A Tale of Two (or so) Translations

This is the long story of how I – thanks to the intoxicating translation of James Falen – read, fell in love with, and eventually translated Alexander Pushkin's magnificent novel-in-verse Eugene Onegin.


Translators at work: Eve Falen, Douglas Hofstadter, James Falen (1998). Private Photo.

I first became aware of Alexan­der Pushkin’s mag­nif­i­cent, mag­net­ic, mag­i­cal, mes­mer­iz­ing nov­el-in-verse Eugene One­gin (Евгений Онегин in Russ­ian) through the sub­tle art of trans­la­tion — verse trans­la­tion, to boot. I read it only in Eng­lish, but that was enough to make me fall in love with it. That intense love even­tu­al­ly led me to feel dri­ven to trans­late the whole thing into Eng­lish verse myself, even though when I start­ed, I bare­ly knew any Russ­ian at all! It’s a curi­ous sto­ry that I think is worth telling, so I’ll tell it here.

Back in the ear­ly 1990s, I was bliss­ful­ly igno­rant of the fact that the Rus­sians vir­tu­al­ly uni­ver­sal­ly con­sid­er Eugene One­gin to be the most glo­ri­ous peak in the vast moun­tain range of their lit­er­a­ture, but I nonethe­less hap­pened to have two Eng­lish ver­si­fi­ca­tions of the work sit­ting on a book­shelf in my study, and one day I pro­posed to my late wife Car­ol (she died in 1993, alas) that we read them togeth­er, simul­ta­ne­ous­ly. My idea was that Car­ol would read aloud one “One­gin stan­za” (always con­sist­ing of 14 lines with a unique met­ri­cal and rhyming pat­tern) in one Eng­lish trans­la­tion, after which I would read aloud the same One­gin stan­za in the oth­er trans­la­tion. And then we would read the same two stan­zas aloud one more time, thus get­ting to hear each translator’s voice twice before going on to the next stan­za. That’s how I start­ed explor­ing the intox­i­cat­ing world of Eugene One­gin.

In 1996, after final­ly real­iz­ing how impor­tant and cen­tral a role Eugene One­gin plays in Russ­ian cul­ture, I wrote a short arti­cle for the New York Times Book Review in which I com­pared four angli­ciza­tions of EO. I had a favorite ver­sion, to be sure, but I liked all four of them, and so I praised them all. The old­est trans­la­tion of the quadru­ple, done by a British writer named Oliv­er Elton, had come out in 1937. In my view, Elton’s One­gin wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t sparkling, let alone sizzling.

In 1963, a new trans­la­tion by Wal­ter Arndt, a native speak­er of Ger­man, was pub­lished. Arndt was a well-known writer, as well as a live­ly trans­la­tor from both Russ­ian and Ger­man into Eng­lish. How­ev­er, though he was high­ly pro­fi­cient in Eng­lish, one can often detect, in his trans­la­tions, a slight for­eign accent, of which he him­self seems to have been unaware. And unfor­tu­nate­ly, this accent, slight though it is, sad­ly mars his work. Nonethe­less, when Wal­ter Arndt’s trans­la­tion of Eugene One­gin came out in 1963, it was the first Eng­lish-lan­guage trans­la­tion of the book to have appeared in over 25 years, and it received a high award for poet­ry trans­la­tion — the Bollin­gen Award, giv­en out by Prince­ton University.

Then, in 1964, the trilin­gual enfant ter­ri­ble Vladimir Nabokov came out with a dis­as­trous word-for-word trans­la­tion, lack­ing grace, lack­ing rhymes, and lack­ing meter.  Nabokov him­self — a lover of per­ver­si­ty if ever there were one — sav­aged his own work, declar­ing it “not ugly enough” and glee­ful­ly say­ing that he looked for­ward to mak­ing it even more “rebar­ba­tive” (mean­ing “yucky”). And yet, since he was world-infa­mous for Loli­ta and numer­ous oth­er nov­els, his ugly (but not ugly enough!) mas­sacre of EO received an enor­mous amount of atten­tion, and cre­at­ed a lot of con­fu­sion among sur­pris­ing­ly many intel­li­gent peo­ple, who were so raz­zle-daz­zled by his flair with words that they were sucked in by his non­sen­si­cal act.I won’t com­ment fur­ther on Nabokov’s grotesque pro­duc­tion; suf­fice it to say that in my view it does not deserve being placed on the same shelf as the trans­la­tions I admire (and indeed, in my study it is not found on the same shelf as those).

