No More Learning

Perhaps I cannot more suitably conclude this sketch than by
quoting from his _Ode to the Sea_ the poet's tribute of admiration
to the genius of Napoleon and Byron, who of all contemporaries seem
the most to have swayed his imagination.

Farewell, thou pathway of the free,
For the last time thy waves I view
Before me roll disdainfully,
Brilliantly beautiful and blue.

Why vain regret? Wherever now
My heedless course I may pursue
One object on thy desert brow
I everlastingly shall view--

A rock, the sepulchre of Fame!
The poor remains of greatness gone
A cold remembrance there became,
There perished great Napoleon.

In torment dire to sleep he lay;
Then, as a tempest echoing rolls,
Another genius whirled away,
Another sovereign of our souls.

He perished. Freedom wept her child,
He left the world his garland bright.
Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild,
To sing of thee was his delight.

Impressed upon him was thy mark,
His genius moulded was by thee;
Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark
And untamed in his majesty.

Note: It may interest some to know that Georges d'Anthes was tried
by court-martial for his participation in the duel in which Pushkin
fell, found guilty, and reduced to the ranks; but, not being a
Russian subject, he was conducted by a gendarme across the frontier
and then set at liberty.




Eugene Oneguine

Petri de vanite, il avait encore plus de cette espece d'orgueil, qui
fait avouer avec la meme indifference les bonnes comme les mauvaises
actions, suite d'un sentiment de superiorite, peut-etre imaginaire. --
_Tire d'une lettre particuliere_.


[Note: Written in 1823 at Kishineff and Odessa. ]



CANTO THE FIRST

'The Spleen'

'He rushes at life and exhausts the passions.
'
Prince Viazemski


Canto the First

I

"My uncle's goodness is extreme,
If seriously he hath disease;
He hath acquired the world's esteem
And nothing more important sees;
A paragon of virtue he!
But what a nuisance it will be,
Chained to his bedside night and day
Without a chance to slip away.
Ye need dissimulation base
A dying man with art to soothe,
Beneath his head the pillow smooth,
And physic bring with mournful face,
To sigh and meditate alone:
When will the devil take his own! "

II

Thus mused a madcap young, who drove
Through clouds of dust at postal pace,
By the decree of Mighty Jove,
Inheritor of all his race.
Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1)
Let me present ye to the man,
Who without more prevarication
The hero is of my narration!
Oneguine, O my gentle readers,
Was born beside the Neva, where
It may be ye were born, or there
Have shone as one of fashion's leaders.
I also wandered there of old,
But cannot stand the northern cold. (2)

[Note 1: _Ruslan and Liudmila_, the title of Pushkin's first
important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures
of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who
has been carried off by a _kaldoon_, or magician. ]

[Note 2: Written in Bessarabia. ]

III

Having performed his service truly,
Deep into debt his father ran;
Three balls a year he gave ye duly,
At last became a ruined man.
But Eugene was by fate preserved,
For first "madame" his wants observed,
And then "monsieur" supplied her place;(3)
The boy was wild but full of grace.
"Monsieur l'Abbe," a starving Gaul,
Fearing his pupil to annoy,
Instructed jestingly the boy,
Morality taught scarce at all;
Gently for pranks he would reprove
And in the Summer Garden rove.

[Note 3: In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly
styled "monsieur" or "madame. "]

IV

When youth's rebellious hour drew near
And my Eugene the path must trace--
The path of hope and tender fear--
Monsieur clean out of doors they chase.
Lo!