In VN's novel Ada (1969) Van mishears the word gambler used by a Dutchman in the hotel with regard to his father, Demon Veen, and believes it to be 'camler:"
In 1880, Van, aged ten, had traveled in silver trains with showerbaths, accompanied by his father, his father’s beautiful secretary, the secretary’s eighteen-year-old white-gloved sister (with a bit part as Van’s English governess and milkmaid), and his chaste, angelic Russian tutor, Andrey Andreevich Aksakov (‘AAA’), to gay resorts in Louisiana and Nevada. AAA explained, he remembered, to a Negro lad with whom Van had scrapped, that Pushkin and Dumas had African blood, upon which the lad showed AAA his tongue, a new interesting trick which Van emulated at the earliest occasion and was slapped by the younger of the Misses Fortune, put it back in your face, sir, she said. He also recalled hearing a cummerbunded Dutchman in the hotel hall telling another that Van’s father, who had just passed whistling one of his three tunes, was a famous ‘camler’ (camel driver — shamoes having been imported recently? No, ‘gambler’). (1.24)
'Camler' brings to mind Geograficheskoe rasprostranenie verblyuda ("The Geographical Distribution of the Camel"), an article rejected by Chernyshevski as too special:
Когда однажды, в 55 году, расписавшись о Пушкине, он захотел дать пример "бессмысленного сочетания слов", то привел мимоходом тут же выдуманное "синий звук", - на свою голову напророчив пробивший через полвека блоковский "звонко-синий час". "Научный анализ показывает вздорность таких сочетаний", - писал он, - не зная о физиологическом факте "окрашенного слуха". "Не всё ли равно, - спрашивал он (у радостно соглашавшегося с ним бахмучанского или новомиргородского читателя), - голубоперая щука или щука с голубым пером (конечно второе, крикнули бы мы, - так оно выделяется лучше, в профиль!), ибо настоящему мыслителю некогда заниматься этим, особенно если он проводит на народной площади больше времени, чем в своей рабочей комнате". Другое дело - "общий план". Любовь к общему (к энциклопедии), презрительная ненависть к особому (к монографии) и заставляли его упрекать Дарвина в недельности, Уоллеса в нелепости ("... все эти ученые специальности от изучения крылышек бабочек до изучения наречий кафрского языка"). У самого Чернышевского был в этом смысле какой-то опасный размах, какое-то разудалое и самоуверенное "всё сойдет", бросающее сомнительную тень на достоинства как раз специальных его трудов. "Общий интерес" он понимал, однако, по-своему: исходил из мысли, что больше всего читателя интересует "производительность". Разбирая в 55 году какой-то журнал, он хвалит в нем статьи "Термометрическое состояние земли" и "Русские каменноугольные бассейны", решительно бракуя, как слишком специальную, ту единственную, которую хотелось бы прочесть: "Географическое распространение верблюда".
