Eugene Onegin Tie In - Softcover

Alexander Pushkin was born in Moscow in 1799. He was exiled for his liberal views on serfdom and autocracy, but this allowed him the freedom to write some of his greatest works, including the novel in verse Eugene Onegin. He died in 1837 after being fatally wounded in a duel.

Chapter One 1) 'My uncle's acted very wisely, to seek his bed when he's so sick; his family's reacted nicely and he's most happy with his trick. He's set the world a good example, which others would do well to sample, but it's a bore, when night and day the sick man forces you to stay! To keep him sweet, as if he's dying, give him his daily medicine and make quite sure that it goes in, adjust the pillows while one's sighing: 'Don't even think of getting well, The devil take you, go to hell!' 2) Thus thought a ne'erdowell and dandy whom Zeus had made his uncle's heir: to him the money'd come in handy, so coach and horses rushed him there. For those who love my comic thriller of Ruslan and his dear Ludmilla, I'll introduce without ado, the hero of my tale to you: Onegin, whom I've long befriended, had grown up on the Neva's shore, perhaps like you, dear reader, for St. Petersburg is truly splendid where once we wandered back and forth, though now I really hate the North. Chapter Five 1) That year the warm and autumn weather appeared to wish that it could stay, and nature dawdled, altogether reluctant ever to make way for winter; suddenly some flurries of shining snow arrived and hurried to cover fences, houses, lanes, drew patterns on the window panes. Tatiana wakes and sees the whitened and gleaming countryside; the trees in wintry silver, magpies please her eyes, the hills around now lighten as swirling snowflakes gently float, enclosing all in winter's coat. 2) So now it's wintertime! The peasant sets off, rejoicing in the day, his horse, in snow both crisp and pleasant, is snorting as it drags the sleigh, while fleet kibitkas glide for hours and throw up fluffy, snowy showers; the coachman drives with proud panache in sheepskin coat and crimson sash; a country urchin blithely scampers along and pulls his little sled on which a mongrel sits, instead of him; he laughs at frozen fingers, inflamed in all the biting cold, not caring as his mother scolds.