Hamlet stuff and updating restaurant
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date = '2025-11-06T22:13:25-04:00'
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title = 'Man from the Restaurant: Chapter 1'
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## Preface
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Ivan Shmelev (Иван Шмелёв) is one of my biggest literary discoveries. Even as a Russian myself, I didn't even know about him until recently. He wasn't part of our school program, he isn't often mentioned online, and people don't add him to their reading lists as often as they do with Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. It took actual effort to at least find how do they translate titles of Shmelev's books! Even the titles, let alone the texts themselves. From what I learned about him, he was actively published in the western world back then in the XX century, and was widely recognized; he was even nominated to the Nobel Prize or something (Thomas Mann really pushed for it), and now there is almost no trace of him. Quite interesting, to say the least. Well, the best introduction to an artist is through their actual works, so here it is: a relatively short novel by Shmelev that I am taking the opportunity to translate in a whimsical and unprofessional way, so at least my friends can experience what I did. Should anyone find this useful or interesting, I am happy.
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- Editing and revising (I had to have a native speaker on my side): https://cyuucat.moe/
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- Proofreading: https://cyuucat.moe , https://waifuism.life
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- Source for the following translation, Russian: https://azbyka.ru/fiction/chelovek-iz-restorana/
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- It said that the to-be-mentioned-often-in-the-novel restaurant is a place that had actually existed: the famous Moscow restaurant "Prague". The novel was finished in 1911, just 6 years before the October Revolution which put the Russian Empire to an end, with all the Soviets and all the USSR things to come. This context is important to understand all the police stuff and public unrest that plays an important role with the doings of the main character.
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- And now, on all the Russian names. 'Kolyushka' is an archaic diminutive form of Nikolay. Today people say 'Kolya' instead. 'Lusha' is an archaic diminutive form of Lukerya. Even the full name is not common today. The rest is probably can be figured out without my commentaries, good luck.
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- Politically charged terms such as 'capitalist' should all be perceived neutrally, bearing in mind that they were used in their literal dictionary sense at the time, without 'signaling' connotations they have today.
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## I
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I am peaceful and reserved in my temperament. Thirty-eight years old, so to speak, in my prime. But after such words, I felt like I was suddenly burned. Face to face, in private, I would have overlooked it from this kind of person... Fat chance! But he did it in the presence of Kolyushka, and with what words!
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'You have no right to rummage around someone else's apartment! I trusted you and never locked my room. But you were rummaging with outsiders!.. You're so used to digging around people's pockets in your restaurants; and now you dare to think I will let you regard my hearth so!..'
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So he went... He wasn't even drunk. As if there was actual gold somewhere... That's him taking revenge for us asking him to move out, to clear the room. We have had enough. He once served as a clerk, very proud and suspicious. And I asked him with respect, explaining that it was impossible for us, in one apartment, with such a proud character and his always being drunk. I posted an announcement on the gate. And so he became annoyed that I was showing his room, and lunged at me.
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'You don't consider me a person!' and so on!.. Quite the contrary, we were always careful and even cautious with him, because he could be very malicious in his occupation, as Kolyushka warned. And Kolyushka and I often talked about my own occupation back then. As he grew up and became educated, it didn't sit well with him that I worked at a restaurant. Then Crooked, our tenant (Yezhov his surname; Crooked is what we called him between ourselves), he hit the sore spot. That I'm a pickpocket! I almost beat him up for saying that, but, being a very sly person, he immediately locked the door. Later he wrote a note and sent it to me via Lusha, my wife. It was all as if from sorrow and misfortunes, and he offered to add fifty kopecks for the room. I couldn't care less for these empty promises, since he had always paid that way before. If only he would move out; for he could be even frightening in his actions... Although he was always afraid to show himself up - always trying to sneak past. But I had a very heated conversation with Kolyushka. Back then, I even slapped him for one remark... Often he would make all kinds of reprimands:
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'See, dad... Any low-life can go around jabbing a finger and pointing!'
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And I remained silent and thought to myself that he was still young and didn't understand the depths of life. But once he had been around and taken a closer look at people, he would speak differently.
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And yet it was hurtful to hear such things from my own son, very hurtful! Well, a lackey, a waiter... So what if I am a lackey by destiny! Besides, I am not just any lackey, but one from a first-class restaurant where the society is high and most distinguished. We don't let just anyone in; the doormen have strict orders. The clientele is all thoughtful people: generals, capitalists, the most educated people, professors and so on, commercial people, aristocrats... The society is of the highest and most refined sort. With this type of guest, you need very artful service, and you also need to know how to behave properly so that there is no dissatisfaction. They don't hire on a whim either; it's as if you're put through fire and flames, as if applying to a university. You must have an appropriate figure, a clean and unblemished face, with a stern and dignified gaze. It's not just 'give-and-carry' - everything is done with good reason. And you have to stand there with understanding and stare as if you weren't there at all, yet keep track of everything and be on guard. It's just the same as for a head waiter in a second-rate restaurant.
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'Your trade' he said 'is worthless and base! Fawning over every thug and boor... You lick their feet for a few coins!
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Ah?! He dared to scorn me for the coins! But he himself grew up on those very tips I received for my service - for my bows, for my assistance to all kinds of gentlemen, drunk and noble, and so on! His pants were sewn from those tips, and his jackets, and all the books for his studies were bought, and his boots - everything! So that's what it means to know nothing of life! If only he could imagine how people bow down and lick all kinds of feet for so-called 'high considerations,' let alone for tips! I have seen it all.
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Once, a formal dinner was served in the round hall to mark the arrival of a minister, and I was appointed to the service along with the others. I then saw with my own eyes how an important gentleman, with medals all over his chest, quickly ducked under the table to pick up the handkerchief the minister had dropped. He was faster than me; he picked it up and even pushed my hand away. All of this under the table. They have nothing to do with it - crawling around for handkerchiefs... If only Kolyushka could see, with all his 'lackey this and that!' I do my job, naturally, and even if I hand over a match, I do so in accordance with the statute of my service, and not beyond.
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Having started in this specialty when I was still but a boy, I stayed with it, unlike other, and even very distinguished, gentlemen. One day you look - his gaze is that of an eagle, at the head of the table, drinking Schlossganisberg or some champagne, sticking out his little finger with a ring on it, signaling with it in conversation; and he grumbles into his glass so that you can't make anything out. And another time you see him in a completely different company, where his voice is sugary and thin, and he sits on the edge of his chair, holding his head like a heron, on the alert, his whole figure straining in one direction. I have seen it all.
