Subject
Sinister bend (fwd)
Date
Body
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Jeff Edmunds <JHE@psulias.psu.edu>
To: nabokv-l@UCSBVM.ucsb.edu
1 April 1995
Nabokovians:
A few weeks ago Galya Diment reported on the existence of Platon Nabokov, a
poet(aster?) and distant relative of VN residing in Russia. In response to
her message I mentioned the recent appearance of another more
controversial and less distant Nabokov relative in France. Here are the details:
It seems that in 1994 a certain French writer and university professor
named Jacques Tenier published his first novel (called, curiously, Le
poisson d'avril), which was met with much critical acclaim. Like Alain
Robbe-Grillet's so-called _Romanesques_ and to a lesser extent Nabokov's
_Speak, Memory_, Tenier's book subtly blends the autobiographical with the
fictional to create a universe that is both enchantingly magical and
indubitably real.
In refining the approach to fiction evident in his first book, Tenier began
a second novel that was to delve more deeply into his personal past. He
hired an assistant (a former student) to research the Tenier family history
in Paris and Anvers. Very soon some curious things were discovered. Jacques
Tenier, it turned out, had been adopted as an infant by the parents he had
always assumed were his biological mother and father. His research
assistant had located a copy of his birth certificate at a municipal
library outside Paris. Before we get to the names on the document, a brief
trip back in time is warranted.
Every Nabokovian is aware of VN's extramarital affair with Irina Guadanini.
Field devotes four pages to it, Boyd about the same. Nabokov and Guadanini
met in Paris in January 1937 and the affair began soon after. (At the time
Nabokov's wife and young son were still living in Berlin.) In the months
that followed, Nabokov suffered terribly from his indiscretion and after an
exchange of impassioned letters ultimately decided to break with Guadanini.
Irina was heartbroken and tried to salvage the relationship. Meanwhile
Nabokov had travelled to Cannes with his family. In a last ditch effort to
win Nabokov back, Guadanini went to Cannes in September of 1937. Boyd gives
a poignant description of this final rendezvous manque.
Guadanini ended up living a reclusive life in Montparnasse with her mother,
writing poetry, and earning a little money as a poodle trimmer. She
published a single book of verse, _Pis'ma_ (about which more in a moment)
and died in a Russian convalescent home outside Paris in 1976.
Neither Field nor Boyd gives a specific motive for Irina Guadanini's trip
to see Nabokov in Cannes. Nabokov had requested in August that she return
his letters, and it was obvious that his choice had been made--he would
remain with his son and with the woman who would be his soul mate for the
next forty years.
Hold on to your hats:
Irina Guadanini had gone to Cannes to tell Nabokov she was pregnant with
his child.
Jacques Tenier was born in February 1938. The mother's name on the birth
certificate is "Irina Kokoshkin". (Kokoshkin, it turns out, is the family
name of Irina Guadanini's mother's first husband.) No father is listed--
only the enigmatic initials B.H.C. Tenier's research assistant could make
nothing of all this, but when Tenier was informed he had no difficulty in
establishing who B.H.C. was once the rest of the information became known.
The woman who had raised Tenier was of Russian descent and Tenier was
raised in a Russian household. He speaks Russian fluently, Russian
literature being his specialty at the university. The "B.H.C." he
recognized at once, was not roman but Cyrillic, and could stand for
Vladimir Nabokoff-Sirine.
There can be, of course, no proof of all this (barring at least one
unpleasant exhumation and a round of DNA tests for everyone). The French
press is making much of Tenier's supposed relation to Nabokov. Tenier, for
his part (and I find this more subtly convincing than any of the other
evidence) remains indifferent to the revelation: "C'est l'art et non pas la
verite qui m'interesse." (Interview in _Le Monde_, 21.9.94)
A final piece of evidence. As Field and Boyd both note, Guadanini and
Nabokov exchanged a series of letters until August 1937. In ending the
affair Nabokov requested that Irina return the letters he had sent to her.