Once in 1855, when expatiating on Pushkin and wishing to give an example of “a senseless combination of words,” he hastily cited a “blue sound” of his own invention—prophetically calling down upon his own head Blok’s “blue-ringing hour” that was to chime half a century later. “A scientific analysis shows the absurdity of such combinations,” he wrote, unaware of the physiological fact of “colored hearing.” “Isn’t it all the same,” he asked (of the reader in Bakhmuchansk or Novomirgorod, who joyfully agreed with him), “whether we have a blue-finned pike or [as in a Derzhavin poem] a pike with a blue fin [of course the second, we would have cried—that way it stands out better, in profile!], for the genuine thinker has no time to worry about such matters, especially if he spends more time in the public square than he does in his study?” The “general outline” is another matter. It was a love of generalities (encyclopedias) and a contemptuous hatred of particularities (monographs) which led him to reproach Darwin for being puerile and Wallace for being inept (“… all these learned specialties, from the study of butterfly wings to the study of Kaffir dialects”). Chernyshevski had on the contrary a dangerously wide range, a kind of reckless and self-confident “anything-will-do” attitude which casts a doubtful shadow over his own specialized work. “The general interest,” however, was given his own interpretation: his premise was that the reader was most of all interested in the “productive” side of things. Reviewing a magazine (in 1855), he praises such items as “The Thermometric Condition of the Earth” and “Russian Coalfields,” while decisively rejecting as too special the only article one would want to read, “The Geographical Distribution of the Camel.” (The Gift, Chapter Four)
In Chapter Four of VN's novel Dar ("The Gift," 1937), Zhizn' Chernyshevskogo ("The Life of Chernyshevski"), Fyodor mentions an officer who mistook Chernyshevski's wife and her sister for young Camelias (loose women):
Агенты, тоже не без мистического ужаса, доносили, что ночью в разгаре бедствия "слышался смех из окна Чернышевского". Полиция наделяла его дьявольской изворотливостью и во всяком его действии чуяла подвох. Семья Николая Гавриловича уехала на лето в Павловск, и вот, через несколько дней после пожаров, а именно 10 июня (сумерки, комары, музыка), некто Любецкий, адъютант образцового лейб-гвардии уланского полка, лихой малый, "с фамильей как поцелуй", при выходе "из вокзала" заметил двух дам, резвившихся как шалые, и, по сердечной простоте приняв их за молоденьких камелий, "произвел попытку поймать обеих за талии". Бывшие при них четыре студента окружили его и угрожая ему мщением, объявили, что одна из дам - жена литератора Чернышевского, а другая - ее сестра. Что же, по мнению полиции, делает муж? Он домогается отдать дело на суд общества офицеров, - не из соображений чести, а лишь для того, чтобы под рукой достигнуть сближения офицеров со студентами. 5 июля ему пришлось по поводу своей жалобы побывать в третьем отделении. Потапов, начальник оного, отклонил его домогательство, сказав, что, по его сведениям, улан готов извиниться. Тогда Чернышевский сухо отказался от всяких притязаний и, переменив разговор, спросил: "Скажите, - вот я третьего дня отправил семью в Саратов, и сам собираюсь туда на отдых ("Современник" уже был закрыт) ; но если мне нужно будет увезти жену заграницу, на воды, - она, видите ли страдает нервическими болями, - могу ли выехать беспрепятственно?" "Разумеется, можете", - добродушно ответил Потапов; а через два дня произошел арест.
Secret agents, in tones also not void of mystic horror, reported that during the night at the height of the disaster “laughter was heard coming from Chernyshevski’s window.” The police endowed him with a devilish resourcefulness and smelled a trick in his every move. Nikolay Gavrilovich’s family went to spend the summer at Pavlovsk, a few miles from St. Petersburg, and there, a few days after the fires, on June 10th to be precise (dusk, mosquitoes, music), a certain Lyubetski, adjutant major of the Uhlan regiment of the Guards, a dashing fellow, with a name like a kiss, noticed as he was leaving the “vauxhall” two ladies capering about like mad things, and in the simpleness of his heart taking them for young Camelias (loose women), he “made an attempt to grasp them both by the waist.” The four students who were with them surrounded him and threatened him with retribution, announcing that one of the ladies was the wife of the writer Chernyshevski and the other her sister. What, in the opinion of the police, is the husband’s design? He tries to get the case to be submitted to the court of the officers’ association—not out of considerations of honor but merely for the clandestine purpose of bringing military men and university students together. On July 5th he had to visit the Secret Police Department in connection with his complaint. Potapov, its chief, refused his petition, saying that according to his information the Uhlan was prepared to apologize. Chernyshevski curtly renounced any claims and changing the subject asked: “Tell me, the other day I sent my family off to Saratov and am preparing myself to go there for a rest [The Contemporary had already been closed]; but if I should need to take my wife abroad, to a spa—you see she suffers from nervous pains—could I leave without hindrance?” “Of course you could,” replied Potapov good-naturedly; and two days later the arrest took place.
