Describing the death of Queen Blenda (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, the mother of Charles Xavier Vseslav), Kinbote (Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla) mentions the unshaven dark young nattdett (child of night) and the drunk who started to sing a ribald ballad about "Karlie-Garlie:"
Her he remembered - more or less: a horsewoman, tall, broad, stout, ruddy-faced. She had been assured by a royal cousin that her son would be safe and happy under the tutelage of admirable Mr. Campbell who had taught several dutiful little princesses to spread butterflies and enjoy Lord Ronald's Coronach. He had immolated his life, so to speak, at the portable altars of a vast number of hobbies, from the study of book mites to bear hunting, and could reel off Macbeth from beginning to end during hikes; but he did not give a damn for his charges' morals, preferred ladies to laddies, and did not meddle in the complexities of Zemblan ingledom. He left, for some exotic court, after a ten-year stay, in 1932 when our Prince, aged seventeen, had begun dividing his time between the University and his regiment. It was the nicest period in his life. He never could decide what he enjoyed more: the study of poetry - especially English poetry - or attending parades, or dancing in masquerades with boy-girls and girl-boys. His mother died suddenly on July 21, 1936, from an obscure blood ailment that had also afflicted her mother and grandmother. She had been much better on the day before - and Charles Xavier had gone to an all-night ball in the so-called Ducal Dome in Grindelwood: for the nonce, a formal heterosexual affair, rather refreshing after some previous sport. At about four in the morning, with the sun enflaming the tree crests and Mt. Falk, a pink cone, the King stopped his powerful car at one of the gates of the palace. The air was so delicate, the light so lyrical, that he and the three friends he had with him decided to walk through the linden bosquet the rest of the distance to the Pavonian Pavilion where guests were lodged. He and Otar, a platonic pal, wore tails but they had lost their top hats to the highway winds. A strange something struck all four of them as they stood under the young limes in the prim landscape of scarp and counterscarp fortified by shadow and countershadow. Otar, a pleasant and cultured adeling with a tremendous nose and sparse hair, had his two mistresses with him, eighteen-year-old Fifalda (whom he later married) and seventeen-year-old Fleur (whom we shall meet in two other notes), daughters of Countess de Fyler, the Queen's favorite lady in waiting. One involuntarily lingers over that picture, as one does when standing at a vantage point of time and knowing in retrospect that in a moment one's life would undergo a complete change. So here was Otar, looking with a puzzled expression at the distant window's of the Queen's quarters, and there were the two girls, side by side, thin-legged, in shimmering wraps, their kitten noses pink, their eyes green and sleepy, their earrings catching and loosing the fire of the sun. There were a few people around, as there always were, no matter the hour, at this gate, along which a road, connecting with the eastern highway, ran. A peasant woman with a small cake she had baked, doubtlessly the mother of the sentinel who had not yet come to relieve the unshaven dark young nattdett (child of night) in his dreary sentry box, sat on a spur stone watching in feminine fascination the luciola-like tapers that moved from window to window; two workmen, holding their bicycles, stood staring too at those strange lights; and a drunk with a walrus mustache kept staggering around and patting the trunks of the lindens. One picks up minor items at such slowdowns of life. The King noticed that some reddish mud flecked the frames of the two bicycles and that their front wheels were both turned in the same direction, parallel to one another. Suddenly, down a steep path among the lilac bushes - a short cut from the Queen's quarters - the Countess came running and tripping over the hem of her quilted robe, and at the same moment, from another side of the palace, all seven councilors, dressed in their formal splendor and carrying like plum cakes replicas of various regalia, came striding down the stairs of stone, in dignified haste, but she beat them by one alin and spat out the news. The drunk started to sing a ribald ballad about "Karlie-Garlie" and fell into the demilune ditch. It is not easy to describe lucidly in short notes to a poem the various approaches to a fortified castle, and so, in my awareness of this problem, I prepared for John Shade, some time in June, when narrating to him the events briefly noticed in some of my comments (see note to line 130, for example), a rather handsomely drawn plan of the chambers, terraces, bastions