CHAN

10541(2)

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Classics Sergey Sergeyevich Prokofiev (1891 –1953) , Op. 71 Melodrama in Sixteen Scenes Text by Alexander Pushkin in Sir Charles Johnston’s English translation Directed by Timothy West

COMPACT DISC ONE 1 Scene 1. Lensky at Larin’s grave – 6:13 2 Scene 2. Onegin and Lensky at Lensky’s country house – 9:10 3 Scene 3. At the sisters’ home – 3:40 4 Scene 4. Having taken a short cut, they’re on their way home as fast as possible – 3:50 5 Scene 5. Tatyana in the park – 1:53 6 Scene 6. Tatyana and Nurse – 3:35 Painting by Pyotr Konchalovsky (1876 – 1956) © Lebrecht Music & Arts Photo Library 7 Scene 7. Tatyana’s letter – 10:14 8 Scene 8. Onegin receives Tatyana’s letter – 4:33 9 Scene 9. Onegin scolds Tatyana in Larin’s garden – 6:04 10 Scene 10. Lensky and Onegin together in Lensky’s house – 2:41 11 Scene 11. Tatyana’s dream – 7:36 12 Scene 12. Larin’s ball 14:29 TT 74:05 Sergey Sergeyevich Prokofiev, 1934

3 COMPACT DISC TWO 1 Scene 12 (cont’d). ‘Zaretsky left without discussion…’ – 3:22 Prokofiev: 2 Scene 13. Duel – 3:22 Eugene Onegin 3 Scene 14. Tatyana visits Onegin’s house – 5:19 1937 was an important year in the Soviet Union. omitted by Tchaikovsky (Tairov had 4 Scene 15. They say goodbye to peaceful valleys – 7:55 It was the twentieth anniversary of the 1917 reservations about the dramatic aspect of 5 Waltz – Revolution and it was the centenary of the Tchaikovsky’s opera). In addition to the main Scene 15 (cont’d). ‘There came a murmur…’ – 13:23 death of Pushkin. During the preceding year, actors there were to be two ‘sputniks’ – Sergey Prokofiev had been involved in three companions – who would carry the continuity 6 Scene 16. Onegin’s letter to Tatyana – 7:50 different projects based upon works of Pushkin: of the narrative and who would voice 7 Scene 16 (cont’d). ‘The days flew past…’ 8:49 music for a film version of The Queen of Spades, Pushkin’s comments on the action ‘from the TT 50:06 incidental music for a production by Meyerhold outside’, as the poet does in the novel. of Boris Godunov, and music for a dramatised By the autumn of 1936 all forty‑four version of the verse‑novel Eugene Onegin. The musical numbers were completed. Then, on scores for all three projects were completed 3 December 1936, Prokofiev received a letter Timothy West speaker (Narrator) but, through no fault of the composer, none of from the ‘Committee for the Arts’ instructing Samuel West speaker (Eugene Onegin) them was performed in his lifetime. him ‘not to continue any further work on the Niamh Cusack speaker (Tatyana) In 1933 Prokofiev had collaborated with orchestration and the score for this play and Dominic Mafham speaker (Lensky) Alexander Yakovlevich Tairov, the founder not to advise at rehearsals’. The production and head of the Kamerny Theatre was to be ‘excluded from the repertoire of the Helena McCarthy speaker (Nurse • Larina • Anisia) (Moscow Chamber Theatre), in a production Moscow Kamerny Theatre’. Terrence Hardiman speaker (Zaretsky • Prince • Neighbour) called Egyptian Nights. When in 1936, in Why the ban was imposed is not clear, but Katherine Fuge soprano preparation for the centenary celebrations, a likely clue lies in the date. 1936 was the year Andrew Rutt bass Tairov decided to stage a dramatisation of Pravda printed its famous anti-Shostakovich Julian Walker bass Eugene Onegin, it was natural that he should article ‘Chaos instead of Music’, attacking his ask Prokofiev to collaborate again. opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. The New Company chorus He entrusted the stage adaptation of By now all the arts were under attack. Both Sinfonia 21 the novel to the writer S.D. Krzhizhanovsky, Meyerhold and Tairov were condemned for Alison Kelly leader who was instructed to make his version their experimentation and shortly afterwards Sir Edward Downes as complete as possible and specifically the theatres of both of them were closed to include those scenes which had been down.

4 5 The music for Eugene Onegin was not scarcely any singing in it. Nor is it merely a The work opens with Lensky brooding Betrothal in a Monastery, the ballet Cinderella published during Prokofiev’s lifetime. play with incidental background music. The over mortality at the grave of Monsieur and the Seventh Symphony. During the cultural thaw of the early 1960s, music is much more important than that. Larin, the father of Olga and Tatyana. We In an article in Pravda in 1937, Prokofiev wrote: Elizaveta Dattel, a Soviet musicologist, It helps to heighten the dramatic tension hear a haunting oboe theme which is further The search for a musical idiom in keeping discovered a set of sketches and a virtually and, by means of thematic association developed in the next two numbers, numbers with the epoch of socialism is a worthy, but complete piano score of Eugene Onegin with with particular characters and emotional that show the friendship between Onegin and difficult, task for the composer… the orchestration indicated, ready for the situations, it creates a variety of almost Lensky. It is heard again at the beginning of It is something like shooting at a moving copyist. From this manuscript, four pages, subliminal reference points and comments. the Duel scene which is the tragic ending of target: only by aiming ahead, at tomorrow, comprising three musical numbers, were One specially effective characteristic of their friendship. This theme serves as a tragic will you avoid being left behind at the missing. In 1973, a score was published in the work is the use of melodrama – i.e., a text leitmotiv throughout the work and forms level of yesterday’s needs. That is why I Moscow which retained Prokofiev’s original spoken over music. Words and music have an important element in the extended final consider it a mistake for a composer to order for the musical numbers but had an their own necessary tempo (pace) and to number. There are several such motifs in the strive for simplification. Any attempt to ‘play extensively revised scenario for the spoken convey to us fully their respective emotional work, which are associated with particular down’ to the listener is a subconscious text. The three musical numbers were still meaning they must unfold at their own characters or emotional situations, and underestimation of his cultural maturity missing. In this version the music was natural tempo. Very rarely do these seemingly their recurrence becomes a Prokofievian and the development of his tastes; such an performed and recorded in Moscow. incompatible tempi coincide. When they do, commentary on the drama. attempt has an element of insincerity. And Shortly after I had been invited by the the effect is overwhelming. One of the great Prokofiev was not one to waste a good music that is insincere cannot be enduring. BBC to conduct the first British performance advantages of melodrama lies in the fact that piece of work. As Lensky dreams of Olga’s In my own work written in this fruitful year, of this work, an announcement appeared, each element – the words and the music – can beauty his poetic ardour is reflected in a I have striven for clarity and melodiousness. advertising an auction at Christie’s at move simultaneously at its own pace without tender, soaring melody in C major. The theme At the same time I have scrupulously avoided which a collection of Prokofiev’s letters and inhibiting or obscuring the other. returns at the end of the duel scene – his last palming off familiar harmonies and tunes. manuscripts were to be offered for sale. A case in point is the treatment of Lensky. thoughts are of Olga. Five years later, in the That is where the difficulty of composing Among these I was delighted to find the In Tchaikovsky’s version, this character has first scene of his opera on Tolstoy’s War and clear, straightforward music lies: the clarity four missing pages from the complete piano to be established in a very short space of Peace, Prokofiev used a theme which he had must be new, not old. score. Through the kindness of Madame Lina time, and somewhat sketchily. But Prokofiev previously used in Tatyana’s letter scene, Prokofiev, the composer’s widow, I was able is able to take much more time: the strength depicting restless love. Other music from © Sir Edward Downes to complete the orchestration and use the of Lensky’s friendship with Onegin is firmly Eugene Onegin found its way into the opera Edited by Jessica Duchen pages for what was to be the first complete established. Facts and relationships can be performance of this major work. conveyed in speech much more quickly It is difficult to categorise Prokofiev’s and in much greater detail than they can Eugene Onegin. It is not an opera – there is in song.

