Snow fell only in January,
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatyana saw through the window
Whitewashed yard in the morning,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
Light patterns on the glass
Trees in winter silver
Forty merry in the yard
And softly padded mountains
Winters are a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white around.

Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On firewood updates the path;
His horse, smelling snow,
Trotting somehow,
Reins fluffy exploding,
A remote wagon flies;
The coachman sits on the irradiation
In a sheepskin coat, in a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Planting a bug in a sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The scoundrel already froze his finger:
It hurts and it's funny
And his mother threatens him through the window...

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chased by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped by muddy streams
To flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream meets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, the forests seem to turn green like fluff.
A bee flies from a wax cell for tribute in the field.
The valleys dry and dazzle;
The herds are noisy, and the nightingale
Already sang in the silence of the nights.

How sad is your appearance to me,
Spring, spring! it's time for love!
What a languid excitement
In my soul, in my blood!
With what heavy tenderness
I enjoy the breath
In my face blowing spring
In the bosom of rural silence!
Or is pleasure alien to me,
And everything that pleases, lives,
All that shines and shines
Brings boredom and languor
For a long time dead soul
Does everything seem dark to her?

Or, not rejoicing in the return
Leaves that died in autumn
We remember the bitter loss
Listening to the new noise of the forests;
Or with nature animated
Bringing together the confused thought
We are the fading of our years,
Which revival is not?
Perhaps it comes to our mind
In the midst of poetic sleep
Another, old spring
And the heart trembles us
Dream of the far side
About a wonderful night, about the moon ...

Excerpts from "Eugene Onegin" for recording on video - you choose

Detailed description of the project - .

CHAPTER FIRST

1 snippet to read:

I
"My uncle of the most honest rules,
When I fell ill in earnest,
He forced himself to respect
And I couldn't think of a better one.
His example to others is science;
But my god, what a bore
With the sick to sit day and night,
Not leaving a single step away!
What low deceit
Amuse the half-dead
Fix his pillows
Sad to give medicine
Sigh and think to yourself:
When will the devil take you!

II
So thought the young rake,
Flying in the dust on postage,
By the will of Zeus
Heir of all his relatives.
Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan!
With the hero of my novel
Without preamble, this very hour
Let me introduce you:
Onegin, my good friend,
Born on the banks of the Neva
Where might you have been born?
Or shone, my reader;
I once walked there too:
But the north is bad for me.

III
Serving excellently nobly,
His father lived in debt
Gave three balls annually
And finally screwed up.
The fate of Eugene kept:
At first Madame followed him,
Then Monsieur replaced her.
The child was sharp, but sweet.
Monsieur l'Abbe, poor Frenchman,
So that the child is not exhausted,
Taught him everything jokingly
I did not bother with strict morality,
Slightly scolded for pranks
And he took me for a walk in the Summer Garden.

IV
When will the rebellious youth
It's time for Eugene
It's time for hope and tender sadness,
Monsieur was driven out of the yard.
Here is my Onegin at large;
Shaved in the latest fashion
How London dandy is dressed -
And finally saw the light.
He's completely French
Could speak and write;
Easily danced the mazurka
And bowed at ease;
What do you want more? The world decided
That he is smart and very nice.

2 snippet to read:

We now have something wrong in the subject:
We'd better hurry to the ball
Where headlong in a pit carriage
My Onegin has already galloped.
Before the faded houses
Along a sleepy street in rows
Double carriage lights
Merry pour out light
And rainbows on the snow suggest;
Dotted with bowls all around,
A splendid house shines;
Shadows walk through solid windows,
Flashing head profiles
And ladies and fashionable eccentrics.

Here our hero drove up to the entrance;
Doorman past he's an arrow
Climbing up the marble steps
I straightened my hair with my hand,
Has entered. The hall is full of people;
The music is already tired of thundering;
The crowd is busy with the mazurka;
Loop and noise and tightness;
The spurs of the cavalry guard jingle;
The legs of lovely ladies are flying;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly
And drowned out by the roar of violins
Jealous whisper of fashionable wives.

In the days of fun and desires
I was crazy about balls:
There is no place for confessions
And for delivering a letter.
O you venerable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
I ask you to notice my speech:
I want to warn you.
You also, mothers, are stricter
Look after your daughters:
Keep your lorgnette straight!
Not that…not that, God forbid!
That's why I'm writing this
That I have not sinned for a long time.