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And my appearance is no worse than that of others'. I even bear a resemblance to the lawyer Glotanov, Anton Stepanovich - so all our lot had a laugh about it. We are both wearing tailcoats, except, of course, his is tailored more neatly and made of a better bit of cloth. Well, his stomach is more prominent, to be sure, and he sports a thick golden chain. And he also has a bald little spot. In general, though, it's all in the same vein. Only I have sideburns; they don't shave theirs. Though if you were to make them shave and attach a number to their side, they could easily pass for me. And I do have a wallet too, but all the difference is internal. His wallet is bulging, of course, with stacks of all sorts of cash and bills. While mine is flat and scarce, and instead of bills, there are two business cards that have been lying there for three weeks now: one from a judicial candidate, Perekrylov, for twelve rubles from an occasion when he forgot his money at home; and one from Mr. Zatsepsky, a theater singer - a crowned piece of paper - for nine rubles, for the same reason. They haven't been here for three weeks and are probably thinking of not paying, but - just you wait, madam! We have many such gentlemen. To pay for every forgetful one, even the state bank wouldn't be enough, I should think. There are those who have no funds but like to show off and put on airs in a first - class restaurant, especially when they are in the company of high-society specimens. It is very flattering, indeed, to walk upon our carpets and dine in the white halls with mirrors, particularly when it comes to satisfying the demands of spoiled ladies... And, so to speak, they end up acting rashly. But overall, it's not quite pleasant to watch them get embarrassed: nervously checking their bill, and then calling the staff out into the hallway under the pretense of verifying the expenses, their voice full of tremor. They are ashamed in front of everyone. Well, you accept the business cards at your own risk. And it can be beneficial when they add a couple of rubles as a thank you. It's not harmful to anyone; on the contrary, it's useful and helps the wheels of life turn. And there is nothing wrong with that. Even Anton Stepanovich himself, when having breakfast with business people, speaks very well of turning wheels of capital; and they now have two houses in a good location - they were recently congratulated on a third one, bought at auction. Also, Vasily Vasilyevich Kasherotov, a 'first responder,' as we call him, is friends with him. He always carries blank promissory notes with him to hand out to young people from good families. Everything is done on the spot; then he reaps the benefits. And right before my eyes, he came out into society and became acquainted with such people that... well! A trustee of a convent, and a lover - he particularly adores the nuns; he wins them over, all through his influence and 'sacrifices.' Through his business with the promissory notes, they say, he has become acquainted with elegant ladies from the wealthiest families. Indeed!.. What money can do! And as for himself, he's all shriveled up, and with his rotten teeth, you can smell his breath from a mile away. Of course, life has taken its toll on me, and I have lost some of my luster, but I am no slouch, and my face still has a presentable appearance. I am even allowed to keep my sideburns, contrary to our rules. The restaurant is French-style, and therefore everyone is supposed to be clean-shaven. But once, when the director, Mr. Stross - who keeps excellent racehorses and two mistresses - deigned to observe me during my duty, he demanded the head waiter and ordered: 'Let him keep the sideburns.'
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Ignatius Eliseich hid his stomach - out of respect - and bowed deeply: 'Yes, sir! Some do approve of such looks... representativeness...'
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'There. Let it remain as an example.' So they made a special disposition in my case. And Ignatius Eliseich gave me a strict order: 'And you are on no account to shave them off! This is nothing short of a blessing for you.'
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A blessing, sure! It makes me look more important, of course, but now they're ashamed to just slip me a fifty-kopeck piece. And that's a hindrance in our line of work.
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In general, my appearance is very respectable and even diplomatic, as Kirill Saveryanich used to joke. Kirill Saveryanich!.. Ah, how I used to admire him, and how he went to seed before my eyes! What a man he was!.. If it weren't for his humble origins, with his intelligence and good connections, he could have been involved in government affairs. And what a mess he would have made there! Even now, he still runs a barbershop and also sells perfume. A highly intellectual person - he even used to write about life in a notebook. Many times he comforted me in my sorrows and would argue with Kolyushka, using all sorts of fancy words to prove his point.
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'You, Yakov Savronych, facilitate the intake of nutrition; I, for my part, tend to appearances. And this is not some invention of ours, but a principle that comes from life itself...'
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Pure gold he was! And when you stand there in your full uniform in front of the mirrored walls, it is truly hard to believe that it's really me, and that, as it happens, I can be yelled at in the office when I'm drunk. Once - ... But I am, after all, not a nobody, not some hearthless wretch. I am a person with a fixed station and I earn not just kopecks, but sometimes seventy, sometimes even eighty rubles; and I understand the subtleties of propriety and how to address even the most distinguished individuals. Furthermore, my son attended a real school, and my daughter, Natasha, was educated at a gymnasium... And with all this standing, at times the most noble gentlemen, who ought to understand... They are so subtle in their behavior and actions, and how they speak different languages!.. They eat so delicately and handle even the tiniest bone with care, and when they knock over a chair, they apologize. But sometimes...
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There was this exceedingly polite gentleman in a uniform - with a round badge on his chest - sitting next to a lady in an enormous feathered hat. I even knew the lady and her background. When I accidentally brushed the edge of the fish platter against a feather - they were sitting so close together - he called me a dimwit. And, of course, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' for what else could I say? But it was deeply hurtful. Of course, I received a fifty-kopeck piece as a tip, but it wasn't an apology; it was for show, to parade their nobility in front of the mistress, not as compensation for the offense. Of course, Kirill Saveryanich, with his quick wit and sharp mind, turned it all into a discussion of the 'bewilderment that befalls even the most illustrious people' - and yet, it's no good. He even cited a book where some scientist wrote that all labor is honest and noble and cannot be tarnished by words. But I know this without the book, and still, it's no good. It's all easy talk when you've never experienced it yourself. He is doing well; he has his own business, and if anyone calls him a dimwit, he can take them to court on the spot. But I would be fired the next day for causing a scandal, and I could forget about ever working in a first-class restaurant again, because they would ring the bells everywhere. A scientist can write anything in his book, for no one will call him a dimwit. If only this scientist had been in our shoes, when everyone feels superior to you for every kopeck - sometimes even for someone else's kopeck - he would have written something different. By the books, everything is slick, but let Agafya Markovna talk about the engineers - that's how things really turn out... All these scientists dined at our place once. They were toasting some short, bald one for his book, and in the process, they broke ten rubles' worth of dishes, with no thought of who the head waiter would deduct it from - such is the administration's order. You can't bother such people with trifles, or they might take offense! In the heat of conversation, with an irritated gesture, they knock glasses together and snatch a coin straight from your pocket. Indeed, there is no science that can explain this.