6 7 Narrator as well-read, though of pedant cast. ‘Make way, make way’, goes up the shout; Eugene Onegin Our poor young poet – Olga fired him Unforced, as conversation passed, his collar in its beaver braiding in his first dream of passion’s fruit; he had the talent of saluting glitters with hoar‑frost all about. COMPACT DISC ONE and thoughts of her were what inspired him felicitously every theme, Applause. Onegin enters – passes to the first moanings of his flute. of listening like a judge-supreme across the public’s toes; he steers 1 Scene 1 while serious topics were disputing, straight to his stall, then turns his glasses Lensky at Larin’s grave Lensky or, with an epigram‑surprise, on unknown ladies in the tiers; Farewell the games of golden childhood! of kindling smiles in ladies’ eyes. he’s viewed the boxes without passion, Lensky I fell in love with darkest wildwood, Some days he’s still in bed, and drowses, he’s seen it all; with looks and fashion A humble sinner, Dmitri Larin, solitude, stillness and the night, when little notes come on a tray. he’s dreadfully dissatisfied; beneath the stone reposes here, the stars, the moon – celestial light What? Invitations? Yes, three houses to gentlemen on every side servant of God, and Brigadier. to which so oft I’ve dedicated have each asked him to a soirée: he’s bowed politely; his attention those walks amid the gloom and calm a ball here, there a children’s party: wanders in a distracted way Narrator of evening, and those tears, the balm where shall he go, my rogue, my hearty? across the stage; he yawns: Vladimir Lensky cast an eye of secret pain… but it’s now rated Which one comes first? It’s just the same – over his neighbour’s plain memorial, by judgement of the modern camp to do them all is easy game. Onegin ‘Ballet – and offered to that ash a sigh. almost as good as a dim lamp. Meanwhile, attired for morning strolling they all have richly earned a pension’; Sadly he mourned for the departed – complete with broad‑brimmed bolivar, Narrator Eugene attends the boulevard, Narrator Lensky Let me acquaint you on the nail and there at large he goes patrolling he turns away: Poor Yorick! now with the hero of my tale. until Bréguet’s unsleeping chime Onegin, my good friend, was littered advises him of dinner‑time. Onegin Narrator and bred upon the Neva’s brink, More wine, he calls, to drench the flaming ‘I’ve had enough – – said he, broken‑hearted, where you were born as well, I think, fire of the cutlets’ scalding fat, now even Didelot’s tedious stuff.’ Listener, or where you’ve shone and glittered! when Bréguet’s chime is heard proclaiming Lensky There once I too strolled back and forth: the new ballet he should be at. Narrator He dandled me as a small boy; but I’m allergic to the North. That world where every man’s a critic The illness with which he’d been smitten how many times I made a toy We all meandered through our schooling who’ll clap an entrechat, or scoff should have been analysed when caught; of his Ochakov decoration! haphazard; so, to God be thanks, at Cleopatra, hiss her off, something like spleen, that scourge of Britain, He destined Olga’s hand for me, it’s easy, without too much fooling, boo Phaedra out as paralytic, or Russia’s chondria for short. kept saying, ‘Shall I live to see…?’ to pass for cultured in our ranks. encore Moëna, – and rejoice It mastered him in slow gradation, Onegin was assessed by many to know the audience hears his voice. thank God he had no inclination (critical judges, strict as any) He mounts the sledge, with daylight fading: to blow his brains out, but instead

8 9 to life grew colder than the dead. a poet, and a Kantian sage. Friendship, as I must own to you, of innocence: a lily blooming So, like child Harold, glum, unpleasing He’d brought back all the fruits of learning blooms when there’s nothing else to do. in deepest grasses, quite alone, he stalked the drawing‑rooms remote from German realms of mist and steam, He smiled as Lensky talked: the heady to bee and butterfly unknown, from Boston’s cloth or gossip’s quote, freedom’s enthusiastic dream, perfervid language of the bard, full of obedience and demureness, no glance so sweet, no sigh so teasing; a spirit strange, a spirit burning, his mind, in judgement still unsteady, as gay as morning and as clear, no, nothing caused his heart to stir an eloquence of fevered strength, and always the inspired regard – poetic in her simple pureness, and nothing pierced his senses’ blur. and raven curls of shoulder‑length. to Eugene all was new and thrilling; sweet as a lover’s kiss and dear he struggled to bite back the chilling the sky-blue eyes, the flaxen tresses, 2 Scene 2 Lensky word on his lips, and thought: smile, voice and movements, little waist; Onegin and Lensky at Lensky’s country house He sang of love, to love subjected, all of that is Olga. his song was limpid in its tune Onegin Narrator as infant sleep, or the unaffected It’s sheer folly for me to interfere Onegin The place where Eugene loathed his leisure thoughts of a girl, or as the moon with such a blissful, brief infection – You’re off? Why, there’s a poet for you! was an enchanting country nook; through heaven’s expanse serenely flying, even without me it will sink; there any friend of harmless pleasure that queen of secrets and of sighing. but meanwhile let him live, and think Lensky would bless the form his fortune took. He sang of grief and parting‑time, the universe is all perfection; Goodbye, Onegin, time I went. The manor house, in deep seclusion, of something vague, some misty clime; youth is a fever: we must spare screened by a hill from storm’s intrusion, roses romantically blowing; its natural right to rave and flare. Onegin looked on a river: far away of many distant lands he sang Well, I won’t hold you up or bore you; before it was the golden play where in the heart of silence rang Narrator but where are all your evenings spent? of light that flowering fields reflected: his sobs, where his live tears were flowing, Since earliest boyhood Lensky had doted villages flickered far and near, he sang of lifetime’s yellowed page – on Olga; from heart’s ache still spared, Lensky and cattle roamed the plain, and here when not quite eighteen years of age. with tenderness he’d watched and noted At the Larins! a park, enormous and neglected, her childhood games; in them he’d shared, spread out its shadow all around – Narrator by deep and shady woods protected; Onegin the pensive Dryads’ hiding‑ground. So, verse and prose, they came together. the crown of marriage was projected But how mysterious. Meanwhile another new landowner No ice and flame, no stormy weather for them by fathers who, as friends For goodness’ sake, you can’t be serious, came driving to his country seat, and granite, were so far apart. and neighbours, followed the same ends. killing each evening off like that? and, in the district, this persona At first, disparity of heart drew scrutiny no less complete – rendered them tedious to each other; Lensky Lensky Vladimir Lensky, whose creator then liking grew, then every day Away inside that unassuming You’re wrong. was Göttingen, his alma mater, they met on horseback; quickly they homestead, before her parents’ gaze, good‑looking, in the flower of age, became like brother knit to brother. she blossomed in the graceful ways

10 11 Onegin Onegin to catch the eye and to attract. Narrator But what I wonder at Never. Shy as a savage, silent, tearful, And home was now their destination; is this – one sees from here the party: wild as a forest deer, and fearful, as by the shortest way they flew, in the first place – listen, am I right? – Lensky Tatyana had a changeling look this was our heroes’ conversation a simple Russian family night: Gladly. in her own home. She never took secretly overheard by you: the guests are feasted, good and hearty, to kissing or caressing father on jam, and speeches in regard Onegin or mother; and in all the play Lensky to rains, and flax, and the stockyard. So when? of children, though as young as they, You yawn, Onegin? she never joined, or skipped, but rather Lensky Lensky in silence all day she’d remain Onegin I don’t see what’s so bad about it. Why not tonight? ensconced beside the windowpane. As I’m used to. They will receive us with delight. Reflection was her friend and pleasure Onegin Let’s go! right from the cradle of her days; Lensky Boredom, that’s what’s so bad, my friend. it touched with reverie her leisure, This time I think you’ve been reduced to Narrator adorning all its country ways. new depths of boredom. Lensky The friends, all haste and vigour, Seeing herself as a creation – Your modish world, I’ll do without it; drive there, and with formality Clarissa, Julie or Delphine – Onegin give me the homely hearth, and lend… are treated to the fullest rigour by writers of her admiration, No, the same. of old‑time hospitality. Tatyana, lonely heroine, The fields are dark, since evening came. Onegin The protocol is all one wishes: roamed the still forest like a ranger, Drive on, Andryushka! Quicker, quicker! You pile one eclogue on another! the jams appear in little dishes; The country’s pretty stupid here! For God’s sake, that will do. But, brother, on a small table’s oilcloth sheen Tatyana Oh, à propos: Larin’s a dear you’re really going? Well, I’m sad. the jug of bilberry wine is seen. sought in her book, that text of danger, simple old lady; but the liquor – Now, Lensky, would it be so bad List’ner, the elder sister now and found her dreams, her secret fire, I’m much afraid that bilberry wine for me to glimpse this Phyllis ever, must be my theme, if you’ll allow. the full fruit of her heart’s desire; won’t benefit these guts of mine. with whom your thoughts are so obsessed – she sighed, and in a trance co‑opted But tell me, which one was Tatyana? pen, tears, and rhymes, and all the rest? 3 Scene 3 another’s joy, another’s breast, Present me, please. At the sisters’ home whispered by heart a note addressed Lensky to the hero that she’d adopted. She was the one who looked as still Lensky Narrator and melancholy as Svetlana, You’re joking. So she was called Tatyana. Truly 4 Scene 4 and sat down by the windowsill. she lacked her sister’s beauty, lacked Having taken a short cut, they’re on their way the rosy bloom that glowed so newly home as fast as possible.