and pleasure grounds of the Onhava Palace. Unless it has been destroyed or stolen, this careful picture in colored inks on a large (thirty by twenty inches) piece of cardboard might still be where I last saw it in mid-July, on the top of the big black trunk, opposite the old mangle, in a niche of the little corridor leading to the so-called fruit room. If it is not there, it might be looked for in his upper-floor study. I have written about this to Mrs. Shade but she does not reply to my letters. In case it still exists, I wish to beg her, without raising my voice, and very humbly, as humbly as the lowliest of the King's subjects might plead for an immediate restitution of his rights (the plan is mine and is clearly signed with a black chess-king crown after "Kinbote"), to send it, well packed, marked not to be bent on the wrapper, and by registered mail, to my publisher for reproduction in later editions of this work. Whatever energy I possessed has quite ebbed away lately, and these excruciating headaches now make impossible the mnemonic effort and eye strain that the drawing of another such plan would demand. The black trunk stands on another brown or brownish even larger one, and there is I think a stuffed fox or coyote next to them in their dark corner. (note to Line 71)
Nattdett brings to mind Dr Nattochdag (whose name means in Swedish “night and day”), the head of Kinbote’s department at Wordsmith University who was nicknamed Netochka by his colleagues. According to Kinbote, Shade had a childish predilection for word golf:
My illustrious friend showed a childish predilection for all sorts of word games and especially for so-called word golf. He would interrupt the flow of a prismatic conversation to indulge in this particular pastime, and naturally it would have been boorish of me to refuse playing with him. Some of my records are: hate-love in three, lass-male in four, and live-dead in five (with "lend" in the middle). (note to Line 819: “Playing a game of worlds”)
Netochka → detochka (little child) → devochka (girl). "Karlie-Garlie" in a ribald ballad sung by the drunk seems to be Zemblan for “Charlie-Girlie.”
In Kinbote’s Index there is an entry “Word golf:”
Word golf, S 's predilection for it, 819; see Lass.
Lass, see Mass.
Mass, Mars, Mare, see Male.
Male, see Word golf.
In Canto Three of Pushkin’s Poltava (1829) Mazepa calls the Swedish King Charles XII mal’chik boykiy (a lively boy) whose courage blinded him as a timid girl:
«Нет, вижу я, нет, Орлик мой,
Поторопились мы некстати:
Расчет и дерзкий, и плохой,
И в нем не будет благодати.
Пропала, видно, цель моя.
Что делать? дал я промах важный:
Ошибся в этом Карле я.
Он мальчик бойкий и отважный;
Два-три сраженья разыграть,
Конечно, может он с успехом,
К врагу на ужин прискакать, 29
Ответствовать на бомбу смехом; 30
Не хуже русского стрелка
Прокрасться в ночь ко вражью стану;
Свалить, как нынче, казака
И обменять на рану рану; 31
Но не ему вести борьбу
С самодержавным великаном:
Как полк, вертеться он судьбу
Принудить хочет барабаном;
Он слеп, упрям, нетерпелив,
И легкомыслен, и кичлив,
Бог весть, какому счастью верит;
Он силы новые врага
Успехом прошлым только мерит —
Сломить ему свои рога.
Стыжусь: воинственным бродягой
Увлекся я на старость лет;
Был ослеплен его отвагой
И беглым счастием побед,
Как дева робкая».
“No, Orlik, no, I think that we
Have rushed mal à propos, my friend:
Our calculations, overbold
And faulty, promise little yield.
My goal, I fear, escapes my grasp.
What now? But Fortune has been cruel:
I erred in judging Charles…
He’s but a spry, courageous boy;
He might win two or three engagements;
He can successfully attack
His foes at dinner time,29 can laugh
At bombs thrown in his tent,30 can steal
To enemy camps, concealed by night,
And, as today, can take down Cossacks,
Exchanging wound for bloody wound.31
But to conduct a battle against
Such a colossus is beyond him:
He wants to force his fate to turn
About face with a drum roll, like
His regiments. He’s blind. He’s stubborn,
Impatient, flippant, arrogant.
God knows what charms he puts his faith in.
He measures Peter’s newfound strengths
By his own prior victories—
And that will bring him to his knees.
Now I’m ashamed: enamored of
A warlike tramp, and at my age;
His courage blinded me, as did
The fleeting joy of victory,
As might a timid girl.”
(tr. I. Eubanks)
In his poem Pushkin several times repeats the phrase tikha ukrainskaya noch’ (tranquil is the Ukrainian night) and mentions the transparent sky and the shining stars. Noch’ (night) → doch’ (daughter). In Canto Two of Poltava Pushkin describes the beheading of Kochubey (whose daughter eloped with Mazepa) and Iskra. In Canto Two of his poem John Shade tells about his daughter’s death on a wild March night (note that March comes from Mars, the Roman god of war mentioned by Shade in Canto Three of his poem).