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When you see Anton Stepanich selecting various delicacies and washing them down with the finest brandy, you wonder what great feat he accomplished to have all this bestowed upon him - houses, capital, all of it. And there is no way to understand. What's more, even his own friends call him a crook. I swear it. There was an annual dinner for the board of factory owners, with whom Anton Stepanich conducts business in all the courts and litigates against all the specimens; they were capitalists, including the world-famous millionaire Gushchin. And during the merry dinner - I heard it myself - this very same Mr. Gushchin clapped Anton Stepanich and said, 'Such a cro-o-o-ok you are, what a brilliant mind!'
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And everyone laughed uproariously, and Anton Stepanich just winked and bragged. And when the French women arrived for dessert, one of them even tried to flatter Mr. Gushchin in the same manner, but all she managed to slur was 'gru-u-uk' - just imagine! Then Mr. Glotanov emerged, looking not terribly sober, of course, and shouted: 'Ah, you... Such a... You as well!..'
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They used very harsh words and made an obscene gesture. It caused such a scandal that only our restaurant's good reputation prevented serious consequences. And the girls got their dresses splattered with grainy caviar... They knocked over an entire jug! All sorts of things used to happen.
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And you look at all this... Ah... Unfortunate creatures of God and the Creator! How many of them I have seen! They were pure and innocent once, but then they were seduced and cast out into the street. And no one pays any mind... At times, you come home, pray to God, go to bed... And behind the wall is Natasha. She breathes quietly... And you start to wonder... What does life have in store for her? She will not be left with any bonds or lottery tickets, winning or otherwise, or multi-story houses, like the ones inherited by the Pupayev sisters, in whose house I was living at the time.
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content/man-from-the-restaurant.en.md
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date = '2025-11-06T22:13:25-04:00'
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title = 'Man from the Restaurant by Ivan Shmelyov [translated]'
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## Preface
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Ivan Shmelyov (Иван Шмелёв) is one of my biggest literary discoveries. Even as a Russian myself, I didn't even know about him until recently. He wasn't part of our school program, he isn't often mentioned online, and people don't add him to their reading lists as often as they do with Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. It took actual effort to at least find how do they translate titles of Shmelyov's books! Even the titles, let alone the texts themselves. From what I learned about him, he was actively published in the western world back then in the XX century, and was widely recognized; he was even nominated to the Nobel Prize or something (Thomas Mann really pushed for it), and now there is almost no trace of him. Quite interesting, to say the least. Well, the best introduction to an artist is through their actual works, so here it is: a relatively short novel by Shmelyov that I am taking the opportunity to translate in a whimsical and unprofessional way, so at least my friends can experience what I did. Should anyone find this useful or interesting, I am happy.
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- Editing and revising (I had to have a native speaker on my side): https://cyuucat.moe/
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- Proofreading: https://cyuucat.moe , https://waifuism.life
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- Source for the following translation, Russian: https://azbyka.ru/fiction/chelovek-iz-restorana/
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- It said that the to-be-mentioned-often-in-the-novel restaurant is a place that had actually existed: the famous Moscow restaurant "Prague". The novel was finished in 1911, just 6 years before the October Revolution which put the Russian Empire to an end, with all the Soviets and all the USSR things to come. This context is important to understand all the police stuff and public unrest that plays an important role with the doings of the main character.
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- And now, on all the Russian names. 'Kolyushka' is an archaic diminutive form of Nikolay. Today people say 'Kolya' instead. 'Lusha' is an archaic diminutive form of Lukerya. Even the full name is not common today. The rest is probably can be figured out without my commentaries, good luck.
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- Politically charged terms such as 'capitalist' should all be perceived neutrally, bearing in mind that they were used in their literal dictionary sense at the time, without 'signaling' connotations they have today.
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## I
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I am peaceful and reserved in my temperament. Thirty-eight years old, so to speak, in my prime. But after such words, I felt like I was suddenly burned. Face to face, in private, I would have overlooked it from this kind of person... I might as well get blood from a turnip! He did it in the presence of Kolyushka, and with what words!
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'You have no right to rummage around someone else's apartment! I trusted you and never locked my room. But you were rummaging with outsiders!.. You're so used to digging around people's pockets in your restaurants; and now you dare to think I will let you regard my hearth so!..'
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So he went... He wasn't even drunk. As if there was actual gold somewhere... That's him taking revenge for us asking him to move out, to clear the room. We have had enough. He once served as a clerk, very proud and suspicious. And I asked him with respect, explaining that it was impossible for us, in one apartment, with such a proud character and his always being drunk. I posted an announcement on the gate. And so he became annoyed that I was showing his room, and lunged at me.
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'You don't consider me a person!' and so on!.. Quite the contrary, we were always careful and even cautious with him, because he could be very malicious in his occupation, as Kolyushka warned. And Kolyushka and I often talked about my own occupation back then. As he grew up and became educated, it didn't sit well with him that I worked at a restaurant. Then Crooked, our tenant (his surname is Yezhov; Crooked is what we called him between ourselves), he hit the sore spot. That I'm a pickpocket! I almost beat him up for saying that, but, being a very sly person, he immediately locked the door. Later he wrote a note and sent it to me via Lusha, my wife. It was all as if from sorrow and misfortunes, and he offered to add fifty kopecks for the room. I couldn't care less for these empty promises, since he had always paid that way before. If only he would move out; for he could be even frightening in his actions... Although he was always afraid to show himself up - always trying to sneak past. But I had a very heated conversation with Kolyushka. Back then, I even slapped him for one remark... Often he would make all kinds of reprimands:
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'See, dad... Any low-life can go around jabbing a finger and pointing!'
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And I remained silent and thought to myself that he was still young and didn't understand the depths of life. But once he had been around and taken a closer look at people, he would speak differently.
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And yet it was hurtful to hear such things from my own son, very hurtful! Well, a lackey, a waiter... So what if I am a lackey by destiny! Besides, I am not just any lackey, but one from a first-class restaurant where the society is high and most distinguished. We don't even let the common rabble in here; and the doormen, down below, have strict orders on this matter. The clientele is all thoughtful people: generals, capitalists, the most educated people, professors and so on, commercial people, aristocrats... The society is of the highest and most refined sort. With this type of guest, you need very artful service, and you also need to know how to behave properly so that there is no irritation. And they don't just hire anyone off the street, either; it's as if you're put through fire and flames, as if applying to a university. You must have an appropriate figure, a clean and unblemished face, with a stern and dignified gaze. It's not just 'give this or that' - everything is done with good reason. And you have to stand there with understanding and stare as if you weren't there at all, yet keep track of everything and be on guard. It's just the same as for a head waiter in a second-rate restaurant.
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'Your trade' he said 'is worthless and base! Fawning over every thug and boor... You lick their feet for a few coins!
