Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "KNEEL"
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Часть текста: aspects, attending to it whenever I had nothing better to do. On the other hand, I was urged by a war-time university in New York to complete my comparative history of French literature for English-speaking students. The first volume took me a couple of years during which I put in seldom less than fifteen hours of work daily. As I look back on those days, I see them divided tidily into ample light and narrow shade: the light pertaining to the solace of research in palatial libraries, the shade to my excruciating desires and insomnias of which enough has been said. Knowing me by now, the reader can easily imagine how dusty and hot I got, trying to catch a glimpse of nymphets (alas, always remote) playing in Central Park, and how repulsed I was by the glitter of deodorized career girls that a gay dog in one of the offices kept unloading upon me. Let us skip all that. A dreadful breakdown sent me to a sanatorium for more than a year; I went back to my workonly to be hospitalized again. Robust outdoor life seemed to promise me some relief. One of my favorite doctors, a charming cynical chap with a little brown beard, had a brother, and this brother was about to lead an expedition into arctic Canada. I was attached to it as a “recorder of psychic reactions.” With two young botanists and an old carpenter I shared now and then (never very successfully) the favors of one of our nutritionists, a Dr. Anita Johnsonwho was soon flown back, I am glad to say. I had little notion of what object the expedition was pursuing. Judging by the number of meteorologists upon it, we may have been tracking to ...
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Часть текста: tribute of the field. 12 The dales grow dry and varicolored. The herds are noisy, and the nightingale has sung already in the hush of nights. II How sad your apparition is to me, spring, spring, season of love! What a dark stir there is 4 in my soul, in my blood! With what oppressive tenderness I revel in the whiff of spring fanning my face 8 in the lap of the rural stillness! Or is enjoyment strange to me, and all that gladdens, animates, all that exults and gleams, 12 casts spleen and languishment upon a soul long dead and all looks dark to it? III Or gladdened not by the return of leaves that perished in the autumn, a bitter loss we recollect, 4 harking to the new murmur of the woods; or with reanimated nature we compare in troubled thought the withering of our years, 8 for which there is no renovation? Perhaps there comes into our thoughts, midst a poetical reverie, some other ancient spring, 12 which sets our heart aquiver with the dream of a distant clime, a marvelous night, a moon.... IV Now is the time: good lazybones, epicurean sages; you, equanimous fortunates; 4 you, fledglings of the Lyóvshin 41 school; you, country Priams; and sentimental ladies, you; spring calls you to the country, 8 season of warmth, of flowers, of labors, of inspired rambles, and of seductive nights. Friends! to the fields, quick, quick; 12 in heavy loaden chariots; with your own horses or with posters; out of the towngates start to trek! V And you, indulgent reader, in your imported calash, leave the indefatigable city 4 where in the winter you caroused; let's go with my...
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Часть текста: пылких дней 8 Кипящей младости моей Я не желал с таким мученьем Лобзать уста младых Армид, Иль розы пламенных ланит, 12 Иль перси, полные томленьем; Нет, никогда порыв страстей Так не терзал души моей! Поиски реальной женщины, к чьей ножке подошел бы этот хрустальный башмачок — строфа XXXIII, — заставили не одного пушкиниста проявить максимум изобретательности либо же обнаружить свою наивность. Достаточно пылкую поддержку имеют по меньшей мере четыре «прототипа» {20} . Рассмотрим сначала наиболее правдоподобную кандидатку — Марию Раевскую. На последней неделе мая 1820 г. осуществился заманчивый план, составленный не менее чем месяцем прежде. Генерал Николай Раевский, герой наполеоновских кампаний, ехал с одним из двух своих сыновей и двумя из четырех дочерей из Киева в Пятигорск (Северный Кавказ); по пути, в Екатеринославе (ныне Днепропетровск), к ним присоединился Пушкин, двумя неделями раньше высланный из Петербурга под опеку другого благоволившего к нему генерала, Ивана Инзова. Компанию Раевских составляли: сын Николай, близкий друг Пушкина; девочки Мария, тринадцати с половиной, и София, двенадцати лет; русская нянька, английская гувернантка (miss Matten), компаньонка-татарка ( dame de compagnie, загадочная Анна, о которой ниже), врач (д-р Рудыковский) и француз-гувернер (Фурнье). Старший сын Александр, с которым Пушкин не был еще знаком, ждал путешественников в Пятигорске, а в августе все они собирались приехать в Гурзуф (Южный Крым) к г-же Раевской с двумя старшими дочерьми (Екатериной и Еленой). Уже первый отрезок пути от Екатеринослава до Таганрога легко излечил поэта от приставшей к нему на Днепре лихорадки. Однажды утром, 30 мая, между Самбеком и Таганрогом, пять пассажирок одной из двух огромных карет-дормезов — а именно, обе...
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Часть текста: distaste; and it seemed to me now that she was ready to turn away from it with something akin to plain repulsion. Never did she vibrate under my touch, and a strident “what d’you think you are doing?” was all I got for my pains. To the wonderland I had to offer, my fool preferred the corniest movies, the most cloying fudge. To think that between a Hamburger and a Humburger, she wouldinvariably, with icy precisionplump for the former. There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child. Did I mention the name of that milk bar I visited a moment ago? It was, of all things, The Frigid Queen. Smiling a little sadly, I dubbed her My Frigid Princess. She did not see the wistful joke. Oh, d not scowl at me, reader, I do not intend to convey the impressin that I did not manage to be happy. Readeer must understand that in the possession and thralldom of a nymphet the enchanted traveler stands, as it were, beyond happiness. For there is no other bliss on earth comparable to that of fondling a nymphet. It is hors concours , that bliss, it belongs to another class, another plane of sensitivity. Despite our tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger, and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradisea paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flamesbut still a paradise. The able psychiatrist who studies my caseand whom by now Dr. Humbert has plunged, I trust, into a state of leporine fascinationis no doubt anxious to have me take Lolita to the seaside and have me find there, at last, the “gratification” of a lifetime urge, and release from the “subconscious” obsession of an incomplete childhood romance with the initial little Miss Lee. Well, comrade, let me tell you that I did look for a beach, though I also have to confess that by the time we reached its mirage of gray water, so many delights had...
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Часть текста: twenty, say half-an-hour, sicher its sicher as my uncle Gustave used to sayI would let myself into that “342” and find my nymphet, my beauty and bride, imprisoned in her crystal sleep. Jurors! If my happiness could have talked, it would have filled that genteel hotel with a deafening roar. And my only regret today is that I did not quietly deposit key “342” at the office, and leave the town, the country, the continent, the hemisphere,indeed, the globethat very same night. Let me explain. I was not unduly disturbed by her self-accusatory innuendoes. I was still firmly resolved to pursue my policy of sparing her purity by operating only in the stealth of night, only upon a completely anesthetized little nude. Restraint and reverence were still my motto-even if that “purity” (incidentally, thoroughly debunked by modern science) had been slightly damaged through some juvenile erotic experience, no doubt homosexual, at that accursed camp of hers. Of course, in my...
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Часть текста: back-slapping, for those readers of delicate sensibilities or who have no French), in which the author, feigning humility, lists the names of the people and institutions he has had occasion to consult, implying, or, more often, stating explicitly, that although all these fine folks were instrumental in establishing the book's final form, none of them can be held responsible for any of the lapses or idiocies to be found therein; for these the author alone must answer. I have opted, against the protestations of my editor, to forego this tiresome ritual. Every word, every thought, every mark of punctuation in this work is my own, except where stated otherwise according to the dictates of careful scholarship. Certainly the comments (solicited or not) of many persons have guided me in perfecting my book, but only insofar as they served as signposts of exactly the type of tired tripe I wished to avoid. The most common of these was a chilly "You can't do that," as if my book were violating some immemorial cosmic law. For all their carping about institutional constraints on the freedom of their thought and work, my fellow academicians (and even many of you, self-styled "Nabokovians") have revealed themselves to be virulently censorial when confronted by the weird fruit of my research. Few things are more depressing to an intelligent person than the revelation that a whole league of supposedly enlightened literati is in fact a mob of petulant nitwits. Chapter One On Visiting Nabokov's Tomb "Biography is a form of murder." -- J. Tenier The...