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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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XXXIII
When we the boundaries of beneficial enlightenment move farther out, in due time (by the computation 4 of philosophic tabulae, in some five hundred years) roads, surely, at home will change immeasurably. Paved highways at this point and that 8 uniting Russia will traverse her; cast-iron bridges o'er the waters in ample arcs will stride; we shall part mountains; under water12 dig daring tunnels; and Christendom will institute at every stage a tavern.XXXIV
The roads at home are bad at present;42 forgotten bridges rot; at stages the bedbugs and fleas 4 do not give one a minute's sleep. No taverns. In a cold log hut there hangs for show a highfalutin but meager bill of fare, and teases 8 one's futile appetite, while the rural Cyclopes in front of a slow fire treat with a Russian hammer12 Europe's light article, blessing the ruts and ditches of the fatherland.XXXV
Now, on the other hand, driving in winter's cold season is agreeable and easy. As in a modish song a verse devoid of thought, 4 smooth is the winter track. Alert are our Automedons, our troikas never tire, and mileposts, humoring the idle gaze, 8 before one's eyes flick like a fence.43 Unluckily, Dame Larin dragged along, fearing expensive stages, with her own horses, not with posters,12 and our maid tasted viatic tedium in full: they traveled seven days and nights.XXXVI
But now 'tis near. Before them the ancient tops of white-stone Moscow already glow 4 with golden crosses, ember-bright. Ah, chums, how pleased I was when, all at once, the hemicircle of churches and of belfries, 8 of gardens, domes, opened before me! How often during woeful separation, in my wandering fate, Moscow, I thought of you!12 Moscow!... How much within that sound is blended for a Russian heart! How much is echoed there!XXXVII
Here is, surrounded by its park, Petrovskiy Castle. Somberly it prides itself on recent glory. 4 In vain Napoleon, intoxicated with his last fortune, waited for kneeling Moscow with the keys of the old Kremlin: no, 8 to him my Moscow did not go with craven brow; not revelry, not gifts of bienvenue — a conflagration she prepared12 for the impatient hero. From here, in meditation sunk, he watched the formidable flame.XXXVIII
Good-by, witness of fallen glory, Petrovskiy Castle. Hup! Don't stop, get on! The turnpike posts already 4 show white. Along Tverskaya Street the coach now hies across the dips. There flicker by: watch boxes, peasant women, urchins, shops, street lamps, 8 palaces, gardens, monasteries, Bokharans, sledges, kitchen gardens, merchants, small shacks, muzhiks, boulevards, towers, Cossacks,12 pharmacies, fashion shops, balconies, lions on the gates, and flocks of jackdaws on the crosses.XL
In this exhausting promenade an hour elapses, then another, and in a lane hard by St. Chariton's 4 the sleigh-coach at a gate before a house now stops. To an old aunt, for the fourth year ill with consumption, at present they have come. 8 The door is opened wide for them by a bespectacled gray Kalmuk, in torn caftan, a stocking in his hand. There meets them in the drawing room12 the cry of the princess on a divan prostrated. The old ladies, weeping, embrace, and exclamations pour:XLI
“Princess, mon ange!” “Pachette!” “Aline!” “Who would have thought?” “How long it's been!” “For how much time?” “Dear! Cousin!” 4 “Sit down — how queer it is! I'd swear the scene is from a novel!” “And this is my daughter Tatiana.” “Ah, Tanya! Come up here to me — 8 I seem to be delirious in my sleep. Coz, you remember Grandison?” “What, Grandison? Oh, Grandison! Why, yes, I do, I do. Well, where is he?”12 “In Moscow — dwelling by St. Simeon's; on Christmas Eve he called on me: got a son married recently.XLII
“As to the other... But we'll tell it all later, won't we? To all her kin straightway tomorrow we'll show Tanya. 4 Pity that paying visits is for me too much — can hardly drag my feet. But you are worn out from the journey; let's go and have a rest together... 8 Oh, I've no strength... my chest is tired... now even joy, not only woe, oppressive is to me. My dear, I am already good for nothing...12 When one starts getting old, life is so horrid.” And here, exhausted utterly, in tears, she broke into a coughing fit.XLIII
The invalid's kindness and gladness touch Tatiana; but in her new domicile she's ill at ease, 4 used as she is to her own chamber. Beneath a silken curtain, in a new bed sleep does not come to her, and the early peal of church bells, 8 forerunner of the morning tasks, arouses her from bed. Tanya sits down beside the window. The darkness thins; but she12 does not discern her fields: there is before her a strange yard, a stable, kitchen house, and fence.XLIV
And now, on rounds of family dinners Tanya they trundle daily to present to grandsires and to grandams 4 her abstract indolence. For kin come from afar there's everywhere a kind reception, and exclamations, and good cheer. 8 “How Tanya's grown! Such a short while it seems since I godmothered you!” “And since I bore you in my arms!” “And since I pulled you by the ears!”12 “And since I fed you gingerbread!” And the grandmothers keep repeating in chorus: “How our years do fly!”XLV
But one can see no change in them; in them all follows the old pattern: the spinster princess, Aunt Eléna, 4 has got the very same tulle mob; still cerused is Lukéria Lvóvna; the same lies tells Lyubóv Petróvna; Iván Petróvich is as stupid; 8 Semyón Petróvich as tightfisted; and Palagéya Nikolávna has the same friend, Monsieur Finemouche, and the same spitz, and the same husband —12 while he is still the sedulous clubman, is just as meek, is just as deaf, still eats and drinks enough for two.XLVI
Their daughters embrace Tanya. Moscow's young graces at first in silence 4 from head to foot survey Tatiana; find her somewhat bizarre, provincial, and affected, and somewhat pale and thin, 8 but on the whole not bad at all; then, to nature submitting, they befriend her, lead her to their rooms, kiss her, squeeze tenderly her hands,12 fluff up her curls after the fashion, and in their singsong tones impart the secrets of the heart, secrets of maidens,XLVII
conquests of others and their own, hopes, pranks, daydreams. The innocent talks flow, 4 embellished with slight calumny. Then, in requital for their patter, her heart's confession they sweetly request. 8 But Tanya in a kind of daze their speeches hears without response, understands nothing, and her heart's secret,12 fond treasure of both tears and bliss, she mutely guards meantime and shares with none.XLVIII
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