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Ah?! He dared to scorn me for the coins! But he himself grew up on those very tips I received for my service - for my bows, for my assistance to all kinds of gentlemen, drunk and noble, and so on! His pants were sewn from those tips, and his jackets, and all the books for his studies were bought, and his boots - everything! So that's what it means to know nothing of life! If only he could imagine how people bow down and lick all kinds of feet out of so-called 'high principles,' let alone for tips! I have seen it all.
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Once, a formal dinner was served in the round hall to mark the arrival of a minister, and I was appointed to the service along with the others. I then saw with my own eyes how an important gentleman, with medals all over his chest, quickly ducked under the table to pick up the handkerchief the minister had dropped. He was faster than me; he picked it up and even pushed my hand away. All of this under the table. They have nothing to do with it - crawling around for handkerchiefs... If only Kolyushka could see, with all his 'lackey this and lackey that!' I do my job, naturally, and even if I hand over a match, I do so in accordance with the regulations of my service, and not beyond.
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Having started in this specialty when I was still but a boy, I stayed with it, unlike other, and even very distinguished, gentlemen... One day you look - his gaze is that of an eagle, at the head of the table, drinking Schlossganisberg or some champagne, sticking out his little finger with a ring on it, signaling with it in conversation; and he grumbles into his glass so that you can't make anything out. And another time you see him in a completely different company, where his voice is sugary and thin, and he sits on the edge of his chair, holding his head like a heron, on the alert, his whole figure straining in one direction. I have seen it all.
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And my appearance is no worse than that of others'. I even bear a resemblance to the lawyer Glotanov, Anton Stepanovich - so all our lot had a laugh about it. We are both wearing tailcoats, except, of course, his is tailored more neatly and made of a better cloth. Well, his stomach is more prominent, to be sure, and he sports a thick golden chain. And he also has a bald little spot. In general, though, it's all in the same vein. Only I have sideburns; they don't shave theirs. Though if you were to make them shave and attach my badge to their side, they could easily pass for me. And I do have a wallet too, but all the difference is internal. His wallet is bulging, of course, with stacks of all sorts of cash and bills. While mine is flat and scarce, and instead of bills, there are two business cards that have been lying there for three weeks now: one from a judicial candidate, Perekrylov, for twelve rubles from an occasion when he forgot his money at home; and one from Mr. Zatsepsky, a theater singer - a crowned piece of paper - for nine rubles, for the same reason. They haven't been here for three weeks and are probably thinking of not paying, but - just you wait, madam! We have many such gentlemen. To pay for every forgetful one, even the state bank wouldn't be enough, I should think. There are those who have no funds but like to show off and put on airs in a first-class restaurant, especially when they are in the company of high-society specimens. It is very flattering, indeed, to walk upon our carpets and dine in the white halls with mirrors, particularly when it comes to satisfying the demands of spoiled ladies... And, so to speak, they end up acting rashly. But overall, it's not quite pleasant to watch them get embarrassed: nervously checking their bill, and then calling the staff out into the hallway under the pretense of verifying the expenses, their voice full of tremor. They are ashamed in front of everyone. Well, you accept the business cards at your own risk. And it can be beneficial when they add a couple of rubles as a thank you. It's not harmful to anyone; on the contrary, it's useful and helps the wheels of life turn. And there is nothing wrong with that. Even Anton Stepanovich himself, when having breakfast with business people, speaks very well of turning wheels of capital; and they now have two houses in a good location - they were recently congratulated on a third one, bought at auction. Also, Vasily Vasilyevich Kasherotov, a 'first responder,' as we call him, is friends with him. He always carries blank promissory notes with him to hand out to young people from good families. Everything is done on the spot; then he reaps the benefits. And right before my eyes, he came out into society and became acquainted with such people that... well! A trustee of a convent, and a lover - he particularly adores the nuns; he wins them over, all through his influence and 'sacrifices.' Through his business with the promissory notes, they say, he has become acquainted with elegant ladies from the wealthiest families. Indeed!.. What money can do! And as for himself, he's all shriveled up, and with his rotten teeth, you can smell his breath from a mile away. Of course, life has taken its toll on me, and I have lost some of my luster, but I am no slouch, and my face still has a presentable appearance. I am even allowed to keep my sideburns, contrary to our rules. The restaurant is French-style, and therefore everyone is supposed to be clean-shaven. But once, when the director, Mr. Stross - who keeps excellent racehorses and two mistresses - deigned to observe me during my duty, he demanded the head waiter and ordered: 'Let him keep the sideburns.'
|
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|
Ignatius Eliseich hid his stomach - out of respect - and bowed deeply: 'Yes, sir! Some do approve of such looks... representativeness...'
|
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|
'There. Let it remain as an example.' So they made a special disposition in my case. And Ignatius Eliseich gave me a strict order: 'And you are on no account to shave them off! This is nothing short of a blessing for you.'
|
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|
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|
A blessing, sure! It makes me look more important, of course, but now they're ashamed to just slip me a fifty-kopeck piece. And that's a hindrance in our line of work.
|
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|
In general, my appearance is very respectable and even diplomatic, as Kirill Saveryanich used to joke. Kirill Saveryanich!.. Ah, how I used to admire him, and how he went to seed before my eyes! What a man he was!.. If it weren't for his humble origins, with his intelligence and good connections, he could have been involved in government affairs. And what a mess he would have made there! Even now, he still runs a barbershop and also sells perfume. A highly intellectual person - he even used to write about life in a notebook. Many times he comforted me in my sorrows and would argue with Kolyushka, using all sorts of fancy words to prove his point.
|
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|
'You, Yakov Savronych, facilitate the intake of meals; I, for my part, tidy up appearances. And this is not some invention of ours, but a principle that comes from life itself...'
|
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|
Pure gold he was! And when you stand there in your full uniform in front of the mirrored walls, it is truly hard to believe that it's really me, and that, as it happens, I can be yelled at in the office when I'm drunk. Once... But I am, after all, not a nobody, not some hearthless wretch. I am a person with a habitation and I earn not just kopecks, but sometimes seventy, sometimes even eighty rubles; and I understand the subtleties of propriety and how to address even the most distinguished individuals. Furthermore, my son attended a real school, and my daughter, Natasha, was educated at a gymnasium... Now, taking all my routine into consideration, at times most noble gentlemen, who ought to understand, they... And they are so subtle in their behavior and actions, and how they speak different languages!.. They eat so delicately and handle even the tiniest bone with care, and when they knock over a chair, they apologize. But sometimes...
