SECOND READING: 41

Eugene OneginBy Alexander Pushkin (1833)

CONSIDER THE bored dandy, wayward, idle with little to do but strut his indolence: "He dined, he danced, he fenced, he rode. /In French he could converse politely/ As well as write; and how he bowed! In the mazurka, 'twas allowed, /No partner ever was so sprightly."

Money comes his way in the form of his uncle's country estate. So Eugene Onegin abandons St Petersburg society and heads for the provinces to sample the life of a country squire. Once settled there, a chance meeting brought about through his friendship with an idealistic romantic leads him to an offer of love, the declining of which will teach him a painful lesson.

There is nothing in literature to equal Pushkin's daringly sophisticated verse novel. Crafted with a technical brilliance and pace surpassing even that of Alexander Pope, Eugene Onegin is as intense a study of a young woman's passion as is it a portrait of 19th-century Russian life.

Composed and circulated in sections before being published in a complete edition in 1833, it is the major achievement of Pushkin's short yet brilliant career during which he wrote many poems including The Bronze Horseman and several perfect short stories. Often referred to as the "Russian Byron", Pushkin is the superior artist. It was he who gave his country its unique literary voice, one that balanced an evolving society heavily influenced by Western, particularly French and German culture, with Russia's rich folkloric tradition.

If the great 19th-century Russian novel has a specific birth, it is Eugene Onegin. For all its clever observations, this is not a social satire; it is a subtle romantic tragedy with a bitter sting.

Onegin discovers the countryside is eerily quiet. He is soon in need of companionship and meets another newly established landowner, Vladimir Lensky, who, having been educated in Germany, is a Kantian and an aspiring poet.

The two strike up a friendship. Young Lensky is in love with a lively gentlewoman Olga and confides that he has worshipped her since she was a child. Olga, who lives with her widowed mother, has an elder sister, Tatyana, who "dearly loved romancing/Upon her balcony alone."

Although it is obvious that Lensky and Olga are intended for each other, little notice is taken of the quiet, bookish, dreamy sister. Shaped by reading Richardson and Rousseau, Olga is ready for love and unfortunately decides Onegin is her destiny.

In one of the most famous sequences in the novel, Tatyana asks her old nurse about love and nanny, speaking as a member of a social class somewhat different from the girl's, recalls "But in my youth no one engaged/ In talk of love. It was thought shameless" and describes the marriage-broker's insistence that the matter be settled: "And I was just thirteen years old."

The nurse fears Tatyana is ill. But the poor girl merely splutters "I . . . I'm in love." Her declaration of eternal passion is stated in an artless letter of heartbreaking eloquence sent to the unsuspecting Onegin.

He takes his time responding, each day that passes adds to her longing. Onegin's rejection is sensitive if emphatic, even ponderous; he has no desire to marry a naive country lass. In order to leave no doubts as to his lack of interest, he flirts with Olga. The outraged Lensky challenges Onegin to a duel. Lensky falls dead, causing a remorseful Onegin to set off on a lengthy journey.

Throughout the story an opinionated, omniscient narrator watches the characters, suggesting wisdom guide their actions.

Pushkin involves the reader; to read Eugene Onegin is to imagine being told the sequence of events in a number of breathlessly vivid instalments.

Tatyana sets off for Moscow and sombre maturity. Fate eventually brings Onegin to a grand salon gathering where he falls desperately in love with the older, more refined Tatyana. Although still conscious of her old love for Onegin and willing to exchange her new grandeur for her country life, she vows to remain faithful to her husband.

"There Eugene, forsaken / Stood thunderstruck. He could not stir./By what a storm his heart was shaken/ What pride, what grief, what thoughts of her! . . . "

• This is a weekly series in which Eileen Battersby revisits titles from the literary canon