Passing through..!!

I was reading by threads on Eugene Onegin, Pushkin’s famous Byronic work, on the net.
Lovely reading it made, made me think, and that is some credit to give to anyone or thing.
S about the story of a young , sophisticated dandy who’s bored with life, who when visiting his Uncle’s estate allows a wonderful girl to fall in love with him and write him a letter full of truth and passion, which he, as a proposal soon quashes and lets her know in polite terms that he cannot accept.
He sure enough lives on to an older age where he regrets the decision as much as he regrets his life, fate soon brings them both together but in a much different setting.
In the cultured ballrooms of St.Petersburg or Moscow, I forget, they meet again, this time though she is the noble woman and he, the mysterious, once well known party hopper.
Fate ensures that they both cannot be together for their own reasons, and they live to pine about it.
The book of course is a lot more deep and colorful than my crude theme here, but the gist is the same.
What drove me to think about this fairly mundane gist, was the fact that even I had made decisions, of a similar nature and now think back on them with a pinch of regret
But I I ll be quick to point out that the flip side of that coin bears the heavy, happy face of relief.
But then again I was thinking, one of the threads was from a Russian, who wrote that in all the interpretations of the book, it was let known that Onegin as a man was unworthy of the mighty love and passion of Tatjana, the perfect epitome of Russian feminity.
I gathered that it’s not been until recently that someone spoke of Onegin’s perspective as if of a grave discovery.
Funnily enough everything is white or black in the book, except for Eugene.
That his character is a philanderer, a rich intellectual with a proper scorn for country folk does not paint an ominous introduction; add to these, the murder of his friend, and his resultant absence until later in the story makes him the proper villain.
Strangely even the final scene of the story casts him deeper into apparent villainy.

Nobody cares to wait or ponder about the situations or circumstances that cast such a mighty shadow on the man’s heart. Pushkin carefully leaves it to the reader to judge his characters.
Somehow I relate very deeply with the man’s loneliness, the pain of committing a wise decision in the past which soured to folly later in life, and the cold irony life brought to him through the white winters of Russia...
The movie’s a good watch…my views here are unnecessary because a piece of art like life is to the spectator his private truth, what it is to the other is of no consequence to anybody...