|
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There was this exceedingly polite gentleman in a uniform - with a round badge on his chest - sitting next to a lady in an enormous feathered hat. I even knew the lady and her background. When I accidentally brushed the edge of the fish platter against a feather - they were sitting so close together - he called me a dimwit. And, of course, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' for what else could I say? But it was deeply hurtful. Of course, I received a fifty-kopeck piece as a tip, but it wasn't an apology; it was for show, to parade their nobility in front of the mistress, not as compensation for the offense. Of course, Kirill Saveryanich, with his quick wit and sharp mind, turned it all into a discussion of the 'bewilderment that befalls even the most illustrious people' - and yet, it's no good. He even cited a book where some scientist wrote that all labor is honest and noble and cannot be tarnished by words. But I know this without the book, and still, it's no good. It's all easy talk when you've never experienced it yourself. He is doing well; he has his own business, and if anyone calls him a dimwit, he can take them to court on the spot. But I would be fired the next day for causing a scandal, and I could forget about ever working in a first-class restaurant again, because they would sound the alarm everywhere. So a scientist can write anything in his book and no one will call him a dimwit. But if only this scientist had been in our shoes, when everyone feels superior to you for every kopeck - sometimes even for someone else's kopeck - he would have written something completely different. By the book, everything is slick, but let Agafya Markovna talk about the engineers - that's how things really turn out... All these scientists dined at our place once. They were toasting some short, bald one for his book, and in the process, they broke ten rubles' worth of dishes, with no thought of who the head waiter would deduct it from - such is the administration's order. You can't bother such people with trifles, or they might take offense! In the heat of conversation, with an irritated gesture, they knock glasses together and snatch a coin straight from your pocket. Indeed, there is no science that can explain this.
|
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When you see Anton Stepanich selecting various delicacies and washing them down with the finest brandy, you wonder what great feat he accomplished to have all this bestowed upon him - houses, capital, all of it. And there is no way to understand. What's more, even his own friends call him a crook. I swear it. There was an annual dinner for the board of factory owners, with whom Anton Stepanich conducts business in all the courts and litigates against all the specimens; they were capitalists, including the world-famous millionaire Gushchin. And during the merry dinner - I heard it myself - this very same Mr. Gushchin clapped Anton Stepanich and said, 'Such a cro-o-o-ok you are, what a brilliant mind!'
|
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And everyone laughed uproariously, and Anton Stepanich just winked and bragged. And when the French women arrived for dessert, one of them even tried to flatter Mr. Gushchin in the same manner, but all she managed to slur was 'gru-u-uk' - just imagine! Then Mr. Glotanov emerged, looking not terribly sober, of course, and shouted: 'Ah, you... Such a... You as well!..'
|
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They used very harsh words and made an obscene gesture. It caused such a scandal that only our restaurant's good reputation prevented serious consequences. And the girls got their dresses splattered with grainy caviar... They knocked over an entire jug! All sorts of things used to happen.
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And you look at all this... Ah... Unfortunate creatures of God and the Creator! How many of them I have seen! They were pure and innocent once, but then they were seduced and cast out into the street. And no one pays any mind... At times, you come home, pray to God, go to bed... And behind the wall is Natasha. She breathes quietly... And you start to wonder... What lies ahead for her in life? She will not be left with any bonds or lottery tickets, winning or otherwise, or multi-story houses, like the ones inherited by the Pupayev sisters, in whose house I was living at the time.
|
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## II
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|
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**work in progress**
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|
We lived on quietly and unnoticed, but then suddenly everything started moving and kept going... It all started in such a terrible manner... It was exactly Sunday, after I went to early mass, although Kolyushka always laughed at all my religious efforts; I was drinking tea slowly on the occasion that the restaurant was going to open at noon that day. And we had cabbage pies, and there was a barber, my friend Kirill Saveryanich, who was in a very cherful mood - he read the Apostle very clearly during the liturgy - and talking about politics and the nature of life.
|
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+++
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+++
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draft = true
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date = '2025-11-06T00:40:25-04:00'
|
date = '2025-11-06T00:40:25-04:00'
|
||||||
title = 'Man from the Restaurant: Chapter 1'
|
title = 'И. С. Шмелёв. Человек из ресторана [перевод на английский]'
|
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+++
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Перевод на английский. Переключите язык.
|
Перевод на английский. Переключите язык.
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date = '2025-11-14T04:56:25-04:00'
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title = 'On Hamlet'
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+++
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> _HAMLET_
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> Now might I do it pat, now he is praying. \
|
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And now I’ll do’t. And so he goes to heaven; \
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And so am I reveng’d. That would be scann’d: \
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A villain kills my father, and for that \
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I, his sole son, do this same villain send \
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To heaven. O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. \
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He took my father grossly, full of bread, \
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With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; \
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And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? \
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But in our circumstance and course of thought, \
|
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’Tis heavy with him. And am I then reveng’d, \
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To take him in the purging of his soul, \
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When he is fit and season’d for his passage? No. \
|
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Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: \
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When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, \
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Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed, \
|
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At gaming, swearing; or about some act \
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That has no relish of salvation in’t, \
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Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, \
|
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And that his soul may be as damn’d and black \
|
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As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. \
|
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|
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.¹
|
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|
> {{<audio src="/hamlet.mp3" type="mpeg">}}²
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With this monstrous utterance, Prince Hamlet ends his appearance in the third scene of the third act of Shakespeare's tragedy of the same name. This is the most intense moment of the play: all the threads must come together, the encounter with the ghost who introduced himself as his treacherously murdered father, all the torment that followed, then the resolution of all doubts and the focus of attention and turmoil on one point - revenge. Hamlet transforms from a doubting character into a character of action!
|
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And now, the long-awaited moment. The prince grips the hilt of his sword, creeps up on the hated murderer, and is ready to strike. And what happens to the audience at this moment! What happens to me! Just imagine how, from Hamlet's very first appearance on stage, we fell under the spell of his performance, his misfortune, his reasoning, and his madness; he dragged us through three acts to the logical conclusion of the story of this cursed king... And nothing happens. There is no resolution. The terrible, confusing action intensifies itself into the fourth act.
