Not thinking to amuse the haughty world...
Кому я обещала процитировать набоковские переводы "Евгения Онегина"?
Перепечатываю куски - наслаждайтесь.
Начало первой главы:
"My uncle has most honest principles:
when he was taken gravely ill,
he forced one to respect him
and nothing better could invent.
To others his examples is a lesson;
but, Good God, what a bore to sit
by a sick person day and night, not stirring
a step away!
What base perfidiousness
to entertain one-half-alive,
adjust for him his pillows,
sadly serve him his medicine,
sigh--and think inwardly
when will the devil take you?"
Письмо Татьяны:
I write to you -- what would one more?
What else is there That I could say?
'Tis now, I know, within your will
to punish me with scorn.
But you, preserving for my hapless lot
at least one drop of pity,
you will not abandon me.
At first, I wanted to be silent;
believe me: of my shame
you never would have known
if I had had the hope but seldom,
but once a week,
to see you at our country place,
only to hear you speak,
to say a word to you, and then
to think and think about one thing,
both day and night, till a new meeting.
But, they say, you're unsociable;
in backwoods, in the country, all bores you,
while we... in no way do we shine,
though simpleheartedly we welcome you.
Why did you visit us?
In the backwoods of a forgotten village,
I would have never known you
nor have known this bitter torment.
The turmoil of an inexperienced soul
having subdued wirh time ( who knows?)
I would have found a friend after my heart,
have been a faithful wife
and virtuous mother.
and а virtuous mother.
Another!. .. No, to nobody on earth
would I have given mу heart away!
That has been destined in а higher council,
that is the will of heaven: I am thine;
mу entire life has been the gage
of а sure tryst with you;
I know that you are sent to mе by God,
you are mу guardian to the tomb. ...
You had appeared to mе in dreams,
unseen, you were already dear to mе,
your wondrous glance would trouble me,
your voice resounded in mу soul
long since. ... No, it was not а dream!
Scarce had you entered, instantly I knew you,
I felt all faint, ‚ I felt aflame,
and in mу thoughts I uttered: It is he!
Is it not true that it was you I heard:
you in the stillness spoke to mе
when I would help the poor
or assuage with а prayer
the anguish of mу agitated soul?
And even at this very moment
was it not you, dear vision,
that slipped through the transparent darkness
and gently bent close to mу bed head?
Was it not you that with delight and love
did whisper words of hope to mе?
Who are you? Му guardian angel
or а perfidious tempter?
Resolve mу doubts.
Perhaps, 'tis nonsense all,
an inexperienced soul's delusion, and there's
something quite different. . . . [destined
But so be it! Му fate
henceforth I place into your hands,
before you I shed tears,
for your defense I plead.
Imagine: lam here alone,
попе understands mе,
mу reason sinks,
and, silent, I must perish.
I wait for you: revive
mу heart's hopes with a single look
or interrupt the heavy dream
with а rebuke--alas, deserved!
I close. I dread to read this over.
I'm faint with shame and fear. .. But to mе
your honor is а pledge,
and boldly I entrust myself to it.
( Eugene Onegin. Translated from Russian, with a Commentary, by Vladimir Nabokov. Bollingen Series LXXII * Pantheon Books)
Можно купить на амазоне:
Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse, Vol. 1
Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse, Vol. 2
Перепечатываю куски - наслаждайтесь.
Начало первой главы:
"My uncle has most honest principles:
when he was taken gravely ill,
he forced one to respect him
and nothing better could invent.
To others his examples is a lesson;
but, Good God, what a bore to sit
by a sick person day and night, not stirring
a step away!
What base perfidiousness
to entertain one-half-alive,
adjust for him his pillows,
sadly serve him his medicine,
sigh--and think inwardly
when will the devil take you?"
Письмо Татьяны:
I write to you -- what would one more?
What else is there That I could say?
'Tis now, I know, within your will
to punish me with scorn.
But you, preserving for my hapless lot
at least one drop of pity,
you will not abandon me.
At first, I wanted to be silent;
believe me: of my shame
you never would have known
if I had had the hope but seldom,
but once a week,
to see you at our country place,
only to hear you speak,
to say a word to you, and then
to think and think about one thing,
both day and night, till a new meeting.
But, they say, you're unsociable;
in backwoods, in the country, all bores you,
while we... in no way do we shine,
though simpleheartedly we welcome you.
Why did you visit us?
In the backwoods of a forgotten village,
I would have never known you
nor have known this bitter torment.
The turmoil of an inexperienced soul
having subdued wirh time ( who knows?)
I would have found a friend after my heart,
have been a faithful wife
and virtuous mother.
and а virtuous mother.
Another!. .. No, to nobody on earth
would I have given mу heart away!
That has been destined in а higher council,
that is the will of heaven: I am thine;
mу entire life has been the gage
of а sure tryst with you;
I know that you are sent to mе by God,
you are mу guardian to the tomb. ...
You had appeared to mе in dreams,
unseen, you were already dear to mе,
your wondrous glance would trouble me,
your voice resounded in mу soul
long since. ... No, it was not а dream!
Scarce had you entered, instantly I knew you,
I felt all faint, ‚ I felt aflame,
and in mу thoughts I uttered: It is he!
Is it not true that it was you I heard:
you in the stillness spoke to mе
when I would help the poor
or assuage with а prayer
the anguish of mу agitated soul?
And even at this very moment
was it not you, dear vision,
that slipped through the transparent darkness
and gently bent close to mу bed head?
Was it not you that with delight and love
did whisper words of hope to mе?
Who are you? Му guardian angel
or а perfidious tempter?
Resolve mу doubts.
Perhaps, 'tis nonsense all,
an inexperienced soul's delusion, and there's
something quite different. . . . [destined
But so be it! Му fate
henceforth I place into your hands,
before you I shed tears,
for your defense I plead.
Imagine: lam here alone,
попе understands mе,
mу reason sinks,
and, silent, I must perish.
I wait for you: revive
mу heart's hopes with a single look
or interrupt the heavy dream
with а rebuke--alas, deserved!
I close. I dread to read this over.
I'm faint with shame and fear. .. But to mе
your honor is а pledge,
and boldly I entrust myself to it.
( Eugene Onegin. Translated from Russian, with a Commentary, by Vladimir Nabokov. Bollingen Series LXXII * Pantheon Books)
Можно купить на амазоне:
Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse, Vol. 1
Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse, Vol. 2