La dame aux camélias ("The Lady of the Camellias," 1848) is a novel by Alexandre Dumas fils’s subsequently adapted by the author for the stage. The action in it takes place in Bougival. In a letter of 7/19 September, 1875, to N. V. Khanykov Turgenev says that on the next day (September 20, 1875, NS) he will move to the new-built chalet at his and Viardot's villa Les frênes ("The Ash Trees") in Bougival:
Я Вас приму в новом своём доме, куда завтра переселяюсь, а г-н и г-жа Виардо будут очень довольны, если Вы при сей оказии останетесь у них обедать, и просят меня пригласить Вас, так же как Салтыкова и Соллогуба.
Describing Villa Venus (both Demon and Van are members of the Villa Venus Club), Van says that all the hundred floramors (palatial brothels built by David van Veen, a wealthy architect of Flemish extraction, all over the world in memory of his grandson Eric) opened simultaneously on September 20, 1875:
Eccentricity is the greatest grief’s greatest remedy. The boy’s grandfather set at once to render in brick and stone, concrete and marble, flesh and fun, Eric’s fantasy. He resolved to be the first sampler of the first houri he would hire for his last house, and to live until then in laborious abstinence.
It must have been a moving and magnificent sight — that of the old but still vigorous Dutchman with his rugged reptilian face and white hair, designing with the assistance of Leftist decorators the thousand and one memorial floramors he resolved to erect allover the world — perhaps even in brutal Tartary, which he thought was ruled by ‘Americanized Jews,’ but then ‘Art redeemed Politics’ — profoundly original concepts that we must condone in a lovable old crank. He began with rural England and coastal America, and was engaged in a Robert Adam-like composition (cruelly referred to by local wags as the Madam-I’m-Adam House), not far from Newport, Rodos Island, in a somewhat senile style, with marble columns dredged from classical seas and still encrusted with Etruscan oyster shells — when he died from a stroke while helping to prop up a propylon. It was only his hundredth house!
His nephew and heir, an honest but astoundingly stuffy clothier in Ruinen (somewhere near Zwolle, I’m told), with a large family and a small trade, was not cheated out of the millions of guldens, about the apparent squandering of which he had been consulting mental specialists during the last ten years or so. All the hundred floramors opened simultaneously on September 20, 1875 (and by a delicious coincidence the old Russian word for September, ‘ryuen’,’ which might have spelled ‘ruin,’ also echoed the name of the ecstatic Neverlander’s hometown). (2.3).
The main character of Dumas' novel, Marguerite Gautier is a courtesan suffering from consumption. She is nicknamed la dame aux camélias because she wears a red camellia when she is menstruating and unavailable for sex and a white camellia when she is available to her lovers. Verdi's opera La Traviata (1853) is based on Dumas' play (Marguerite Gautier was renamed Violetta Valéry). In Chapter Four of "The Gift" Fyodor says that La Traviata made Lenin weep:
Журналы по мере сил теребили его. Дудышкин ("Отечественные Записки") обиженно направлял на него свою тростниковую дудочку: "Поэзия для вас - главы политической экономии, переложенные на стихи". Недоброжелатели мистического толка говорили о "прелести" Чернышевского, о его физическом сходстве с бесом (напр., проф. Костомаров). Другие, попроще, как Благосветлов (считавший себя франтом и державший, несмотря на радикализм, настоящего, неподкрашеного арапа в казачках), говорили о его грязных калошах и пономарско-немецком стиле. Некрасов с вялой улыбкой заступался за "дельного малого" (им же привлеченного к журналу), признавая, что тот успел наложить на "Современник" печать однообразия, набивая его бездарными повестями о взятках и доносами на квартальных: но он хвалил помощника за плодотворный труд: благодаря ему в 58 году журнал имел 4.700 подписчиков, а через три года - 7.000. С Некрасовым Николай Гаврилович был дружен, но не более: есть намек на какие-то денежные расчеты, которыми он остался недоволен. В 83 году, чтобы старика развлечь, Пыпин предложил ему написать "портреты прошлого". Свою первую встречу с Некрасовым Чернышевский изобразил со знакомыми нам дотошностью и кропотливостью (дав сложную схему всех взаимных передвижений по комнате, чуть ли не с числом шагов), звучащими каким то оскорблением, наносимым честно поработавшему времени, ежели