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But why? Yes, it's a strange question: Hamlet himself says that the king is praying for forgiveness, and if he is killed now, according to the laws of faith, he will go to heaven repentant, but Hamlet believes that the king should go to hell, so he shall be killed when the circumstances are more deserving. But wait, yes, no matter how terrible this speech is in its confidence and malice, I cannot get out of my head the fact that this is a turning point, a key moment after which rivers of blood will flow, the conflict will fall into inevitability and repeat itself in eternity, as it has repeated itself thousands of times before, - this very speech clearly shows that there is a divine presence in history. Of course, it is not at all surprising to us that Hamlet believes in heaven and hell, being a man of his time, but what is surprising is how belief in heaven and hell carries weight in reasoning and in making _such_ a decision! They are relevant not only to Hamlet as a religious man, but also to the plot twist in the entire tragedy!
|
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|
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|
Do you recall the second scene from the first act?
|
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> _HAMLET_
|
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> O that this too too solid flesh would melt, \
|
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Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! \
|
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|
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d \
|
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|
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!
|
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|
Such a comparison! At the very beginning of his first monologue, where the viewer and reader are shown the full depth of Hamlet's grief, the divine prohibition is already mentioned. How easy it would be to end his miserable existence, but that's not the way out... And not because of faith in something better, not out of pity for his mother, and not out of revenge against the king — that is still very far off, and the prince has not even begun to think about murder. It is not a solution because of the covenant! And, suffering, Hamlet chooses life in spite of everything: "But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue."
|
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|
Hamlet's thoughts during the king's prayer, when the murder could have been committed, are all the more frightening. To go that far! A man who, in deep misery, dreams of suicide and resists weakness only because of his faith - this same man decides without hesitation when another should die, “just so long as it's not for Heaven,” because he, Hamlet, knows better, and he doesn't need God for that! It is harsh and even painful to let such intense hatred into oneself, reading this from the distant future.
|
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|
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|
It seems that we can now conclude our discussion of Shakespeare's genius, having revealed Hamlet from the perspective of being motivated by growing spite. The image is already profound and striking: the prince does not simply hate the king, but arranges his murder in such a way as to send him straight to hell, just so that God does not intervene. What more can be said! One could also bring up the phenomenon of the Renaissance, how Shakespeare himself was its recognized playwright, and how the attitude of the ill-fated Prince of Denmark and faith served as a warning for the era: where human-centeredness can lead, and so on and so forth.
|
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|
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|
--------------
|
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|
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|
Time goes by. Several books go by. I am now separated from Hamlet by entire volumes of other works, my head filled with completely different things, although the impressions of what I have read are never completely erased. The time has come for me to read the work “The Autumn of the Middle Ages” by Johan Huizinga - I had a file with it from long ago, and, as is usually the case with everything, I never got around to it. And now, as I prepare to go to sleep, I lie down with the book and read the following from the very first chapter:
|
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|
|
||||||
|
> We have to transpose ourselves into this impressionability of mind, into this sensitivity to tears and spiritual repentance, into this susceptibility, before we can judge how colorful and intensive life was then.³
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Moving on. Here is an excerpt from examples of public executions and the intricacies of court proceedings:
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> The Dominican who preached the funeral service for the murdered duke caused considerable outrage because he dared to point out the Christian duty of not taking revenge. ... honor and revenge were both political desires ...
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
And culminating in the following fragment:
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> The blind passion with which a man supported his party and his lord and, at the same time, pursued his own interests was, in part, an expression of an unmistakable, stone-hard sense of right that medieval man thought proper. It demonstrated an unshakable certainty that every deed justified ultimate retribution. The sense of justice was still three quarters heathen and dominated by a need for vengeance.
|
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|
|
||||||
|
> The unchristian extreme to which this mixture of faith and thirst for revenge led is shown by the prevailing custom in England and France of refusing individuals under the sentence of death not only extreme unction, but also confession. There was no intent to save souls; rather, the intent was to intensify the fear of death by the certainty of the punishments of hell.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
200 years before William Shakespeare! What Renaissance!.. what warning for the future! A little explanation is needed here:
|
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|
|
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|
|
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|
|
||||||
|
Where colors mean the following: {{<color color="#dc6ea5">}}Medieval Age{{</color>}} {{<color color="#f59b14">}}Italian Renaissance{{</color>}} {{<color color="#6ec8fa">}}English Renaissance{{</color>}}
|
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|
|
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|
In general, the English Renaissance is a very arbitrary phenomenon. There's even a joke that in most of Europe, the "Renaissance" was the name given to what was happening there while the Renaissance was taking place in Italy. England was still recovering from the Hundred Years' War and the subsequent War of the Roses; apart from the influence of Protestantism, without delving into historical details, there was no major turning point that would allow us to say, “Yes, there were people of the Late Middle Ages, and these are the new people of the Renaissance.” I have no reason to doubt that in Shakespeare's time, the people and their moods fully shared the passions expressed in the above excerpts.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Furthermore, the legend of Hamlet itself is not Shakespeare's invention; it dates back to the 1200s, 400 years before the famous tragedy. Let's update the explanation:
|
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|
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
|
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|
With: {{<color color="#000eff">}}The first mentions of Hamlet in chronicles{{</color>}} {{<color color="#6bc842">}}The Life of William Shakespeare{{</color>}}{{<color color="#ff002b">}}Writing the tragedy Hamlet{{</color>}}
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
So, what is actually going on? Did Shakespeare familiarize himself with the ancient legend and transform it into poetry in accordance with the literary flourishing of England, using all the power of his genius? Or did he take only the plot and translate the inner world of the hero and his mental anguish into the modern world with all the demands and moods of the society of his time, full of echoes and remnants of the fading Middle Ages? Or did Shakespeare nevertheless guess the direction of the entire Renaissance, its essence and where it would ultimately lead, how it would degenerate and end, and merely embody a warning to humanity through a system of literary images?
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Of course, there can be no single answer here, and studying each of these points of view could provide material for many books. Yes, great works are always greater than the sum of their interpretations! But here's what interests me: returning to the conversation about genius and how I concluded my discussion of the king's prayer scene. Now looking at the time and place when the work was written, at the whole tiny historical context (because it's obvious that this topic is endless—just think of the Renaissance phenomenon alone!), the fullness of the author's genius takes on a slightly different, more refined and clearer form.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
The author as an artist does not exist in isolation. The environment influences him as it does any other person, shaping his experiences and providing him with insights that subsequently take the form of a literary work. Ideas, meanings, images, their representations and forms are always contemporary for the author at the moment of writing, so in a sense, art is always contemporary and responds to the questions of the present at the moment of writing. But in the process of reading and reflecting on what has been read, the idea of the author's genius and what it means seems to blur, to become simplified. Like, "Yes, it's amazing how Shakespeare described the conflict, how powerful, and what a god-defying pathos, how he came up with it... or he didn't? anyway, great stuff! Well, doesn't matter." It is precisely in the process of relating to the context that the vague feeling from the experience of art seems to break down into its constituent parts, which makes it easier to operate with the experience gained in reflection or in relation to something else.⁴
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
And what is _your_ Hamlet like?
