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Часть текста: Boyan did not [really] set ten falcons upon a flock of swans: his own vatic fingers he laid on the live strings, which then twanged out by themselves a paean to princes. So let us begin, brothers, this tale- from Vladimir of yore to nowadays Igor. who girded his mind with fortitude, and sharpened his heart with manliness; [thus] imbued with the spirit of arms, he led his brave troops against the Kuman land in the name of the Russian land. Boyan apostrophized O Boyan, nigh tingale of the times of old! If you were to trill [your praise of] these troops, while hopping, nightingale, over the tre e of thought; [if you were] flying in mind up to the clouds; [if] weaving paeans around these times, [you were] roving the Troyan Trail, across fields onto hills; then the song to be sung of Igor, that grandson of Oleg [, would be]: "No storm has swept falcons across wide fields; flocks of daws flee toward the Great Don"; or you might intone thus, vatic Boyan, grandson of Veles: "Steeds neigh beyond the Sula; glory rings in Kiev; trumpets blare in Novgorod[-Seversk]; banners are raised in Putivl." Vsievolod's speech Igor waits for his dear brother Vsevolod. And Wild Bull Vsevolod [arrives and] says to him: "My one brother, one bright brightness, you Igor! We both are Svyatoslav's sons. Saddle, brother, your swift steeds. As to mine, they are ready, saddled ahead, near Kursk; as to my Kurskers, they are famous knights- swaddled under war-horns, nursed under helmets, fed from the point of the lance; to them ...

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Часть текста: qu'un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins à brosser ses ongles peut bien passer quelques instans à remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau.” (Les Confessions de Jean-Jacques Rousseau.) Grimm was ahead of his age: nowadays people all over enlightened Europe clean their nails with a special brush. >> 7. The whole of this ironical stanza is nothing but a subtle compliment to our fair compatriots. Thus Boileau, under the guise of disapprobation, eulogizes Louis XIV. Our ladies combine enlightenment with amiability, and strict purity of morals with the Oriental charm that so captivated Mme de Staël ( Dix ans d'exil). >> 8. Readers remember the charming description of a Petersburg night in Gnedich's idyl: Here's night; but the golden stripes of the clouds do not darken. Though starless and moonless, the whole horizon lights up. Far out in the [Baltic] gulf one can see the silvery sails 4 Of hardly discernible ships that seem in the blue sky to float. With a gloomless radiance the night sky is radiant, And the crimson of sunset blends with the Orient's gold, As if Aurora led forth in the wake of evening 8 Her rosy morn. This is the aureate season When the power of night is usurped by the summer days; When the foreigner's gaze is...

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Часть текста: как письмо Татьяны (см. гл. 3, XXXI, 1–4). На случай — случайно. 3 Куда, куда вы удалились… — <…> Я предпочел использовать в переводе восклицание, столь часто встречающееся в английской поэзии XVII–XVIII вв.: Джон Коллоп, «Дух, Плоть» (1656): Whither? ah, whither flies my soul… (Куда? ax, куда улетает моя душа…) Томас Флетчер (1692): Whither fond soul, ah, whither wouldst thou fly? (Куда, любимая душа, ax, куда ты полетишь?) Поуп, переложение «Animula vagula blandula» [687] императора Адриана, стих 5: Whither, ah whither art thou flying! (Куда, ax куда ты улетаешь!) (В 1713 г. Поуп отослал Джону Кэриллу два варианта переложения Адриана; второй из них начинается словами «Ах, мимолетный дух!» и озаглавлен «То же другой рукой» — очевидно, другой рукой Поупа — именно там он и вопрошает «куда».) Джеймс Битти, «Ода Надежде» (ок. 1760), стих 78: Whither, ah whither are ye fled? (Куда, ax куда ты улетела?) Анна Летиция Барбо, «Жизнь» (ок. 1811): О whither, whither dost thou fly… (О куда, куда ты улетаешь…) Барри Корнуолл, «Песня» (ок. 1820): Whither, ah! whither is my lost love straying… (Куда, ax! куда устремляется моя потерянная любовь…) Китс, «Эндимион» (1818), кн. 1, стихи 970–971: …Ah! where Are those swift moments? Whither are they fled? (…Ax, где Те мимолетные мгновенья? Куда же они упорхнули?) 4 Весны моей… дни — избитый галлицизм. Упомяну лишь несколько примеров, отобранных при беглом чтении: Клеман Маро, «О себе» («De soy mesme», 1537): Plus ne suis ce que j'ay esté, Et ne le sçaurois jamais estreж Mon beau printemps et mon esté Ont fait le saut par la fenestre. [688] Гильом де...