CHAPTER TWO

3 snippet to read

Her sister's name was Tatyana...
For the first time with such a name
Gentle pages of a novel
We will sanctify.
So what? it is pleasant, sonorous;
But with him, I know, inseparable
Remembrance of old
Or girlish! We should all
Confess: the taste is very little
With us and in our names
(Let's not talk about poetry);
We don't get enlightenment
And we got from him
Pretense, nothing more.

So, she was called Tatyana.
Nor the beauty of his sister,
Nor the freshness of her ruddy
She would not attract eyes.
Dika, sad, silent,
Like a forest doe is timid,
She is in her family
Seemed like a stranger girl.
She couldn't caress
To my father, not to my mother;
A child by herself, in a crowd of children
Didn't want to play and jump
And often all day alone
She sat silently by the window.

Thought, her friend
From the most lullaby days
Rural Leisure Current
Decorated her with dreams.
Her pampered fingers
Didn't know needles; leaning on the hoop,
She is a silk pattern
Did not revive the canvas.
The desire to rule is a sign
With an obedient doll child
Cooking jokingly
To decency - the law of light,
And importantly repeats to her
Lessons from my mother.

But dolls even in these years
Tatyana did not take it in her hands;
About the news of the city, about fashion
Didn't have a conversation with her.
And there were childish pranks
Alien to her: scary stories
In winter in the dark of nights
They captivated her heart more.
When did the nanny collect
For Olga on a wide meadow
All her little friends
She didn't play with burners
She was bored and sonorous laughter,
And the noise of their windy joys.

CHAPTER THREE

4 fragment to read

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,
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:

“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?

CHAPTER FOUR

5 snippet to read

The dawn rises in a cold haze;
On the fields, the noise of work ceased;
With her hungry wolf
A wolf comes out on the road;
Feeling him, road horse
Snoring - and a cautious traveler
Rushing uphill at full speed;
Shepherd at dawn
Doesn't drive the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
They are not called by his horn;
Singing in the hut, maiden
Spins, and, winter friend of nights,
A splinter crackles in front of her.

And now the frosts are cracking
And silver among the fields ...
(The reader is already waiting for the rhyme of the rose;
Here, take it quickly!)
Neater than fashionable parquet
The river shines, dressed in ice.
Boys joyful people (24)
Skates cut the ice loudly;
On red paws a goose is heavy,
Having thought to swim in the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully on the ice
Slides and falls; funny
Flickering, winding the first snow,
Stars falling on the shore.

In the wilderness what to do at this time?
Walk? The village at that time
Involuntarily bothers the eye
Monotonous nakedness.
Riding in the harsh steppe?
But the horse, blunted horseshoe
Infidel hooking on ice
Wait for what will fall.
Sit under the desert roof
Read: here is Pradt, here is W. Scott.
Do not want? - check the flow,
Get angry or drink, and the evening is long
Somehow it will pass, and tomorrow, too,
And have a good winter.

CHAPTER FIVE

6 fragment to read

That year the autumn weather
Stood in the yard for a long time
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow fell only in January
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatyana saw through the window
Whitewashed yard in the morning,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
Light patterns on glass
Trees in winter silver
Forty merry in the yard
And softly padded mountains
Winters are a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white around.

Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On firewood updates the path;
His horse, smelling snow,
Trotting somehow;
Reins fluffy exploding,
A remote wagon flies;
The coachman sits on the irradiation
In a sheepskin coat, in a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Planting a bug in a sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The scoundrel already froze his finger:
It hurts and it's funny
And his mother threatens him through the window ...

But maybe this kind
Pictures will not attract you:
All this is low nature;
Not much beauty here.
Warmed by God's inspiration,
Another poet with a luxurious style
He painted us the first snow
And all shades of winter bliss;
He will captivate you, I'm sure
Drawing in fiery verses
Secret walks in a sleigh;
But I don't want to fight
Not with him for the time being, not with you,
Young Finnish singer!

CHAPTER SIX

7 fragment to read

Poems have been preserved in case;
I have them; here they are:
"Where, where did you go,
My golden days of spring?
What does the coming day have in store for me?
My gaze catches him in vain,
He lurks in deep darkness.
No need; the law of fate.
Will I fall, pierced by an arrow,
Or she will fly by,
All goodness: wakefulness and sleep
A certain hour comes;
Blessed is the day of worries,
Blessed is the arrival of darkness!

