JК
The Real Life of Sebastian Knight :: Набоков Владимир Владимирович
Страница: 79 из 124The'de' denoted, I knew, a certain type of Russian who likes to accent gentility, though really me use of me French particule before a Russian name is not only absurd but illegal. She might have been an adventuress: she might have been me wife of a snob.
Helene Grinstein. The name was Jewish but in spite of me 'stein' it was not German-Jewish. That 'i' in 'grin' displacing the natural 'u' pointed to its having grown in Russia. She had arrived but a week before Sebastian left and had stayed three days longer. The manager said she was a pretty woman. She had been to his hotel once before and lived in Berlin.
Helene von Graun. That was a real German name. But me manager was positive mat several times during her stay she had sung songs in Russian. She had a splendid contralto, he said, and was ravishing. She had remained a month in all, leaving for Paris five days before Sebastian.
I meticulously noted all these particulars and the four addresses. Any of these four might prove to be the one I wanted. I warmly thanked Mr Silbermann as he sat mere before me with his hat on his joined knees. He sighed and looked down at me toes of his small black boots adorned by old mouse-grey spats.
'I have made dis,' he said, 'because you are to me sympathetic. But [he looked at me with mild appeal in his bright brown eyes] but please, I fink it is ewsyless. You can't see de odder side of de moon. Please donnt search de woman. What is past is past. She donnt remember your brodder.'
'I shall jolly well remind her,' I said grimly.
'As you desire,' he muttered squaring his shoulders and buttoning up his coat. He got up. 'Good djorney,' he said without his usual smile.
'Oh, wait a bit, Mr Silbermann, we've got to settle something. What do I owe you?'
'Yes, dat is correct,' he said seating himself again. 'Moment.' He unscrewed his fountain-pen, jotted down a few figures, looked at them tapping his teeth with me holder: 'Yes, sixty-eight francs.'
'Well, that's not much,' I said, 'won't you perhaps…'
'Wait,' he cried, 'dat is false. I have forgotten… do you guard dat notice-book dat I give, gave you?'
'Why, yes,' I said, 'in fact, I've begun using it. You see… I thought…'
'Den it is not sixty-eight,' he said, rapidly revising his addition, 'It is… It is only eighteen, because de book costs fifty. Eighteen francs in all, Travelling depences…'
'But,' I said, rather flabbergasted at his arithmetic….
Helene Grinstein. The name was Jewish but in spite of me 'stein' it was not German-Jewish. That 'i' in 'grin' displacing the natural 'u' pointed to its having grown in Russia. She had arrived but a week before Sebastian left and had stayed three days longer. The manager said she was a pretty woman. She had been to his hotel once before and lived in Berlin.
Helene von Graun. That was a real German name. But me manager was positive mat several times during her stay she had sung songs in Russian. She had a splendid contralto, he said, and was ravishing. She had remained a month in all, leaving for Paris five days before Sebastian.
I meticulously noted all these particulars and the four addresses. Any of these four might prove to be the one I wanted. I warmly thanked Mr Silbermann as he sat mere before me with his hat on his joined knees. He sighed and looked down at me toes of his small black boots adorned by old mouse-grey spats.
'I have made dis,' he said, 'because you are to me sympathetic. But [he looked at me with mild appeal in his bright brown eyes] but please, I fink it is ewsyless. You can't see de odder side of de moon. Please donnt search de woman. What is past is past. She donnt remember your brodder.'
'I shall jolly well remind her,' I said grimly.
'As you desire,' he muttered squaring his shoulders and buttoning up his coat. He got up. 'Good djorney,' he said without his usual smile.
'Oh, wait a bit, Mr Silbermann, we've got to settle something. What do I owe you?'
'Yes, dat is correct,' he said seating himself again. 'Moment.' He unscrewed his fountain-pen, jotted down a few figures, looked at them tapping his teeth with me holder: 'Yes, sixty-eight francs.'
'Well, that's not much,' I said, 'won't you perhaps…'
'Wait,' he cried, 'dat is false. I have forgotten… do you guard dat notice-book dat I give, gave you?'
'Why, yes,' I said, 'in fact, I've begun using it. You see… I thought…'
'Den it is not sixty-eight,' he said, rapidly revising his addition, 'It is… It is only eighteen, because de book costs fifty. Eighteen francs in all, Travelling depences…'
'But,' I said, rather flabbergasted at his arithmetic….