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Часть текста: as was his custom, spent the morning reclining on a chaise longue on the spa's veranda overlooking the sea. Nabokov, sketching fat figures in the margins of his notebook while relaxing on the beach, had stuffed the end of a Gauloise cigarette into his mouth when he realized he had left his matches at the Pension des H?brides five hundred meters away. Sitting up as a prelude to borrowing what he needed, the young writer noticed the older writer, whose six-foot frame, by this time, weighed less than nine stone, all in black, surveying the strand from his chair. Nabokov stood, folded closed his notebook, and plodded off, minus his espadrilles, toward the invalid. He asked for a match first in French, which elicited only a questioning stare, then in Russian ( m?me jeu ), finally in German, to which the elegant consumptive replied "Schade, Mein Herr, Ich rauche nicht." Nabokov went back to his blanket and gave up on the cigarette. Waves soughed against the damp and spongy shingle, gulls mewed and dived for small fry or the scraps of someone's lunch, a bald man with a mandarin moustache strolled slowly by, accompanied by an olive-skinned lady, the two exchanging phrases in some unknown tongue (Georgian? Armenian? Greek?). Nabokov reports that later in the week, after his friend's departure for France, he spoke often to the thin man on the veranda,...

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Часть текста: rushed out. The far side of our steep little street presented a peculiar sight. A big black glossy Packard had climbed Miss Opposite’s sloping lawn at an angle from the sidewalk (where a tartan laprobe had dropped in a heap), and stood there, shining in the sun, its doors open like wings, its front wheels deep in evergreen shrubbery. To the anatomical right of this car, on the trim turn of the lawn-slope, an old gentleman with a white mustache, well-dresseddouble-breasted gray suit, polka-dotted bow-tielay supine, his long legs together, like a death-size wax figure. I have to put the impact of an instantaneous vision into a sequence of words; their physical accumulation in the page impairs the actual flash, the sharp unity of impression: Rug-heap, car, old man-doll, Miss O.’s nurse running with a rustle, a half-empty tumbler in her hand, back to the screened porchwhere the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the...

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Часть текста: вижу теперь в твоих глазах: дождливая ночь, узкая улица, фонари, плавно ускользающие вдаль. Вода сбегает вниз по водосточным трубам с круто покатых крыш. Под змеиной пастью каждой трубы стоит схваченная зелёным обручем бадья. Они ровными рядами выстроились вдоль чёрных стен с обеих сторон улицы. Я смотрю, как они заполняются холодной ртутью. Дождевая ртуть поднимается всё выше и переливается через край. С непокрытой головой плавают вдалеке фонари, их лучи беспрерывно протянулись в дождливый сумрак. Вода в бадьях продолжает переливаться через край. Итак, я погружаюсь в твои пасмурные глаза, в мерцающую черноту узких аллей, где журчит и шелестит ночной дождь. Улыбнись мне. Почему ты смотришь на меня так пасмурно и мрачно. Теперь утро. Всю ночь звёзды пронзительно кричали детскими голосами, и, кто-то на крыше терзал и ласкал скрипку острым смычком. Смотри, солнце перевалилось через стену, словно сияющий парусник. Ты выдыхаешь туманом всё обволакивающий дым. Пылинки начинают кружиться в твоих глазах, миллионы золотых миров. Ты улыбнулась! Мы выходим на балкон. Весна. Внизу, посреди улицы, жёлто-кудрявый малыш быстро-быстро рисует бога. Бог растянулся от одной стороны улицы до другой. Малыш сжимает в руке кусок мела, маленький кусок белого угольного карандаша, и сидя на корточках, поворачивается, вычерчивая широкую линию. У этого белого бога большие белые пуговицы и развёрнутые наружу ступни. Распятый на асфальте он смотрит в небеса круглыми глазами. Белой дугой рот. Бревно-образная сигара появилась у него во рту. Винтовыми толчками малыш изображает спиралевидный дым....

