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

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Входимость: 3. Размер: 46кб.

Часть текста: my wild delight also perfect, just because the vision was out of reach, with no possibility of attainment to spoil it by the awareness of an appended taboo; indeed, it may well be that the very attraction immaturity has for me lies not so much in the limpidity of pure young forbidden fairy child beauty as in the security of a situation where infinite perfections fill the gap between the little given and the great promisedthe great rosegray never-to-be-had. Mes fentres! Hanging above blotched sunset and welling night, grinding my teeth, I would crowd all the demons of my desire against the railing of a throbbing balcony: it would be ready to take off in the apricot and black humid evening; did take offwhereupon the lighted image would move and Even would revert to a rib, and there would be nothing in the window but an obese partly clad man reading the paper. Since I sometimes won the race between my fancy and nature’s reality, the deception was bearable. Unbearable pain began when chance entered the fray and deprived me of the smile meant for me. “ Savez-vous qu’ dix ans ma petite tait folle de voius?” said a woman I talked to at a tea in Paris, and the petite had just married, miles away, and I could not even remember if I had ever noticed her in that garden, next to those...

Входимость: 3. Размер: 43кб.

Часть текста: dull pain in the very root of my being. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and how to do it, without impinging on a child’s chastity; after all, I had had some experience in my life of pederosis; had visually possessed dappled nymphets in parks; had wedged my wary and bestial way into the hottest, most crowded corner of a city bus full of straphanging school children. But for almost three weeks I had been interrupted in all my pathetic machinations. The agent of these interruptions was usually the Haze woman (who, as the reader will mark, was more afraid of Lo’s deriving some pleasure from me than of my enjoying Lo). The passion I had developed for that nymphetfor the first nymphet in my life that could be reached at last by my awkward, aching, timid clawswould have certainly landed me again in a sanatorium, had not the devil realized that I was to be granted some relief if he wanted to have me as a plaything for some time longer. The reader has also marked the curious Mirage of the Lake. It would have been logical on the part of Aubrey McFate (as I would like to dub that devil of mine) to arrange a small treat for me on the promised beach, in the presumed forest. Actually, the promise Mrs. Haze had made was a fraudulent one: she had not told me that Mary Rose Hamilton (a dark little beauty in her own right) was to come too, and that the two nymphets would be whispering apart, and playing apart, and having a good time all by themselves, while Mrs. Haze and her handsome lodger conversed sedately in the seminude, far from prying eyes. Incidentally, eyes did pry and tongues did wag. How queer life is! We hasten to alienate the very fates we intended to woo....

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Часть текста: easy-going person, a salad of racial genes: a Swiss citizen, of mixed French and Austrian descent, with a dash of the Danube in his veins. I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy-blue picture-postcards. He owned a luxurious hotel on the Riviera. His father and two grandfathers had sold wine, jewels and silk, respectively. At thirty he married an English girl, daughter of Jerome Dunn, the alpinist, and granddaughter of two Dorset parsons, experts in obscure subjectspaleopedology and Aeolian harps, respectively. My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges. My mother’s elder sister, Sybil, whom a cousin of my father’s had married and then neglected, served in my immediate family as a kind of unpaid governess and housekeeper. Somebody told me later that she had been in love with my father, and that he had lightheartedly taken advantage of it one rainy day and forgotten it by the time the...

Входимость: 2. Размер: 67кб.

Часть текста: 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 ...

Входимость: 2. Размер: 58кб.

Часть текста: 36 32 There was the day, during our first tripour first circle of paradisewhen in order to enjoy my phantasms in peace I firmly decided to ignore what I could not help perceiving, the fact that I was to her not a boy friend, not a glamour man, not a pal, not even a person at all, but just two eyes and a foot of engorged brawnto mention only mentionable matters. There was the day when having withdrawn the functional promise I had made her on the eve (whatever she had set her funny little heart ona roller rink with some special plastic floor or a movie matinee to which she wanted to go alone), I happened to glimpse from the bathroom, through a chance combination of mirror aslant and door ajar, a look on her face… that look I cannot exactly describe… an expression of helplessness so perfect that it seemed to grade into one of rather comfortable inanity just because this was the very limit of injustice and frustrationand every limit presupposes something beyond ithence the neutral illumination. And when you bear in mind that these were the raised eyebrows and parted lips of a child, you may better appreciate what depths of calculated carnality, what reflected despair, restrained me from falling at her dear feet and dissolving in human tears, and sacrificing my jealousy to whatever pleasure Lolita might hope to derive from mixing with dirty and dangerous children in an outside world that was real to her. And I have still other smothered memories, now unfolding themselves into limbless monsters of pain. Once, in a sunset-ending street of Beardsley, she turned to little Eva Rosen (I was taking both nymphets to...

Входимость: 2. Размер: 49кб.