Thir­teen years lat­er, in 1977, a verse trans­la­tion by Sir Charles John­ston, a high­ly esteemed British diplo­mat, came out. In my view, Johnston’s trans­la­tion is at about the same lev­el of qual­i­ty as Wal­ter Arndt’s — decent, even fair­ly good, but defec­tive in a lot of ways. It is espe­cial­ly uneven in its rhythm, and the gram­mar is often con­vo­lut­ed and hard to under­stand; in many places the verse is awk­ward and bumpy.  Nonethe­less, it was through Johnston’s trans­la­tion that I first became aware of Eugene One­gin. Or to be more pre­cise, Johnston’s was one of the two ver­si­fi­ca­tions that I read aloud with Car­ol short­ly before she died.

The oth­er one she and I read aloud togeth­er was by James Falen, a pro­fes­sor of Russ­ian at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ten­nessee in Knoxville. Falen’s ver­sion was pub­lished in 1990 by the rather obscure Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Illi­nois Press, and it was just by chance that I hap­pened to come across it in a favorite book­store. When I first espied it, I thought to myself, “Oh, sure­ly, this can’t be much good… After all, how could an Amer­i­can pro­fes­sor liv­ing down in hokey Appalachia pos­si­bly hope to com­pete with a sophis­ti­cat­ed and cos­mopoli­tan British diplo­mat?” As you can see, I was filled with prej­u­dices that today make me cringe.  But that was tru­ly my knee-jerk first reac­tion. I should add that at that time, I hadn’t yet fall­en in love with Eugene One­gin — in fact, all I’d read of it was a hand­ful of lines at the very open­ing of Johnston’s trans­la­tion, and those lines cer­tain­ly hadn’t set me on fire— but I was fas­ci­nat­ed by verse trans­la­tion in gen­er­al, so I bought Falen’s ver­sion on a lark. How lucky that I was at least open-mind­ed enough to do that!

For some years, though, Johnston’s and Falen’s trans­la­tions sim­ply sat side by side on my shelf at home, doing noth­ing but gath­er­ing dust. One day, though — who knows why? —I asked Car­ol, “Say, why don’t we try read­ing these two trans­la­tions togeth­er?” To my delight, she was gung-ho, and what do you know — after only a few pages we had both fall­en in love with Falen’s ver­sion! It was smooth, clear, catchy, beau­ti­ful, lyri­cal, and touch­ing — in a word, intox­i­cat­ing.  So much for my provin­cial “hokey Appalachi­an” prejudice!

So these were the four EO trans­la­tions that I com­pared in my 1996 arti­cle in the New York Times —Elton’s, Arndt’s, Johnston’s, and Falen’s. Short­ly after writ­ing that arti­cle, I expand­ed it into a full chap­ter of my book Le Ton beau de Marot: In Praise of the Music of Lan­guage (a book most­ly about trans­la­tion and the quest for beau­ty). The chap­ter right after that one was devot­ed to dis­cussing the bloody mas­sacre that was Nabokov’s EO trans­la­tion. But in this lat­ter chap­ter I also includ­ed one stan­za — just one! — by a much ear­li­er trans­la­tor named Babette Deutsch. At the time of writ­ing that chap­ter, I had seen only one stan­za by Deutsch, which I had stum­bled across in an obscure sci­ence book by a Russ­ian physi­cist, and I instant­ly real­ized that it was a mag­i­cal­ly scin­til­lat­ing gem.

By coin­ci­dence, a few months lat­er, a friend of a friend of a friend in Ohio inher­it­ed a bunch of used books, among them a pris­tine first-print-run hard­back copy of Babette Deutsch’s entire trans­la­tion, and hav­ing seen my New York Times arti­cle, he decid­ed to send me that book. I am eter­nal­ly grate­ful to him for hav­ing done so. I quick­ly dis­cov­ered that Babette Deutsch (who, by the way, wrote many books, includ­ing a picaresque nov­el about the life of French poet François Vil­lon) had a remark­able gift for lan­guage, and I found her One­gin trans­la­tion to be gem­like from begin­ning to end (or do I mean “Jim-like”?). If pressed, I would still rank Falen’s trans­la­tion slight­ly above Deutsch’s, but one must keep in mind that his was done in 1990, while hers dates way back to 1936. I don’t know if Falen was famil­iar with Deutsch’s ver­sion while work­ing on his own; my guess is that he wasn’t.