In Ilf and Petrov’s novel Dvenadtsat’ stuliev (“The Twelve Chairs,” 1928) Ostap Bender tells the manager of the Columbus Theater that he is an artist and that Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov (alias Konrad Karlovich Michelson) is his mal’chik-assistent (a boy, an assistant):
Остап Бендер любил эффекты. Только перед третьим гудком, когда Ипполит Матвеевич уже не сомневался в том, что брошен на произвол судьбы, Остап заметил его.
— Что же вы стоите, как засватанный. Я думал, что вы уже давно на пароходе! Сейчас сходни снимают! Бегите скорей! Пропустите этого гражданина! Вот пропуск!
Ипполит Матвеевич, почти плача, взбежал на пароход.
— Вот это ваш мальчик? — спросил завхоз подозрительно.
— Мальчик, — сказал Остап, — разве плох? Кто скажет, что это девочка, пусть первый бросит в меня камень!
Ostap Bender liked effects. It was only just before the third hoot, when Ippolit Matveyevich no longer doubted that he had been abandoned to the mercy of fate, that Ostap noticed him.
"What are you standing there like a coy suitor for? I thought you were aboard long ago. They're just going to raise the gangplank. Hurry up! Let this citizen board. Here's his pass."
Ippolit Matveyevich hurried aboard almost in tears.
"Is this your boy?" asked the boss suspiciously.
"That's the one," said Ostap. "If anyone says he's a girl, I'm a Dutchman!" (chapter 31 “A Magic Night on the Volga”)
According to Kinbote, he arrived in America descending by parachute:
John Shade's heart attack (Oct. 17, 1958) practically coincided with the disguised king's arrival in America where he descended by parachute from a chartered plane piloted by Colonel Montacute, in a field of hay-feverish, rank-flowering weeds, near Baltimore whose oriole is not an oriole. (note to Line 691)
In “The Twelve Chairs” Lasker arrives in Vasyuki (as imagined by the Vasyuki chess enthusiasts) descending by parachute:
Вдруг на горизонте была усмотрена чёрная точка. Она быстро приближалась и росла, превратившись в большой изумрудный парашют. Как большая редька, висел на парашютном кольце человек с чемоданчиком.
– Это он! – закричал одноглазый. – Ура! Ура! Ура! Я узнаю великого философа-шахматиста, доктора Ласкера. Только он один во всем мире носит такие зелёные носочки.
Suddenly a black dot was noticed on the horizon. It approached rapidly, growing larger and larger until it finally turned into a large emerald parachute. A man with an attache case was hanging from the harness, like a huge radish.
"Here he is!" shouted one-eye. "Hooray, hooray, I recognize the great philosopher and chess player Dr. Lasker. He is the only person in the world who wears those green socks." (Chapter 34 “The Interplanetary Chess Tournament”)
Lasker’s izumrudnyi parashyut (emerald parachute) brings to mind Izumrudov, one of the greater Shadows who visits Gradus (Shade’s murderer) in Nice:
On the morning of July 16 (while Shade was working on the 698-746 section of his poem) dull Gradus, dreading another day of enforced inactivity in sardonically, sparkling, stimulatingly noisy Nice, decided that until hunger drove him out he would not budge from a leathern armchair in the simulacrum of a lobby among the brown smells of his dingy hotel. Unhurriedly he went through a heap of old magazines on a nearby table. There he sat, a little monument of taciturnity, sighing, puffing out his cheeks, licking his thumb before turning a page, gaping at the pictures, and moving his lips as he climbed down the columns of printed matter. Having replaced everything in a neat pile, he sank back in his chair closing and opening his gabled hands in various constructions of tedium - when a man who had occupied a seat next to him got up and walked into the outer glare leaving his paper behind. Gradus pulled it into his lap, spread it out - and froze over a strange piece of local news that caught his eye: burglars had broken into Villa Disa and ransacked a bureau, taking from a jewel box a number of valuable old medals.
Here was something to brood upon. Had this vaguely unpleasant incident some bearing on his quest? Should he do something about it? Cable headquarters? Hard to word succinctly a simple fact without having it look like a cryptogram. Airmail a clipping? He was in his room working on the newspaper with a safety razor blade when there was a bright rap-rap at the door. Gradus admitted an unexpected visitor - one of the greater Shadows, whom he had thought to be onhava-onhava ("far, far away"), in wild, misty, almost legendary Zembla! What stunning conjuring tricks our magical mechanical age plays with old mother space and old father time!