She refused. It is interesting that the book of poetry she published in
Munich in 1962 is titled _Pis'ma_ [Letters], and that many of the poems
deal with lost love. I quote one here with a hasty translation:
Son
I snova, snova etot son--
chto posle stol'kikh let razluki
dva serdtsa b'iutsia v unison,
zabyv perezhitye muki.
Vse tot zhe tsvet liubimykh glaz,
vse ta zhe milaia ulybka...
No srazu svet dnevnoi pogas
i vse stanovitsia tak zybko
i net tebia...
I ia speshu--
k chasovne na opushke parka,
luna na nebe svetit iarko,
u sklepa placha, ia krichu
i v dver' zheleznuiu stuchu,
vzbezhav na nizkie stupeni...
A na stene, peredo mnoi,
odnoiu sviazany sud'boi,
ia vizhu dve spletennykh teni...
[The Dream
And again, again this dream--
that after so many years apart
two hearts beat in unison,
having forgotten the torments endured.
Still the same color of beloved eyes,
still the same dear smile...
But suddenly the daylight goes out
and everything grows so unsteady
and you're not there...
And I rush--
to the chapel at the edge of the park,
the moon shines brightly in the sky,
weeping by the crypt, I cry out,
and knock on the iron door,
having run up the low stairs...
And on the wall, before me,
bound by a common fate,
I see two interlaced shadows.]
Doggerel? Perhaps. But there are at least three points of interest. The
first is the use of the word "zybko" [which I have insufficiently
translated as "unsteady"]--a word which in its several forms Nabokov used
often in his Russian prose. The second is the title: Guadanini knew English
and would have been aware that "son" [dream] in Russian romanizes to "son"
[male child] in English. It's anyone's guess as to whether the poem is
addressed to VN or to the infant she gave up for adoption thirty years
previously.
Finally, there is the last line, which I find both Nabokovian and
peculiarly suggestive. Can it be pure coincidence that "teni" [shadows] is
very close to "Tenier"--or that "Tenier", read as Russian, gives "tenei",
"of the shadows"?
It appears that one branch of the Nabokov family tree may indeed have taken
a sinister bend.
Jeff Edmunds
jhe@psulias.psu.edu
From: Jeff Edmunds <JHE@psulias.psu.edu>
To: nabokv-l@UCSBVM.ucsb.edu
1 April 1995
Nabokovians:
A few weeks ago Galya Diment reported on the existence of Platon Nabokov, a
poet(aster?) and distant relative of VN residing in Russia. In response to
her message I mentioned the recent appearance of another more
controversial and less distant Nabokov relative in France. Here are the details:
It seems that in 1994 a certain French writer and university professor
named Jacques Tenier published his first novel (called, curiously, Le
poisson d'avril), which was met with much critical acclaim. Like Alain
Robbe-Grillet's so-called _Romanesques_ and to a lesser extent Nabokov's
_Speak, Memory_, Tenier's book subtly blends the autobiographical with the
fictional to create a universe that is both enchantingly magical and
indubitably real.
In refining the approach to fiction evident in his first book, Tenier began
a second novel that was to delve more deeply into his personal past. He
hired an assistant (a former student) to research the Tenier family history
in Paris and Anvers. Very soon some curious things were discovered. Jacques
Tenier, it turned out, had been adopted as an infant by the parents he had
always assumed were his biological mother and father. His research
assistant had located a copy of his birth certificate at a municipal
library outside Paris. Before we get to the names on the document, a brief
trip back in time is warranted.
Every Nabokovian is aware of VN's extramarital affair with Irina Guadanini.
Field devotes four pages to it, Boyd about the same. Nabokov and Guadanini
met in Paris in January 1937 and the affair began soon after. (At the time
Nabokov's wife and young son were still living in Berlin.) In the months
that followed, Nabokov suffered terribly from his indiscretion and after an
exchange of impassioned letters ultimately decided to break with Guadanini.
Irina was heartbroken and tried to salvage the relationship. Meanwhile
Nabokov had travelled to Cannes with his family. In a last ditch effort to
win Nabokov back, Guadanini went to Cannes in September of 1937. Boyd gives
a poignant description of this final rendezvous manque.