What led Jim Falen to do his own ver­sion of EO?  Well, in 1977, his wife Eve, know­ing how much Jim loved the orig­i­nal Russ­ian ver­sion of Eugene One­gin, gave him a copy of Charles Johnston’s brand-new trans­la­tion as a present. Jim read it, but his reac­tion was most­ly just frus­tra­tion. In fact, Johnston’s trans­la­tion fair­ly drove him up a wall; he felt its defects every­where — as only some­one with a pro­found sense of the beau­ty of the orig­i­nal work, as well as of the huge poten­tial of the Eng­lish lan­guage as a poet­ic medi­um, could feel.

And soon enough, to his own great sur­prise, spurred by his dis­ap­point­ment with John­ston, Jim start­ed work­ing on his own Eng­lish-lan­guage trans­la­tion of Eugene One­gin. He’d nev­er imag­ined tack­ling such an Ever­est-like chal­lenge, and in fact it took him rough­ly ten years to do it. But in the end he came out with a mirac­u­lous trans­la­tion of stun­ning beauty.

In 1997, dur­ing a fall vis­it to Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty, I some­how got it into my head to give a read­ing-aloud of Jim’s EO trans­la­tion. To read aloud the entire book (con­sist­ing of rough­ly 380 14-line stan­zas) takes about four hours, split up into two ses­sions. The act of shar­ing that beau­ti­ful work, joint­ly pro­duced by Alexan­der Pushkin and James Falen, with an enthu­si­as­tic if small audi­ence at Stan­ford gave me a thrill that I hon­est­ly can’t explain. Through Falen’s trans­la­tion, I felt that I had come into inti­mate touch with Pushkin, and through read­ing it aloud I had shared it with a few dozen oth­er souls. That act was magical.

At that time, it nev­er occurred to me that I might try read­ing the orig­i­nal work in the Russ­ian lan­guage, as my Russ­ian was very weak. I mere­ly thought to myself, “I’ve read Eugene One­gin; what a great work of lit­er­a­ture!” But fate takes strange twists. Around then, I taught a poet­ry-trans­la­tion sem­i­nar at Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty, and one of the key exam­ples I used was Eugene One­gin, assign­ing my stu­dents var­i­ous stan­zas (as ren­dered by Deutsch, Elton, Arndt, John­ston, and Falen) to study and com­ment on. One day, I asked the class, “Do any of you know Russ­ian, by any chance?” Not a sin­gle one of them raised their hand. How­ev­er, since I myself had stud­ied Russ­ian a lit­tle bit, I picked up the orig­i­nal Russ­ian book and just for the fun of it start­ed read­ing some of my favorite stan­zas, slog­ging through them with dif­fi­cul­ty but enthu­si­asm, and what I gleaned from them I shared with my students.

In the mean­time, I had become aware that many Rus­sians spon­ta­neous­ly mem­o­rize the entire­ty of Евгений Онегин from begin­ning to end. And they don’t do so because they’re required to; they do so out of love. Inspired by this image, I myself start­ed doing some­thing sim­i­lar, focus­ing first on a few stan­zas that I had come to love through Falen’s trans­la­tion. By read­ing those same stan­zas in the Russ­ian orig­i­nal over and over again, I grad­u­al­ly com­mit­ted them to mem­o­ry, and then I repeat­ed them count­less times to myself, mak­ing them become deep parts of me.  Of course, in so doing, I was learn­ing lots and lots of Russ­ian ­— real­iz­ing a life­long dream of being able to speak Russ­ian, in fact. To that end, I also sat in on a Russ­ian course and had fre­quent lunch­es with Russ­ian con­ver­sa­tion partners.

