Владимир Набоков - Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина

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Описание книги "Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина"
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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.
VI
And now my Muse for the first timeI'm taking to a high-life rout;44
at her steppe charms
4 with jealous apprehensiveness I look.
Through a dense series of aristocrats,
of military fops, of diplomats
and haughty dames, she glides; now quietly
8 she has sat down and looks, admiring
the noisy crush,
the flickering of dress and speech,
the apparition of slow guests
12 in front of the young hostess,
and the dark frame of men
around ladies, as about pictures.
VII
of oligarchic colloquies,
and the chill of calm pride,
4 and this mixture of ranks and years.
But who's that standing in the chosen throng,
silent and nebulous?
To everyone he seems a stranger.
8 Before him faces come and go
like a series of tedious specters.
What is it — spleen or smarting morgue
upon his face? Why is he here?
12 Who is he? Is it really — Eugene?
He, really? So, 'tis he, indeed.
— Since when has he been blown our way?
VIII
Or does he still play the eccentric?
Say, in what guise has he returned?
4 What will he stage for us meanwhile?
As what will he appear now? As a Melmoth?
a cosmopolitan? a patriot?
a Harold? a Quaker? a bigot?
8 Or will he sport some other mask?
Or else be simply a good fellow
like you and me, like the whole world?
At least here's my advice:
12 to drop an antiquated fashion.
Sufficiently he's gulled the world...
— You know him? — Yes and no.
IX
do you report on him?
Because we indefatigably
4 fuss, judge of everything?
Because of fiery souls the rashness
to smug nonentity is either
insulting or absurd?
8 Because, by liking room, wit cramps?
Because too often conversations
we're glad to take for deeds,
because stupidity is volatile and wicked?
12 Because to grave men grave are trifles,
and mediocrity alone
is to our measure and not odd?
X
blest who matured at the right time;
who, with the years, the chill of life
4 was gradually able to withstand;
who never was addicted to strange dreams;
who did not shun the fashionable rabble;
who was at twenty fop or dasher,
8 and then at thirty, profitably married;
who rid himself at fifty
of private and of other debts;
who gained repute, money, and rank
12 calmly in turn;
about whom lifelong one kept saying:
N. N. is an excellent man.
XI
was given us in vain,
that we betrayed it every hour,
4 that it duped us;
that our best aspirations,
that our fresh dreamings,
in quick succession have decayed
8 like leaves in putrid autumn.
It is unbearable to see before one
only of dinners a long series,
to look on life as on a rite,
12 and in the wake of the decorous crowd
to go, not sharing with it either
the general opinions or the passions.
XII
of noisy comments, it's unbearable
(you will agree) to pass among
4 sensible people for a feigned eccentric
or a sad crackbrain,
or a satanic monster,
or even for my Demon.
8 Onegin (let me take him up again),
having in single combat killed his friend,
having without a goal, without exertions,
lived to the age of twenty-six,
12 irked by the inactivity of leisure,
without employment, wife, or occupation,
could think of nothing to take up.
XIII
the inclination to a change of places
(a most excruciating property,
4 a cross that few deliberately bear).
He left his countryseat,
the solitude of woods and fields,
where an ensanguined shade
8 daily appeared to him,
and started upon travels without aim,
accessible to one sensation;
and to him journeys,
12 like everything on earth,
grew boring. He returned and found himself,
like Chatski, come from boat to ball.
XIV
a murmur through the hall has run....
Toward the hostess there advanced a lady,
4 followed by an imposing general.
She was unhurried,
not cold, not talkative,
without a flouting gaze for everyone,
8 without pretensions to success,
without those little mannerisms,
without mimetic artifices....
All about her was quiet, simple.
12 She seemed a faithful reproduction
du comme il faut.... ([Shishkov,] forgive me:
I do not know how to translate.)
XV
old women smiled to her;
the men bowed lower, sought
4 to catch her gaze;
maidens before her passed more quietly
across the room; and higher
than anyone lifted his nose and shoulders
8 the general who had come in with her.
None could have called her
a beauty; but from head to foot
none could have found in her
12 what is by autocratic fashion
in the high London circle
called “vulgar.” (I'm unable —
XVI
but am unable to translate it; in our midst
for the time being it is new
4 and hardly bound to be in favor;
it might do nicely in an epigram....
But to our lady let me turn.)
Winsome with carefree charm,
8 she at a table sat
with brilliant Nina Voronskóy,
that Cleopatra of the Neva;
and, surely, you would have agreed
12 that Nina with her marble beauty
could not — though dazzling —
eclipse her neighbor.
XVII
“Can it be she?... But really... No...
What! From outback steppe villages...”
4 and a tenacious quizzing glass
he keeps directing every minute
at her whose aspect vaguely has
recalled to him forgotten features.
8 “Tell me, Prince, you don't know
who is it there in the framboise beret
talking with the Spanish ambassador?”
The prince looks at Onegin:
12 “Aha! Indeed, long have you not been in the monde.
Wait, I'll present you.”
“But who is she?” “My wife.”
XVIII
How long?” “About two years.”
“To whom?” “The Larin girl.” “Tatiana!”
4 “She knows you?” “I'm their neighbor.”
“Oh, then, come on.” The prince goes up
to his wife and leads up to her
his kin and friend.
8 The princess looks at him... and whatsoever
troubled her soul,
however greatly
she was surprised, astounded,
12 nothing betrayed her,
her ton remained the same,
her bow was just as quiet.
XIX
flinch, or blanch suddenly, or flush —
she simply never moved an eyebrow,
4 did not even compress her lips.
Though he looked with the utmost care,
not even traces of the old Tatiana could
Onegin find.
8 With her he wished to start a conversation —
and... and could not. She asked: How long
had he been there? And whence came he —
from their own parts, maybe?
12 Then on her spouse she turned a look
of lassitude; glided away....
And moveless he remained.
XX
to whom, alone with her,
at the beginning of our novel
4 back in a stagnant, distant region,
in the fine fervor of moralization
precepts he once had preached;
the one from whom a letter he preserves
8 where the heart speaks,
where all is out, all unrestrained;
that little girl — or is he dreaming? —
that little girl whom in her humble state
12 he had passed over — could it be that now
she had been so indifferent,
so bold with him?
XXI
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