Часть текста: cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine View Courts, Mountain View Courts, Skyline Courts, Park Plaza Courts, Green Acres, Mac’s Courts. There was sometimes a special line in the write-up, such as “Children welcome, pets allowed” ( You are welcome, you are allowed). The baths were mostly tiled showers, with an endless variety of spouting mechanisms, but with one...

Входимость: 2. Размер: 54кб.

Часть текста: 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...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 10кб.

Часть текста: put in contact by the same colleague who had so inconsiderately run off in the middle of his story. The next day I told him that my aunt had recently died, that we had never been close, that there was residual ill will between us over a trifling incident involving her adolescent grandson, my nephew, many years ago, and that I sorely wished to contact her. He looked at me strangely, suspecting, I think, a joke, but surrendered the name of his friend in Omaha without asking any questions. Discretion is a rare thing indeed. I called the professor of French, who confirmed the red scarf story and enthusiatically provided Madame Fat’s address. She had moved to Lincoln, whither I betook myself the following morning by car. (For those readers keen on fatidic dates, I note that this was the 2nd of July.) Nowadays I drive a powerful white Volvo station wagon, and the trip from Cedarn to Lincoln, pleasantly free from state troopers and jack-knifed semis, was effected beneath cloudless skies in under five hours. In keeping with her name,...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 129кб.

Часть текста: некий призрак в духе произведений Гоголя, который говорит писателю, что он — изгой, у которого нет читателей и не будет бессмертной славы. Во второй части автор прогоняет это мучительное видение и утверждает, что счастлив, так как Совесть, «сонных мыслей и умыслов сводня, не затронула самого тайного». Эта тайна та-та, та-та-та-та, та-та, А точнее сказать я не вправе. Оттого так смешна мне пустая мечта О читателе, теле и славе. Поэт счастлив, несмотря ни на что, потому что «со мной моя тайна всечасно». Подставив буквы под звезды, он научился расшифровывать ночь и превозмогать себя. Стихотворение заканчивается так: Но однажды, пласты разуменья дробя, Углубляясь в свое ключевое, Я увидел, как в зеркале, мир, и себя, И другое, другое, другое. (СР 5, 422) По словам В. Е. Набоковой, этот секрет, который нельзя было никому открыть, давал Набокову «его невозмутимую жизнерадостность и ясность» (РеС I, 348) перед лицом многочисленных невзгод. Для пояснения своей мысли госпожа Набокова отсылает читателя к тому отрывку в романе «Дар», в котором Федор Годунов-Чердынцев пытается передать суть личности своего горячо любимого покойного отца, путешественника и лепидоптеролога: «Я еще не все сказал; я подхожу к самому, может быть, главному. В моем отце и вокруг него, вокруг этой ясной и прямой силы было что-то, трудно передаваемое словами: дымка, тайна, загадочная недоговоренность, которая чувствовалась мной то больше, то меньше. Это было так, словно этот настоящий, очень настоящий человек был овеян чем-то, еще неизвестным, но что, может быть, было...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 72кб.

Часть текста: Набоков, который Вам так нравится (и мне тоже), живет в Швейцарии, в Монтрё – в 80 км от Женевы. С его сестрой я знаком, она живет рядом с нами, и мы друг у друга бываем. Она много рассказывает о брате, обожает его. Набоков и его жена живут вот уже сколько лет в небольшом скромном отельчике, живут отшельнически и аскетически. Он нелюдим, к сожалению. Нам хотелось бы его заполучить на лекцию в нашем кружке. Не выходит. Изредка он навещает сестру в Женеве и в каждый свой приезд рисует карандашом на стене в уборной бабочку и ставит дату. Так что у нее в уборной набоковские фрески… Анатолий Кузнецов – Сергею Крикорьяну, 7 февраля 1970 <…> Ох, если попаду в Швейцарию, то хоть через дырку в заборе посмотрю на Набокова, боже, как я перед ним преклоняюсь… Анатолий Кузнецов Из дневника Майкла Пейлина, 15 апреля 1970 <…> Вместе с Саймоном Олбери зашел в «Национальный дом кино» посмотреть «Артура Пенна 1922», документальный фильм о режиссере «Оружия для левши», «Бони и Клайда», «Погони», «Маленького большого человека» и множества успешных бродвейских постановок, например, «Сотворившая чудо». Первый фильм – о Набокове и с его участием – был маленьким шедевром, главным образом потому, что Набоков сам по себе яркий персонаж. С упрямым высокомерием он ухитряется ускользнуть от ответа: отчасти потому, что, очевидно, не принимает себя всерьез, но прежде всего благодаря тому, от чего в фильме открещивается, утверждая, будто не унаследовал от отца дар говорить плавно и живо. На самом деле у него превосходное чувство юмора, чудесная наблюдательность и всепоглощающее добродушие, прекрасно дополняющее его педантизм. В свое время я прочел многие его вещи; после фильма хочется прочесть еще больше, особенно автобиографическую книгу «Память, говори». <…> Раиса...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "THIN"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "THIN"