EUGENE ONEGIN

It was a warm evening in the late autumn, and Frau Larina, a wealthy landowner in Russia, was sitting in the garden of her beautiful country house, busily engaged upon the homely task of peeling fruit, in which she was assisted by an old nurse named Philipjewna. Through the open windows of the mansion close by came the sound of the sweet singing of her two fair young daughters, Olga and Tatiana; and as she listened to their song, the mother's heart was filled with sympathy and tender recollection, for the song was one she had herself sung in the days of her youth.

Darkness was fast closing around, and presently a band of merry peasants came trooping into the grounds, carrying sheaves of corn, which they presented to Frau Larina, for to-day was the last of the Harvest, and they had come to lay their customary tribute at the feet of their Lady Benefactress.

Frau Larina received the peasants with great kindness, inviting them to sing and dance before her; and to partake of the refreshment she had ordered to be prepared for them. So the lively youths and maidens, in spite of weariness after their long day's toil, began to go through the mazy figures of a country dance upon the moonlit lawn, singing a merry harvest song as an accompaniment.

On hearing the song of the peasants, Olga and Tatiana came out into the garden and stood beside their mother, listening to the singing and watching the dance with interest.
tchaicovsky

TSCHAIKOVSKY

The two sisters, though both fair to look upon, presented a great contrast to each other; for whereas the elder, Olga, was light-hearted, matter-of-fact, and frivolous, loving gaiety and amusement, Tatiana, on the other hand, was dreamy, romantic and retiring, caring little for the usual excitements of youth, but preferring to wander off alone to read in solitude, or indulge in day-dreams.

This difference in disposition was shown now, as they emerged from the house; for Olga, exhilarated by the lively music, was ready enough to join the peasants in their merry dance, but Tatiana, in whom the music had awakened more romantic thoughts, retired to a quiet corner of the terrace to read a favourite book, and to enjoy the beauty of the night.

Seeing that her young daughter was more than usually quiet and dreamy this evening, Frau Larina, with motherly solicitude, approached to inquire if all was well with her; but Tatiana declared that nothing ailed her, and that she was but deeply interested in her book and musings.

When the peasants had finished their dance, they trooped away again to partake of their patroness's hospitality; and immediately after, a carriage drove up, from which alighted two gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood. These were Vladimir Lenski, a young nobleman who was betrothed to Olga, and his friend, Eugene Onegin, who, although he owned land in the neighbourhood, yet was unknown to Frau Larina and her daughters.

At sight of the stranger, the shy and timid Tatiana would have retired to the house, but was detained by her mother; and a few moments later, Lenski came forward to greet the ladies, at the same time introducing his friend.

Onegin was a handsome man, who had seen much of the world, and possessed an interesting and fascinating personality; and as the impressionable Tatiana lifted her timid eyes and gazed shyly upon him, she was strangely attracted by him, feeling that he was the very impersonation of the romantic hero of her girlish dreams. Onegin, too, was interested in the pensive girl, who was more to his taste than the laughing Olga; and entering into conversation with her, they presently strolled into the garden together, leaving Lenski and his fiancée to their own sweet devices.

Lenski was overjoyed at finding himself alone with his beloved Olga, and poured forth passionate protestations of devotion into her ear, which, although she received them with merry bantering, were nevertheless pleasing to his fiancée; and the time passed all too quickly for the happy lovers.

Presently, however, Frau Larina interrupted this pretty scene by bidding them to the evening meal, which was now ready; and as the lovers retired to the house, Tatiana and Onegin emerged from the garden, deep in conversation, and passed in after them.

Tatiana, in spite of her shyness, had found intense enjoyment in the society of Onegin; and although his conversation revealed him to be a world-weary cynic, with little belief in human goodness, yet his personality thrilled her to her utmost being, and her heart throbbed wildly with a strange delirious joy that would not be suppressed. As the night advanced, this sudden passion grew more and more intensified; and when at last she retired to her chamber, her agitation was so great that she could restrain her feelings no longer.

The old nurse, who had accompanied her to attend to her wants, endeavoured to soothe the young girl, seeing that she was over-wrought; but she found her task a hard one, for Tatiana insisted on hearing the story of Philipjewna's own love and betrothal, and was not to be diverted from this all-enthralling subject. So, to satisfy her young mistress, the old nurse described the events connected with her marriage, which were prosaic and unromantic enough; since, according to the usual custom of the Russian peasantry, a husband was chosen for her, and she was bidden to wed him, the short courtship being a mere matter of form, and the question of love having nothing whatever to do with the transaction.

Tatiana, however, paid little heed to the story she had asked for, being too much engrossed with her own conflicting emotions; and as the recital came to an end, she desired the old nurse to bring writing materials into the room, and then retire.

Philipjewna, thinking it best to humour the young girl, obeyed her behest at once; and having placed writing materials on the table, she kissed her nursling tenderly, and left the room, hoping that sleep and pleasant dreams would restore her to calmness by the morning.

