Владимир Набоков - Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина

• Название: Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина
• Автор: Владимир Набоков
• Издательство: «Интелвак»
• Жанр: Критика
• Год: 1999
• ISBN: 5-93264-001-4

Комментарии В. В. Набокова освещают многообразие исторических, литературных и бытовых сторон романа. Книга является оригинальным произведением писателя в жанре научно-исторического комментария. Набоков обращается к «потаенным слоям» романа, прослеживает литературные влияния, связи «Евгения Онегина» с другими произведениями поэта, увлекательно повествует о тайнописи Пушкина.

Предназначена для широкого круга читателей и в первую очередь — для преподавателей и студентов гуманитарных вузов, а также для учителей и учащихся средней школы.

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XXIII

   Shall I present a faithful picture
   of the secluded cabinet,
   where fashions' model pupil
 4 is dressed, undressed, and dressed again?
   Whatever, for the lavish whim,
   London the trinkleter deals in
   and o'er the Baltic waves to us
 8 ships in exchange for timber and for tallow;
   whatever hungry taste in Paris,
   choosing a useful trade,
   invents for pastimes,
12 for luxury, for modish mollitude;
   all this adorned the cabinet
   of a philosopher at eighteen years of age.

XXIV

   Amber on Tsargrad's pipes,
   porcelain and bronzes on a table,
   and — joyance of the pampered senses —
 4 perfumes in crystal cut with facets;
   combs, little files of steel,
   straight scissors, curvate ones, and brushes
   of thirty kinds —
 8 these for the nails, those for the teeth.
   Rousseau (I shall observe in passing) was unable
   to understand how the dignified Grimm
   dared clean his nails in front of him,
12 the eloquent crackbrain.6
   The advocate of liberty and rights
   was in the present case not right at all.

XXV

   One can be an efficient man —
   and mind the beauty of one's nails:
   why vainly argue with the age?
 4 Custom is despot among men.
   My Eugene, a second [Chadáev],
   being afraid of jealous censures,
   was in his dress a pedant
 8 and what we've called a fop.
   Three hours, at least,
   he spent in front of glasses,
   and from his dressing room came forth
12 akin to giddy Venus
   when, having donned a masculine attire,
   the goddess drives to a masqued ball.

XXVI

   With toilette in the latest taste
   having engaged your curious glance,
   I might before the learned world
 4 describe here his attire;
   this would, no doubt, be daring;
   however, 'tis my business to describe;
   but “dress coat,” “waistcoat,” “pantaloons” —
 8 in Russian all these words are not;
   in fact, I see (my guilt I lay before you)
   that my poor idiom as it is
   might be diversified much less
12 with words of foreign stock,
   though I did erstwhile dip
   into the Academic Dictionary.

XXVII

   Not this is our concern at present:
   we'd better hurry to the ball
   whither headlong in a hack coach
 4 already my Onegin has sped off.
   In front of darkened houses,
   alongst the sleeping street in rows
   the twin lamps of coupés
 8 pour forth a cheerful light
   and project rainbows on the snow.
   Studded around with lampions,
   glitters a splendid house;
12 across its whole-glassed windows shadows move:
   there come and go the profiled heads
   of ladies and of modish quizzes.

XXVIII

   Up to the porch our hero now has driven;
   past the hall porter, like a dart,
   he has flown up the marble steps,
 4 has run his fingers through his hair,
   has entered. The ballroom is full of people;
   the music has already tired of dinning;
   the crowd is occupied with the mazurka;
 8 there's all around both noise and squeeze;
   there clink the cavalier guard's spurs;
   the little feet of winsome ladies flit;
   upon their captivating tracks
12 flit flaming glances,
   and by the roar of violins is drowned
   the jealous whispering of fashionable women.

XXIX

   In days of gaieties and desires
   I was mad about balls:
   there is no safer spot for declarations
 4 and for the handing of a letter.
   O you, respected husbands!
   I'll offer you my services;
   pray, mark my speech:
 8 I wish to warn you.
   You too, mammas: most strictly
   follow your daughters with your eyes;
   hold up your lorgnettes straight!
12 Or else... else — God forbid!
   If this I write it is because
   I have long ceased to sin.