In the morning the morning light will shine
And the bright day will play;
And I, maybe I'm the tomb
I will descend into the mysterious canopy,
And the memory of the young poet
Swallow the slow Leta,
The world will forget me; notes
Will you come, maiden of beauty,
Shed a tear over an early urn
And think: he loved me,
He dedicated one to me
The dawn of a sad stormy life! ..
Dear friend, dear friend,
Come, come, I am your husband!

So he wrote dark and sluggish
(What we call romanticism,
Although there is no romanticism here
I don't see; what's in it for us?)
And finally before dawn
Bowing your weary head
On the buzzword ideal
Quietly Lensky dozed off;
But only sleepy charm
He forgot, already a neighbor
The office enters the silent
And wakes up Lensky with an appeal:
“It’s time to get up: it’s already seven o’clock.
Onegin is truly waiting for us.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

8 snippet to read

My poor Lensky! languishing
She didn't cry for long.
Alas! bride young
Unfaithful to your sorrow.
Another caught her attention
Another managed her suffering
To lull with love flattery,
Ulan knew how to capture her,
We love Ulan with our soul...
And now with him before the altar
She shyly under the crown
Standing with bowed head
With fire in downcast eyes,
With a light smile on your lips.

My poor Lensky! behind the grave
Within eternity deaf
Was the dull singer embarrassed,
Treason fatal news
Or lulled over Lethe
Poet, blissful insensibility,
Not embarrassed by anything
And the world is closed to him and to him? ..
So! indifferent oblivion
Behind the coffin awaits us.
Enemies, friends, lovers voice
Suddenly silent. About one estate
Heirs angry chorus
Starts an obscene argument.

And soon Olya's sonorous voice
In the Larin family, he fell silent.
Ulan, his slave share,
Was supposed to go with her to the regiment.
Shedding bitter tears,
An old woman, saying goodbye to her daughter,
It seemed to be a little alive,
But Tanya could not cry;
Only deathly pallor covered
Her sad face.
When everyone went out on the porch,
And everything, saying goodbye, fussed
Around the carriage of the young,
Tatyana accompanied them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

9 fragment to read

“Really,” Evgeny thinks:
Is she? But definitely... no...
How! from the wilderness of the steppe villages ... "
And the unobtrusive lorgnette
He draws every minute
On the one whose appearance vaguely reminded
He has forgotten features.
"Tell me, prince, don't you know,
Who is there in a raspberry beret
Are you talking to the Spanish ambassador?
The prince looks at Onegin.
— Aha! You haven't been in the world for a long time.
Wait, I'll introduce you. —
"But who is she?" - My wife. —

"So you're married! I didn't know before!
How long ago? - About two years. —
"On whom?" — On Larina. - "Tatyana!"
- Do you know her? “I am their neighbor.”
- Oh, let's go then. The prince is coming
Brings to his wife and her
Family and friend.
The princess looks at him...
And whatever troubled her soul,
No matter how hard she
Surprised, amazed
But nothing changed her.
She kept the same tone.
Her bow was just as quiet.

Hey! not that she shuddered
Ile suddenly turned pale, red...
Her eyebrow did not move;
She didn't even purse her lips.
Although he could not look more diligently,
But also the traces of the former Tatyana
Could not find Onegin.
He wanted to talk to her
And he couldn't. She asked,
How long has he been here, where is he from?
And not from their sides?
Then she turned to her husband
Tired look; slipped out...
And he remained motionless.

10 fragment to read

Love for all ages;
But to young, virgin hearts
Her impulses are beneficial,
Like spring storms to fields:
In the rain of passions they freshen up,
And they are renewed, and they ripen -
And a mighty life gives
And lush color and sweet fruit.
But at a late and barren age,
At the turn of our years
Sad passion dead trail:
So cold autumn storms
The meadow is turned into a swamp
And expose the forest around.

There is no doubt: alas! Eugene
In love with Tatiana like a child;
In the anguish of love thoughts
And he spends day and night.
Mind not listening to strict penalties,
To her porch, glass porch
He drives up every day;
He follows her like a shadow;
He is happy if she throws
Boa fluffy on the shoulder,
Or touch hot
Her hands, or part
Before her is a motley regiment of liveries,
Or raise a handkerchief to her.

