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translation of German Lolita -- page 3 of 4EDNOTE. Part III of the German "Lolita," translated by Carolyn Kunin
----- Original Message -----
From: Carolyn Kunin
To: Vladimir Nabokov Forum
Sent: Friday, April 23, 2004 10:31 PM
Subject: translation of German Lolita -- page 3 of 4
My first step into the town brought back the memory of the Walzer brothers and their strange establishment. I know it might be hindsight or imagination, but it does seem to me that my mule turned very unwillingly at the Algorfe Palace on our way down to the harbor. In one of the old streets where mostly sailors live I found the place I sought.
Severo Ancosta's inn was a crooked little building with large balconies, stuck in between other similar establishments. The innkeeper, friendly and chatty, gave me a room with a wonderful view of the sea, and I looked forward to enjoying a week of undisturbed beauty.
That is, until the next day, when I saw Severo's daughter, Lolita.
By our northern standards she was terribly young, with veiled southern eyes and hair of an unusual reddish gold. Her body was boyishly slim and supple and her voice was full and dark.
But there was something more than her beauty that attracted me -- there was a strange mystery about her that troubled me often on those moonlit nights.
When she came into my room to tidy up, she would sometimes pause in her work, her red laughing smile compressed into a narrow line, and she would stare with fear into the sunlight. She reminded me of Iphigenia as played by some great tragedienne. Then I would take the child in my arms and feel an imperative need to protect her from some unknown danger.
There were days when Lolita's big shy eyes regarded me with an unspoken question, and there were evenings when I saw her break into sudden uncontrollable sobs.
I had ceased to think of travelling on. I was caught by the South -- and Lolita.
Golden hot days and silvery melancholy nights.
And then, one time, the unforgettable reality and dreamlike unreality as Lolita sat on my balcony, and sang softly, as she often did. But this time she came to me with halting steps on the landing, the guitar discarded precipitously on the floor. And while her eyes sought out the flickering moon in the water, like a pleading child she flung her trembling arms around my neck, leaned her head on my chest, and began sobbing. There were tears in her eyes, but her sweet mouth was laughing.
Then the miracle happened.
"You are so strong," she whispered.
Days and nights came and went . . . my beauty kept her secret in unchanging serenity.*
The days turned into weeks and I realized that it was time to continue my travels. Not that any duty called me, but Lolita's immense and dangerous love had begun to frighten me. When I told her this she gave me an indescribable look and nodded silently. Suddenly she seized my hand and bit me as hard as she could. Twenty-five years have not erased the marks of love she left on my hand.
By the time I was able to speak Lolita had disappeared into the house. I only saw her one more time.
That evening I spoke seriously with Severo about his daughter.
"Come, sir," he said, "I have something to show you that will explain everything." He lead me into a room that was separated from my own by a door. I stood in amazement.
In that narrow room stood only a small table and three easychairs. But they were the same, or almost the same as the chairs in the Walzer brothers' tavern. And I realized instantly that it had been Severo Ancosta's house that I had dreamed of on the eve of my trip.
There was a drawing of Lolita on the wall, which was so perfect that I went up to examine it more closely.
"You think that's a picture of Lolita," laughed Severo, "but that is Lola, the grandmother of Lolita's great-grandmother. It's more than a hundred years since she was strangled during a fight between her two lovers."
We sat down and Severo in his genial manner told this story. He told me of Lola, who was the most beautiful woman of her time in the town, so beautiful that men died for love of her. Shortly after giving birth to a daughter, she was murdered by two of her lovers, whom she had driven to madness.
"And since that time a curse lies on the family. The women all give birth to a daughter, and winthin weeks of their child's birth, they always go mad. And they were all beautiful -- as beautiful as Lolita."
"My wife died in that way," he whispered, serious now, "and my dauhter will die the same way."
I could hardly think of a word to say, to comfort him, as I myself was overcome with fear for my little Lolita.
That evening in my room I found a small red flower that I could not identify on my pillow.
Lolita's farewell present, I thought and picked it up. Only then did I see that the flower was white, the red was Lolita's blood.
Such was her love.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
* Tage und Nächte kamen und gingen vorbei - das Mysterium der Schönheit hielt sie in ewig gleichbleibender, singender Gelassenheit umsponnen.
The meaning is unclear. Two other possible translations have been offered:
1) Days and nights came and went [passed] - the mystery of beauty kept her enclosed in the ever constant singing calm [tranquility].
