According to Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN’s novel Lolita, 1955), among the pseudonyms that he has toyed with before hitting on a particularly apt one was "Mesmer Mesmer:"
This then is my story. I have reread it. It has bits of marrow sticking to it, and blood, and beautiful bright-green flies. At this or that twist of it I feel my slippery self eluding me, gliding into deeper and darker waters than I care to probe. I have camouflaged what I could so as not to hurt people. And I have toyed with many pseudonyms for myself before I hit on a particularly apt one. There are in my notes “Otto Otto” and “Mesmer Mesmer” and “Lambert Lambert,” but for some reason I think my choice expresses the nastiness best. (2.36)
“Mesmer Mesmer” brings to mind E. A. Poe’s story Mesmeric Revelation (1844). The author of Annabel Lee (1849), a poem evoked by Humbert Humbert at the beginning of his memoirs, E. A. Poe dedicated his collection The Raven and Other Poems (1845) to Miss Elizabeth Barrett Barrett. In September 1846 Miss Barrett married Robert Browning. Describing his stay in Elphinstone (the town in which Lolita is abducted from him), Humbert Humbert “quotes” Browning’s poem Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister:
No doubt, I was a little delirious - and on the following day I was still a vibration rather than a solid, for when I looked out the bathroom window at the adjacent lawn, I saw Dolly’s beautiful young bicycle propped up there on its support, the graceful front wheel looking away from me, as it always did, and a sparrow perched on the saddle - but it was the landlady’s bike, and smiling a little, and shaking my poor head over my fond fancies, I tottered back to my bed, and lay as quiet as a saint
Saint, forsooth! While brown Dolores,
On a patch of sunny green
With Sanchicha reading stories
In a movie magazine
which was represented by numerous specimens wherever Dolores landed, and there was some great national celebration in town judging by the firecrackers, veritable bombs, that exploded all the time, and at five minutes to two p. m. I heard the sound of whistling lips nearing the half-opened door of my cabin, and then a thump upon it. (2.22)
Elphinstone brings to mind Ravenstone, in VN’s novel Pale Fire (1962) one of Gradus’ names in police records:
Jakob Gradus called himself variously Jack Degree or Jacques de Grey, or James de Gray, and also appears in police records as Ravus, Ravenstone, and d'Argus. Having a morbid affection for the ruddy Russia of the Soviet era, he contended that the real origin of his name should be sought in the Russian word for grape, vinograd, to which a Latin suffix had adhered, making in Vinogradus. His father, Martin Gradus, had been a Protestant minister in Riga, but except for him and a maternal uncle (Roman Tselovalnikov, police officer and part-time member of the Social-Revolutionary party), the whole clan seems to have been in the liquor business. Martin Gradus died in 1920, and his widow moved to Strasbourg where she soon died, too. (note to Line 17)
While ravus is Latin for “grey,” a ravenstone is a place of execution, akin to gallows. In both “ravenstone” and ravenstvo (Russ., equality) there is “raven.” In VN's novel Podvig ("Glory," 1932) Martin Edelweiss describes Zoorland (a northern country that resembles Kinbote's Zembla) to Sonia Zilanov and mentions ravenstvo golov (equality of heads):