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> 1. THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK by William Shakespeae. Project Gutenberg version, 1998
|
||||||
|
> 2. Kenneth Branagh - William Shakespeare - The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600-1) Hamlet, Prince of Denmark BBC Radio 3, 26 April 1992
|
||||||
|
> 3. Johan Huizinga - The Autumn of the Middle Ages. Translated by Rodney J. Payton and Ulrich Mammitzsch. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637, 1996
|
||||||
|
> 4. There can be many contexts. Viewing a work through the prism of history is just one of many such approaches. \
|
||||||
|
> Cover illustration by Sir John Gilbert, 1881.
|
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|
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|
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|
+++
|
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|
date = '2025-11-14T04:56:25-04:00'
|
||||||
|
title = 'О Гамлете'
|
||||||
|
+++
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> _Гамлет_
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> Теперь свершить бы все, — он на молитве; \
|
||||||
|
И я свершу; и он взойдет на небо; \
|
||||||
|
И я отмщен. Здесь требуется взвесить: \
|
||||||
|
Отец мой гибнет от руки злодея, \
|
||||||
|
И этого злодея сам я шлю \
|
||||||
|
На небо. \
|
||||||
|
Ведь это же награда, а не месть! \
|
||||||
|
Отец сражен был в грубом пресыщенье, \
|
||||||
|
Когда его грехи цвели, как май; \
|
||||||
|
Каков расчет с ним, знает только небо. \
|
||||||
|
Но по тому, как можем мы судить, \
|
||||||
|
С ним тяжело; и буду ль я отмщен, \
|
||||||
|
Сразив убийцу в чистый миг молитвы, \
|
||||||
|
Когда он в путь снаряжен и готов? \
|
||||||
|
Нет. \
|
||||||
|
Назад, мой меч, узнай страшней обхват; \
|
||||||
|
Когда он будет пьян, или во гневе, \
|
||||||
|
Иль в кровосмесных наслажденьях ложа; \
|
||||||
|
В кощунстве, за игрой, за чем-нибудь, \
|
||||||
|
В чем нет добра. — Тогда его сшиби, \
|
||||||
|
Так, чтобы пятками брыкнул он в небо \
|
||||||
|
И чтоб душа была черна, как ад, \
|
||||||
|
Куда она отправится. — Мать ждет, — \
|
||||||
|
То лишь отсрочку врач тебе дает.¹
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> {{<audio src="/on-hamlet/on-hamlet.mp3" type="mpeg">}}²
|
||||||
|
|
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|
Таким чудовищным изречением принц Гамлет заканчивает своё явление в третьей сцене третьего акта одноимённой трагедии Шекспира. Это самый накалённый момент пьесы: все нити должны были сойтись воедино, встреча с призраком что представился подло убитым отцом, всe терзания после, затем разрешение всех сомнений и сведение внимания и расстройства в одну точку - месть. Гамлет из персонажа сомневающегося становится персонажем действующим!
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И вот, долгожданное свершение. Принц стиснул рукоять меча, подкрадывается к ненавистному братоубийце и уже готов нанести удар. А что в этот момент творится со зрителем! Что творится со мной! Только вообразить, как мы, с самого первого появления Гамлета на сцене, попали во власть его представления, его несчастья, его рассуждений и его безумия; он протащил нас через 3 акта к закономерному особождению истории от этого проклятого короля... И ничего не происходит. Разрешения нет. Страшное, запутанное действо усугбляет себя в четвёртый акт.
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Но почему? Да, вопрос странный: Гамлет говорит об этом сам, что, вот, король этот на молитве в покаянии, и если я убью его сейчас, то по законам веры он попадёт в рай раскаянный, а я считаю, что он должен попасть в ад, поэтому и убью его, когда он к этому более пригоден. Но постойте, да, как бы ни была ужасна по своей уверенности и злости эта речь, я никак не могу выбросить из головы тот факт, что это поворот, ключевой момент после которого польются реки крови, конфликт провалится в неизбежность и снова повторится в вечности, как повторялся тысячи раз до этого, - и в этой речи ясно проявляется, что в истории есть божественное присутствие. Конечно, для нас ничуть не удивителен тот факт, что Гамлет верит в рай и ад будучи человеком своего времени, - удивительно то, как вера в рай и ад имеет вес в рассуждении и принятии _такого_ решения! Они объектны не только для Гамлета как человека религии, но и для сюжетного поворота во всей трагедии!
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Помните вторую сцену из первого акта?
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> _Гамлет_
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> О, если б этот плотный сгусток мяса \
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Растаял, сгинул, изошел росой! \
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Иль если бы предвечный не уставил \
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Запрет самоубийству! Боже! Боже!
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Вот сравнение! В самом начале своего первого монолога, где зрителю и читателю раскрывается во всей глубине постигшее Гамлета горе, уже упоминается божественный запрет. Как было бы легко закончить yбогое существование, но это не выход... и не из-за веры во что-то лучшее, не из жалости к матери и не из мести королю - до этого ещё очень далеко, и принц даже не начал и думать об убийстве. Не выход, потому что завет! И, страдая, Гамлет выбирает жизнь вопреки: "Но смолкни, сердце, скован мой язык!"
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Тем страшнее выступает мысль Гамлета на молитве короля, когда убийство могло совершиться. Дойти до такого! Человек, который в глубоком несчастии мечтает о самоубийстве и не поддаётся слабости только из-за своей веры, - этот же человек не колеблясь решает, когда умереть другому, "лишь бы только не в рай," ведь он, Гамлет, знает лучше, ему для этого и Бог не нужен! Тяжело и даже болезненно в себя пускать такую раскалённую ненависть, пусть даже и как чатель из далёкого будущего.
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Здесь уже можно, кажется, поставить точку и завершить разговор о гении Шекспира, мол, в какой-то мере раскрыв Гамлета как персонажа с мотивацией через призму развития его озлобления. Образ уже глубокий и резкий: принц короля не просто ненавидит, а устраивает его убийство так, чтобы однозначно отправить его в ад, лишь бы не вмешался Бог. Что же ещё говорить! Можно было бы подвести ещё феномен Возрождения, как сам Шекспир был его признанным драматургом и как отношение злосчастного принца Датского и веры послужило предостережением эпохи: куда может привести человекоцентризм и так далее и прочее.
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--------------
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Проходит время. Проходит несколько книг. От Гамлета меня уж отделяют целые тома других произведений, голова забита совсем другим, хотя впечатления от прочитанного и не затираются никогда в полной мере. Пришла пора мне прочитать сочинение "Осень Средневековья" за авторством Хёйзинги Йохана - лежал у меня файлик с давнейших времён, и руки, как это обычно про всё бывает, не доходили. И вот, готовлюсь я отойти ко сну, ложусь, захватив с собой книжку, и с первой же главы читаю следующее:
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> Необходимо вдуматься в душевную восприимчивость, подверженность слезам и расположенность к сердечным порывам, в быструю возбудимость, чтобы понять, какими красками и какой остротой отличалась жизнь этого [позднего Средневековья] времени.³
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Идём далее. Вот выдержка из примеров публичной казни и тонкостей судебных разбирательств:
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> Доминиканца, который в 1419 г. произнёс проповедь при отпевании убитого герцога, всячески укоряли за то, что он дерзнул напомнить о долге христианина отказываться от мести. ... мщение воспринималось как долг чести ...