12 13 Onegin to all this tattle, yet at heart suddenly lowering her eyes that languish, I kept in mind an ancient store The one you love’s the younger daughter? in indescribable elation, too faint to stir a further pace: of tales of girls, and ghosts and lore: despite herself, rehearsed the part: her bosom heaves, her cheeks are staring but now my brain is darkened, Tanya: Lensky the thought sank in, and penetrated: scarlet with passion’s instant flaring. and I’ve forgotten all I knew. Why not? she fell in love – the hour was fated… A sorry state of things, it’s true! so fires of spring will bring to birth Tatyana My mind is fuddled. Onegin a seedling fallen in the earth. Upon my lips the breathing dies, I’d choose the other quarter Her feelings in their weary session noise in my ears, glare in my eyes… Tatyana if I, like you, had been a bard, had long been wasting and enslaved the night comes on; the moon’s patrolling Tell me, nyanya, Olga’s no life in her regard: by pain and languishment; she craved far‑distant heaven’s vaulted room; your early life, unlock your tongue; the roundest face that you’ve set eyes on, the fateful diet; by depression a nightingale, in forest gloom, were you in love when you were young? a pretty girl exactly like her heart had long been overrun: sets a sonorous cadence rolling – any Madonna by Van Dyck: her soul was waiting… for someone. Nurse a dumb moon, on a dumb horizon. Tatyana now need wait no longer. Narrator What nonsense, Tanya! In those other Her eyes were opened, and she said, Tatyana, sleepless in the dark, ages we’d never heard of love: Narrator ‘this is the one!’ Ah, ever stronger, makes to her nurse low‑voiced remark: why, at the thought, my husband’s mother Lensky had a curt word to say in sultry sleep, in lonely bed, had chased me to the world above. and then sat silent all the way. all day, all night, his presence fills her, 6 Scene 6 Meanwhile the news of Eugene coming by magic everything instils her Tatyana and Nurse Tatyana to the Larins’ had caused a spout with thoughts of him in ceaseless round. How did you come to marry, nyanya? of gossip, and set comment humming She hates a friendly voice’s sound, Tatyana among the neighbours round about. or servants waiting on her pleasure. I can’t sleep, nyanya: it’s so stifling! Nurse Conjecture found unending matter: Lost in her dream she cannot hear Open the window, sit down near. I reckon, by God’s will. My Vanya there was a general furtive chatter, the talk of guests when they appear; was younger still, but at that stage and jokes and spiteful gossip ran she calls down curses on their leisure, Nurse I was just thirteen years of age. claiming Tatyana’d found her man; and, when one’s least prepared for it, Why, Tanya, what…? Two weeks the matchmaker was plying and some were even testifying their tendency to call, and sit. to see my kin, and in the end the marriage plans were all exact Tatyana my father blessed me. So I’d spend but held up by the simple fact 5 Scene 5 All’s dull and trifling. my hours in fear and bitter crying. that modish rings were still a‑buying. Tatyana in the park The olden days, I want to hear… Then, crying, they untwined my plait, Of Lensky’s fate they said no more – and sang me to the altar‑mat. they’d settled that some years before. Narrator Nurse So to strange kinsfolk I was taken… Tatyana listened with vexation Tatyana, hunted by love’s anguish, What of them, Tanya? I was able, but you’re not paying any heed. has made the park her brooding‑place, years back, to call up many a fable;

14 15 Tatyana Tatyana decreed in highest court for ever… dumb I must perish, and alone. Oh, nurse, I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m shaken, I write to you – no more confession heaven’s will – for you I’m set apart; My heart awaits you; you can turn it I’m sick, my dear, I’m sick indeed. is needed, nothing’s left to tell. and my whole life has been directed to life and hope with just a glance – I’m near to sobbing, near to weeping!… I know it’s now in your discretion and pledged to you, and firmly planned; or else disturb my mournful trance with scorn to make my world a hell. I know, God-sent one, I’m protected with censure – I’ve done all to earn it! Nurse But if you’ve kept some faint impression until the grave by your strong hand: I close. I dread to read this page… You’re ill, God have you in his keeping, of pity for my wretched state, you’ve made appearance in my dreaming; for shame and fear my wits are sliding… the Lord have mercy on us all! you’ll never leave me to my fate. unseen, already you were dear, and yet your honour is my gage, Whatever you may need, just call… At first I thought it out of season my soul had heard your voice ring clear, and in it bodily I’m confiding… I’ll sprinkle you with holy water, to speak; believe me: of my shame – stirred at your gaze, so strange, so gleaming you’re all in a fever… heavens above. you’d not so much as know the name, long, long ago… no, that could be Narrator if I’d possessed the slightest reason no dream. You’d scarce arrived, I reckoned Now Tanya’s groaning, now she’s sighing; Tatyana to hope that even once a week to know you, swooned, and in a second the letter trembles in her grip; Nurse, I’m not ill; I… I’m in love. I might have seen you, heard you speak all in a blaze, I said: it’s he! the rosy sealing‑wafer’s drying I’m in love. I am in love… on visits to us, and in greeting At this midnight of my condition, upon her feverish tongue; the slip I am in love… I am in love! I might have said a word, and then was it not you, dear apparition, from off her charming shoulder’s drooping Go, nurse, leave me here apart. thought, day and night, and thought again who in the dark came flashing through and sideways her poor head is stooping. Give me a pen and give me paper, about one thing, till our next meeting. and, on my bed‑head gently leaning, But now the radiance of the moon bring up a table, and a taper; But you’re not sociable, they say: with love and comfort in your meaning, is dimmed. Down there the valley soon good night; I swear I’ll lie down soon. you find the country godforsaken; spoke words of hope? But who are you: comes clearer through the mists of dawning. though we… don’t shine in any way, the guardian angel of tradition, Down there, by slow degrees, the stream Narrator our joy in you is warmly taken. or some vile agent of perdition has taken on a silvery gleam; She was alone, lit by the moon. Why did you visit us, but why? sent to seduce? Resolve my doubt. the herdsman’s horn proclaimed the morning Elbow on table, spirit seething, Lost in our backwoods habitation Oh, this could all be false and vain, and roused the village long ago: still filled with Eugene, Tanya wrote, I’d not have known you, therefore I a sham that trustful souls work out; to Tanya, all’s an empty show. and in her unconsidered note would have been spared this laceration. fate could be something else again… She’s paid the sunrise no attention, all a pure maiden’s love was breathing. In time, who knows, the agitation So let it be! For you to keep she sits with head sunk on her breast, She folds the page, lays down the plume… of inexperience would have passed, I trust my fate to your direction, over the note holds in suspension Tatyana! It’s addressed… to whom? I would have found a friend, another, henceforth in front of you I weep, her seal with its engraven crest. and in the role of virtuous mother I weep, and pray for your protection… Softly the door is opened, enter 7 Scene 7 and faithful wife I’d have been cast. Imagine it: quite on my own grey Filátevna, to present her Tatyana’s letter Another!… No, another never I’ve no one here who comprehends me, with a small tray and a teacup. in all the world could take my heart: and now a swooning mind attends me,