С этого дня началась между ними по случайному поводу серия особенных разговоров. Мартын, решив поразить Сонино воображение, очень туманно намекнул на то, что вступил в тайный союз, налаживающий кое-какие операции разведочного свойства. Правда, союзы такие существовали, правда, общий знакомый, поручик Мелких, по слухам пробирался дважды кое-куда, правда и то, что Мартын все искал случая поближе с ним сойтись (раз даже угощал его ужином) и все жалел, что не встретился в Швейцарии с Грузиновым, о котором упомянул Зиланов, и который, по наведенным справкам, оказался человеком больших авантюр, террористом, заговорщиком, руководителем недавних крестьянских восстаний. "Я не знала, что ты о таких вещах думаешь. Но только, знаешь, если ты правда вступил в организацию, очень глупо об этом сразу болтать". "Ах, я пошутил", - сказал Мартын и загадочно прищурился для того, чтобы Соня подумала, что он нарочно обратил это в шутку. Но она этой тонкости не заметила; валяясь на сухой, хвойными иглами устланной земле, под соснами, стволы которых были испещрены солнцем, она закинула голые руки за голову, показывая прелестные впадины подмышек, недавно выбритые и теперь словно заштрихованные карандашом, - и сказала, что это странно, - она тоже об этом часто думает: вот есть на свете страна, куда вход простым смертным воспрещен: "Как мы ее назовем?" - спросил Мартын, вдруг вспомнив игры с Лидой на крымском лукоморье. "Что-нибудь такое - северное, - ответила Соня. - Смотри, белка". Белка, играя в прятки, толчками поднялась по стволу и куда-то исчезла. "Например - Зоорландия, - сказал Мартын. - О ней упоминают норманны". "Ну, конечно - Зоорландия", - подхватила Соня, и он широко улыбнулся, несколько потрясенный неожиданно открывшейся в ней способностью мечтать. "Можно снять муравья?" - спросил он в скобках. "Зависит откуда". "С чулка". "Убирайся, милый", - обратилась она к муравью, смахнула его сама и продолжала: "Там холодные зимы и сосулищи с крыш, - целая система, как, что ли, органные трубы, - а потом все тает, и все очень водянисто, и на снегу - точки вроде копоти, вообще, знаешь, я все могу тебе рассказать, вот, например, вышел там закон, что всем жителям надо брить головы, и потому теперь самые важные, самые такие влиятельные люди - парикмахеры". "Равенство голов", - сказал Мартын. "Да. И конечно лучше всего лысым. И, знаешь - " "Бубнов был бы счастлив", - в шутку вставил Мартын.
Something they discussed that day happened to lead to a series of quite special exchanges between them. With the intent of striking Sonia’s imagination, Martin vaguely alluded to his having joined a secret group of anti-Bolshevist conspirators that organized reconnaissance operations. It was perfectly true that such a group did exist; in fact, a common friend of theirs, one Lieutenant Melkikh, had twice crossed the border on dangerous missions; it was also true that Martin kept looking for an opportunity to make friends with him (once he had even invited him to dinner) and always regretted that while in Switzerland he had not met the mysterious Gruzinov, whom Zilanov had mentioned, and who, according to information Martin had gathered, emerged as a man of great adventures, a terrorist, a very special spy, and the mastermind of recent peasant revolts against the Soviet rule.
“It never occurred to me,” said Sonia, “that you thought about things like that. Only, you know, if you really have joined that organization, it’s very naive to start blabbing about it right away.”
“Oh, I was only joking,” said Martin, and slit his eyes enigmatically so as to make Sonia believe he had deliberately turned it into a joke. She, however, did not catch that nuance; stretched out on the dry, needle-strewn ground, beneath the pines whose trunks the sun blotched with color, she put her bare arms behind her head, exposing her lovely armpits which she had recently started to shave and which were now shaded as if with a pencil, and said it was a strange thing, but she too had often thought about it—about there being a land where ordinary mortals were not admitted.
“What shall we call that land?” asked Martin, suddenly recollecting his games with Lida on the Crimean fairy-tale shore.
“Some northern name,” answered Sonia. “Look at that squirrel.” The squirrel, playing hide-and-seek, jerkily climbed a tree trunk and vanished amidst the foliage.
“Zoorland, for example,” said Martin. “A Norman mariner mentions it.”
“Yes, of course—Zoorland,” Sonia concurred, and he grinned broadly, somewhat astounded by her unexpectedly revealed capacity for daydreaming.
“May I remove an ant?” he asked parenthetically.
“Depends where.”
“Stocking.”