She doesn't notice him
No matter how he fights, even die.
Accepts freely at home
Away with him says three words,
Sometimes he will meet with one bow,
Sometimes they don't notice at all.
There is not a drop of coquetry in it -
He is not tolerated by the upper world.
Onegin begins to turn pale:
She either can’t see, or isn’t sorry;
Onegin dries up - and hardly
He no longer suffers from consumption.
Everyone sends Onegin to the doctors,
They send him in chorus to the waters.

But he does not go; he advance
Ready to write to great-grandfathers
About an early meeting; and Tatyana
And there is no case (their gender is like that);
And he is stubborn, does not want to fall behind,
Still hoping, busy;
Courage healthy, sick,
Princess with a weak hand
He writes a passionate message.
Even if it makes little sense
He saw in letters not in vain;
But, to know, heartache
It has already come to him unbearable.
Here is his letter to you.

11 fragments to read

CHAPTER EIGHT

III
And I, imputing myself to the law
Passion is a single arbitrariness,
Sharing feelings with the crowd
I brought the frisky muse
To the noise of feasts and violent disputes,
Thunderstorms of the midnight watch;
And to them in crazy feasts
She carried her gifts
And how the bacchante frolicked,
At the cup she sang for the guests,
And the youth of bygone days
Behind her violently dragged,
And I was proud among friends
My windy girlfriend.

But I fell behind their union
And he ran into the distance ... She followed me.
How often the affectionate muse
I delighted the dumb way
The magic of a secret story!
How often on the rocks of the Caucasus
She is Lenore, by the moon,
Riding a horse with me!
How often along the banks of Taurida
She me in the darkness of the night
Led to listen to the sound of the sea,
The silent whisper of the Nereid,
Deep, eternal choir of shafts,
A hymn of praise to the father of the worlds.

And, forgetting the distant capital
And glitter and noisy feasts,
In the wilderness of Moldova sad
She's humble tents
Tribes wandering visited,
And between them went wild
And forgot the speech of the gods
For poor, strange languages,
For the songs of the steppe, dear to her ...
Suddenly everything changed around
And here she is in my garden
She appeared as a county lady,
With a sad thought in my eyes,
With a French book in hand.

12 fragment to read

Blessed is he who was young from his youth,
Blessed is he who has ripened in time,
Who gradually life is cold
With years he knew how to endure;
Who did not indulge in strange dreams,
Who did not shy away from the mob of the secular,
Who at twenty was a dandy or a grip,
And at thirty profitably married;
Who got free at fifty
From private and other debts,
Who is fame, money and ranks
Calmly got in line
Who has been talked about for a century:
N.N. is a wonderful person.

But it's sad to think it's in vain
We were given youth
What cheated on her all the time,
That she deceived us;
That our best wishes
That our fresh dreams
Decayed in rapid succession,
Like leaves in autumn rotten.
It's hard to see in front of you
One dinner is a long row,
Look at life as a ritual
And following the orderly crowd
Go without sharing with her
No shared opinions, no passions.

13 fragment to read

Her doubts are confusing:
“Will I go forward, will I go back? ..
He is not here. They don't know me...
I will look at the house, at this garden.
And now Tatyana descends from the hill,
Barely breathing; circle around
Full of bewilderment...
And enters a deserted courtyard.
Dogs rushed towards her, barking.
At the cry of her frightened
Guys yard family
Ran noisily. Not without a fight
The boys dispersed the dogs,
Taking the young lady under his protection.

"Can't you see the manor's house?" —
Tanya asked. hurry up
The children ran to Anisya
She has the keys to take from the hallway;
Anisya immediately appeared to her,
And the door opened before them,
And Tanya enters an empty house,
Where did our hero live recently?
She looks: forgotten in the hall
The cue was resting on billiards,
On a crumpled couch lay
Manezhny whip. Tanya is far away;
The old woman told her: “But the fireplace;
Here the gentleman sat alone.

Here I dined with him in the winter
The late Lensky, our neighbor.
Come here, follow me.
Here is the master's office;
Here he rested, ate coffee,
Listened to the clerk's reports
And I read a book in the morning ...
And the old gentleman lived here;
With me, it happened on Sunday,
Here under the window, wearing glasses,
I deigned to play fools.
God bless his soul,
And his bones rest
In the grave, in the damp mother earth!