представить себе, что со дня этих маневров прошло тридцать лет. Как поэта, он ставил Некрасова выше всех (и Пушкина, и Лермонтова, и Кольцова). У Ленина "Травиата" исторгала рыдания; так и Чернышевский признавался, что поэзия сердца всё же милее ему поэзии мысли, и обливался слезами над иными стихами Некрасова (даже ямбами!), высказывающими всё, что он сам испытал, все терзания его молодости, все фазы его любви к жене. И то сказать: пятистопный ямб Некрасова особенно чарует нас своей увещевательной, просительной, пророчущей силой и этой своеродной цезурой на второй стопе, цезурой, которая у Пушкина, скажем, является в смысле пения стиха органом рудиментарным, но которая у Некрасова становится действительно органом дыхания, словно из перегородки она превратилась в провал, или словно обе части строки растянулись, так что после второй стопы образовался промежуток, полный музыки. Вслушиваясь в эти впалые строки, в этот гортанный, рыдающий говорок: "Не говори, что дни твои унылы, тюремщиком больного не зови: передо мной холодный мрак могилы, перед тобой - объятия любви! Я знаю, ты другого полюбила, щадить и ждать (слышите клекот!) наскучило тебе... О погоди! близка моя могила - - ", вслушиваясь в это, Чернышевский не мог не думать о том, что напрасно жена торопится ему изменять, а близостью могилы была та тень крепости, которая уже протягивалась к нему. Мало того: повидимому, чувствовал это, - не в разумном, а орфеическом смысле, - и поэт, написавший эти строки, ибо именно их ритм ("Не говори...") со странной навязчивостью перекликается с ритмом стихов, впоследствии посвященных им Чернышевскому: "Не говори, забыл он осторожность, он будет сам судьбы своей виной" и т. д.
The other literary reviews picked at him as much as they could. The critic Dudyshkin (in The National Commentator) huffily aimed his dudeen at him: “Poetry for you is merely chapters of political economy transposed into verse.” His ill-wishers in the mystical camp spoke about Chernyshevski’s “evil lure,” about his physical resemblance to the Devil (for instance, Prof. Kostomarov). Other journalists, of a plainer cast, like Blagosvetlov (who considered himself a dandy and despite his radicalism had as footboy a real, undyed blackamoor) talked about Chernyshevski’s dirty rubbers and German-cum-sexton’s style of dress. Nekrasov stood up for the “sensible fellow” (whom he had got for The Contemporary) with a limp smile, admitting that he had managed to lay the stamp of monotony on the magazine by stuffing it with mediocre tales denouncing bribe-taking and policemen; but he praised his colleague for his fruitful labors: thanks to him the magazine had 4,700 subscribers in 1858 and three years later—7,000. Nikolay Gavrilovich’s relations with Nekrasov were friendly but no more; there is a hint concerning some financial arrangements which displeased him. In 1883, in order to divert the old man, his cousin Pypin suggested that he should write some “portraits of the past.” Chernyshevski depicted his first meeting with Nekrasov with the meticulousness and laboriousness already familiar to us (giving a complex plan of all their mutual movements about the room including practically the number of footsteps), a detailism sounding like an insult inflicted on Father Time and his honest work, if one remembers that thirty years had elapsed since these maneuvers took place. He placed Nekrasov the poet above all others (above Pushkin, above Lermontov and Koltsov). La Traviata made Lenin weep; similarly, Chernyshevski, who confessed that poetry of the heart was even dearer to him than poetry of ideas, used to burst into tears over those of Nekrasov’s verses (even iambic ones!) which expressed everything he himself had experienced, all the torments of his youth, all the phases of his love for his wife. And no wonder: Nekrasov’s iambic pentameter enchants us particularly by its hortatory, supplicatory and prophetic force and by a very individual caesura after the second foot, a caesura which in Pushkin, say, is a rudimentary organ insofar as it controls the melody of the line, but which in Nekrasov becomes a genuine organ of breathing, as if it had turned from a partition into a pit, or as if the two-foot part of the line and the three-foot part had moved asunder, leaving after the second foot an interval full of music. As he listened to these hollow-chested verses, to this guttural, sobbing articulation—
Oh, do not say the life you lead is dismal,
And do not call a jailer one half-dead!