But sleep was very far from the thoughts of the agitated Tatiana; for, unable to restrain her feelings any longer, she had determined to write a letter to Eugene Onegin, to confess the passionate love she had conceived for him, and to ask him to grant her a meeting in the grounds next day. For a long time conflicting thoughts assailed her, maidenly modesty and natural reticence struggling with her new-born love and the longing desire to have it returned; but at length the intensity of her passion overcame all other feelings, and, seizing a pen, she began to write. But even now, when her decision was made, she found it a difficult task to put her overwhelming thoughts upon the paper; and many were the sheets she destroyed, and the new attempts she made.

The night crept on, but Tatiana was heedless of the passing hours; and at length, as the first signs of dawn appeared, she finished the letter, and, with trembling hands and much misgiving, placed it in an envelope ready to be delivered.

The letter was characteristic of the girl's disposition, and every line breathed of the sweet trustfulness that had prompted its writing. It was the simple outpouring of a generous, beautiful nature, and the depth and intensity of passion it revealed but proved the value of the gift offered—the gift of a pure young maiden's heart.

Having sealed the letter, Tatiana went up to the window, and, drawing aside the curtains, pensively watched the rosy dawn of another beautiful autumn morning; and a short time afterwards Philipjewna came in to awaken her, according to her usual custom. Amazed to find her young mistress already risen, the old nurse hurried forward to greet her, noticing with alarm that the bed had not been slept in; but Tatiana, scarcely waiting for her greeting, hastily placed the letter she had written in her hands, and nervously entreated her to have it conveyed to Eugene Onegin without delay.

At first the nurse hesitated, knowing that this was an extraordinary request; but seeing that the girl was still in a state of nervous excitement, she again thought it best to humour her, so took the note and promised to have it delivered at once. As soon as Philipjewna had left the room, Tatiana buried her face in her hands, half-regretting that she had sent the letter, and wondering if Onegin would grant her the appointment she had asked for, first hoping that he would come, and the next moment praying that he would not.

However, later in the day, as the time appointed for the meeting drew near, she gathered her courage together, and went out into the grounds, with doubt and longing in her heart, trembling at the thought of what the result of her interview would be, fearing lest her love should be scorned, yet equally full of shy fears should it be returned.

As she appeared in the grounds, she found that a group of village maidens were continuing their harvest festivities by indulging in further merry songs and dances on the lawn; but presently they departed to another part of the grounds, leaving Tatiana alone, and a few moments later Eugene Onegin appeared and hurried towards her.

At the sight of the man she loved so passionately, Tatiana's little stock of courage entirely forsook her, leaving her trembling like an aspen leaf, and she would certainly have run away again, had not Onegin imperiously bidden her to remain. Then, drawing nearer to the agitated girl, he told her gently that he had received and read her letter, and since she had been so frank with him, he would, in return, be frank with her.

He then went on to declare in passionless tones, yet half-regretfully, that he was too world-weary to accept the fresh young love she had to offer, and was neither worthy to receive so generous a gift, nor had he a like passion to offer in return.

As the trembling Tatiana listened to these cold, yet truthful words, each one of which stabbed her to the heart, she felt crushed to the earth; and, overcome with grief and shame, she buried her face in her hands. Onegin, sorry for the pain he was thus inflicting upon the heart of this romantic girl, now bade her, in a more tender tone than he had yet used, to restrain her feelings, since another, less conscientious than himself, might use such impulsiveness for his own selfish ends; and then, taking her by the hand, he led her into the house as though she had been a little child.

A short time after this, Frau Larina gave a splendid ball in honour of Tatiana's eighteenth birthday, and all the élite of the neighbourhood were invited to join in the festivities, prominent amongst the guests being Lenski and Eugene Onegin.

The entertainment was an elegant one, and the assemblage brilliant; but Onegin found it dull, and was frankly bored. He passed most of his time with Tatiana, for the romantic girl still interested him; but Tatiana was restless and silent, and at last he left her to her own reflections, seeing that she seemed ill at ease with him.

Being now more bored than ever, he felt annoyed with Lenski for having persuaded him to come; and presently the spirit of mischief suggested a means for paying off this small grudge against his friend. Seeing the pretty smiling Olga approaching at the moment, he invited her to dance with him several times, including the cotillion she had promised to her fiancé, and Olga, being by nature a daring coquette, gaily accepted his attentions with such evident pleasure, that Lenski's brow grew black with disappointment and jealousy, for he loved her passionately, and could brook no rival in his affections. Full of gloom, he watched the pair as they danced through the intricate figures, noting with increasing anger the many roguish glances bestowed by the coquettish Olga upon her partner; and when the cotillion came to an end, unable to restrain his feelings any longer, he openly accused Onegin of endeavouring to steal away the affections of his fiancée, and before all the guests, he furiously challenged him to give him satisfaction and fight with him on the morrow.

At first, Onegin tried to laugh the matter off, declaring that he had no thought of doing his friend a wrong; and Olga, now frightened and full of remorse that her giddy conduct should have thus been the means of causing strife, also implored her fiancé to calm himself and think no more of the matter.