14 fragment to read

Moscow, Russia's beloved daughter,
Where can you find your equal?
Dmitriev

How not to love your native Moscow?
Baratynsky

Persecution of Moscow! what does it mean to see the light!
Where is better?
Where we are not.
Griboyedov

Chased by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped by muddy streams
To flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream meets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, forests
As if they are turning green.
Bee for tribute in the field
Flies from the wax cell.
The valleys dry and dazzle;
The herds are noisy, and the nightingale
Already sang in the silence of the nights.

How sad is your appearance to me,
Spring, spring! it's time for love!
What a languid excitement
In my soul, in my blood!
With what heavy tenderness
I enjoy the breath
In my face blowing spring
In the bosom of rural silence!
Or is pleasure alien to me,
And everything that pleases, lives,
All that rejoices and glitters
Brings boredom and languor
On a soul that's been dead for a long time
And everything seems dark to her?

Or, not rejoicing in the return
Leaves that died in autumn
We remember the bitter loss
Listening to the new noise of the forests;
Or with nature brisk
We bring together the confused thought
We are the fading of our years,
Which revival is not?
Perhaps it comes to our mind
In the midst of poetic sleep
Another, old spring
And the heart trembles us
Dream of the far side
About a wonderful night, about the moon ...

15 fragment to read

CHAPTER EIGHT

You can be a good person
And think about the beauty of nails:
Why fruitlessly argue with the century?
Custom despot among people.
The second Chadaev, my Eugene,
Fearing jealous judgments
There was a pedant in his clothes
And what we called a dandy.
It's three hours at least
Spent in front of the mirrors
And came out of the restroom
Like windy Venus
When, wearing a man's outfit,
The goddess is going to the masquerade.

In the last taste of the toilet
Taking your curious gaze,
I could before the learned light
Here describe his attire;
Of course it would be bold
Describe my case:
But pantaloons, tailcoat, vest,
All these words are not in Russian;
And I see, I blame you,
What is it my poor syllable
I could dazzle much less
In foreign words,
Even though I looked in the old days
In the Academic Dictionary.

Which passage from Eugene Onegin is better to learn?

Issue resolved and closed.

best answer

Answers

1 0

7 (63309) 9 73 198 7 years

I taught this at school) I don’t even remember why I chose it

It was pleasant, noble,
Short call or cartel:
Courteously, with cold clarity
He called his friend Lensky to a duel.
Onegin from the first movement,
To the ambassador of such a commission
Turning around, without further ado
Said he was always ready.
Zaretsky got up without explanation;
Didn't want to stay
Having a lot to do at home
And immediately went out; but Eugene
Alone with your soul
He was dissatisfied with himself.

And rightly so: in a strict analysis,
Calling himself to a secret court,
He blamed himself for many things:
First of all, he was wrong
What is above love, timid, tender
So the evening joked casually.
And secondly: let the poet
Fooling around; at eighteen
It is forgiving. Eugene,
Loving the young man with all my heart,
Was supposed to render myself
Not a ball of prejudice,
Not an ardent boy, a fighter,
But a husband with honor and intelligence.

He could find feelings
And not to bristle like a beast;
He had to disarm
Young heart. "But now
It's too late; time has flown...
Besides - he thinks - in this matter
The old duelist intervened;
He is angry, he is a gossip, he is a talker...
Of course, there must be contempt
At the cost of his funny words,
But the whisper, the laughter of fools..."
And here is the public opinion!
Spring of honor, our idol!
And that's what the world revolves on!

0 0

8 (336368) 6 26 632 7 years

The village where Eugene missed was a lovely corner
On the first day, without thinking, he dragged a peasant woman into the bushes
And, having succeeded there in the near future, he climbed out of the bush, satisfied.
He looked around his possessions, pissed and said: "Beauty !!!:"
He ordered the women to all gather, counted them personally
And, to better understand, I rewrote them by the hour:
Sometimes he was still in bed, waking up scratching two eggs
And under the window, a woman in the body is already waiting impatiently at the porch!
: At lunch like this, and at dinner too, well, who can stand this, my God ?!
And very soon our Eugene from @bli often fell ill,
Already he was lying alone in bed, he could no longer look at the women!
Habits from childhood not having nothing to do for a long time
He found another idea and began to drink hard
After all, drink in moderation - there is no harm, but our hero was drunk to the light,
He hit an ace with a pistol and drank like a camel in the desert.