Before me Night yawns chilly and abysmal.
The arms of Love before you are outspread.
I know, to you another is now dearer,
It irks you now to spare me and to wait.
Oh, bear with me! My end is drawing nearer,
Let Fate complete what was begun by Fate!
—Chernyshevski could not help thinking that his wife should not hasten to deceive him; could not help identifying the nearness of the end with the shadow of the prison already stretching out toward him. And that was not all: evidently this connection was felt—not in the rational but in the Orphic sense—also by the poet who wrote these lines, for it is precisely their rhythm (“Oh, do not say”) that was echoed with a bizarre haunting quality in the poem he subsequently wrote about Chernyshevski:
Oh, do not say he has forgotten caution,
For his own Fate himself he’ll be to blame…
At the picnic on Ada’s sixteenth birthday Marina (Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother) sings the Green Grass aria from Traverdiata, as Verdi’s opera is known on Demonia (aka Antiterra, Earth’s twin planet on which Ada is set):
Gradually their presence dissolved from Van’s mind. Everybody was now having a wonderful time. Marina threw off the pale raincoat or rather ‘dustcoat’ she had put on for the picnic (after all, with one thing and another, her domestic gray dress with the pink fichu was quite gay enough, she declared, for an old lady) and raising an empty glass she sang, with brio and very musically, the Green Grass aria: ‘Replenish, replenish the glasses with wine! Here’s a toast to love! To the rapture of love!’ With awe and pity, and no love, Van kept reverting to that poor bald patch on Traverdiata’s poor old head, to the scalp burnished by her hairdye an awful pine rust color much shinier than her dead hair. He attempted, as so many times before, to squeeze out some fondness for her but as usual failed and as usual told himself that Ada did not love her mother either, a vague and cowardly consolation. (1.39)
As a birthday present, Greg Erminin gives Ada a little camel of yellow ivory carved in Kiev, five centuries ago, in the days of Timur and Nabok:
Ada had declined to invite anybody except the Erminin twins to her picnic; but she had had no intention of inviting the brother without the sister. The latter, it turned out, could not come, having gone to New Cranton to see a young drummer, her first boy friend, sail off into the sunrise with his regiment. But Greg had to be asked to come after all: on the previous day he had called on her bringing a ‘talisman’ from his very sick father, who wanted Ada to treasure as much as his grandam had a little camel of yellow ivory carved in Kiev, five centuries ago, in the days of Timur and Nabok. (ibid.)
Camellia is a genus of flowering plants in the family Theaceae. They are found in tropical and subtropical areas in eastern and southern Asia, from the Himalayas east to Japan and Indonesia. The genus was named by Linnaeus after the Jesuit botanist George Joseph Kamel (1661-1706), who worked in the Philippines and described one of its species (although Linnaeus did not refer to Kamel's account when discussing the genus). Ada's favorite ancestor, Prince Vseslav Zemski (1699-1797) was a friend of Linnaeus (the author of Flora Lapponica):
They went back to the corridor, she tossing her hair, he clearing his throat. Further down, a door of some playroom or nursery stood ajar and stirred to and fro as little Lucette peeped out, one russet knee showing. Then the doorleaf flew open — but she darted inside and away. Cobalt sailing boats adorned the white tiles of a stove, and as her sister and he passed by that open door a toy barrel organ invitingly went into action with a stumbling little minuet. Ada and Van returned to the ground floor — this time all the way down the sumptuous staircase. Of the many ancestors along the wall, she pointed out her favorite, old Prince Vseslav Zemski (1699-1797), friend of Linnaeus and author of Flora Ladorica, who was portrayed in rich oil holding his barely pubescent bride and her blond doll in his satin lap. An enlarged photograph, soberly framed, hung (rather incongruously, Van thought) next to the rose-bud-lover in his embroidered coat. The late Sumerechnikov, American precursor of the Lumière brothers, had taken Ada’s maternal uncle in profile with upcheeked violin, a doomed youth, after his farewell concert. (1.6)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Sumerechnikov: the name is derived from ‘sumerki’ (‘dusk’ in Russian).