You might be won­der­ing how come I didn’t mem­o­rize pieces of Jim Falen’s trans­la­tion, instead of the Russ­ian orig­i­nal.  Wouldn’t that have been a lot eas­i­er? The answer is sim­ple. There are hun­dreds of mil­lions of peo­ple in Rus­sia who love this work in the orig­i­nal, and who will rec­og­nize enor­mous chunks of it if you recite them. In fact, if you start recit­ing a stan­za and stop part way through, they will com­plete it, just from mem­o­ry. (I wasn’t kid­ding when I said that it’s the Rus­sians’ favorite work of lit­er­a­ture!)  By con­trast, nobody has mem­o­rized Jim Falen’s EO. That doesn’t mean that it’s not as beau­ti­ful or as deep or as intox­i­cat­ing as the orig­i­nal — but because it’s a trans­la­tion, it’s a mil­lion times less known than the orig­i­nal. So if you want to con­nect spir­i­tu­al­ly with the set of peo­ple who love the work, you have to mem­o­rize it in its orig­i­nal lan­guage . And that’s exact­ly what I did— or rather, I mem­o­rized about one fifth of it (rough­ly 1000 lines in toto).

At that time I had got­ten in touch with Jim Falen — first through let­ters, then through email, and then by tele­phone. Even­tu­al­ly, hav­ing been so deeply touched by his ver­sion, I tried my hand at trans­lat­ing a few mem­o­rized stan­zas into my own per­son­al style of Eng­lish. I just couldn’t resist the temp­ta­tion. It was like being so inspired by one’s favorite pianist play­ing a beloved work that one craves to tack­le the work one­self.  And then one day, after I’d done about six or sev­en stan­zas, hav­ing a grand time of it, I asked myself, “Why not do the whole book?  Wouldn’t that be a great thrill?” And before I knew it, I had embarked on this crazy lit­er­ary voy­age. Nev­er had I imag­ined such a thing, but all at once, it was hap­pen­ing. And to my enor­mous grat­i­fi­ca­tion, Jim Falen him­self was very sup­port­ive of my effort.

A few months lat­er, by some crazy fluke, I received an invi­ta­tion from Steve Black­well, a young col­league of Jim’s in Slav­ic at UTK.  Steve had no idea I was an One­gin fan or a Falen fan; he just want­ed me to give a talk about “the absurd” in lit­er­a­ture (a long-term inter­est of mine). My reac­tion was: “What great luck! I can too­dle on down to Ten­nessee, give a talk on the absurd, and meet Jim Falen — irre­sistible!” So of course I accept­ed, and with Steve I arranged to give not just the request­ed “absurd” talk, but also a two-evening read­ing-aloud of Jim Falen’s Eugene One­gin. Amaz­ing!  Before dri­ving down to Knoxville, how­ev­er, I got in touch with the book’s pub­lish­er and ordered every sin­gle copy they had in stock — near­ly 100 — and when I received the big box, I loaded it into my car and took it with me.

At the start of the first evening’s read­ing, I sur­prised the audi­ence by say­ing, “Every­one here gets a free copy!” Rough­ly 90 peo­ple had shown up, so luck­i­ly I had enough copies — just bare­ly— to hand out to the crowd.Then I read out loud the book’s first four chap­ters in the pres­ence of Jim and his wife Eve, which was both a high hon­or and fan­tas­tic fun. And then, two evenings lat­er, 90 peo­ple showed up for the sec­ond ses­sion. For me, man­ag­ing to lure all 90 peo­ple back for the final four chap­ters felt like a great tri­umph. My ini­tial­ly ten­u­ous link with Jim and Eve Falen thus turned into a won­der­ful, pro­found friend­ship — prob­a­bly the best thing that has come out of my inter­est in translation.

Dur­ing the rest of that year (1998), I trans­lat­ed stan­za after stan­za, like mad, in many states and in many lands.  I will nev­er for­get trans­lat­ing a stan­za while sit­ting in the fork of a tree high up in a val­ley in the Sier­ras in Cal­i­for­nia, nor a stan­za that I did in Siena’s Piaz­za del Cam­po, just before watch­ing the Palio with my two kids, nor a stan­za that I did, while very jet-lagged, in a café in the Quarti­er Latin in Paris, and most of all I’ll nev­er for­get doing the novel’s very last stan­za in Pushkin’s own apart­ment in Peters­burg — in fact, while sit­ting at Pushkin’s desk in Pushkin’s study, right under the gaze of the poet him­self, hav­ing been left all alone (Боже мой!) for two full hours in that high­ly sacro­sanct of spots in all of Russia.