0 0

7 (29705) 4 18 61 7 years

CHAPTER EIGHT
XLIII

"Onegin, I was younger then,
I seem to be better
And I loved you; and what?
What have I found in your heart?
What answer? one severity.
Isn't it true? You weren't news
Humble girls love?
And now - God! - the blood freezes
As soon as I remember the cold look
And this sermon... But you
I do not blame: in that terrible hour
You have acted nobly.
You were right before me:
I am grateful with all my heart...

"Then, isn't it? - in a desert,
Far from the vain rumors,
You didn't like me... Well now
Are you following me?
Why do you have me in mind?
Is it not because in high society
Now I must appear;
That I am rich and noble
That the husband is mutilated in battles,
What is it that the yard caresses us for?
Is it because my shame
Now everyone would be noticed
And could bring in society
You seductive honor?

She liked novels early on;
They replaced everything for her;
She fell in love with deceptions
And Richardson and Rousseau.
Her father was a good fellow
Belated in the last century;
But he saw no harm in books;
He never reads
They were considered an empty toy
And didn't care about
What is my daughter's secret volume
Slept until morning under the pillow.
His wife was herself
Mad about Richardson.

She loved Richardson
Not because I read
Not because Grandison
She preferred Lovlas (14);
But in the old days, Princess Alina,
Her Moscow cousin
She often told her about them.
At that time there was still a groom
Her husband, but by captivity;
She sighed for another
Who in heart and mind
She liked much more:
This Grandison was a glorious dandy,
Player and Guard Sgt.


The answer to the first question: There is such a term in the literature "superfluous people" Eugene Onegin is ranked among them. Also include Pechorin (Hero of Our Time) Oblomov (Oblomov) The exact prototype of Onegin is Pechorin. Lament their images on Wiki. You will find a lot in common
On the second: It depends on your imagination, come up with something, if you read it, if not, then read it.
On the third: I think lyrical digressions in "E. Onegin" are needed to describe a detailed picture of the era. In each chapter, lyrical digressions describe a particular theme.

he wrote it for 8 years

1. Because he humiliated and insulted her. Only a bastard can say to a girl in love: "Consolation, I don't love you," and later see the light. When it dawns on Evgeny that he also loves Tatiana, Tatiana directly tells him that she got married and his train left: "I love you, why dissemble? But I am given to another and I will be faithful to him for a century."
2. Let's start with the fact that in the 19th century, for any oblique glance, they fought at the muzzle. And for Onegin, with his eccentric nature, duels were commonplace, and each such duel could be the last in his life. Secondly, he reveled too much in his youth, damn attractiveness and position in society. And I was very afraid that it would be fleeting. Especially while he was caring for a dying uncle, sincerely believing that he was wasting his young years "in vain".

the less woman we love,
The more we want to fuck

read for yourself

• it's clear that tomorrow is monday

  he had prostate cancer
  nothing to lose

  how smart you are, now I will sign all the chapters

Knowledge & Skills

Learn the novel "Eugene Onegin" by Pushkin by heart.

For what:

1. Memory training, which has recently begun to fail quite often;

2. Diversify, increase vocabulary, speech turns. Apply in practice;

3. Like poems;

4. So that somehow in a conversation one could later say: "yes, yes, I read, I remember, by heart ... everything";

5. Unknown positive causes may be revealed during the study.

The task is quite ambitious, considering that before I did not learn any poems by heart, except for the school curriculum.

I will teach in Moscow traffic jams in the morning and evening on weekdays in the car. On average, 30 minutes of "deaf" standing in the morning and evening.

The work consists of 8 chapters, 393 stanzas, more than 5000 lines. That is an average of 50 stanzas per chapter. Taking into account the repetitions of what I have learned, business trips, vacations, and so on, I plan to learn one and a half stanzas for one weekday a year. That is, the time to memorize the complete work is 1 year.

Goal Accomplishment Criteria

1. Knowledge of the entire text of the novel "Eugene Onegin" by heart.

2. Reading aloud by heart throughout the day chapter by chapter.