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

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Часть текста: and of majestic periwigs. VIII Who does not find it tedious to dissemble; diversely to repeat the same; try gravely to convince one 4 of what all have been long convinced; to hear the same objections, annihilate the prejudices which never had and hasn't 8 a little girl of thirteen years! Who will not grow weary of threats, entreaties, vows, feigned fear, notes running to six pages, 12 betrayals, gossiping, rings, tears, surveillances of aunts, of mothers, and the onerous friendship of husbands! IX Exactly thus my Eugene thought. In his first youth he had been victim of tempestuous errings 4 and of unbridled passions. Spoiled by a habitude of life, with one thing for a while enchanted, disenchanted with another, 8 irked slowly by desire, irked, too, by volatile success, hearkening in the hubbub and the hush to the eternal mutter of his soul, 12 smothering yawns with laughter: this was the way he killed eight years, having lost life's best bloom. X With belles no longer did he fall in love, but dangled after them just anyhow; when they refused, he solaced in a twinkle; 4 when they betrayed, was glad to rest. He sought them without rapture, while he left them without regret, hardly remembering their love and spite. 8 Exactly thus does an indifferent guest drive up for evening whist: sits down; then, when the game is over, he drives off from the place, 12 at home falls peacefully asleep, and in the morning does not know himself where he will drive to in the evening. XI But on receiving Tanya's missive, Onegin was profoundly ...

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Часть текста: 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 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III And I, setting myself for law only the arbitrary will of passions, sharing emotions with the...

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Часть текста: bepimpled creature who doted on Dolly who bullied her. With Linda Hall the school tennis champion, Dolly played singles at least twice a week: I suspect Linda was a true nymphet, but for some unknown reason she did not comewas perhaps not allowed to cometo our house; so I recall her only as a flash of natural sunshine on an indoor court. Of the rest, none had any claims to nymphetry except Eva Rosen. Avis ws a plump lateral child with hairy legs, while Mona, though handsome in a coarse sensual way and only a year older than my aging mistress, had obviously long ceased to be a nymphet, if she ever had been one. Eva Rosen, a displaced little person from France, was on the other hand a good example of a not strikingly beautiful child revealing to the perspicacious amateur some of the basic elements of nymphet charm, such as a perfect pubescent figure and lingering eyes and high cheekbones. Her glossy copper hair had Lolita’s silkiness, and the features of her delicate milky-white face with pink lips and silverfish eyelashes were less foxy...

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Часть текста: в моих детских воспоминаниях замечательным трактором, во времена, когда я и его сын Петя одновременно стали жертвами Майн Рида и скарлатины, так, что теперь, после пятнадцати лет битком набитых всяческими вещами, я с удовольствием останавливался у этой табачной лавки, на этом оживленном углу, где Мартын продавал свой товар. Но с прошлого года нас связывало больше чем общие воспоминания. У Мартына была тайна, и я участвовал в этой тайне. “Ну, всё как обычно?” Спрашивал я шёпотом, и он, глянув поверх плеча, отвечал так же тихо, “да, слава богу, всё спокойно”. Эта тайна была совершенно необычайной. Я вспомнил, как уезжал в Париж и как за день до отъезда просидел до вечера у Мартына. Душу человека можно сравнить с универсальным магазином, а его глаза с двумя витринными окнами. Прицениваясь к глазам Мартына, отметим, что тёпло-коричневые тона были в моде. Судя по глазам, товар в этой душе был отменного качества. А какая пышная борода довольно поблёскивала здоровой русской сединой. А его плечи, его рост, его выражение лица. ... Одно время даже говорили, что он мог разрубить платок мечём, - один из подвигов Ричарда Львиное Сердце. И теперь ещё всякий эмигрант мог бы сказать с завистью, “Этот не сдастся”. Его жена была пухлой, тихой пожилой женщиной с родинкой у левой ноздри. Со времён революционных испытаний её лица коснулся тик: она бросала быстрый взгляд искоса вверх, к небу. Петя имел такое же внушительное тело, как и его отец. Мне нравились его спокойные манеры, сумрачный и неожиданный юмор. У него было большое вялое лицо (о котором его отец говорил, “морда - в три дня не объедешь”) и красновато-коричневые, постоянно взъерошенные волосы. Пете принадлежал крошечный синематограф в скудно населённой части города, который приносил очень скромный доход. И там же жила вся семья. Тот день перед отъездом я провёл сидя за прилавком, и наблюдая как Мартын обслуживал своих клиентов - сначала, опершись двумя пальцами...

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Часть текста: 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 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...