16 17 Nurse Tatyana ‘It seems that he forgot us all.’ such careless language of surrender? Get up, my child, it’s time, get up! How slow you are at guessing, nyanya! Tatyana flushed, and started shaking. Who taught her all this mad, slapdash, Why, pretty one, you’re up already! heartfelt, imploring, touching trash My early bird! You know, last night Nurse Lensky fraught with enticement and disaster? you gave me such a shocking fright! My sweet, my dearest heart, I’m old, The mail explains the time he’s taking. It baffles me. But now, thank God, you’re well and steady, I’m old, my mind is blunted, Tanya; your night of fretting’s left no trace! times were when I was sharp and bold; Narrator Narrator Fresh as a poppy‑flower, your face. times were, when master’s least suggestion… Tatyana lowered her regard The flirt has reason’s cool volition; as at a censure that was hard. Tatyana’s love is no by‑play, Tatyana Tatyana Day faded; on the table, glowing, she yields to it without condition Oh nurse, a favour, a petition… Oh nyanya, nyanya, I don’t question… the samovar of evening boiled, like a sweet child come what come may. what have your wits to do with me? and warmed the Chinese teapot; flowing Nurse Now here’s a letter, as you see, beneath it, vapour wreathed and coiled. Tatyana Command me, darling, as you choose. addressed to Onegin… Already Olga’s hand was gripping Why did you visit us, but why? the urn of perfumed tea, and tipping Lost in our backwoods habitation Tatyana Nurse into the cups its darkling stream – I’d not have known you, therefore I Now don’t suppose… let no suspicion… Oh, well, that’s easy. meanwhile a hall-boy handed cream; would have been spared this laceration. but nurse, you see… oh, don’t refuse… But don’t be cross, my darling friend, before the window taking station you know it’s hard to comprehend… plunged in reflection’s deepest train, Onegin Nurse Why have you gone all pale and queasy… Tatyana breathed on the cold pane, I’ve known too many a haughty beauty, My sweet, God warrants me your debtor. and in the misted condensation cold, pure as ice, and as unkind, Tatyana with charming forefinger she traced, inexorably wed to duty, Tatyana It’s nothing, nurse, nothing, I say… ‘OE’, religiously inlaced. unfathomable to the mind; Then send your grandson with this letter just send your grandson on his way. shocked by their modish pride, and fleeing quickly to O… I mean to that… 8 Scene 8 the utter virtue of their being, the neighbour… you must tell the brat Narrator Onegin receives Tatyana’s letter. I’ve run a mile, I must avow, that not a syllable be uttered, Hours pass; no answer; waiting, waiting. having deciphered on their brow not a mention of my name… No word: another day goes by. Onegin hell’s terrifying imprecation: She’s dressed since dawn, dead pale; debating, Tatyana’s letter, treasured ever ‘Abandon hope for evermore.’ Nurse demanding: when will he reply? as sacred, lies before me still. Our love is what they must abhor; Which neighbour, dear? My head became Olga’s adorer comes a‑wooing. I read with secret pain, and never our terror is their consolation. in these last years all mixed and fluttered. ‘Tell me, what’s your companion doing?’ can read enough to get my fill. Ladies of such a cast, I think, We’ve many neighbours round about; enquired the lady of the hall: Who taught her an address so tender, you too have seen on Neva’s brink. even to count them throws me out.

18 19 Thronged by adorers, I’ve detected 9 Scene 9 awaits him – hears nobody coming. as helpmeet in my sad existence, another, freakish one, who stays Onegin scolds Tatyana in Larin’s garden. But finally she heaved a yearning as gage of all things that were good, quite self‑absorbed and unaffected sigh, stood up, and began to pace; and been as happy… as I could! by sighs of passion or by praise. Narrator she walked, but just as she was turning But I was simply not intended To my astonishment I’ve seen her, Meanwhile with pain her soul was girdled, into the allée, face to face, for happiness – that alien role. having by her severe demeanour and tears were drowning her regard. she found Evgeny, eyes a‑glitter, Should your perfections be expended frightened to death by a timid love, A sudden clatter… blood was curdled… still as a shadow, grim and bitter; in vain on my unworthy soul? retrieve it with another shove – Now nearer… hooves… and in the yard seared as by fire, she stopped. Believe (as conscience is my warrant), at least by a regretful kindness; Evgeny! wedlock for us would be abhorrent. at least her tone is sometimes found Onegin I’d love you, but inside a day, more tender than it used to sound. Tatyana You wrote to me, and nothing spoken with custom, love would fade away; I’ve seen how, trustful in his blindness, Ah! can disavow that. I have read your tears would flow – but your emotion, the youthful lover once again those words where love, without condition, your grief would fail to touch my heart, runs after what is sweet, and vain. Narrator pours out its guiltless frank admission, they’d just enrage it with their dart. Why is Tatyana guiltier‑seeming? Tatyana, fleeting and your sincerity of thought What sort of roses, in your notion, Is it that she, poor simple sweet, light as a shadow, shuns a meeting, is dear to me, for it has brought would Hymen bring us – blooms that might believes in her elected dreaming through the back porch runs out and flies feeling to what had long been heartless; last many a day, and many a night? and has no knowledge of deceit? down to the garden, and her eyes but I won’t praise you – let me join What in the world is more distressing That, artless, and without concealing, daren’t look behind her; fairly dashing – and pay my debt in the same coin than households where the wife must moan her love obeys the laws of feeling, beds, bridges, lawn, she never stops, with an avowal just as artless; the unworthy husband through depressing that she’s so trustful, and imbued the allée to the lake, the copse; hear my confession as I stand – daytimes and evenings passed alone? by heaven with such an unsubdued breaking the lilac bushes, smashing I leave the verdict in your hand. And where the husband, recognising imagination, with such reason, parterres, she runs to the rivulet’s brink, Could I be happy circumscribing her worth (but anathematising such stubborn brain, and vivid will, to gasp, and on a bench to sink. my life in a domestic plot; his destiny), without a smile and heart so tender, it can still had fortune blest me by prescribing bursts with cold envy and with bile? burst to a fiery blaze in season? Tatyana husband and father as my lot; For such am I. When you were speaking Such feckless passion – as I live, It’s he! Eugene arriving! could I accept for just a minute to me so simply, with the fires is this then what you can’t forgive? Oh God, what did he think! the homely scene, take pleasure in it – and force that purity inspires, then I’d have looked for you alone is this the man that you were seeking? Tatyana Narrator to be the bride I’d call my own. Can it be true that you must await So let it be! For you to keep A dream Without romance, or false insistence, from cruel fortune such a fate? I trust my fate to your direction, of hope is somehow still surviving I’ll say: with past ideals in view I’ve dreams and years past resurrection; henceforth in front of you I weep, in her torn heart – a fickle gleam; I would have chosen none but you a soul that nothing can renew… I weep, and pray for your protection… she trembles, and with fever drumming

20 21 I feel a brotherly affection, covered the golden coal – the steam Lensky and underneath her downy pillow or something tenderer still, for you. tumbled and whirled and twisted quaintly Saturday. The invitation a young girl’s looking‑glass is kept. Listen to me without resentment: its barely noticeable stream. Olinka and her mother sent: Now all was still. Tatyana slept. girls often change to their contentment The hearth was low beyond all stoking. Tatyana’s name‑day celebration. She dreamt of portents. light dreams for new ones… so we see Straight up the chimney, pipes were smoking. It’s right and proper that you went. each springtime, on the growing tree, Still on the board, the beakers hissed, Tatyana fresh leaves… for such is heaven’s mandate. and evening now drew on in mist… Onegin In her dreaming You’ll love again, but you must teach (I like a friendly conversation, But there’ll be such a rout and scrabble she walked across a snowy plain your heart some self‑restraint; for each the enjoyment of a social drink, with every different kind of rabble… through gloom and mist; and there came and every man won’t understand it at hours, which, why I cannot think, streaming as I have… learn from my belief somehow have got the designation Lensky a furious boiling, heaving main that inexperience leads to grief. of time between the wolf and dog.) No, no, I’m sure the party’s small. across the drift‑encumbered acres, Now hear the friends in dialogue: Relations. No one else at all. a raging torrent, capped with breakers, Narrator Let’s go, our friendship’s worth the labour. a flood on which no frosty band So went his sermon. Almost dying, Onegin had been imposed by winter’s hand; blinded to everything about Tell me, our neighbours, are they thriving? Onegin two poles that ice had glued like plaster by mist of tears, without replying And how’s Tatyana? Olga too, All right, I’ll come then… were placed across the gulf to make Tatyana heard Evgeny out. your dashing one, is she surviving? a flimsy bridge whose every quake He gave his arm. In sad abstraction, Lensky spelt hazard, ruin and disaster; by what’s called máchinal reaction, Lensky What a friend! she stopped at the loud torrent’s bound, without a word Tatyana leant Just half a glass more… that will do… perplexed… and rooted to the ground. upon it, and with head down‑bent All flourishing; they send their duty. Narrator walked homeward round the kitchen garden; Take Olga’s shoulders now – the beauty! He drained his glass down to the end Narrator together they arrived, and none What breasts! What soul!… We’ll go one day by way of toast to their fair neighbour; As if before some mournful parting dreamt of reproving what they’d done: visit the family, what d’you say? then he began to talk once more Tatyana groaned above the tide; by country freedom, rightful pardon If you come with me, they’ll be flattered; of Olga: love’s that kind of bore! she saw no friendly figure starting and happy licence are allowed, or else, my friend, how does it look? to help her from the other side; as much as in Moscow the proud. You called there twice, but since then took 11 Scene 11 but suddenly a snowdrift rumbled, no notice of them. But I’ve chattered Tatyana’s dream and what came out? A hairy, tumbled 10 Scene 10 so much, I’ve left no time to speak! enormous bear; Tatyana yelled, Lensky and Onegin together in Lensky’s house Of course! You’re bidden there next week. Narrator the bear let out a roar, and held Tanya’s undressed, and lies in bed. a sharp‑nailed paw towards her; bracing Narrator Onegin Lel floats about above her head; her nerves, she leant on it her weight, The fire was dying; cinders faintly I?

