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

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Часть текста: 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 green bank where he...

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Часть текста: 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 jams are brought, on an oilcloth'd small table there is set 8 a...

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Часть текста: of the lake are audible through the open doors of their small balcony. Since Mr. Nabokov does not like to talk off the cuff (or "Off the Nabocuff," as he said) no tape recorder was used. Mr. Nabokov ei! ther wrote out his answers to the questions or dictated them to the interviewer; in some instances, notes from the conversation were later recast as formal questions-and-answers. The interviewer was Nabokov's student at Cornell University in 1954, and the references are to Literature 311-312 (MWF, 12), a course on the Masterpieces of European Fiction (Jane Austen, Gogol, Dickens, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Stevenson, Kafka, Joyce, and Proust). Its enrollment had reached four hundred by the time of Nabokov's resignation in 1959. The footnotes to the interview, except where indicated, are provided by the interviewer, Alfred Appel, Jr. For years bibliographers and literary journalists didn't know whether to group you under "Russian" or "American. "Now that you're living in Switzerland there seems to be complete agreement that you're American. Do you find this kind of distinction at all important regarding your identity as a writer? I have always maintained, even as a schoolboy in Russia, that the nationality of a worthwhile writer is of...

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Часть текста: a compliant, if somewhat sheepish, volunteer. But Nabokov's death still comes as an unpleasant shock, an absurdly anomalous element at the end of the series, as if the final section of the streamer were not one last, particularly colorful piece of silk, but a live worm, a rotting plum, or some other equally strange bit of inexplicable detritus. Thank you, Madam, you may return to your seat. That Nabokov did not die of natural causes is only now beginning to be publicly acknowledged. His "mysterious" death, variously attributed to a fall, a viral infection, pneumonia, or mundane cardiac arrest, is now known to have been caused, or at least hastened along, by a special, nearly untraceable poison whose unpronounceable name I will not reveal here for fear that some unbalanced individual bearing a grudge against a family member, former love, noisy neighbor, or Department Head 1 might seek it out. The substance is readily available. It is odorless, flavorless, and difficult to detect unless a thorough autopsy is performed by an experienced medical examiner soon after the victim's death. Nabokov, who had been in and out of hospitals for the two years preceding his passing, was known to be in ill health. No foul play was suspected and so no autopsy was performed. The body, I learned too late to spare me the fruitless nocturnal foray recounted in my Chapter One, was cremated only days after its owner had, so to speak, vacated the premises. Alas, no forensic evidence of the crime remains. But the path of infamy that leads, like an infernal...

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Часть текста: 8 Ее томил, как тяжкий сон. Но кончен он. Идут за ужин. Постели стелют; для гостей Ночлег отводят от сеней 12 До самой девичьи. Всем нужен Покойный сон. Онегин мой Один уехал спать домой. 1 Заметив, что Владимир скрылся… — «Having noticed that Vladimir had withdrawn» — но такой перевод не передает оттенка «исчезновения», содержащегося в русском глаголе «скрываться». 10—12 Ср.: Роберт Лайалл, «Характер русских и подробная история Москвы» (Robert Lyall, «The Character of the Russians, and a Detailed History of Moscow». London, 1823. P. LIII–LIV, LVII): «На следующее воскресенье после нашего прибытия в это поместье [Грузино {132} , неподалеку от Торжка] мать господина, с которым мы вместе путешествовали, мадам [Полторацкая] устроила прием. В течение всей субботы к дому то и дело подъезжали дворянские экипажи… Хотя дом мадам [Полторацкой {133} ] был весьма внушительных размеров, я недоумевал, где же вся эта компания, насчитывавшая почти пятьдесят человек, найдет место, чтобы расположиться на ночь. Вечер прошел в беседах и карточных играх, в 11 часов был подан изысканный ужин, по завершении которого началась какая-то суматоха и суета, привлекшие мое внимание. Столовая, гостиная, зала и вся анфилада комнат, в которых мы провели вечер, были превращены в спальни… Из-за недостатка кроватей… спальные места были устроены на полу, а некоторые — на креслах… На следующий день около 11 часов я нанес утренний визит в один из домов, где были размещены некоторые мои знакомые… Зала и гостиная выглядели буквально как казарма — софы, диваны и кресла были сдвинуты и покрыты спальными принадлежностями, их усталые или пребывающие в состоянии лености обитатели… с полдюжины дворян… [в одной такой берлоге], закутавшись в роскошные шелковые халаты, лежали, сидели, пили кофе и чай, курили в спертом воздухе...