A cummerbunded Dutchman who calls Van's father "a famous gambler" makes one think of the two central figures in Rembrandt's painting "The Night Watch." Describing the beginning of his lifelong romance with Ada, Van says that remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive and calls memory "a photo studio de-luxe on the infinite Fifth Power Avenue. Btw., in the police records Pushkin (the author of "Remembrance," 1828) was known as izvestnyi bankomyot (a notorious gambler).
Before he falls asleep and dreams of floramors, Van mentions the trains:
A sense of otiose emptiness was all Van derived from those contacts with Literature. Even while writing his book, he had become painfully aware how little he knew his own planet while attempting to piece together another one from jagged bits filched from deranged brains. He decided that after completing his medical studies at Kingston (which he found more congenial than good old Chose) he would undertake long travels in South America, Africa, India. As a boy of fifteen (Eric Veen’s age of florescence) he had studied with a poet’s passion the time-table of three great American transcontinental trains that one day he would take — not alone (now alone). From Manhattan, via Mephisto, El Paso, Meksikansk and the Panama Chunnel, the dark-red New World Express reached Brazilia and Witch (or Viedma, founded by a Russian admiral). There it split into two parts, the eastern one continuing to Grant’s Horn, and the western returning north through Valparaiso and Bogota. On alternate days the fabulous journey began in Yukonsk, a two-way section going to the Atlantic seaboard, while another, via California and Central America, roared into Uruguay. The dark blue African Express began in London and reached the Cape by three different routes, through Nigero, Rodosia or Ephiopia. Finally, the brown Orient Express joined London to Ceylon and Sydney, via Turkey and several Chunnels. It is not clear, when you are falling asleep, why all continents except you begin with an A.
Those three admirable trains included at least two carriages in which a fastidious traveler could rent a bedroom with bath and water closet, and a drawing room with a piano or a harp. The length of the journey varied according to Van’s predormient mood when at Eric’s age he imagined the landscapes unfolding all along his comfortable, too comfortable, fauteuil. Through rain forests and mountain canyons and other fascinating places (oh, name them! Can’t — falling asleep), the room moved as slowly as fifteen miles per hour but across desertorum or agricultural drearies it attained seventy, ninety-seven night-nine, one hund, red dog — (2.2)
All continents (except Europe) that begin with an A bring to mind AAA (Van's Russian tutor Andrey Andreevich Aksakov).
Brazilia reminds one of briz iz Brazilii ("a breeze from Brasil" omitted in the English version) in Fyodor's verses that he composes while falling asleep:
Он лег и под шопот дождя начал засыпать. Как всегда, на грани сознания и сна всякий словесный брак, блестя и звеня, вылез наружу: хрустальный хруст той ночи христианской под хризолитовой звездой... -- и прислушавшаяся на мгновение мысль, в стремлении прибрать и использовать, от себя стала добавлять: и умер исполин яснополянский, и умер Пушкин молодой... -- а так как это было ужасно, то побежала дальше рябь рифмы: и умер врач зубной Шполянский, астраханский, ханский, сломал наш Ганс кий... Ветер переменился, и пошло на зе: изобразили и бриз из Бразилии, изобразили и ризу грозы... тут был опять кончик, доделанный мыслью, которая опускалась всё ниже в ад аллигаторских аллитераций, в адские кооперативы слов, не "благо", а "blague".
