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Часть текста: Лолиту в День Независимости. В конечном итоге выясняется, что им был Клэр Куильти, драматург с садистскими наклонностями, автор "Странного Гриба", "Зачарованных Охотников" и других произведений. Но когда именно мы понимаем, что он и есть этот злодей? Каким образом мы проходим через стеклянный лабиринт возможных умозаключений к единственно правильному выводу? При первом чтении романа читатель, который, как и я, не настолько проницателен, остается в неведении вплоть до 33-й главы II части, где Гумберт наконец раскрывает тайну, присовокупляя скрытую непристойность: До сих пор… я не снимал маски с лица Клэра Куильти; он сидел у меня в подземелье, ожидая моего прихода со служителем культа и брадобреем: "Réveillez-vous, Tropman, il est temps de mourir!" {89} [c. 355] Перечитывая роман по второму-третьему разу, смиренный читатель будет заново прослеживать цепочку намеков, которые он пропустил при первом чтении. В некоторых случаях — наиболее очевидных — он будет поражаться собственной первоначальной слепоте, в других — более изощренных — восторгаться набоковским...
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Часть текста: Silver Spur Court, Elphinstone, turned out to belong to the glossily browned pine-log kind that Lolita used to be so fond of in the days of our carefree first journey; oh, how different things were now! I am not referring to Trapp or Trapps. After allwell, really… After all, gentlemen, it was becoming abundantly clear that all those identical detectives in prismatically changing cars were figments of my persecution mania, recurrent images based on coincidence and chance resemblance. Soyons logiques , crowed the cocky Gallic part of my brainand proceeded to rout the notion of a Lolita-maddened salesman or comedy gangster, with stooges, persecuting me, and hoaxing me, and otherwise taking riotous advantage of my strange relations with the law. I remember humming my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a...
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Часть текста: Chapters 18 - 22 18 When the bride is a window and the groom is a widower; when the former has lived in Our Great Little Town for hardly two years, and the latter for hardly a month; when Monsieur wants to get the whole damned thing over with as quickly as possible, and Madame gives in with a tolerant smile; then, my reader, the wedding is generally a “quiet” affair. The bride may dispense with a tiara of orange blossoms securing her finger-tip veil, nor does she carry a white orchid in a prayer book. The bride’s little daughter might have added to the ceremonies uniting H. and H. a touch of vivid vermeil; but I knew I would not dare be too tender with cornered Lolita yet, and therefore agreed it was not worth while tearing the child away from her beloved Camp Q. My soi-disant passionate and lonely 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...