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Часть текста: Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin Chapter eight CHAPTER EIGHT Fare thee well, and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well. Byron I In those days when in the Lyceum's gardens I bloomed serenely, would eagerly read Apuleius, 4 did not read Cicero; in those days, in mysterious valleys, in springtime, to the calls of swans, near waters shining in the stillness, 8 the Muse began to visit me. My student cell was all at once radiant with light: in it the Muse opened a banquet of young fancies, 12 sang childish gaieties, and glory of our ancientry, and the heart's tremulous dreams. II And with a smile the world received her; the first success provided us with wings; the aged Derzhavin noticed us — and blessed us 4 as he descended to the grave. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...

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Часть текста: W.W. Norton and Co., 1979. Adkins, Lynn. “Jesse L. Nusbaum and the Painted Desert in San Diego.” Journal of San Diego History 29, no. 2 (Spring 1983). Agee, James. “The Great American Roadside.” Fortune 10 (September 1934): 53-63, 172, 174, 177. Ahuja, Nitin. “Nabokov’s Case Against Natural Selection.” Tract, 2012. http:// www.hcs.harvard.edu/tract/nabokov. html. Alden, Peter D. “H.M. C. Climbing Camp, 1953.” Harvard Mountaineering, no. 12 (May 1955). Alexander, Victoria N. “Nabokov, Teleology, and Insect Mimicry. ” Nabokov Studies 7 (2002-2003): 177-213. Alexandrov, Vladimir E. “Nabokov and Bely.” In Alexandrov. Garland Companion. Alexandrov, Vladimir E. Nabokov’s Otherworld. Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1991. Alexandrov, Vladimir E., ed. The Garland Companion to Vladimir Nabokov. New York: Garland, 1995. Altschuler, Glenn, Kramnick, Isaac. “«Red Cornell»: Cornell in the Cold War, ” part 1. Cornell Alumni Magazine, July 2010. Amis, Martin. “Divine Levity: The Reputation of Vladimir Nabokov Is High and Growing Higher and There Is Much More Work Still to Come.” Times Literary Supplement, December 23 and 30, 2011, 3-5. Amis, Martin. “The Sublime and the Ridiculous: Nabokov’s Black Farces”. In Quennell. Vladimir Nabokov, His ...

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Часть текста: 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 its lair (somewhere on Prince of Wales’ Island, I understand) the wandering and wobbly north magnetic pole. One group, jointly with the Canadians, established a weather station on Pierre Point in Melville Sound. Another group, equally misguided, collected plankton. A third studied tuberculosis in the tundra. Bert, a film photographeran insecure fellow with whom at one time I was made to partake in a good deal of...

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Часть текста: 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...

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Часть текста: my West European ancestors comes from a carefully executed and beautifully bound Ahnentafel, given me on my seventieth birthday by my German publisher Heinrich Maria Ledig-RowohIt. ON TIME AND ITS TEXTURE We can imagine all kinds of time, such as for example "applied time"-- time applied to events, which we measure by means of clocks and calendars; but those types of time are inevitably tainted by our notion of space, spatial succession, stretches and sections of space. When we speak of the "passage of time," we visualize an abstract river flowing through a generalized landscape. Applied time, measurable illusions of time, are useful for the purposes of historians or physicists, they do not interest me, and they did not interest my creature Van Veen in Part Four of my Ada. He and I in that book attempt to examine the essence of Time, not its lapse. Van mentions the possibility of being "an amateur of Time, an epicure of duration," of being able to delight sensually in the texture of time, "in its stuff and spread, in the fall of its folds, in the very impalpability of its grayish gauze, in the coolness of its...

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Cлово "FEAR"