Subject
Translatoin of German "Lolita" (first page offive)
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Date
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EDNOTE> Through some incredible incompetense, I apparently sent part II of
Carolyn's German "Lolita" but not the first part. My apologies to all--and
especially tgo Carolyn. I shall run the complete text when it is ready.
-----------------------------------
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Carolyn Kunin" <chaiselongue@earthlink.net>
>
>
> > [Please note: this translation is only meant for the List. Please do not
> > distribute.
> >
> > Thanks,
> > Carolyn]
> >
> >
> >
> > During the course of conversation someone mentioned the name of E.T.A.
> > Hoffmann and those musical tales. The Countess Beata, our young hostess,
> put
> > down the orange she was about to peel and said to the young poet "Do you
> > think it is possible that those things he writes -- and I only seldom
> read
> > them -- can keep me awake all night long? My rational mind tells me
these
> > things are mere fantasy, and yet . . ."
> >
> > "Perhaps it is not mere fantasy, my dear countess."
> >
> > The diplomat gave a good natured chuckle "You don't think such
outlandish
> > things actually happened to Hoffmann, do you?"
> >
> > "But that is exactly what I do think," countered the poet. "They did
> happen
> > to him. Of course I don't mean that he saw them with his own eyes. But
> > because he was a poet, he experienced everything that he wrote mentally.
> > Perhaps I should say that he only wrote of things that he had
encountered
> in
> > his soul. In fact I would say that this is what differentiates the poet
> from
> > the writer. The poet's soul experiences the fantastic as its reality."
> >
> > Silence fell over the room.
> >
> > "You are completely right," said the professor, a sensitive man of
> youthful
> > appearance. "Will you allow me to tell you a story that I have carried
> with
> > me for many years? To this day I am not certain if it actually happened
to
> > me or if I dreamed it. It won't take long."
> >
> > "Please do tell us," said our hostess.
> >
> > The professor began his tale:
> >
> > "Toward the end of the last century, more than twenty years ago, I was
> > studying in a very old town in southern Germany. I lived, as it pleased
> me,
> > in a narrow street full of age-old houses. Not far from my rooms was a
> > tavern -- one of the oddest I have ever seen. I went there often in late
> > autumn afternoons when I could take a break from my work.
> >
> > "There was only one room, rather rickety with rafters sunk in gloom.
Near
> > the window facing the street stood two well scoured tables and a few
> > rough-hewn chairs. Back in a dark corner where the tile stove stood
there
> > was a third little table and two remarkably colorful chintz armchairs.
> Over
> > one of them was draped a black silk mantilla, the kind women wear in
Spain
> > on holy days. I never saw any other customers there besides myself & I
> still
> > sometimes wonder if it really was a commercial establishment. Sometimes
> the
> > door would be locked and the shutters closed up on the stroke of seven.
I
> > never asked about this, but my curiosity had already fastened intself on
> the
> > proprietors of this odd establishment.
> >
> > "Their names were Aloys and Anton Walzer and they gave an impression of
> > great age. They were unusually tall and lanky. They were both bald but
> > sported full scraggly reddish-grey beards. I never saw them wear
anything
> > but yellow britches and black jackets that hung loosely on them. They
must
> > have been twins for it was impossible to tell them apart, and it took
> quite
> > awhile before I was able to distinguish Anton's slightly deeper voice.
> >
> > "As soon as I entered the tavern a glass of marvelous sweet spanish wine
> > would be placed o the table near the stove for me with a friendly grin.
> > Aloys would take the easy chair next to me while Anton would stand
leaning
> > with his back to the window. They puffed away on their aromatic pipes,
> > sending up small flames, as you sometimes see them do. I somehow got the
> > feeling that they were waiting for something.
> >
> > "I would almost say that the impression they made on me was grotesque,
but
> > that wouldn't be quite the right word because the grotesque always has
> > something of the comic about it. But the impression made on me by the
> Walzer
> > brothers was inexpressibly sad and frightening -- almost tragic.
> >
> > "There was no indication of a feminite presence in the place and I
> certainly
> > never saw a woman there.
> >
> > "As winter came on with its early dusks and long nights, I found my
visits
> > to the smoky tavern becoming almost a daily necessity. As the
proprietors
> > came to know me better, now and then they would talk a little with me.
But
> > they seemed to have lost their sense of time and always spoke of things
> that
> > happened in times long past and their voices made the same dry, rattling
> > sound.
> >
> > "I told them of my travels and whenever I mentioned southern climes, a
> > frightening look would come into their eyes that were usually so
sorrowful
> > and expectant. They seemed almost to be living in a kind of memory. I
> could
> > never leave without having the feeling that something dreadful was about
> to
> > happen as soon as I left, but I had to laugh at those thoughts.
> >
> > "One evening I was passing by the place rather late and from behind the
> > shuttered windows there came such a lovely sound of violin music that I
> had
> > to stand there in the street listening for a long time. The next day
when
> I
> > asked the brothers about it, they only smiled and nodded."
