The Thammasat University Library has acquired a new book that should be useful for students interested in literature, Russian studies, sociology, European history, and related subjects.

Eugene Onegin: A Romance of Russian Life in Verse is a novel in verse written by Alexander Pushkin.

Eugene Onegin is considered a fundamental work of Russian literature, so anyone interested in Russian culture and history might be interested to look at it.

In addition, it is seen as a major work of poetry, so even in translation, it can be a valuable experience for students of literature.

The TU Library collection includes several other books about the author Pushkin and alternate translations of Eugene Onegin.

Henry Spalding, the British translator of the newly acquired version, was a professional soldier in the nineteenth century but also served in the diplomatic world and was an accomplished linguist and writer.

In addition to his military career, Spalding was a translator from Russian.

He completed the first complete English translation of Eugene Onegin in 1881.

In the introduction to his book, Spalding describes Pushkin as

fond of long walks, unlike the generality of his countrymen, and at one time of his career used daily to foot it into St. Petersburg and back, from his residence in the suburbs, to conduct his investigations in the Government archives when employed on the History of Peter the Great. He was a good swordsman, rode well, and at one time aspired to enter the cavalry; but his father not being able to furnish the necessary funds he declined serving in the less romantic infantry.

Latterly he was regular in his habits; rose early, retired late, and managed to get along with but very little sleep. On rising he betook himself forthwith to his literary occupations, which were continued till afternoon, when they gave place to physical exercise. Strange as it will appear to many, he preferred the autumn months, especially when rainy, chill and misty, for the production of his literary compositions, and was proportionally depressed by the approach of spring. […]

He usually left St. Petersburg about the middle of September and remained in the country till December. In this space of time it was his custom to develop and perfect the inspirations of the remaining portion of the year. He was of an impetuous yet affectionate nature and much beloved by a numerous circle of friends. An attractive feature in his character was his unalterable attachment to his aged nurse, a sentiment which we find reflected in the pages of Eugene Onéguine and elsewhere.

Spalding’s translation was praised by the Russian author Ivan Turgenev for its fidelity.

Later, the literary historian Ernest Simmons also lauded Spalding for his translation.

However, the Russian novelist Vladimir Nabokov argued that it was impossible for a rhyming translation to be faithful to the original.

Nabokov’s own literal translation of Eugene Onegin is also in the TU Library collection.

Nevertheless, other translators have tried to produce rhyming translations of Eugene Onegin. One such recent effort in modern English, by Anthony Briggs, is owned by the TU Library.

The Russian literary historian D. S. Mirsky once suggested that the poetry in Eugene Onegin should flow and bubble like champagne in sunshine.

The title character is a selfish man who rejects the love of a young woman and murders his best friend in a duel.

Despite this unpleasant story, the narrative offers many insights into Russian culture and sensibilities.

While describing society in Russia of the early 1800s, Pushkin also presents his ideas about literature and human nature.

These are also evocations of the Russian landscape and the changing of seasons.

Pushkin is considered one of the poets who is so accomplished in his language that much is lost in any translation.

Here are some excerpts from the translation by Anthony Briggs, as posted online, to give an impression of the experience of reading Eugene Onegin:

Uncle, a man of purest probity,

Has fallen ill, beyond a joke.

Respected now, and scorned by nobody,

He has achieved his masterstroke

With this exemplary behaviour,

But it would try the Holy Saviour

To tend a sickbed night and day,

And never stir a step away,

Employing shameful histrionics

To bring a half-dead man some cheer,

Plump pillows and draw sadly near,

Indulging him with pills and tonics,

Heaving deep sighs, but thinking ‘Ooh!

When will the devil come for you?’

[…]

With worthy service now behind him,

His father lived from debt to debt.

Three balls a year soon undermined him,

He was as poor as you can get.

Fate saved the boy, who was aware of

Madame, and being taken care of,

And her replacement, a Monsieur.

The child was frisky, though demure.

Monsieur l’Abbé, a Catholic father,

Not keen to weigh Yevgeny down,

Taught him by acting like a clown.

Morals seemed irksome; he would rather

Chide him for the odd naughty lark,

And walk him in the Summer Park.

4

Rebellious youth came in due season –

A season full of hopeful dreams

And gentle sadness – ample reason

To give Monsieur the sack, it seems.

Onegin now, devil-may-care-style,

Copied the very latest hairstyle

And came out like a London fop

To see society, Tip-top

In spoken French (no less proficient

In speech and writing), he could dance,

And with the utmost nonchalance

Perform a bow, which was sufficient

To show him in a pleasing light

As a nice lad, and very bright.

[…]

No. While still young he lost all feeling,

Finding the noisy world a bore

And lovely girls not so appealing,

Not so obsessive as before.

Betrayals left him sad and weary,

Both friends an friendship he found dreary.

You cannot keep on sluicing steaks

Or Strasburg pie with what it takes –

The best champagne! And it gets harder

To please the diners with bons mots

When headaches leave you feeling low.

Yevgeny, once a man of ardour,

Acknowledged that his love was dead

For conflict, sabres and the lead.

[…]

O rural idyll, love and flowers!

O fields to you I yield my soul…

I mark what differences are ours,

What separates us on the whole,

So that no reader, no wild joker,

No literary libel-broker

Can publish somewhere by design

Onegin’s features as for mine,

And then repeat the claim (outrageous!)

That here my portrait has been daubed

Like Byron’s, proudly self-absorbed,

As if one could not fill these pages

By painting someone other than

One’s own self as the leading man.

[…]

(All images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)