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Часть текста: после чего мы вместе с Татьяной отправляемся в Москву. Варианты Пушкин набросал несколько версий строфы XXIV. XXIVa В тетради 2370, л. 52 об. есть отвергнутый черновик: Родня качает головою, Соседи шепчут меж собою: Пора, пора бы замуж ей! 8 Мать также мыслит — у друзей Тихонько требует совета — Друзья советуют зимой В Москву подняться всей семьей — 12 Авось в толпе большого света Татьяне сыщется жених, Милей иль счастливей других. XXIVb Еще один черновой вариант (2370, л. 53 об.), продолжающий московскую тему: Старушка очень полюбила Благоразумный их совет — В столицу <ехать> положила, 4 Как только <будет> зимний след. Уж небо осенью дышало, Уж реже солнышко блистало… Продолжается эта строфа как XL, 7—14. XXIVb, 6 Вариант стиха гласит: Уж реже <радуга> блистала… В этот момент Пушкин задался вопросом: что делать дальше с романом, сюжет которого после первого взрыва почти угас? Творческая интуиция подсказала ему отложить рассказ о предполагаемой поездке в Москву. Татьяну отвезут туда лишь в седьмой главе. Из grands mouvements [572] первых шести глав (любовь Татьяны к Онегину и кошмарные именины с их трагическими последствиями) второй взрыв должен был начаться в конце четвертой главы. XXIVc Черновик в тетради 2370, л. 53 читается так: Не в первый раз моей Татьяне Уж называли женихов, Семейство Л<ариных> заране 4 Поздравить всякой был готов. ………………………………………… Ее искали но доселе Она отказывала всем — 8 Старуха мать гордилась тем — Соседи <всех именовали> И всех по пальцам перечли, Там до Онегина дошли 12 <Потом усердно рассуждали> И предрекали уж развод… …<много> через год// XXIVd...

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Часть текста: argument, reconciliation, insatiable illicit love. At first, in my dread of arousing suspicion, I would eagerly pay for both sections of one double unit, each containing a double bed. I wondered what type of foursome this arrangement was even intended for, since only a pharisaic parody of privacy could be attained by means of the incomplete partition dividing the cabin or room into two communicating love nests. By and by, the very possibilities that such honest promiscuity suggested (two young couples merrily swapping mates or a child shamming sleep to earwitness primal sonorities) made me bolder, and every now and then I would take a bed-and-cot or twin-bed cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine View Courts, Mountain View Courts, Skyline Courts, Park Plaza Courts, Green Acres, Mac’s Courts. There was sometimes a special line in the write-up, such as “Children welcome, pets allowed” ( You are welcome,...

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Часть текста: "Remember, dear, that the greatest menace to happy domestic life is CHESS." -- Shakhmatnaia goriachka 1 Zashchita Luzhina [literally, Luzhin's Defense] was written in 1929 while the Master and his wife were vacationing and hunting butterflies in the Pyren?es Orientales and published serially, first in Rul' (one chapter), then in Sovremennye zapiski , nos. 40-42, and finally in book form later that same year by Slovo in Berlin. An English version, translated by the author in collaboration with Michael Scammell, was published in 1964 by Putnam as The Defenestration . This edition is true to the original with the exception of two references to Zembla that the author, or the translator, or an unnamed editor, or an inattentive typesetter, chose to remove, or happened to remove inadvertantly, from Chapters Two and Five. Zashchita Luzhina is a book about chess, "a game of skill played by two persons, each having sixteen pieces to move in different ways, on a board divided into 64 squares, alternately light and dark." (I owe this pithy definition to Webster.) If the reader does not know, or has forgotten, the rules to the game, he or she is invited to consult one of the many pamphlets devoted to chess that must surely exist in every language written and read in the civilized world. The word...

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Часть текста: una gente a cui '1 morir non dole. Petr. I On noticing that Vladimir had vanished, Onegin, by ennui pursued again, by Olga's side sank into meditation, 4 pleased with his vengeance. After him Ólinka yawned too, sought Lenski with her eyes, and the endless cotillion 8 irked her like an oppressive dream. But it has ended. They go in to supper. The beds are made. Guests are assigned night lodgings — from the entrance hall 12 even to the maids' quarters. Restful sleep by all is needed. My Onegin alone has driven home to sleep. II All has grown quiet. In the drawing room the heavy Pustyakov snores with his heavy better half. 4 Gvozdin, Buyanov, Petushkov, and Flyanov (who is not quite well) have bedded in the dining room on chairs, with, on the floor, Monsieur Triquet 8 in underwaistcoat and old nightcap. All the young ladies, in Tatiana's and Olga's rooms, are wrapped in sleep. Alone, sadly by Dian's beam 12 illumined at the window, poor Tatiana is not asleep and gazes out on the dark field. III With his unlooked-for apparition, the momentary softness of his eyes, and odd conduct with Olga, 4 to the depth of her soul she's penetrated. She is quite unable to understand him. Jealous anguish perturbs her, 8 as if a cold hand pressed her heart; as if beneath her an abyss yawned black and dinned.... “I shall perish,” says Tanya, 12 “but perishing from him is sweet. I murmur ...

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Cлово "FLY"