22 23 and with a halting, trembling gait to lift her skirt up; still she’s flying, But ever stranger and more fearful: from table, clattering on the floor; above the water started tracing and he pursuing, till at length a crayfish rides on spider‑back; all stand. He walks towards the door. her way; she passed, then as she walked she flies no more, she’s lost her strength. on goose’s neck, a skull looks cheerful Now she’s alarmed; in desperate worry that bear – what next? – behind her stalked. She’s fallen in the snow – alertly and swaggers in a red calpack: Tatyana struggles to run out – A backward look is fraught with danger; the bear has raised her in his paws; with bended knees a windmill dances, she can’t; and in her panic hurry – she speeds her footsteps to a race, and she, submissively, inertly – its sails go flap‑flap as it prances, she flails around, she tries to shout – but from her shaggy-liveried ranger no move she makes, no breath she draws; song, laughter, whistle, bark and champ, she can’t; Evgeny’s pushed the portal, she can’t escape at any pace – he whirls her through the wood… a hovel and human words, and horse’s stamp! and to the vision of those mortal shows up through trees, all of a grovel monsters the maiden stood revealed. Tatyana in darkest forest depths, and drowned Narrator Wildly the fearful laughter pealed; The odious bear still grunts and lumbers. by dreary snowdrifts piled around; But how she jumped, when in this hovel the eyes of all, the hooves, the snozzles, Ahead of them a pinewood slumbers there’s a small window shining in it, among the guests she recognised the bleeding tongues, the tufted tails, in the full beauty of its frown; and from within come noise and cheer; the man she feared and idolised – the tusks, the corpse’s fingernails, the branches all are weighted down the bear explains: ‘My cousin’s here – who else? – the hero of the novel! the horns, and the moustachio’d nozzles – with tufts of snow; and through the lifted come in and warm yourself a minute!’ all point at her, and all combine summits of aspen, birch and lime, He carries her inside the door Onegin to bellow out: ‘She’s mine, she’s mine.’ the nightly luminaries climb. and sets her gently on the floor. Onegin sits at table, too; No path to see: the snow has drifted Tatyana looks, her faintness passes: he eyes the door, looks slyly through. Onegin across each bush, across each steep, bear’s gone: a hallway, no mistake; He nods – they start to fuss and truckle; ‘She’s mine!’ Evgeny’s voice of thunder and all the world is buried deep. behind a door the clash of glasses he drinks – all shout and take a swill; clears in a flash the freezing room; and shouts suggest a crowded wake; he laughs – they all begin to chuckle; the whole thieves’ kitchen flies asunder, Narrator so, seeing there no rhyme or reason, he scowls – and the whole gang are still. the girl remains there in the gloom She’s in the wood, the bear still trails her. no meaning in or out of season, alone with him. There’s powdery snow up to her knees; she peers discreetly through a chink Tatyana now a protruding branch assails her and sees… whatever do you think? He’s host, that’s clear, and thus enlightened Narrator and clasps her neck; and now she sees Tanya’s no longer quite so frightened Onegin takes her her golden earrings off and whipping; Tatyana and, curious now about the lot, into a corner, gently makes her and now the crunchy snow is stripping A group of monsters round a table, opens the door a tiny slot… sit on a flimsy bench, and lays her darling foot of its wet shoe, a dog with horns, a goatee’d witch, but then a sudden breeze surprises, his head upon her shoulder… blaze her handkerchief has fallen too; a rooster head and on the twitch puts out the lamps; the whole brigade of sudden brightness… it’s too curious… no time to pick it up – she’s dying a skeleton jerked by a cable, of house‑familiars stands dismayed… Olga’s appeared upon the scene, with fright, she hears the approaching bear; a dwarf with tail, and a half‑strain, and Lensky follows her. Eugene, her fingers shake, she doesn’t dare a hybrid cross of cat and crane. Narrator eyes rolling, arms uplifted, furious, With eyes aflame Onegin rises damns the intruders; Tanya lies

24 25 and almost swoons, and almost dies. sent at the Colonel’s own behest. prevailed, and with composure steady Elated by the music’s blaring, Louder and louder sounds the wrangle: A ball: the joy of every guest! she sat there; through her teeth a word Petrushkóv, the local Paris, tearing, Eugene has caught up, quick as quick, Young ladies jump for future blisses… came out so soft, it scarce was heard. his tea with rum quite left behind, a carving‑knife – and in the tangle But dinner’s served, so two by two The nervous‑tragical reaction, approaches Olga; Lensky’s signed Lensky’s thrown down. The murk is thick, and arm in arm they all go through; girls’ tears, their swooning, for Eugene Tatyana on; Miss Kharlikova, and growing thicker; then, heart‑shaking, round Tanya congregate the misses, had long proved tedious to distraction: that nubile maid of riper age, a scream rings out… the cabin’s quaking… the men confront them, face to face: he knew too well that sort of scene. is seized by Tambov’s poet‑sage; Tanya comes to in utter fright… they sit, they cross themselves for grace. He saw the sad girl’s trembling state, Buyánóv whirls off Pustyakova; They buzz – but then all talk’s suspended – looked down in an access of hate, they all have swarmed into the hall, 12 Scene 12 jaws masticate as minutes pass; pouted, and swore in furious passion and in full brilliance shines the ball. Larin’s ball the crash of plates and knives is blended to wreak, by stirring Lensky’s ire, Now the mazurka sounds. Its thunder with the resounding chime of glass. the best revenge one could desire. used in times past to ring a peal Narrator And now there’s gradually beginning Already, in exultant fashion that huge ballrooms vibrated under, But now Aurora’s crimson fingers among the guests a general dinning – he watched the guests and, as he dined, while floors would split from crash of heel from daybreak valleys lift the sun; none listens when the others speak, caricatured them in his mind. and frames would shudder, windows tremble; the morning light no longer lingers, all shout and argue, laugh and squeak, Compliment and congratulation; now things are changed, now we resemble the festal name‑day has begun. then doors are opened, Lensky enters, Tanya thanks each one with a phrase. ladies who glide on waxed parquet. Since dawn, whole families have been driving Onegin too. ‘Good Lord, at last!’ When Eugene’s turn for salutation Yet the mazurka keeps today towards the Larins’ and arriving the hostess cries and, moving fast, arrives, the girl’s exhausted gaze, in country towns and suchlike places in sledded coaches and coupés, the guests squeeze closer to the centres; her discomposure, her confusion, its pristine charm: heeltaps, and leaps, in britzkas, kobitkás and sleighs. they shove each plate, and every chair, expose his soul to an intrusion and whiskers – all of this it keeps The hall is full of noise and hustle, and shout, and make room for the pair. of pity: in his silent bow, as fresh as ever, for its graces in the salon new faces meet, Just facing Tanya’s where they’re sitting; and in his look there shows somehow are here untouched by fashion’s reign, and kisses smack as young girls greet; and paler than the moon at dawn, a wondrous tenderness. And whether our modern Russia’s plague and bane. there’s yap of pugs, and laughs, and bustle; she lowers darkened eyes, unwitting, it was that he’d been truly stirred, Buyánóv, my vivacious cousin, the threshold’s thronged, wet‑nurses call, and trembles like a hunted fawn. or half‑unwittingly preferred leads Olga and Tatyana on guests bow, feet scrape, and children squall. From violent passions fast pulsating a joking flirt, or both together, to Eugene; nineteen to the dozen, And from the nearby Army station she’s nearly swooned, she’s suffocating; there was a softness in his glance: Eugene takes Olga, and is gone; the Major’s here: he’s all the rage the friends’ salute she never hears it brought back Tanya from her trance. he steers her, nonchalantly gliding, with our Mamas, and a sensation and from her eyes the eager tears Here’s tea: the girls have just, as bidden, he stoops and, tenderly confiding, with demoiselles of riper age; are almost bursting; she’s quite ready, taken the saucers in their grip, whispers some ballad of the hour, his news has set the party humming! poor girl, to drop into a faint, when, from behind the doorway, hidden squeezes her hand – and brings to flower The regimental band is coming, but will, and reason’s strong constraint, bassoons and flutes begin to trip. on her smug face a flush of pleasure.