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И с кульминацией в следующем фрагменте:
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> Слепая страсть в следовании ... просто своему делу была отчасти формой выражения твёрдого как камень и незыблимого как скала чувства справедливости, свойственного человеку Средневековья, формой выражения его непоколебимой уверенности в том, что всякое деяние требует конечного воздаяния. Это чувство справедливости всё ещё на три четверти оставалось языческим. И оно требовало отмщения. ... Чувство справедливости мало-помалу достигло крайней степени напряжения между двумя полюсами: варварским отношением "око за око, зуб за зуб" - и религиозным отвращением от греха ...
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> До каких несовместимых с христианством крайностей доходило смешение веры с жаждой мести, показывает обычай, господствовавший во Франции и Англии: отказывать приговорённому к смертине только в причастии, но и в исповеди. Его хотели тем самым лишить спасения души, отягчая страх смерти неизбежностью адских мучений.
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За 200 лет до Уильяма Шекспира! Какое Возрождение, какое предостережение в будущее, о чем вообще был разговор! Здесь требуется небольшое пояснение:
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Где цвета значат следующее: {{<color color="#dc6ea5">}}Средневековье{{</color>}} {{<color color="#f59b14">}}Итальянское Возрождение{{</color>}} {{<color color="#6ec8fa">}}Английское Возрождение{{</color>}}
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Вообще, Английское Возрождение - это феномен очень условный. Существует даже шутка, что в большей части Европы Возрождением называлось то, что там происходило, пока в Италии было Возрождение. Англия ещё только оправилась после Столетней войны и последовавшей затем Войны Роз; здесь помимо влияния Протестанства, если не углубляться в исторические детали, на самом деле не произошло какого-то мощнейшего перелома, который позволил бы нам сказать "да, вот там были люди Позднего Средневековья, а вот это уже новые люди Возрождения". Я не имею поводов сомневаться, что во времена Шекспира народ и его настроения в полной мере разделяли страсти из приведённых выше выдержек.
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Далее, сама легенда о Гамлете не является выдумкой Шекспира, она датируется 1200-ми годами, за 400 лет до знаменитой трагедии. Обновим пояснение:
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Где: {{<color color="#000eff">}}Первые упоминания о личности Гамлета в хрониках{{</color>}} {{<color color="#6bc842">}}Жизнь Уильяма Шекспира{{</color>}}{{<color color="#ff002b">}}Написание трагедии Гамлета{{</color>}}
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Что же получается? Шекспир ознакомился с древней легендой и оформил её в поэзию в соответствии с литературным расцветом Англии со всей мощью своего гения? Может, он взял только фабулу, а внутренний мир героя и его душевные терзания перевёл в плоскость современности со всеми запросами и настроениями общества его времени, полное отголосками и пережитками увядающего Средневековья? Или Шекспир всё же угадал направление всего Возрождения, его сущности и к чему оно в итоге приведёт, как выродится и закончится, а лишь воплотил в себе предостережение человечеству через систему литературных образов?
|
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Конечно, здесь не может быть однозначного ответа, и изучение каждой из этих точек зрения может послужить материалом для множества книг. Да, великие произведения всегда больше суммы их интерпретаций! Но мне интересно вот что: возвращаясь к разговору о гении и к тому, как я подвёл рассуждение о сцене молитвы короля, теперь со взглядом на время и место написания произведения, на весь этот крохотный исторический контекст (ведь очевидно, что тема эта неисчерпаема, - один только феномен Возрождения!) полнота гения автора приобретает немного другой, более огранённый и более чёткий вид.
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Автор как деятель искусства не существует сам по себе. Среда влияет на него как и на любого другого человека, образует переживания, даёт опыт, который впоследствии обретает форму литературного произведения. Идеи, смыслы, образы, их представления и формы всегда современны для автора в момент написания, поэтому, в каком-то смысле, искусство всегда современно и отвечает вопросам современности на момент написания. Но в процессе чтения и размышления о прочитанном, представление о гение автора и что это значит как бы размывается, уходит в какое-то упрощение. Мол, "да, поразительно, как Шекспир описал конфликт, как мощно, и какой даже богоборческий пафос, как это он придумал... или не придумал там?.. ну, неважно." Именно в процессе соотношения с контекстом размытое чувство от пережитого через искусство как бы распадается на составляющие, что позволяет удобнее оперировать полученным опытом в размышлениях или в соотношении с чем-то ещё.⁴
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
А каков ваш Гамлет?
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
> 1. Гамлет, принц Датский. Здесь и далее: Перевод c английского М. Лозинского. У. Шекспир. Полное собрание сочинений в 8-ми томах. М.: "Искусство", 1960. Том 6
|
||||||
|
> 2. Kenneth Branagh - William Shakespeare - The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600-1) Hamlet, Prince of Denmark BBC Радио 3, 26 Апреля 1992
|
||||||
|
> 3. Осень Средневековья. Здесь и далее: Перевод с нидерландского Д. Сильвестрова. Й. Хёйзинга. Осень Средневековья. Homo ludens. Тени завтрашнего дня. СПб: Азбука, Азбука-Аттикус, 2022.
|
||||||
|
> 4. Контекстов может быть множество. Рассмотрение произведения через призму истории - лишь один из множества подходов.
|
||||||
|
> Заглавная иллюстрация сэра Джона Гилберта, 1881.
|
||||||
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|
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|
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|
After Width: | Height: | Size: 270 KiB |
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static/on-hamlet/on-hamlet.mp3
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4
themes/lugo/layouts/shortcodes/audio.html
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4
themes/lugo/layouts/shortcodes/audio.html
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@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
|
|||||||
|
<audio controls class="audio-player">
|
||||||
|
<source src="{{ .Get "src" }}" type="audio/{{ .Get "type" | default "mpeg" }}">
|
||||||
|
Your browser does not support the audio element.
|
||||||
|
</audio>
|
||||||
1
themes/lugo/layouts/shortcodes/color.html
Normal file
1
themes/lugo/layouts/shortcodes/color.html
Normal file
@ -0,0 +1 @@
|
|||||||
|
<span style="color: {{ .Get "color" }}">{{.Inner}}</span>
|
||||||
@ -1,3 +1,9 @@
|
|||||||
|
hr {
|
||||||
|
border: 0;
|
||||||
|
height: 1px;
|
||||||
|
background: linear-gradient(to right, transparent, #BEBEBE, transparent);
|
||||||
|
margin: 2.5rem 0;
|
||||||
|
}
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {
|
h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {
|
||||||
text-align: center;
|
text-align: center;
|
||||||
|
|||||||
Loading…
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Reference in New Issue
Block a user