He went to bed and began to fall asleep to the whisper of the rain. As always on the border between consciousness and sleep all sorts of verbal rejects, sparkling and tinkling, broke in: “The crystal crunching of that Christian night beneath a chrysolitic star”… and his thought, listening for a moment, aspired to gather them and use them and began to add of its own: Extinguished, Yasnaya Polyana’s light, and Pushkin dead, and Russia far… but since this was no good, the stipple of rhymes extended further: “A falling star, a cruising chrysolite, an aviator’s avatar …” His mind sank lower and lower into a hell of alligator alliterations, into infernal cooperatives of words. (The Gift, Chapter Five)
Ispolin Yasnopolyanski (Yasnaya Polyana's light) is Tolstoy. Eric Veen derived his project from reading too many erotic works found in a furnished house his grandfather had bought near Vence from Count Tolstoy, a Russian or Pole:
In the spring of 1869, David van Veen, a wealthy architect of Flemish extraction (in no way related to the Veens of our rambling romance), escaped uninjured when the motorcar he was driving from Cannes to Calais blew a front tire on a frost-blazed road and tore into a parked furniture van; his daughter sitting beside him was instantly killed by a suitcase sailing into her from behind and breaking her neck. In his London studio her husband, an unbalanced, unsuccessful painter (ten years older than his father-in-law whom he envied and despised) shot himself upon receiving the news by cablegram from a village in Normandy called, dreadfully, Deuil.
The momentum of disaster lost none of its speed, for neither did Eric, a boy of fifteen, despite all the care and adoration which his grandfather surrounded him with, escape a freakish fate: a fate strangely similar to his mother’s.
After being removed from Note to a small private school in Vaud Canton and then spending a consumptive summer in the Maritime Alps, he was sent to Ex-en-Valais, whose crystal air was supposed at the time to strengthen young lungs; instead of which its worst hurricane hurled a roof tile at him, fatally fracturing his skull. Among the boy’s belongings David van Veen found a number of poems and the draft of an essay entitled 'Villa Venus: an Organized Dream.’
To put it bluntly, the boy had sought to solace his first sexual torments by imagining and detailing a project (derived from reading too many erotic works found in a furnished house his grandfather had bought near Vence from Count Tolstoy, a Russian or Pole): namely, a chain of palatial brothels that his inheritance would allow him to establish all over ‘both hemispheres of our callipygian globe.’ The little chap saw it as a kind of fashionable club, with branches, or, in his poetical phrase, ‘Floramors,’ in the vicinity of cities and spas. Membership was to be restricted to noblemen, ‘handsome and healthy,’ with an age limit of fifty (which must be praised as very broadminded on the poor kid’s part), paying a yearly fee of 3650 guineas not counting the cost of bouquets, jewels and other gallant donations. Resident female physicians, good-looking and young (‘of the American secretarial or dentist-assistant type’), would be there to check the intimate physical condition of ‘the caresser and the caressed’ (another felicitous formula) as well as their own if ‘the need arose.’ One clause in the Rules of the Club seemed to indicate that Eric, though frenziedly heterosexual, had enjoyed some tender ersatz fumblings with schoolmates at Note (a notorious preparatory school in that respect): at least two of the maximum number of fifty inmates in the major floramors might be pretty boys, wearing frontlets and short smocks, not older than fourteen if fair, and not more than twelve if dark. However, in order to exclude a regular flow of ‘inveterate pederasts,’ boy love could be dabbled in by the jaded guest only between two sequences of three girls each, all possessed in the course of the same week — a somewhat comical, but not unshrewd, stipulation. (2.3)
An aviator's avatar in the English version of "The Gift" makes one think of Demon's destiny. In March, 1905, Van's and Ada's father perishes in a mysterious airplane disaster above the Pacific. Van does not realize that his father died, because Ada (who could not pardon Demon his forcing Van to give her up) managed to persuade the pilot to destroy his machine in midair.