But Lenski's jealous passion would brook no interference; and he continued to pour such angry reproaches and stinging taunts upon Onegin, that the latter at length lost control of himself also, and, goaded beyond bearing, angrily accepted the challenge. The guests, alarmed and dismayed, at once look a hurried departure, and the ball, which had commenced so brightly, ended in confusion and gloom.

Early next morning, Lenski and Onegin, with their seconds, met in a retired part of the grounds, and there, with all the usual ceremonious etiquette, the duel was fought. Both felt sad at the thought that their long and happy friendship should end in this terrible way, and longed to utter the one word that would have reconciled them; but pride kept their lips sealed, and when the signal was given, they raised their pistols and fired instantaneously.

Lenski fell to the ground at once; and when Onegin, who was untouched, ran forward with the seconds, and clasped him in his arms, he found to his horror that he was dead.

Full of grief and remorse that he had thus for the sake of a foolish code of honour slain the dearest friend of his youth, Onegin, dazed and miserable, left the neighbourhood at once; and for several years afterwards he wandered restlessly from country to country, in the vain endeavour to drown the tormenting regrets and harrowing recollections that haunted his brain.

But neither change of scene nor wildest adventure could succeed in bringing any comfort or peace to his wounded and remorseful heart; and at last, overruled by an irresistible longing to return to the scene of his trouble, he travelled to Russia once more, and upon arriving in St Petersburg, was sought out by his old friends, and induced to remain there for a while. On receiving an invitation to a magnificent ball from one of his near relations, Prince Gremin, a nobleman of high position and honours, he was persuaded to accept this; and when the evening arrived, he proceeded to attend the function, though very much against his will.

But even such a brilliant scene as this could not bring distraction to the torn and weary heart of Eugene Onegin; and as he wandered restlessly from room to room, his self-accusing thoughts still haunted him, and the memory of the fatal duel was again pictured in his mind as vividly as ever. Presently, however, he noticed a stir among the guests, and a subdued murmur of admiration; and following their gaze, he saw that the centre of attraction was a beautiful young woman, richly clad, and sparkling with jewels, who was passing from one group to another with easy dignity, bestowing smiles and gracious words on all. A second glance told Onegin that this brilliant figure was Tatiana, the young daughter of Frau Larina, the romantic maiden who had so impulsively offered him her fresh girlish love a few years ago; Tatiana, no longer a dreamy child, but grown up into a lovely, soulful woman, gracious and self-controlled, a very queen even amidst this dazzling array of fair women.

It was indeed Tatiana, who had been taken from her quiet country home to become the admired wife of Prince Gremin, who, though many years older than she, yet loved her tenderly, and did all in his power to make her happy; and the fair young girl, though she could not give him love, yet made him a dutiful and devoted wife, and soon learned to bear her exalted position with becoming dignity.

Now, as Onegin gazed once again upon Tatiana, always interesting to him, but doubly so in her matured beauty, with all her natural charms of mind, body and disposition intensified a hundredfold, his heart suddenly throbbed with a new and strange feeling of exaltation, and he who had thought himself dead to all passion, felt his pulses quicken and a thrill of the keenest joy pass like an electric current through his whole being.

His emotion increased presently when Prince Gremin brought his beautiful young wife forward, and introduced her to him with pride and affection; for although Tatiana greeted him with easy calm and even coldness, making no attempt to hide their former acquaintance, yet the intense look of repressed passion in her deep tender eyes told him plainly that her feeling for him had not altered, but had deepened with her growth. As she moved away again on the arm of her husband, Onegin felt the sharp pangs of jealousy for the first time in his life, and knew that he now loved this woman with his whole heart; and he was seized with a passionate desire to possess the love he had once refused.

Unable to restrain his overwhelming feelings, he determined to declare himself at all costs; and, making his way to a retired spot, he waited until Tatiana came by alone; and then, hastening towards her, trembling with emotion, he told her of his love, and implored her to grant him hers in return; but Tatiana reminded him bitterly that he had slighted her proffered affection in former years, treating it as the mere fancy of a sentimental girl, and even blaming her for her boldness.

Cut to the quick by this just retort, Onegin sank to his knees and begged her with increasing emotion to have pity and to grant him the love he now longed for above all things; and his pleading was so powerful that Tatiana, unable to keep up her pretence of coldness any longer, admitted that her passion for him was still the same, and for a few moments a feeling of delirious joy filled her heart at the thought that her love was at last returned.

But when Onegin next entreated her to leave her home with him, that they might be yet happy together, since theirs was a love that would not be denied, then the young wife declared in broken accents that she would not be untrue to her husband, no matter how hard it might be to refuse the pleading of the man she loved.

Again and again Onegin passionately besought her to obey the dictates of her heart, and to fly with him; but Tatiana, though tempted almost beyond endurance, still brokenly, yet firmly, refused, and at last, fearing to remain longer lest her resolution should break down, she fled away from his presence with a last distracted look.

Then Onegin, full of despair, and feeling that happiness could never now be his, drew forth a pistol that he had carried with him on his travels; and, since he cared no longer to live, he drew the trigger, and fell lifeless to the ground!