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Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина - Владимир Набоков
- Дата:13.07.2024
- Категория: Документальные книги / Критика
- Название: Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина
- Автор: Владимир Набоков
- Просмотров:4
- Комментариев:0
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Описание онлайн-книги Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина - Владимир Набоков:
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.
Критика
Аудиокнига "Комментарии к «Евгению Онегину» Александра Пушкина" от Владимира Набокова
📚 Великий русский поэт Александр Пушкин и его произведение "Евгений Онегин" стали неотъемлемой частью русской литературы. Владимир Набоков, известный писатель и литературовед, предлагает свой взгляд на этот шедевр в своих "Комментариях к «Евгению Онегину»".
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🖋️ Владимир Набоков - выдающийся русско-американский писатель, литературовед и преподаватель. Известен своими романами, такими как "Лолита" и "Защита Лужина". Набоков обладал уникальным стилем письма и глубоким знанием литературы.
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Критика
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XXX
Bard of The Feasts and languorous sadness,22 if you were still with me, I would have troubled you, 4 dear fellow, with an indiscreet request: that into magic melodies you would transpose a passionate maiden's foreign words. 8 Where are you? Come! My rights I with a bow transfer to you.... But in the midst of melancholy rocks, his heart disused from praises,12 alone, under the Finnish sky he wanders, and his soul hears not my worry.XXXI
Tatiana's letter is before me; religiously I keep it; I read it with a secret heartache 4 and cannot get my fill of reading it. Who taught her both this tenderness and amiable carelessness of words? Who taught her all that touching tosh, 8 mad conversation of the heart both fascinating and injurious? I cannot understand. But here's an incomplete, feeble translation,12 the pallid copy of a vivid picture, or Freischütz executed by the fingers of timid female learners.Tatiana's Letter To Onegin
I write to you — what would one more? What else is there that I could say? 'Tis now, I know, within your will 4 to punish me with scorn. But you, preserving for my hapless lot at least one drop of pity, you'll not abandon me. 8 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,12 but once a week, to see you at our country place, only to hear you speak, to say a word to you, and then16 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,20 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,24 I would have never known you nor have known this bitter torment. The turmoil of an inexperienced soul having subdued with time (who knows?),28 I would have found a friend after my heart, have been a faithful wife and a virtuous mother.
Another!... No, to nobody on earth32 would I have given my heart away! That has been destined in a higher council, that is the will of heaven: I am thine; my entire life has been the gage36 of a sure tryst with you; I know that you are sent to me by God, you are my guardian to the tomb.... You had appeared to me in dreams,40 unseen, you were already dear to me, your wondrous glance would trouble me, your voice resounded in my soul long since.... No, it was not a dream!44 Scarce had you entered, instantly I knew you, I felt all faint, I felt aflame, and in my thoughts I uttered: It is he! Is it not true that it was you I heard:48 you in the stillness spoke to me when I would help the poor or assuage with a prayer the anguish of my agitated soul?
52 And even at this very moment was it not you, dear vision, that slipped through the transparent darkness and gently bent close to my bed head?56 Was it not you that with delight and love did whisper words of hope to me? Who are you? My guardian angel or a perfidious tempter?60 Resolve my doubts. Perhaps, 'tis nonsense all, an inexperienced soul's delusion, and there's destined something quite different....
64 But so be it! My fate henceforth I place into your hands, before you I shed tears, for your defense I plead.68 Imagine: I am here alone, none understands me, my reason sinks, and, silent, I must perish.72 I wait for you: revive my heart's hopes with a single look or interrupt the heavy dream with a rebuke — alas, deserved!
76 I close. I dread to read this over. I'm faint with shame and fear... But to me your honor is a pledge, and boldly I entrust myself to it.
XXXII
By turns Tatiana sighs and ohs. The letter trembles in her hand; the rosy wafer dries 4 upon her fevered tongue. Her poor head shoulderward has sunk; her light chemise has slid down from her charming shoulder. 8 But now the moonbeam's radiance already fades. Anon the valley grows through the vapor clear. Anon the stream starts silvering. Anon the herdsman's horn12 wakes up the villager. Here's morning; all have risen long ago: to my Tatiana it is all the same.XXXIII
She takes no notice of the sunrise; she sits with lowered head and on the letter does not 4 impress her graven seal. But, softly opening the door, now gray Filatievna brings her tea on a tray. 8 “'Tis time, my child, get up; why, pretty one, you're ready! Oh, my early birdie! I was so anxious yesternight —12 but glory be to God, you're well! No trace at all of the night's fret! Your face is like a poppy flower.”XXXIV
“Oh, nurse, do me a favor.” “Willingly, darling, order me.” “Now do not think... Really... Suspicion... 4 But you see... Oh, do not refuse!” “My dear, to you God is my pledge.” “Well, send your grandson quietly with this note to O… to that… to 8 the neighbor. And let him be told that he ought not to say a word, that he ought not to name me.” “To whom, my precious?12 I'm getting muddled nowadays. Neighbors around are many; it's beyond me even to count them over.”XXXV
“Oh, nurse, how slow-witted you are!” “Sweetheart, I am already old, I'm old; the mind gets blunted, Tanya; 4 but time was, I used to be sharp: time was, one word of master's wish.” “Oh, nurse, nurse, is this relevant? What matters your intelligence to me? 8 You see, it is about a letter, to Onegin.” “Well, this now makes sense. Do not be cross with me, my soul; I am, you know, not comprehensible.12 But why have you turned pale again?” “Never mind, nurse, 'tis really nothing. Send, then, your grandson.”XXXVI
But the day lapsed, and there's no answer. Another came up; nothing yet. Pale as a shade, since morning dressed, 4 Tatiana waits: when will the answer come? Olga's adorer drove up. “Tell me, where's your companion?” was to him the question of the lady of the house; 8 “He seems to have forgotten us entirely.” Tatiana, flushing, quivered. “He promised he would be today,” Lenski replied to the old dame,12 “but evidently the mail has detained him.” Tatiana dropped her eyes as if she'd heard a harsh rebuke.XXXVII
'Twas darkling; on the table, shining, the evening samovar hissed as it warmed the Chinese teapot; 4 light vapor undulated under it. Poured out by Olga's hand, into the cups, in a dark stream, the fragrant tea already 8 ran, and a footboy served the cream; Tatiana stood before the window; breathing on the cold panes, lost in thought, the dear soul12 wrote with her charming finger on the bemisted glass the cherished monogram: an O and E.XXXVIII
And meantime her soul ached, and full of tears was her languorous gaze. Suddenly, hoof thuds! Her blood froze. 4 Now nearer! Coming fast... and in the yard is Eugene! “Ach!” — and lighter than a shade Tatiana skips into another hallway, from porch outdoors, and straight into the garden; 8 she flies, flies — dares not glance backward; in a moment has traversed the platbands, little bridges, lawn, the avenue to the lake, the bosquet;12 she breaks the lilac bushes as she flies across the flower plots to the brook, and, panting, on a benchXXXIX
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