He was a merry, perhaps overmerry, fellow, in a green velvet jacket. Nobody liked him, but he certainly had a keen mind. His name, Izumrudov, sounded rather Russian but actually meant “of the Umruds,” an Eskimo tribe sometimes seen paddling their umyaks (hide-lined boats) on the emerald waters of our northern shores. Grinning, he said friend Gradus must get together his travel documents, including a health certificate, and take the earliest available jet to New York. Bowing, he congratulated him on having indicated with such phenomenal acumen the right place and the right way. Yes, after a thorough perlustration of the loot that Andron and Niagarushka had obtained from the Queen's rosewood writing desk (mostly bills, and treasured snapshots, and those silly medals) a letter from the King did turn up giving his address which was of all places -- Our man, who interrupted the herald of success to say he had never -- was bidden not to display so much modesty. A slip of paper was now produced on which Izumudrov, shaking with laughter (death is hilarious), wrote out for Gradus their client's alias, the name of the university where he taught, and that of the town where it was situated. No, the slip was not for keeps. He could keep it only while memorizing it. This brand of paper (used by macaroon makers) was not only digestible but delicious. The gay green vision withdrew - to resume his whoring no doubt. How one hates such men! (note to Line 741)
Andron and Niagarushka mentioned by Kinbote are Andronnikov and Niagarin, the two Soviet experts hired by the new Zemblan government to find the crown jewels. Andronnikov is a character in Dostoevski’s novel Podrostok (“The Adolescent,” 1875). In his speech on Dostoevski (delivered on the hundredth anniversary of the writer’s birth) Lunacharski (the minister of education in Lenin’s government) takes the example of water in order to explain Dostoevski’s treatment of man’s psyche. According to Lunacharski, to understand the dynamics of water one must imagine a fantastic Niagara Falls, a hundred times more grandiose than the real one:
Чтобы понять, что делает Достоевский с психикой - возьмём хотя бы такой пример - вода. Для того, чтобы дать человеку полное представление о воде, заставить его объять все её свойства, надо ему показать воду, пар, лёд, разделить воду на составные части, показать, что такое тихое озеро, величаво катящая свои волны река, водопад, фонтан и проч. Словом - ему нужно показать все свойства, всю внутреннюю динамику воды. И, однако, этого всё-таки будет мало. Может быть, для того, чтобы понять динамику воды, нужно превысить данные возможности и фантастически представить человеку Ниагару, в сотню раз грандиознейшую, чем подлинная. Вот Достоевский и стремится превозмочь реальность и показать дух человеческий со всеми его неизмеримыми высотами и необъяснимыми глубинами со всех сторон. Как Микель Анджело скручивает человеческие тела в конвульсиях, в агонии, так Достоевский дух человеческий то раздувает до гиперболы, то сжимает до полного уничтожения, смешивает с грязью, низвергает его в глубины ада, то потом вдруг взмывает в самые высокие эмпиреи неба. Этими полётами человеческого духа Достоевский не только приковывает наше внимание, захватывает нас, открывает нам новые неизведанные красоты, но даёт очень много и нашему познанию, показывая нам неподозреваемые нами глубины души.
Dinamika vody (the dynamics of water) brings to mind a certain stupendous Dynamo goalkeeper whose mannerisms Niagarin could imitate to perfection:
All this is the rule of a supernal game, all this is the immutable fable of fate, and should not be construed as reflecting on the efficiency of the two Soviet experts - who, anyway, were to be marvelously successful on a later occasion with another job (see note to line 747). Their names (probably fictitious) were Andronnikov and Niagarin. One has seldom seen, at least among waxworks, a pair of more pleasant, presentable chaps. Everybody admired their clean-shaven jaws, elementary facial expressions, wavy hair, and perfect teeth. Tall handsome Andronnikov seldom smiled but the crinkly little rays of his orbital flesh bespoke infinite humor while the twin furrows descending from the sides of his shapely nostrils evoked glamorous associations with flying aces and sagebrush heroes. Niagarin, on the other hand, was of comparatively short stature, had somewhat more rounded, albeit quite manly features, and every now and then would flash a big boyish smile remindful of scoutmasters with something to hide, or those gentlemen who cheat in television quizzes. It was delightful to watch the two splendid Sovietchiks running about in the yard and kicking a chalk-dusty, thumping-tight soccer