And also, dur­ing that extreme­ly spe­cial year of my life, I made a few six-hour jaunts from Indi­ana down to the Knoxville area — pass­ing through Kentucky’s famous­ly beau­ti­ful horse coun­try and Tennessee’s lyri­cal Cum­ber­land moun­tains — to vis­it with Jim and Eve in their gor­geous home perched on the banks of the Lit­tle Ten­nessee Riv­er.  On the very last of those vis­its, just as I was putting the fin­ish­ing touch­es on my trans­la­tion, the three of us spent three unfor­get­tably joy­ous evenings sip­ping on sher­ry and munch­ing lus­cious choco­lates, while read­ing aloud my entire man­u­script, here and there fine-tun­ing a rhythm or a rhyme, and with Jim on occa­sion recit­ing one of his own One­gin stan­zas aloud, so that we could savor the com­par­i­son.  What a rare treat! One of the high­lights of my whole life.

Very ear­ly on, I knew exact­ly to whom I wished to ded­i­cate my trans­la­tion, and thus it hap­pened that on that final vis­it, I penned my lov­ing ded­i­ca­tion to Jim and Eve Falen — mod­eled, line by line, on Pushkin’s ded­i­ca­tion to his friend Pëtr Alexan­drovich Plet­nëv.  When I had fin­ished writ­ing it very late one night in “my” bed­room, I tip­toed out to the din­ing room and left the sheet of paper lying on the table, so that Jim and Eve would find it there the next morn­ing — as indeed they did. It didn’t occur to either of them that I was actu­al­ly going to include that poem in the book — but of course I did.  How could I not? I thus had two ded­i­ca­tions: Pushkin’s, to his friend, and mine, to my friends.  Here they are (and by the way, these 17-line poems are not One­gin stan­zas, though their fla­vor is very similar):

Not aim­ing to amuse the folk in
The haughty set, but just my friends,
I’d hoped to ten­der you a token
More wor­thy of the min­gled trends
That make your soul so cap­ti­vat­ing,
So rife with sacred dreams, and with
Such clear poet­ic life, pul­sat­ing
With noble thought and hum­ble myth;
Oh, well… With your dis­crim­i­nat­ing
Fine hand, please take my chap­ters eight —
Half-droll, half-sad, at times roman­tic;
They’re down-to-earth and ne’er pedan­tic,
These care­less fruits I’ve born of late —
My sleep­less nights’ bright inspi­ra­tions,
Through cal­low and through fad­ing years:
My mind’s detached, cool obser­va­tions,
My heart’s sad words, dis­tilled from tears.
Not aim­ing to amuse the folk in
Nabókov’s monde, but just my friends,
I’d hoped to ten­der you a token
Dear Falens, wor­thi­er of the blend
That make your souls so rich and pre­cious,
So rife with sacred dreams, and with
Poet­ic lines that e’er refresh us,
And lofty thoughts, and charm and pith;
Oh, well… Take what will hence­forth mesh us:
This suite of chap­ters, one through eight —
Half-droll, half-sad, some­times roman­tic,
But down-to-earth and ne’er pedan­tic,
The care­less fruit I’ve born of late —
The toss­ing, turn­ing inspi­ra­tions,
From green­er and from gray­er years:
My mind’s chilled white-wine decanta­tions,
My heart’s red wines, dis­tilled from tears.

If, read­er, I have made you curi­ous to read Eugene One­gin, and if you don’t know Russ­ian, then I would sug­gest that an ide­al way of doing so is to do just what Car­ol and I did so many years ago — name­ly, to read two ver­sions alter­nat­ing­ly, and to com­pare them, stan­za by stan­za. However,as you might guess, I would not rec­om­mend using Charles Johnston’s trans­la­tion. Instead, I sug­gest you use the trans­la­tions by Babette Deutsch and James Falen, both of which I deeply love (or, if you insist, dear read­er, feel free to take Jim’s trans­la­tion and my own — which, by the way, was pub­lished in 1999, exact­ly 200 years after the birth of Alexan­der Sergee­vich Pushkin).

Falen’s and Deutsch’s trans­la­tions are very dif­fer­ent, but that doesn’t mean they can’t both be won­der­ful. In fact, they are won­der­ful­ly dif­fer­ent. And how do they com­pare with the orig­i­nal? Well, the orig­i­nal is a stun­ning work in all sorts of ways, but so are both of these trans­la­tions. I have no qualms in say­ing that each of them is, in its own way, just as good, just as sparkling, just as deep as the orig­i­nal. But for me, that kind of com­par­i­son is not the point. For me, the real point is this: Do they make you fall in love with the work? Do they make you become as pro­found­ly intox­i­cat­ed with the work as the most intox­i­cat­ed Russ­ian is?