26 27 Lensky has watched: his rage has blazed, already studying to intrigue! Vladimir’s challenge found expression no softball for the winds of fashion, he’s lost his self‑command, and crazed Already high in treason’s league! that, though polite, was clear as ice. no boy, to fight or take offence – with jealousy beyond all measure Eugene’s response was automatic; a man of honour and of sense. insists, when the mazurka ends, Narrator he informed this envoy diplomatic Lensky at home awaits the answer: on the cotillion, as amends. He finds the shock beyond all bearing; in terms where not a word was spared – But now, monotonously dashing so, cursing women’s devious course, Lensky like mindless youth, the waltz goes by he leaves the room, calls for his horse Onegin impatient, hatred flaming high; with spinning noise and senseless flashing and gallops. At any time, I’ll be prepared! but here comes our loud‑talking prancer as pair by pair the dancers fly. who swaggers in with the reply. Revenge’s hour is near, and after Lensky The jealous poet’s gloom is lightened! Evgeny, full of inward laughter, Pistols made for pairing COMPACT DISC TWO Knowing the offender, he’d been frightened! has gone to Olga, swept the girl and just a double charge of shot, Lest he should by some clever trick past all the assembly in a whirl, will in a flash decide his lot. Scene 12 (continued) avert his chest from pistol’s click, he takes her to a chair, beginning Larin’s ball smoothe his way out with humour’s ointment. to talk of this and that, but then Chorus But now Vladimir’s doubts are still: after two minutes, off again, There he stands like a tall beanpole Narrator early tomorrow at the mill they’re on the dance‑floor, waltzing, spinning. with his ears a‑flapping 1 Zaretsky left without discussion; before first light they have appointment, All are dumbfounded. Lensky shies and his fingers scratching, he saw no point in staying on, to raise the safety catch and strain away from trusting his own eyes. with his toes a‑tapping with work at home, but when he’d gone, to hit the target: thigh or brain. He asks. She can’t accept. and his eyes staring hard, Evgeny, whom the repercussion staring hard like a hungry hawk left quite alone with his own soul, Narrator Lensky on the hunt for its prey. was far from happy with his role. Now brooding thoughts slip his attention Why ever –? With reason, too: for when he’d vetted once more, at that beloved sight, But the food they had prepared in secret judgement what he’d done, and so he lacks the strength to mention Narrator had been eaten every scrap – he found too much that he regretted: the happenings of the previous night; No, she’s already pledged her word not a single thing remained last night he’d erred in making fun, he murmurs: to Evgeny. not a morsel, not a drop. so heartless and so detrimental, There he stands with his bright blue nose, of love so timorous and gentle. Lensky Lensky like a parson’s son with his turned up nose. In second place the poet might Olga’s mine for saving; Oh God! She’d never – have been a fool; yet he’d a right, I’ll stop that tempter from depraving How could she? Why, he’d never heard – Narrator at eighteen years, to some compassion. her youth with all his repertoire Scarce out of bibs! Already fickle, Pleasant, in spite of its compression, Evgeny loved him from his heart, of sighs, and compliments, and fire; fresh from the cot, an infant pickle, gentlemanly, quite precise, and should have played a different part: that poisonous worm, despised, degrading,

28 29 shall not attack my lily’s root; of five more steps they went, slow‑gaited, Narrator below a hill; a garden stood I’ll save this blossom on the shoot, and Lensky, left eye closing, aimed – Killed!… At this frightful word a‑quiver, above a stream the moon had lighted. still hardly opened up, from fading. but just then Eugene’s pistol flamed… Onegin turns, and with a shiver She looked across, felt in her heart The clock of doom had struck as fated; summons his people. On the sleigh a faster, stronger pulsing start. 2 Scene 13 and the poet, without a sound, with care Zaretsky stows away Duel let fall his pistol on the ground. the frozen corpse, drives off, and homing Tatyana Vladimir drops, hand softly sliding vanishes with his load of dread. She hesitates, and doubts beset her: Narrator to heart. And in his misted gaze forward or back? It’s true that he Pistols are out, they gleam, the hammer is death, not pain. So gently gliding Onegin has left, and no one here has met her… thumps as the balls are pressed inside down slopes of mountains, when a blaze A moment earlier, inspiration ‘The house, the park… I’ll go and see!’ faceted muzzles by the rammer; of sunlight makes it flash and crumble, had filled this heart, and detestation with a first click, the catch is tried. a block of snow will slip and tumble. and hope and passion; life had glowed Narrator Now powder’s greyish stream is slipping Onegin, drenched with sudden chill, and blood had bubbled as it flowed; So down came Tanya, hardly daring into the pan. Securely gripping, darts to the boy, and looks, and still but now the mansion is forsaken; to draw a breath, around her staring the jagged flint’s pulled back anew. calls out his name… All unavailing: shutters are up, and all is pale with puzzled and confused regard… And now the two opponents doff the youthful votary of rhyme and still within. Behind the veil She entered the deserted yard. their cloaks; Zaretsky’s measured off has found an end before his time. of chalk the windowpanes have taken. thirty‑two steps with great precision, is over, dawn is paling, The lady of the house has fled. Tatyana and on their marks has made them stand; the bloom has withered on the bough; Where to, God knows. The trail is dead. Could I just see the house, I wonder? each grips his pistol in his hand. the altar flame’s extinguished now. Giving his pistol‑butt a squeezing, 3 Scene 14 Narrator Zaretsky Evgeny looks at Lensky, chilled Tatyana visits Onegin’s house. Tatyana asked. The children all Now march. at heart by grim remorse’s freezing. rushed to Anisia’s room, to plunder Narrator the keys that opened up the hall. Narrator Zaretsky Evening, and darkening sky, and waters At once Anisia came to greet her, And calmly, not yet seeking Well, what? in quiet flood. A beetle whirred. she went inside the empty shell to aim, at steady, even pace The choirs of dancers sought their quarters. in which our hero used to dwell. the foes, cold‑blooded and unspeaking, Narrator Beyond the stream there smoked and stirred She looks: forgotten past all chalking each took four steps across the space, Zaretsky says: a fisher’s fire. Through country gleaming on billiard‑table rests a cue, four fateful strides. And, without slowing silver with moonlight, in her dreaming and on the crumpled sofa too the level tenor of his going, Zaretsky profoundly sunk, Tatyana stalked a riding whip. Tanya keeps walking… Evgeny quietly began He’s killed, for hours alone; she walked and walked… to lift his pistol up. A span Suddenly, from a crest, she sighted Anisia a house, a village, and a wood And here’s the hearth –