Guadanini ended up living a reclusive life in Montparnasse with her mother,
writing poetry, and earning a little money as a poodle trimmer. She
published a single book of verse, _Pis'ma_ (about which more in a moment)
and died in a Russian convalescent home outside Paris in 1976.
Neither Field nor Boyd gives a specific motive for Irina Guadanini's trip
to see Nabokov in Cannes. Nabokov had requested in August that she return
his letters, and it was obvious that his choice had been made--he would
remain with his son and with the woman who would be his soul mate for the
next forty years.
Hold on to your hats:
Irina Guadanini had gone to Cannes to tell Nabokov she was pregnant with
his child.
Jacques Tenier was born in February 1938. The mother's name on the birth
certificate is "Irina Kokoshkin". (Kokoshkin, it turns out, is the family
name of Irina Guadanini's mother's first husband.) No father is listed--
only the enigmatic initials B.H.C. Tenier's research assistant could make
nothing of all this, but when Tenier was informed he had no difficulty in
establishing who B.H.C. was once the rest of the information became known.
The woman who had raised Tenier was of Russian descent and Tenier was
raised in a Russian household. He speaks Russian fluently, Russian
literature being his specialty at the university. The "B.H.C." he
recognized at once, was not roman but Cyrillic, and could stand for
Vladimir Nabokoff-Sirine.
There can be, of course, no proof of all this (barring at least one
unpleasant exhumation and a round of DNA tests for everyone). The French
press is making much of Tenier's supposed relation to Nabokov. Tenier, for
his part (and I find this more subtly convincing than any of the other
evidence) remains indifferent to the revelation: "C'est l'art et non pas la
verite qui m'interesse." (Interview in _Le Monde_, 21.9.94)
A final piece of evidence. As Field and Boyd both note, Guadanini and
Nabokov exchanged a series of letters until August 1937. In ending the
affair Nabokov requested that Irina return the letters he had sent to her.
She refused. It is interesting that the book of poetry she published in
Munich in 1962 is titled _Pis'ma_ [Letters], and that many of the poems
deal with lost love. I quote one here with a hasty translation:
Son
I snova, snova etot son--
chto posle stol'kikh let razluki
dva serdtsa b'iutsia v unison,
zabyv perezhitye muki.
Vse tot zhe tsvet liubimykh glaz,
vse ta zhe milaia ulybka...
No srazu svet dnevnoi pogas
i vse stanovitsia tak zybko
i net tebia...
I ia speshu--
k chasovne na opushke parka,
luna na nebe svetit iarko,
u sklepa placha, ia krichu
i v dver' zheleznuiu stuchu,
vzbezhav na nizkie stupeni...
A na stene, peredo mnoi,
odnoiu sviazany sud'boi,
ia vizhu dve spletennykh teni...
[The Dream
And again, again this dream--
that after so many years apart
two hearts beat in unison,
having forgotten the torments endured.
Still the same color of beloved eyes,
still the same dear smile...
But suddenly the daylight goes out
and everything grows so unsteady
and you're not there...
And I rush--
to the chapel at the edge of the park,
the moon shines brightly in the sky,
weeping by the crypt, I cry out,
and knock on the iron door,
having run up the low stairs...
And on the wall, before me,
bound by a common fate,
I see two interlaced shadows.]
Doggerel? Perhaps. But there are at least three points of interest. The
first is the use of the word "zybko" [which I have insufficiently
translated as "unsteady"]--a word which in its several forms Nabokov used
often in his Russian prose. The second is the title: Guadanini knew English
and would have been aware that "son" [dream] in Russian romanizes to "son"
[male child] in English. It's anyone's guess as to whether the poem is
addressed to VN or to the infant she gave up for adoption thirty years
previously.
Finally, there is the last line, which I find both Nabokovian and
peculiarly suggestive. Can it be pure coincidence that "teni" [shadows] is
very close to "Tenier"--or that "Tenier", read as Russian, gives "tenei",
"of the shadows"?
It appears that one branch of the Nabokov family tree may indeed have taken
a sinister bend.
Jeff Edmunds
jhe@psulias.psu.edu