XXX

   Alas, on various pastimes I have wasted
   a lot of life!
   But to this day, if morals did not suffer,
 4 I'd still like balls.
   I like riotous youth,
   the crush, the glitter, and the gladness,
   and the considered dresses of the ladies;
 8 I like their little feet; but then 'tis doubtful
   that in all Russia you will find
   three pairs of shapely feminine feet.
   Ah me, I long could not forget
12 two little feet!... Despondent, fervorless,
   I still remember them, and in sleep they
   disturb my heart.

XXXI

   So when and where, in what desert, will you
   forget them, madman? Little feet,
   ah, little feet! Where are you now?
 4 Where do you trample vernant blooms?
   Brought up in Oriental mollitude,
   on the Northern sad snow
   you left no prints:
 8 you liked the sumptuous contact
   of yielding rugs.
   Is it long since I would forget for you
   the thirst for fame and praises,
12 the country of my fathers, and confinement?
   The happiness of youthful years has vanished
   as on the meadows your light trace.

XXXII

   Diana's bosom, Flora's cheeks, are charming,
   dear friends! Nevertheless, for me
   something about it makes more charming
 4 the small foot of Terpsichore.
   By prophesying to the gaze
   an unpriced recompense,
   with token beauty it attracts the willful
 8 swarm of desires.
   I like it, dear Elvina,
   beneath the long napery of tables,
   in springtime on the turf of meads,
12 in winter on the hearth's cast iron,
   on mirrory parquet of halls,
   by the sea on granite of rocks.

XXXIII

   I recollect the sea before a tempest:
   how I envied the waves
   running in turbulent succession
 4 with love to lie down at her feet!
   How much I wished then with the waves
   to touch the dear feet with my lips!
   No, never midst the fiery days
 8 of my ebullient youth
   did I long with such anguish
   to kiss the lips of young Armidas,
   or the roses of flaming cheeks,
12 or bosoms full of languor —
   no, never did the surge of passions
   thus rive my soul!

XXXIV

   I have remembrance of another time:
   in chary fancies now and then
   I hold the happy stirrup
 4 and feel a small foot in my hand.
   Again imagination seethes,
   again that touch has kindled
   the blood within my withered heart,
 8 again the ache, again the love!
   But 'tis enough extolling haughty ones
   with my loquacious lyre:
   they are not worth either the passions
12 or songs by them inspired;
   the words and gaze of the said charmers
   are as deceptive as their little feet.

XXXV

   And my Onegin? Half asleep,
   he drives from ball to bed,
   while indefatigable Petersburg
 4 is roused already by the drum.
   The merchant's up, the hawker's out,
   the cabby to the hack stand drags,
   the Okhta girl hastes with her jug,
 8 the morning snow creaks under her.
   Morn's pleasant hubbub has awoken,
   unclosed are shutters, chimney smoke
   ascends in a blue column, and the baker,
12 a punctual German in a cotton cap,
   has more than once already
   opened his vasisdas.

XXXVI

   But by the tumult of the ball fatigued,
   and turning morning into midnight,
   sleeps peacefully in blissful shade
 4 the child of pastimes and of luxury.
   He will awake past midday, and again
   till morn his life will be prepared,
   monotonous and motley, and tomorrow
 8 'twill be the same as yesterday.
   But was my Eugene happy —
   free, in the bloom of the best years,
   amidst resplendent conquests,
12 amidst delights of every day?
   Was it to him of no avail
   midst banquets to be rash and hale?

XXXVII

   No, feelings early cooled in him.
   Tedious to him became the social hum.
   The fairs remained not long
 4 the object of his customary thoughts.
   Betrayals had time to fatigue him. Friends
   and friendship palled,
   since plainly not always could he
 8 beefsteaks and Strasbourg pie
   sluice with a champagne bottle
   and scatter piquant sayings when
   he had the headache;
12 and though he was a fiery scapegrace,
   he lost at last his liking
   for strife, saber and lead.

XXXVIII