“Scram, chum” (addressing the ant). She brushed it off and continued, as if reciting, “Winters are cold there, a law that all inhabitants must shave their heads, so that now the most important, most influential people are the barbers.”
“Equality of heads,” said Martin.
“Yes. And of course the bald ones are best off. And you know——”
“Bubnov would have a grand time there,” Martin interjected facetiously. (chapter 34)
The title of VN’s novel seems to hint at podvig blagorodnyi (noble feat), a phrase used by Pushkin in his sonnet Poetu (“To a Poet,” 1830):
Поэт! не дорожи любовию народной.
Восторженных похвал пройдёт минутный шум;
Услышишь суд глупца и смех толпы холодной,
Но ты останься твёрд, спокоен и угрюм.
Ты царь: живи один. Дорогою свободной
Иди, куда влечёт тебя свободный ум,
Усовершенствуя плоды любимых дум,
Не требуя наград за подвиг благородный.
Они в самом тебе. Ты сам свой высший суд;
Всех строже оценить умеешь ты свой труд.
Ты им доволен ли, взыскательный художник?
Доволен? Так пускай толпа его бранит
И плюет на алтарь, где твой огонь горит,
И в детской резвости колеблет твой треножник.
Poet! do not cling to popular affection.
The temporary noise of ecstatic praises will pass;
You will hear the fool’s judgment, the laugh of the cold crowd,
But you must remain firm, calm, and morose.
You are a king; live alone. By way of the free road
Go wherever your free mind draws you,
Perfecting the fruits of your beloved thoughts,
Not asking any rewards for your noble feat.
They are inside you. You are your highest judge;
More strictly than anyone can you appraise your work.
Are you satisfied with it, exacting artist?
Satisfied? Then let the crowd treat it harshly
And spit on the altar, where your fire burns
And shake your tripod in childish playfulness.
(transl. Diana Senechal)
In his essay Balmont-lirik (“Balmont the Lyric Poet”) included in Kniga otrazheniy (“The Book of Reflections,” 1906) Nik. T-o (“Mr. Nobody,” I. Annenski’s penname) complains that we do not want to look at poetry seriously and mentions (among other “emblems” used by Pushkin in his sonnet “To a Poet”) podvig:
Да и не хотим мы глядеть на поэзию серьёзно, т. е. как на искусство. На словах поэзия будет для нас, пожалуй, и служение, и подвиг, и огонь, и алтарь, и какая там ещё не потревожена эмблема, а на деле мы всё ещё ценим в ней сладкий лимонад, не лишённый, впрочем, и полезности, которая даже строгим и огорчённым русским читателем очень ценится. Разве можно думать над стихами? Что же тогда останется для алгебры?
“How can one meditate about verses? What will then remain for algebra?”
In Ramsdale Humbert fears that Charlotte (Lolita’s mother) will send her daughter to St. Algebra. In Pushkin’s little tragedy Mozart and Salieri (1830) Salieri says that he cut up music like a corpse and measured harmony by algebra:
Звуки умертвив,
Музыку я разъял, как труп. Поверил
Я алгеброй гармонию.
Having stifled sounds,
I cut up music like a corpse. I measured
Harmony by algebra. (scene I)
In Pushkin’s little tragedy Mozart mentions the power of harmony and uses the phrase nikto b (none would):
Когда бы все так чувствовали силу
Гармонии! Но нет: тогда б не мог
И мир существовать; никто б не стал
Заботиться о нуждах низкой жизни;
Все предались бы вольному искусству.
If only all so quickly felt the power
Of harmony! But no, in that event
The world could not exist; none would care
About the needs of lowly life,
All would give themselves to free art. (scene II)
Shade’s, Kinbote’s and Gradus’ “real” name seems to be Botkin (nikto b in reverse). In his Commentary Kinbote mentions Professor Botkin and quotes Shade’s words about 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)
The first essay in Annenski’s “Book of Reflections” is entitled Problema gogolevskogo yumora (“The Problem of Gogol’s Humor”). The essays in Annenski’s “Second Book of Reflection” (1909) include Yumor Lermontova (“Lermontov’s Humor”). One of Lermontov’s poems begins with the line Na serebryanye shpory… (“At the silver spurs,” 1833-34):
На серебряные шпоры
Я в раздумии гляжу;
За тебя, скакун мой скорый,
За бока твои дрожу.