I feel that through Jim Falen’s Eng­lish trans­la­tion of Eugene One­gin, I became as intox­i­cat­ed as any Russ­ian soul ever was about the orig­i­nal work — or pret­ty damn close, any­way. And even after 25 years of pro­found devo­tion to EO, I’m still intox­i­cat­ed with it.  Today I know the work inti­mate­ly not only in Eng­lish, but also in Russ­ian — and also (though not as inti­mate­ly) in beau­ti­ful, flow­ing, lyri­cal verse trans­la­tions into Ger­man, French, and even Swedish. (By the way, of the four Ger­man trans­la­tions I own, my favorite is the one by Rolf-Diet­rich Keil.)

To con­clude, let me stress that it was only through acts of cre­ative trans­la­tion that I fell in love with this great work of lit­er­a­ture. That’s the amaz­ing pow­er of superla­tive trans­la­tion à la James Falen or à la Babette Deutsch. Long live the great and sub­tle art of translation!

A Ger­man trans­la­tion of this essay is avail­able here.
Dou­glas R. Hof­s­tadter is Col­lege of Arts and Sci­ences Dis­tin­guished Pro­fes­sor of Cog­ni­tive Sci­ence and Com­par­a­tive Lit­er­a­ture at Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty, Bloom­ing­ton, where, for some 30 years, he has direct­ed the Cen­ter for Research on Con­cepts and Cog­ni­tion. He is best known for his books on minds, think­ing, con­scious­ness, and com­put­ers, the most famous of which is Gödel, Esch­er, Bach: an Eter­nal Gold­en Braid, which won a Pulitzer Prize in 1980 and still sells well. He regrets that he is a bit less known for his lit­er­ary trans­la­tions, such as of Eugene One­gin, and for his writ­ings about the art of trans­la­tion, such as his 1997 tome Le Ton beau de Marot: In Praise of the Music of Lan­guage. These two books and his oth­er trans­la­tion-relat­ed writ­ings come from a life­long love for lan­guages; in fact, Hof­s­tadter describes him­self as “π‑lingual”, mean­ing that the sum of his var­i­ous lan­guage frag­ments is rough­ly 3.14159265358979…

Alexan­der Puschkin/James E. Falen: Eugene One­gin. A Nov­el in Verse (Russ­ian Orig­i­nal: Евгений Онегин)

Oxford Uni­ver­si­ty Press ⋅ 288 Seit­en ⋅ £ 8,99


Fur­ther Reading:

Dou­glas R. Hof­s­tadter. Le Ton Beau De Marot: In Praise Of The Music Of Lan­guage. New York: Basic Books, 1997.

Александр Сергеевич Пушкин. Евгений Онегин. Собрание Сочинений в десяти томах (Том четвертый). Москва: Государственное издательство Художественной Литературы, 1959.

Trans­la­tions (sort­ed by translator):

Arndt, Wal­ter: Eugene One­gin. New York: E. P. Dut­ton, 1963.

Deutsch, Babette: Eugene One­gin. In Poems, Prose and Plays of Alexan­der Pushkin, edit­ed by Avrahm Yarmolin­sky, 111–311. Mod­ern Library. New York: Ran­dom House, 1936.

Elton, Oliv­er: Evge­ny One­gin. Lon­don: The Pushkin Press, 1937.

Falen, James E.: Eugene One­gin. Car­bon­dale, Illi­nois: South­ern Illi­nois Uni­ver­si­ty Press, 1990.

Hof­s­tadter, Dou­glas R.: Eugene One­gin. New York: Basic Books, 1999.

John­ston, Sir Charles: Eugene One­gin: A Poet­ic Nov­el. Lon­don: Pri­vate Print­ing, 1977.

Keil, Rolf-Diet­rich: Jew­geni One­gin: Roman in Versen (Trans­la­tion into Ger­man). Gießen: Wil­helm Schmitz Ver­lag, 1980.

Nabokov, Vladimir: Eugene One­gin. Bollin­gen Series LXXII. New York: Pan­theon, 1964.

1 Comment

Add Yours

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *