Владимир Набоков: Поиск по текстам произведений автора и критике. Cлово "YARD". Классическая русская литература.

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Часть текста: “Good-by, Onegin. Time for me to leave.” “I do not hold you, but where do 4 you spend your evenings?” “At the Larins'.” “Now, that's a fine thing. Mercy, man — and you don't find it difficult thus every evening to kill time?” 8 “Not in the least.” “I cannot understand. From here I see what it is like: first — listen, am I right? — a simple Russian family, 12 a great solicitude for guests, jam, never-ending talk of rain, of flax, of cattle yard.” II “So far I do not see what's bad about it.” “Ah, but the boredom — that is bad, my friend.” “Your fashionable world I hate; 4 dearer to me is the domestic circle in which I can…” “Again an eclogue! Ah, that will do, old boy, for goodness' sake. Well, so you're off; I'm very sorry. 8 Oh, Lenski, listen — is there any way for me to see this Phyllis, subject of thoughts, and pen, and tears, and rhymes, et cetera? 12 Present me.” “You are joking.” “No.” “I'd gladly.” “When?” “Now, if you like. They will be eager to receive us.” III “Let's go.” And off the two friends drove; they have arrived; on them are lavished the sometimes onerous attentions 4 of hospitable ancientry. The ritual of the treat is known: in little dishes...

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Часть текста: another time. I was met at the station by an envoy, if that's not too grand a word, from the university, whom I did not immediately recognize despite the rectangle of cardstock he held chest-high with my adopted moniker carefully lettered on it. He was so young I looked right past him, toward an elderly gentleman in a dark uniform who corresponded to the mental image of natty chauffeur I had formed during the crossing. When I accosted him with a question and a questioning expression, he shook his head and stared past me, as if I weren't there. I gathered from his stony rebuff that I was only one in a series of persons to have mistaken him for their driver. Looking around, I spotted the person I had previously missed, and marveled at my having missed not only my new name, prominently displayed, but at my having failed to notice and acknowledge such an attractive youth. The blond lock covering his forehead almost obscured his electric blue eyes. He wore a very long, very shaggy overcoat of sorts, unbuttoned, and a crisp light blue oxford shirt, the tails of which were tucked into incongruously soiled dungarees. Grease from the machine shop? Dirt from a good-natured game of Fuss in the yard? I introduced myself by pointing mutely at the sign, then at my own breast. "Doctor Kinbot?" he asked, uncertain. I smiled. " Kinbote ," good sir, "the o is long, like das Boot in German, or, or the French ?ter ." He apologized as I clasped his hand, which was warm and wet (from holding the sign? from nervousness over the prospect of meeting an arriving dignitary?), and pumped it several times ? l'am?ricaine, as my English tutor, publicly contemptuous but secretly envious of everything American, had...

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Часть текста: the door carried no inside bolt. The key, with its numbered dangler of carved wood, became forthwith the weighty sesame to a rapturous and formidable future. It was mine, it was part of my hot hairy fist. In a few minutessay, 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 old-fashioned, old-world way, I, Jean-Jacques Humbert, had taken for granted, when I first met her, that she was as unravished as the stereotypical notion of “normal child” had been since the lamented end of the Ancient World B. C. and its fascinating practices. We are not surrounded in our enlighted era by little slave flowers that can be casually plucked between business and bath as they used to be in the days of the...

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Часть текста: 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. Руки в боки, он созерцает свою работу. Добавляет ещё одну пуговицу. Громыхнула оконная рама через дорогу; женский голос, огромный и счастливый позвал его. Малыш зафутболил подальше мел и помчался домой. На фиолетовом асфальте остался белый, геометрический бог, вглядывающийся в небо. Твой взгляд опять мрачнеет. Я знаю, конечно, что тебе припоминается. В углу нашей...

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Часть текста: 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 already been granted me by my traveling companion that the search for a Kingdom by the Sea, a Sublimated Riviera, or whatnot, far from being the impulse of the subconscious, had become the rational pursuit of a purely theoretical thrill. The angels knew ...

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Часть текста: I Беженцев на борту «Надежды» не кормили, и им пришлось довольствоваться собственными припасами — колбасой, яйцами, хлебом. На исходе второго дня вдали показался Константинополь и «пропал в сумраке ночи, опередившей судно». На следующий день — 17 апреля 1919 года — Владимир, рано поднявшись со своей жесткой скамьи, увидел восход солнца над Босфором, корабли, застывшие, словно в янтаре, и далекие минареты. Поскольку Константинополь уже был переполнен беженцами, пассажиры «Надежды» не получили разрешения сойти на берег. Лишь после двухдневной стоянки, когда минареты стали казаться фабричными трубами, судно двинулось дальше, через Мраморное море 2 . Еще два дня спустя «Надежда» вошла в афинский порт Пирей. Хотя у пассажиров кончились продовольствие и вода, корабль на двое суток поставили на карантин в Пирейской бухте, и лишь в день двадцатилетия Владимира Набокова он и его близкие сошли на берег Греции. Там их уже ждали Сергеевичи и Дмитриевичи, и все три семейства двинулись вдоль берега — подальше от закопченных угольных суденышек и минных тральщиков, мимо сверкающих яхт — к белым отелям Фалерона, фешенебельной приморской окраины Афин. Несколько недель Владимир Дмитриевич с женой и детьми провели — несмотря на отчаянную нехватку денег — в отеле «Новый Фалерон» — трехзвездном, судя по набоковскому путеводителю, а две другие семьи — в «Актеоне». Владимиру Дмитриевичу удавалось объясняться с лакеями на древнегреческом 3 . В день приезда Набоковы отправились на «электрическом поезде» мимо сонных домишек в центр Афин. Акрополь показался юному поэту «священным», и он тут же...

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Часть текста: 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...

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Часть текста: on the panes; the trees in winter silver, gay magpies outside, 12 and the hills softly overspread with winter's brilliant carpeting. All's bright, all's white around. II Winter! The peasant, celebrating, in a flat sledge inaugurates the track; his naggy, having sensed the snow, 4 shambles at something like a trot. Plowing up fluffy furrows, a bold kibitka flies: the driver sits upon his box 8 in sheepskin coat, red-sashed. Here runs about a household lad, upon a hand sled having seated “blackie,” having transformed himself into the steed; 12 the scamp already has frozen a finger. He finds it both painful and funny — while his mother, from the window, threatens him... III But, maybe, pictures of this kind will not attract you; all this is lowly nature; 4 there is not much refinement here. Warmed by the god of inspiration, another poet in luxurious language for us has painted the first snow 8 and all the shades of winter's delectations. 27 He'll captivate you, I am sure of it, when he depicts in flaming verses secret promenades in sleigh; 12 but I have no intention of contending either with him at present or with you, singer of the young Finnish Maid! 28 IV Tatiana (being Russian at heart, herself not knowing why) loved, in all its cold beauty, 4 a Russian winter: rime in the sun upon a frosty day, and sleighs, and, at late dawn, the radiance of the rosy snows, 8 and gloam of Twelfthtide eves. Those evenings in the ancient fashion were celebrated in their house: the servant girls from the whole stead 12 told their young ladies' fortunes and every year made prophecies to them...

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Часть текста: we are not.” Griboedov I Chased by the vernal beams, down the surrounding hills the snows already have run in turbid streams 4 onto the inundated fields. With a serene smile, nature greets through her sleep the morning of the year. Bluing, the heavens shine. 8 The yet transparent woods as if with down are greening. The bee flies from her waxen cell after the 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...

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Часть текста: в ЕО гл. 6, XXXI, 4–6 падение Ленского на роковой дуэли сравнивается с тем, как «медленно по скату гор, / На солнце искрами блистая, / Спадает глыба снеговая», мы вместе с русским автором представляем себе солнечный день русской зимы, но в то же время не можем не вспомнить, что когда в макферсоновском «Фингале», кн. III, Старно убивает Агандеку, она падает «словно снег, что свергается с утесов Ронана». Когда Лермонтов в «Герое нашего времени» (ч. II, «Княжна Мери») сравнивает гору Машук на Северном Кавказе (высота 3258 футов над уровнем моря) с мохнатой персидской шапкой или называет другие невысокие, поросшие лесом горы «кудрявыми», на память приходят многочисленные «косматые горы» из «Поэм Оссиана» (например, в начале поэмы «Дартула»). И когда Толстой начинает и заканчивает восхитительную повесть «Хаджи-Мурат» (1896–1898; 1901–1904) изысканным сравнением истерзанного, но не желающего гибнуть кустика репея со смертью чеченского предводителя, мы отмечаем слабое, но неоспоримое влияние повторяющейся у Оссиана фразы «они падали словно головки чертополоха» (см., например, «Суль-мала с Лумона»). 10—14; XXXII, 9—14 Поток отвлеченных образов, которыми завершается строфа XXXI, — младой певец, безвременный конец, дохнула буря, цвет… у вял, потух огонь на алтаре — есть сознательное соединение традиционных поэтических формул, с помощью которых Пушкин подражает стилю бедного Ленского (ср.: XXI–XXII, последняя элегия Ленского); однако богатое и оригинальное...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "YARD"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "YARD"