2) -- The succession of days and nights - the mystery of beauty kept them under the clasp of a steady and musical calm.
----- Original Message -----
From: Carolyn Kunin
To: Vladimir Nabokov Forum
Sent: Friday, April 23, 2004 10:31 PM
Subject: translation of German Lolita -- page 3 of 4
My first step into the town brought back the memory of the Walzer brothers and their strange establishment. I know it might be hindsight or imagination, but it does seem to me that my mule turned very unwillingly at the Algorfe Palace on our way down to the harbor. In one of the old streets where mostly sailors live I found the place I sought.
Severo Ancosta's inn was a crooked little building with large balconies, stuck in between other similar establishments. The innkeeper, friendly and chatty, gave me a room with a wonderful view of the sea, and I looked forward to enjoying a week of undisturbed beauty.
That is, until the next day, when I saw Severo's daughter, Lolita.
By our northern standards she was terribly young, with veiled southern eyes and hair of an unusual reddish gold. Her body was boyishly slim and supple and her voice was full and dark.
But there was something more than her beauty that attracted me -- there was a strange mystery about her that troubled me often on those moonlit nights.
When she came into my room to tidy up, she would sometimes pause in her work, her red laughing smile compressed into a narrow line, and she would stare with fear into the sunlight. She reminded me of Iphigenia as played by some great tragedienne. Then I would take the child in my arms and feel an imperative need to protect her from some unknown danger.
There were days when Lolita's big shy eyes regarded me with an unspoken question, and there were evenings when I saw her break into sudden uncontrollable sobs.
I had ceased to think of travelling on. I was caught by the South -- and Lolita.
Golden hot days and silvery melancholy nights.
And then, one time, the unforgettable reality and dreamlike unreality as Lolita sat on my balcony, and sang softly, as she often did. But this time she came to me with halting steps on the landing, the guitar discarded precipitously on the floor. And while her eyes sought out the flickering moon in the water, like a pleading child she flung her trembling arms around my neck, leaned her head on my chest, and began sobbing. There were tears in her eyes, but her sweet mouth was laughing.
Then the miracle happened.
"You are so strong," she whispered.
Days and nights came and went . . . my beauty kept her secret in unchanging serenity.*
The days turned into weeks and I realized that it was time to continue my travels. Not that any duty called me, but Lolita's immense and dangerous love had begun to frighten me. When I told her this she gave me an indescribable look and nodded silently. Suddenly she seized my hand and bit me as hard as she could. Twenty-five years have not erased the marks of love she left on my hand.
By the time I was able to speak Lolita had disappeared into the house. I only saw her one more time.
That evening I spoke seriously with Severo about his daughter.
"Come, sir," he said, "I have something to show you that will explain everything." He lead me into a room that was separated from my own by a door. I stood in amazement.
In that narrow room stood only a small table and three easychairs. But they were the same, or almost the same as the chairs in the Walzer brothers' tavern. And I realized instantly that it had been Severo Ancosta's house that I had dreamed of on the eve of my trip.
There was a drawing of Lolita on the wall, which was so perfect that I went up to examine it more closely.
"You think that's a picture of Lolita," laughed Severo, "but that is Lola, the grandmother of Lolita's great-grandmother. It's more than a hundred years since she was strangled during a fight between her two lovers."
We sat down and Severo in his genial manner told this story. He told me of Lola, who was the most beautiful woman of her time in the town, so beautiful that men died for love of her. Shortly after giving birth to a daughter, she was murdered by two of her lovers, whom she had driven to madness.
"And since that time a curse lies on the family. The women all give birth to a daughter, and winthin weeks of their child's birth, they always go mad. And they were all beautiful -- as beautiful as Lolita."
"My wife died in that way," he whispered, serious now, "and my dauhter will die the same way."
I could hardly think of a word to say, to comfort him, as I myself was overcome with fear for my little Lolita.
That evening in my room I found a small red flower that I could not identify on my pillow.
Lolita's farewell present, I thought and picked it up. Only then did I see that the flower was white, the red was Lolita's blood.
Such was her love.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
* Tage und Nächte kamen und gingen vorbei - das Mysterium der Schönheit hielt sie in ewig gleichbleibender, singender Gelassenheit umsponnen.
The meaning is unclear. Two other possible translations have been offered:
1) Days and nights came and went [passed] - the mystery of beauty kept her enclosed in the ever constant singing calm [tranquility].
2) -- The succession of days and nights - the mystery of beauty kept them under the clasp of a steady and musical calm.