30 31 Narrator the books then underwent inspection… Narrator Neighbour – explains the crone at first she had no heart to range; Some neighbours they have come together, One winter’s worth, you’ve surely got; but then she found their choice was strange. talk to her mother, how and whether… or borrow, say, from me, if not. Anisia To reading from this odd collection – where master used to sit alone. Tatyana turned with thirsting soul: Larina Narrator Here in the winter he’d have dinner and watched a different world unroll. Tanya’s no child – it’s past a joke, The old dame had no thought of ignoring with neighbour Lensky, the deceased. why, Olga’s younger, and she’s bedded. such good and sensible advice; Please follow me. And here’s the inner Tatyana It’s time she went. But what can I accounts were done, a winter outing study where he would sleep and feast And so, at last, feature by feature, do with her when a flat reply to Moscow settled in a trice. on cups of coffee, and then later Tanya begins to understand always comes back: I’ll not be wedded. Then Tanya hears of the decision. he’d listen to the administrator; more thoroughly, thank God, the creature And then she broods and mopes for good, To face society’s derision in morning time he’d read a book… for whom her passion has been planned and trails alone around the wood. with unmistakeable side view by fate’s decree: this freakish stranger, of a provincial ingénue, Narrator who walks with sorrow, and with danger, Neighbour to expose to Moscow fops and Circes Tatyana in a deep emotion whether from heaven or from hell, She’s not in love? her out‑of‑fashion turns of phrase, gazes at all the scene around; this angel, this proud devil, tell, parade before their mocking gaze she drinks it like a priceless potion; what is he? Just an apparition, Larina her out‑of‑fashion clothes!… Oh, mercies! it stirs her drooping soul to bound a shadow, null and meaningless, There’s no one ever. No, forests are the sole retreat in fashion that’s half‑glad, half‑anguished: a Muscovite in Harold’s dress, Buyánóv tried – got flea in ear. where her security’s complete. that table where the lamp has languished a modish second‑hand edition, And lvan Petrushkóv; no, never. beside the windowsill, that bed a glossary of smart argot… Pikhtin, of the Hussars, was here; Tatyana on which a carpet has been spread, a parodistic raree-show. he found Tatyana so attractive, Farewell, you vales and fountains! piled books, and through the pane the sable bestirred himself, was devilish active! Farewell, you too, familiar mountains! moonscape, the half‑light overall, Narrator I thought, she’ll go this time, perhaps; Farewell, familiar woods! Farewell, Lord Byron’s portrait on the wall, Can she have found the enigma’s setting, far from it! Just one more collapse. beauty with all its heavenly spell, the iron figure on the table, is this the riddle’s missing clue? gay nature and its sparkling distance! the hat, the scowling brow, the chest Time races, and she’s been forgetting Neighbour This dear, still world I must forswear where folded arms are tightly pressed. her presence home is overdue. You don’t see what to do? That’s funny: for vanity, and din, and glare!… In the study’s quiet setting, Moscow’s the place, the marriage‑fair! Farewell to you, my free existence! at last alone, and quite forgetting 4 Scene 15 There’s vacancies in plenty there. Whither does all my yearning tend? the world and all its works, she wept They say goodbye to peaceful valleys. My fate, it leads me to what end? and sat there as the minutes crept; Larina My dear good sir, I’m short of money.

32 33 Narrator the solitude of woods and tillage, as did the Prince while at her side. Narrator Now for the first time she’s escorted where every day a bloodstained shade You’d never class her as a beauty; And every minute his lorgnette into the social whirl-about; had come to him in field and glade; and yet in her you’d not detect – stays fixed and focussed on a vision jealously, shyly I’ve imported started a life of pointless roaming, rigorously though you’d inspect – which had recalled, without precision, her steppe-land charms into a rout. dogged by one feeling, only one – what London calls, with humble duty Through the tight ranks – aristocratic, and soon his travels had begun, to fashion’s absolute dictate, Onegin military‑foppish, diplomatic – as all things did, to bore him; homing, ‘a vulgar touch’. I can’t translate. forgotten features. Can you say, past the grand ladies, see her glide; like Chatsky, he arrived to fall And yet, although it’s past conveying, Prince, who in that dark red beret she sits down calmly on one side, direct from shipboard into ball. I really dote upon the word: just there, is talking to the Spanish admires the tumult and the pressing, it’s new to us, beyond gainsaying; Ambassador? the flickering tones of dress and speech, 5 (Waltz) from the first moment it was heard the young hostess, towards whom each it had its epigram‑potential… Narrator new guest is gradually progressing, Narrator (continued) But let’s return to our essential, In some surprise while men, all sombre, all the same, There came a murmur, for a fleeting that lady whose engaging charm the Prince looks at him, and replies: set off the ladies like a frame. moment the assembly seemed to shake… so effortlessly can disarm. She enjoys the stately orchestration that lady the hostess was greeting, She sits with Nina at a table – Prince of oligarchical converse, with the grand Prince that’s in her wake – bright Northern Cleopatra she: Wait, I’ll present you – but you banish pride’s icy calm, the combination she was unhurried, unobtrusive, but you’ll undoubtedly agree yourself too long from social life. of ranks and ages so diverse. not cold, but also not effusive, that marble Nina’s proved unable But who stands there, in this selected no haughty state around the press, to steal away her neighbour’s light Onegin assembly, silent and dejected? no proud pretensions to success, or dim her, dazzle as she might. But tell me who she is. All who behold him find him strange. no mannerism, no affectation, Faces before him flash and change no artifices of the vain… Onegin Prince like irksome phantoms, null as zero. No, all in her was calm and plain. Can it be she? My wife. Is spleen his trouble, or the dumb She struck one as the incarnation – torment of pride? And why’s he come? Shishkov, forgive me: I don’t know Narrator Onegin Who on earth is he? Not… our hero? the Russian for ‘le comme il faut’. Eugene in wonder You’re married? No idea whatever… No doubt about it, it’s Eugene. Ladies came over, crossed to meet her, demanded. Since when is this? ‘How long has he been on the scene?’ dowagers smiled as she went by; He was the slave of a tenacious, and bending deeply down to greet her Onegin Prince a restless urge for change of place men made their bows, and sought her eye; Yes, she looks… and yet… Two years or more. (an attribute that’s quite vexatious, girls as they passed her spoke less loudly from deepest backwood, further under… though some support it with good grace). and no one in the room so proudly Onegin He’s gone away and left his village, raised nose and shoulders high and wide To…?

34 35 Prince from their own country? Then she shot is deep in love, just like a boy; his illness lends him courage and Larina. across to her consort a weary spends light and darkness in the dreary to the Princess, in his weak hand, regard, and slipped away for good… brooding that is the lover’s ploy. he sends a letter, penned with passion. Onegin with Eugene frozen where he stood. Each day, despite the appeals of reason, He deemed in general, letters vain, Tatyana? Never! In Tanya what a transformation! he drives up in and out of season and rightly so, but now his pain How well she’d studied her new role! to her glass porch; pursues her round had gone in no uncertain fashion Prince How soon the bounds of rank and station close as a shadow on the ground; past all endurance. You’re referred She knows you? had won her loyalty! What soul and bliss for him is when he hotly to Eugene’s letter, word for word. would have divined the tender, shrinking touches her hand, or throws a fur Onegin maiden in this superb, unthinking around her neck, or when for her 6 Scene 16 Why, we lived next door. lawgiver to the modish world? he goes ahead and parts the motley Onegin’s letter to Tatyana Yet once for him her thoughts had whirled, brigade of liveries in the hall, Narrator for him, at night, before the indulgence or else lifts up a fallen shawl. Onegin So to his wife for presentation of Morpheus had induced relief, But she refuses to perceive him, I know it all: my secret ache the Prince brings up his own relation she once had pined in girlish grief, even if he drops or pines away. will anger you in its confession. and friend Evgeny. The Princess raised a dull eye to moon’s refulgence, At home she’ll equally receive him, What scorn I see in the expression gazes at him… and nonetheless, and dreamt that she with him one day in others’ houses she may say that your proud glance is sure to take! however much her soul has faltered, jointly would tread life’s humble way! a word or two, or stare unseeing, What do I want? What am I after, however strongly she has been Love tyrannises all the ages; or simply bow: within her being stripping my soul before your eyes? moved and surprised, she stays serene, but youthful, virgin hearts derive coquettishness has got no trace – I know to what malicious laughter and nothing in her look is altered: a blessing from its blasts and rages, the grand monde finds it out of place. my declaration may give rise! her manner is no less contained; like fields in spring when storms arrive. Meanwhile Onegin starts to languish: I noticed once, at our chance meeting, her bow, as calm and as restrained. In passion’s sluicing rain they freshen, she doesn’t see, or doesn’t mind; in you a tender pulse was beating, I don’t mean that she never shivered, ripen, and find a new expression – Onegin wastes, you’d almost find yet dared not trust what I could see. paled, flushed, or lost composure’s grip – the vital force gives them the shoot he’s got consumption. In his anguish I gave no rein to sweet affection; no, even her eyebrow never quivered, of sumptuous flowers and luscious fruit. some vote a doctor for the case, what held me was my predilection, she never even bit her lip. But when a later age has found us, others prescribe a watering‑place. my tedious taste for feeling free. However closely he inspected, the climacteric of our life, But go he won’t: for him, a letter And then, to part us in full measure, there was no trace to be detected how sad the scar of passion’s knife: fixing an early rendez-vous Lensky, that tragic victim, died… of the old Tatyana. Eugene tried as when chill autumn rains surround us, with his forefathers would seem better; From all sweet things that gave me pleasure to talk to her, but language died. throws meadows into muddy rout, but she (for women, that’s not new) since then my heart was wrenched aside; How long he’d been here, was her query. and strip the forest round about. remains unmoved: still he’s persistent, freedom and peace, in substitution And where had he arrived from, not Alas, Eugene beyond all query active and hopeful, and insistent: for happiness, I sought, and ranged