ball (looking so large and bald in such surroundings). Andronnikov could tap-play it on his toe up and down a dozen times before punting it pocket straight into the melancholy, surprised, bleached, harmless heavens; and Niagarin could imitate to perfection the mannerisms of a certain stupendous Dynamo goalkeeper. They used to hand out to the kitchen boys Russian caramels with plums or cherries depicted on the rich luscious six-cornered wrappers that enclosed a jacket of thinner paper with the mauve mummy inside; and lustful country girls were known to creep up along the drungen (bramble-choked footpaths) to the very foot of the bulwark when the two silhouetted against the now flushed sky sang beautiful sentimental military duets at eventide on the rampart. Niagarin had a soulful tenor voice, and Andronnikov a hearty baritone, and both wore elegant jackboots of a soft black leather, and the sky turned away showing its ethereal vertebrae. (note to line 681)
Netochka Nezvanov (1849) is an unfinished novel by Dostoevski. According to Kinbote, in a conversation with him Shade listed Dostoevski among Russian humorists:
Speaking of the Head of the bloated Russian Department, Prof. Pnin, a regular martinet in regard to his underlings (happily, Prof. Botkin, who taught in another department, was not subordinated to that grotesque "perfectionist"): "How odd that Russian intellectuals should lack all sense of humor when they have such marvelous humorists as Gogol, Dostoevski, Chekhov, Zoshchenko, and those joint authors of genius Ilf and Petrov." (note to Line 172)
On the other hand, nattdett seems to hint at Gorky's play Deti solntsa ("Children of the Sun," 1905) written when the author was imprisoned in the Peter-and-Paul Fortress (whose prisoners include, among other writers, Dostoevski). A character in Gorky's play Na dne ("The Lower Depths," 1902), Luka brings to mind Caroline Lukin, the maiden name of Shade's mother. In Canto One of his poem Shade speaks of his dead parents and mentions a pretersist (one who collects cold nests):
I was an infant when my parents died.
They both were ornithologists. I've tried
So often to evoke them that today
I have a thousand parents. Sadly they
Dissolve in their own virtues and recede,
But certain words, chance words I hear or read,
Such as "bad heart" always to him refer,
And "cancer of the pancreas" to her.
A preterist: one who collects cold nests.
Here was my bedroom, now reserved for guests. (ll. 71-80)
Among ptentsy gnezda Petrova (the fledglings of Peter's nest) whom Pushkin mentions in Canto Three of Poltava is Repnin (the ancestor of the historical Ivan Petrovich Pnin, 1773-1805, a poet and president of the Free Society of Lovers of Literature, Sciences and Arts):
И он промчался пред полками,
Могущ и радостен, как бой.
Он поле пожирал очами.
За ним вослед неслись толпой
Сии птенцы гнезда Петрова -
В пременах жребия земного,
В трудах державства и войны
Его товарищи, сыны:
И Шереметев благородный,
И Брюс, и Боур, и Репнин,
И, счастья баловень безродный,
Полудержавный властелин.
He tore ahead of all the ranks,
Enraptured, mighty as the battle.
His eyes devoured the martial field.
The fledglings of Peter's nest
Surged after him, a loyal throng-
Through all the shifts of worldly fate,
In trials of policy and war,
These men, these comrades, were like sons:
The noble Sheremetev,
And Bryus, and Bour, and Repnin,
And, fortune's humble favorite,
The mighty half-sovereign.
(trans. I. Eubanks)
Last but not least, nattdett makes one think of Jean Bernadotte (1763-1844), Napoleon's general who became a king of Sweden and Norway (Charles XIV John; Swedish and Norwegian: Karl XIV Johan). In Tolstoy's "War and Peace" Napoleon tells Balashov that Bernadotte went mad immediately after he was elected King by the Swedes (whose predestination is to be ruled by mad kings):
— Я всё знаю, — перебил его Наполеон, — я всё знаю, и знаю число ваших батальонов так же верно, как и моих. У вас нет 200 тысяч войска, а у меня втрое больше: даю вам честное слово, — сказал Наполеон, забывая, что это его честное слово никак не могло иметь значения, — даю вам ma parole d’honneur que j'ai cinq cent trente mille hommes de ce côté de la Vistule. Турки вам не помощь: они никуда не годятся и доказали это, замирившись с вами. Шведы — их предопределение быть управляемыми сумасшедшими королями. Их король был безумный; они переменили его и взяли другого, — Бернадота, который тотчас же сошел с ума, потому что сумасшедший только, будучи шведом, может заключать союзы с Россией. — Наполеон злобно усмехнулся и опять поднес к носу табакерку.
See also the updated (much more interesting) versions of my previous two posts (with the anagram revised in one of them).