> >
>
Carolyn's German "Lolita" but not the first part. My apologies to all--and
especially tgo Carolyn. I shall run the complete text when it is ready.
-----------------------------------
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Carolyn Kunin" <chaiselongue@earthlink.net>
>
>
> > [Please note: this translation is only meant for the List. Please do not
> > distribute.
> >
> > Thanks,
> > Carolyn]
> >
> >
> >
> > During the course of conversation someone mentioned the name of E.T.A.
> > Hoffmann and those musical tales. The Countess Beata, our young hostess,
> put
> > down the orange she was about to peel and said to the young poet "Do you
> > think it is possible that those things he writes -- and I only seldom
> read
> > them -- can keep me awake all night long? My rational mind tells me
these
> > things are mere fantasy, and yet . . ."
> >
> > "Perhaps it is not mere fantasy, my dear countess."
> >
> > The diplomat gave a good natured chuckle "You don't think such
outlandish
> > things actually happened to Hoffmann, do you?"
> >
> > "But that is exactly what I do think," countered the poet. "They did
> happen
> > to him. Of course I don't mean that he saw them with his own eyes. But
> > because he was a poet, he experienced everything that he wrote mentally.
> > Perhaps I should say that he only wrote of things that he had
encountered
> in
> > his soul. In fact I would say that this is what differentiates the poet
> from
> > the writer. The poet's soul experiences the fantastic as its reality."
> >
> > Silence fell over the room.
> >
> > "You are completely right," said the professor, a sensitive man of
> youthful
> > appearance. "Will you allow me to tell you a story that I have carried
> with
> > me for many years? To this day I am not certain if it actually happened
to
> > me or if I dreamed it. It won't take long."
> >
> > "Please do tell us," said our hostess.
> >
> > The professor began his tale:
> >
> > "Toward the end of the last century, more than twenty years ago, I was
> > studying in a very old town in southern Germany. I lived, as it pleased
> me,
> > in a narrow street full of age-old houses. Not far from my rooms was a
> > tavern -- one of the oddest I have ever seen. I went there often in late
> > autumn afternoons when I could take a break from my work.
> >
> > "There was only one room, rather rickety with rafters sunk in gloom.
Near
> > the window facing the street stood two well scoured tables and a few
> > rough-hewn chairs. Back in a dark corner where the tile stove stood
there
> > was a third little table and two remarkably colorful chintz armchairs.
> Over
> > one of them was draped a black silk mantilla, the kind women wear in
Spain
> > on holy days. I never saw any other customers there besides myself & I
> still
> > sometimes wonder if it really was a commercial establishment. Sometimes
> the
> > door would be locked and the shutters closed up on the stroke of seven.
I
> > never asked about this, but my curiosity had already fastened intself on
> the
> > proprietors of this odd establishment.
> >
> > "Their names were Aloys and Anton Walzer and they gave an impression of
> > great age. They were unusually tall and lanky. They were both bald but
> > sported full scraggly reddish-grey beards. I never saw them wear
anything
> > but yellow britches and black jackets that hung loosely on them. They
must
> > have been twins for it was impossible to tell them apart, and it took
> quite
> > awhile before I was able to distinguish Anton's slightly deeper voice.
> >
> > "As soon as I entered the tavern a glass of marvelous sweet spanish wine
> > would be placed o the table near the stove for me with a friendly grin.
> > Aloys would take the easy chair next to me while Anton would stand
leaning
> > with his back to the window. They puffed away on their aromatic pipes,
> > sending up small flames, as you sometimes see them do. I somehow got the
> > feeling that they were waiting for something.
> >
> > "I would almost say that the impression they made on me was grotesque,
but
> > that wouldn't be quite the right word because the grotesque always has
> > something of the comic about it. But the impression made on me by the
> Walzer
> > brothers was inexpressibly sad and frightening -- almost tragic.
> >
> > "There was no indication of a feminite presence in the place and I
> certainly
> > never saw a woman there.
> >
> > "As winter came on with its early dusks and long nights, I found my
visits
> > to the smoky tavern becoming almost a daily necessity. As the
proprietors
> > came to know me better, now and then they would talk a little with me.
But
> > they seemed to have lost their sense of time and always spoke of things
> that
> > happened in times long past and their voices made the same dry, rattling
> > sound.
> >
> > "I told them of my travels and whenever I mentioned southern climes, a
> > frightening look would come into their eyes that were usually so
sorrowful
> > and expectant. They seemed almost to be living in a kind of memory. I
> could
> > never leave without having the feeling that something dreadful was about
> to
> > happen as soon as I left, but I had to laugh at those thoughts.
> >
> > "One evening I was passing by the place rather late and from behind the
> > shuttered windows there came such a lovely sound of violin music that I
> had
> > to stand there in the street listening for a long time. The next day
when
> I
> > asked the brothers about it, they only smiled and nodded."
> >
>