36 37 unloved, and friendless, and estranged. meanwhile with a dissembler’s duty has kept him warm in chimney’s blaze she sees it all. The simple maiden, What folly! And what retribution! to cool my glances and my tongue while, marmot‑like, he hibernated – whose heart on dreams was wont to thrive, No, every minute of my days, to talk as if with heart unwrung, along the Neva in a sleigh in her once more has come alive. to see you, faithfully to follow, and look serenely on your beauty!… past ice‑blocks, blue and squared away, Tatyana leaves Onegin kneeling, watch for your smile, and catch your gaze But so it is: I’m in no state he drives in brilliant sun; striated looks at him with a steady gaze, with eyes of love, with greed to swallow to battle further with my passion; along the street lies dirty snow; allows her hand, that’s lost all feeling, your words, and in my soul to explore I’m yours, in a predestined fashion, and like an arrow from a bow to meet his thirsty lips… What daze, your matchlessness, to seek to capture and I surrender to my fate. over the slush, where is he chasing? what dream accounts for her distraction? its image, then to swoon before You’ve guessed before it all began: A pause of silence and inaction, your feet, to pale and waste… what rapture! Narrator to his Tatyana, yes, he’s racing, then quietly at last says she… But I’m denied this: all for you No answer comes. Another letter my strange, incorrigible man. I drag my footsteps hither, yonder; he sends, a second, then a third. He goes inside, corpse‑like of feature… Tatyana I count each hour the whole day through; No answer comes. He goes, for better the hall’s without a living creature, Enough, stand up. It’s now for me and yet in vain ennui I squander or worse, to a soirée. Unheard the big room, further, not a cat. to give you honest explanation. the days that doom has measured out. she appears before him, grim and frozen. He opens up a door. What’s that Onegin, d’you recall the day And how they weigh! I know about No look, no word for him: she’s chosen that strikes him with such force and meaning? when in the park, in the allée my span, that fortune’s jurisdiction to encase herself inside a layer The Princess, sitting peaked and wan, where fate had fixed our confrontation, has fixed; but for my heart to beat of Twelfth Night’s chillest, iciest air. alone, with no adornment on; humbly I heard your lesson out? I must wake up with the conviction To batten down their indignation she holds a letter up, and leaning Today it’s turn and turn about. that somehow that same day we’ll meet… is all those stubborn lips desire! cheek upon hand she softly cries For then, Onegin, I was younger, I dread your stern regard surmising Onegin looks with eyes of fire: in a still stream that never dries. and also prettier, I’ll be bound, in my petition an approach, where are distress, commiseration? Who in that flash could not have reckoned what’s more, I loved you; but my hunger, a calculation past despising – No tearstains, nothing. Wrath alone her full account of voiceless pain? what was it in your heart it found I hear the wrath of your reproach. is graven on that face of stone. Who in the Princess for that second that could sustain it? Only grimness; How fearful, in and out of season would not have recognised again for you, I think, the humble dimness to pine away from passion’s thirst, 7 The days flew past; by now the season our hapless Tanya! An emotion of lovelorn girls was nothing new? to burn – and then by force of reason in warmer airs was half dispersed. of wild repentance and devotion But now – oh God! – the thought of you, to stem the bloodstream’s wild outburst; He’s neither died, nor lost his reason, threw Eugene at her feet – she stirred, your icy look, your stern dissuasion, how fearful, too, is my obsession nor turned a poet. In the burst and looked at him without a word, freezes my blood… Yet all the same, to clasp your knees, and at your feet of spring he lives, he’s energetic; without surprise or rage… his laden, nothing you did gave cause for blame; to sob out prayer, complaint, confession, he leaves one morning the hermetic his humbly suppliant approach, you acted well, that dread occasion, and every plea that lips can treat: apartment where a double glaze his dull, sick look, his dumb reproach – you took an honourable part –

38 39 I’m grateful now with all my heart. this modish whirl, this social story, Then, in the backwoods, far from rumour my house, my evenings, all that state – and empty gossip, you’ll allow, what’s in them? All this loud parading, I’d nothing to attract your humour… and all this flashy masquerading, Why then do you pursue me now? the glare, the fumes in which I live, What cause has won me your attention? this very day I’d gladly give, Also available Could it not be that by convention give for a bookshelf, a neglected I move in the grand monde? That rank, garden, a modest home, the place and riches, and the wish to thank of our first meeting face to face, my husband for his wounds in battle and the churchyard where, new‑erected, earn us the favour of the Court? a humble cross, in woodland gloom, That, for all this, my shame’s report stands over my poor nurse’s tomb. would cause widespread remark and tattle, Bliss was so near, so altogether a tempting plume for you to take? attainable!… But now my lot I weep… In case there still should linger is firmly cast. I don’t know whether your Tanya’s image in your mind, I acted thoughtlessly or not: then know that your reproving finger, you see, with tears and incantation your cold discourse, were less unkind – mother implored me; my sad station if I had power to choose your fashion – made all fates look the same… and so than this humiliating passion I married. I beseech you go; and than these letters, and these tears. I know your heart: it has a feeling At least you then showed for my years for honour, a straightforward pride. respect, and mercy for my dreaming. I love you (what’s the use to hide But now! What brings you to my feet? behind deceit or double‑dealing?) What trifling could be more complete? but I’ve become another’s wife – What power enslaves you, with your seeming and I’ll be true to him, for life. advantages of heart and brain, to all that’s trivial and inane? Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799 – 1837) To me, Onegin, all this glory Translation: Sir Charles Hepburn Johnston is tinsel on a life I hate; (1912 – 1986) Prokofiev Ivan the Terrible CHAN 10536 X

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Sir Charles Johnston’s translation is used with the kind permission of Penguin Classics.

This recording was made possible with the kind support of Amerada Hess Ltd and The Serge Prokofiev Foundation.

Recording producer Ralph Couzens Sound engineer Ben Connellan Assistant engineer Richard Smoker Editor Ben Connellan Mastering Jonathan Cooper A & R administrator Mary McCarthy Recording venue St Jude’s Church, Central Square, London NW11; 22 and 23 March and 25 July 1994 Front cover Artwork by designer Back cover Photograph of Sir Edward Downes by Bill Cooper Design and typesetting Cassidy Rayne Creative Booklet editor Finn S. Gundersen Copyright Copyright Control P 1994 Chandos Records Ltd Prokofiev Digital remastering P 2009 Chandos Records Ltd Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the © 2009 Chandos Records Ltd Excerpts from The Stone Flower Chandos Records Ltd, Colchester, Essex CO2 8HX, England CHAN 10537 X Printed in the EU

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PROKOFIEV: EUGENE ONEGIN – Soloists / Sinfonia 21 / Downes CHAN 10541(2) X

2009 Chandos Records Ltd Ltd Records Chandos 2009

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Chandos Records Ltd • Colchester • Essex • England • Essex • Colchester • Ltd Records Chandos

2009 Chandos Records Ltd Records Chandos 2009

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Digital remastering remastering Digital

1994 Chandos Records Ltd Records Chandos 1994 p a Hess Limited d a Amer CHAN 10541(2) X CHAN 10541(2) This recording was made possible with the kind support of Amerada Hess Ltd and The Serge Prokofiev Foundation.

2-disc set

Classics CHANDOS

PROKOFIEV: EUGENE ONEGIN – Soloists / Sinfonia 21 / Downes CHAN 10541(2) X