JК
The Real Life of Sebastian Knight :: Набоков Владимир Владимирович
Страница: 78 из 124Then I shall choose the most probable one or ones and….'
'And try to reach dem,' said Mr Silbermann nodding. 'Well! Very well! I had, have all the hotel-gentlemans here [he showed his palm], and it will be simple. Your address, please.'
He produced another notebook, this time a very worn one, with some of the bescribbled pages falling off like autumn-leaves. I added that I should not move from Strasbourg until he called.
'Friday,' he said. 'Six, punctly.'
Then the extraordinary little man sank back in his seat, folded his arms, and closed his eyes, as if clinched business had somehow put a full stop to our conversation. A fly inspected his bald brow, but he did not move. He dozed until Strasbourg. There we parted.
'Look here,' I said as we shook hands. 'You must tell me your fee… I mean, I'm ready to pay you whatever you think suitable…. And perhaps you would like something in advance….'
'You will send me your book,' he said lifting a stumpy finger. 'And pay for possible depences,' he added under his breath. 'Cerrtainly!'
14
So this was the way I got a list of some forty-two names among which Sebastian's (S. Knight, 36 Oak Park Gardens, London, SW) seemed strangely lovely and lost. I was rather struck (pleasantly) by the fact that all the addresses were there too, affixed to the names: Silbermann hurriedly explained that people often die in Blauberg. Out of forty-one unknown persons as many as thirty-seven 'did not come to question' as the little man put it. True, three of these (unmarried women) bore Russian names, but two of them were German and one Alsatian: they had often stayed at the hotel. There was also a somewhat baffling girl, Vera Rasine; Silbermann however knew for certain that she was French; that, in fact, she was a dancer and the mistress of a Strasbourg banker. There was also an aged Polish couple whom we let pass without a qualm. All the rest of this 'out-of-the-question' group, that is thirty-one persons, consisted of twenty adult males; of these only eight were married or at least had brought their wives (Emma, Hildegard, Pauline, and so on), all of whom Silbermann swore were elderly, respectable, and eminently non-Russian.
Thus we were left with four names:
Mademoiselle Lydia Bohemsky with an address in Paris. She had spent nine days in the hotel at the beginning of Sebastian's stay and the manager did not remember anything about her.
Madame de Rechnoy. She had left the hotel for Paris on the eve of Sebastian's departure for the same city. The manager remembered that she was a smart young woman and very generous with her tips.
'And try to reach dem,' said Mr Silbermann nodding. 'Well! Very well! I had, have all the hotel-gentlemans here [he showed his palm], and it will be simple. Your address, please.'
He produced another notebook, this time a very worn one, with some of the bescribbled pages falling off like autumn-leaves. I added that I should not move from Strasbourg until he called.
'Friday,' he said. 'Six, punctly.'
Then the extraordinary little man sank back in his seat, folded his arms, and closed his eyes, as if clinched business had somehow put a full stop to our conversation. A fly inspected his bald brow, but he did not move. He dozed until Strasbourg. There we parted.
'Look here,' I said as we shook hands. 'You must tell me your fee… I mean, I'm ready to pay you whatever you think suitable…. And perhaps you would like something in advance….'
'You will send me your book,' he said lifting a stumpy finger. 'And pay for possible depences,' he added under his breath. 'Cerrtainly!'
14
So this was the way I got a list of some forty-two names among which Sebastian's (S. Knight, 36 Oak Park Gardens, London, SW) seemed strangely lovely and lost. I was rather struck (pleasantly) by the fact that all the addresses were there too, affixed to the names: Silbermann hurriedly explained that people often die in Blauberg. Out of forty-one unknown persons as many as thirty-seven 'did not come to question' as the little man put it. True, three of these (unmarried women) bore Russian names, but two of them were German and one Alsatian: they had often stayed at the hotel. There was also a somewhat baffling girl, Vera Rasine; Silbermann however knew for certain that she was French; that, in fact, she was a dancer and the mistress of a Strasbourg banker. There was also an aged Polish couple whom we let pass without a qualm. All the rest of this 'out-of-the-question' group, that is thirty-one persons, consisted of twenty adult males; of these only eight were married or at least had brought their wives (Emma, Hildegard, Pauline, and so on), all of whom Silbermann swore were elderly, respectable, and eminently non-Russian.
Thus we were left with four names:
Mademoiselle Lydia Bohemsky with an address in Paris. She had spent nine days in the hotel at the beginning of Sebastian's stay and the manager did not remember anything about her.
Madame de Rechnoy. She had left the hotel for Paris on the eve of Sebastian's departure for the same city. The manager remembered that she was a smart young woman and very generous with her tips.