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Часть текста: ему контракт с окладом 3000 долларов в год (ставка штатного преподавателя). К 18 сентября Набоковы поселились в Уэлсли в 32 км от Бостона . “Мы только что возвратились на Восточное побережье, - писал Набоков Уилсону. - В течение года я буду здесь читать курс сравнительного изучения литературы. Очень хочется повидать Вас” . Когда читаешь о разрыве двух писателей, приключившемся два десятилетия спустя - жестоком, с публичными взаимными обвинениями (пожалуй, последняя подобная битва педантов в истории Америки - хотя кто знает?), - удивляешься, как же до такого дошло, как могла разрушиться такая дружба? “Дорогой Кролик, - писал Набоков Уилсону в начале 1940х, - я получил гуггенхаймовскую стипендию. Спасибо, дорогой друг. У тебя удивительно легкая рука. Я заметил, что всякий раз, когда ты принимаешь участие в моих делах, успех мне обеспечен... В Нью-Йорке буду проездом в среду и четверг, 14 и 15 апреля. Позвоню в среду днем, если дашь мне свой телефон” 4 . Уилсон уговорил Набокова подать заявку на стипендию фонда Гуггенхайма и даже написал рекомендательное письмо 36 . В итоге грант Набоков получил, причем едва ли ему дали бы его без помощи Уилсона: писателю на тот момент уже исполнилось 43 года, а прежде среди стипендиатов фонда не было никого старше 40 лет....

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Часть текста: était fille; elle était amoureuse. Malfilâtre I “Whither? Ah me, those poets!” “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...

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Часть текста: of live and limpid poetry, 8 of high thoughts and simplicity. But so be it. With partial hand take this collection of pied chapters: half droll, half sad, 12 plain-folk, ideal, the careless fruit of my amusements, insomnias, light inspirations, unripe and withered years, 16 the intellect's cold observations, and the heart's sorrowful remarks. CHAPTER ONE To live it hurries and to feel it hastes. Prince Vyazemski I “My uncle has most honest principles: when he was taken gravely ill, he forced one to respect him 4 and nothing better could invent. To others his example is a lesson; but, good God, what a bore to sit by a sick person day and night, not stirring 8 a step away! What base perfidiousness to entertain one half-alive, adjust for him his pillows, 12 sadly serve him his medicine, sigh — and think inwardly when will the devil take you?” II Thus a young scapegrace thought as with post horses in the dust he flew, by the most lofty will of Zeus 4 the heir of all his kin. Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan! The hero of my novel, without preambles, forthwith, 8...

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Часть текста: text was taken straight from the tape for it teems with inaccuracies. These I have tried to weed out ten years later but was forced to strike out a few sentences here and there when memory refused to restore the sense flawed by defective or improperly mended speech. The poem I quote (with metrical accents added) will be found translated into English in Chapter Two of The Gift, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1963. Would you ever go back to Russia? I will never go back, for the simple reason that all the Russia I need is always with me: literature, language, and my own Russian childhood. I will never return. I will never surrender. And anyway, the grotesque shadow of a police state will not be dispelled in my lifetime. I don't think they know my works there-- oh, perhaps a number of readers exist there in my special secret service, but let us not forget that Russia has grown tremendously provincial during these forty years, apart from the fact that people there are told what to read, what to think. In America I'm happier than in any other country. It is in America that I found my best...

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Часть текста: Charlotte was in everyday life matter-of-fact and gregarious. Moreover, I discovered that although she could not control her heart or her cries, she was a woman of principle. Immediately after she had become more or less my mistress (despite the stimulants, her “nervous, eager chri a heroic chri ! had some initial trouble, for which, however, he amply compensated her by a fantastic display of old-world endearments), good Charlotte interviewed me about my relations with God. I could have answered that on that score my mind was open; I said, insteadpaying my tribute to a pious platitudethat I believed in a cosmic spirit. Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. I countered by inquiring whether she would still want to marry me if my father’s maternal grandfather had been, say, a Turk. She said it did not matter a bit; but that, if she ever found out I did not believe in Our Christian God, she would commit suicide. She said it so solemnly that it gave me the creeps. It was then I knew she was a woman of principle. Oh, she was very genteel: she said “excuse me” whenever a slight burp interrupted her flowing speech, called an envelope and ahnvelope, and when talking to her lady-friends referred to me as Mr. Humbert. I thought it would please her if I entered the community trailing some glamour after me. On the day of our wedding a little interview with me appeared in the Society Column of the Ramsdale Journal , with a photograph of Charlotte, one eyebrow up and a misprint in her name (“Hazer”). Despite this contretempts, the publicity warmed the porcelain cockles of her heartand made my rattles shake with awful glee. by engaging in church work as well as by getting to know the better mothers of Lo’s schoolmates, Charlotte in the course of twenty months or...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "GROWN"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "GROWN"