Наши предки их не знали
И, гарцуя средь степей,
Толстой плёткой погоняли
Недоезжаных коней.
Но с успехом просвещенья,
Вместо грубой старины,
Введены изобретенья
Чужеземной стороны;
В наше время кормят, холют,
Берегут спинную честь...
Прежде били - нынче колют!
Что же выгодней? - бог весть!
In Elphinstone Humbert and Lolita stay at Silver Spur Court:
The two-room cabin we had ordered at Silver Spur Court, Elphinstone, turned out to belong to the glossily browned pine-log kind that Lolita used to be so fond of in the days of our carefree first journey; oh, how different things were now! I am not referring to Trapp or Trapps. After all - well, really… After all, gentlemen, it was becoming abundantly clear that all those identical detectives in prismatically changing cars were figments of my persecution mania, recurrent images based on coincidence and chance resemblance. Soyons logiques, crowed the cocky Gallic part of my brain - and proceeded to rout the notion of a Lolita-maddened salesman or comedy gangster, with stooges, persecuting me, and hoaxing me, and otherwise taking riotous advantage of my strange relations with the law. I remember humming my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a nymphet, stop torturing me. (2.22)
The sonnets in Balmont’s “Sonnets of Sun, Honey and Moon” (1921) include El’f (“The Elf,” 1917) and “Lermontov,” a cycle of four sonnets. Balmont translated Poe’s Raven (Voron, 1921) into Russian.
Latin for “grey,” ravus brings to mind Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest where Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” (Lolita’s married name) died in childbed (forty days after Humbert’s death in prison):
For the benefit of old-fashioned readers who wish to follow the destinies of “real” people beyond the “true” story, a few details may be given as received from Mr. “Windmuller,” of “Ramsdale,” who desires his identity suppressed so that “the long shadows of this sorry and sordid business” should not reach the community to which he is proud to belong. His daughter, “Louise,” is by now a college sophomore. “Mona Dahl” is a student in Paris. “Rita” has recently married the proprietor of a hotel in Florida. Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” died in childbed, giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952, in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest. ‘Vivian Darkbloom’ has written a biography, ‘My Cue,’ to be published shortly, and critics who have perused the manuscript call it her best book. The caretakers of the various cemeteries involved report that no ghosts walk.
Mona Dahl and Gray Star bring to mind seraya ot zvyozd dal’ (remote regions grey from the stars) mentioned by VN at the beginning of Drugie berega (“Other Shores,” 1954), the Russian version of his autobiography Speak, Memory (1951):
Сколько раз я чуть не вывихивал разума, стараясь высмотреть малейший луч личного среди безличной тьмы по оба предела жизни? Я готов был стать единоверцем последнего шамана, только бы не отказаться от внутреннего убеждения, что себя я не вижу в вечности лишь из-за земного времени, глухой стеной окружающего жизнь. Я забирался мыслью в серую от звёзд даль -- но ладонь скользила всё по той же совершенно непроницаемой глади. Кажется, кроме самоубийства, я перепробовал все выходы. Я отказывался от своего лица, чтобы проникнуть заурядным привидением в мир, существовавший до меня. Я мирился с унизительным соседством романисток, лепечущих о разных йогах и атлантидах. Я терпел даже отчёты о медиумистических переживаниях каких-то английских полковников индийской службы, довольно ясно помнящих свои прежние воплощения под ивами Лхассы. В поисках ключей и разгадок я рылся в своих самых ранних снах -- и раз уж я заговорил о снах, прошу заметить, что безоговорочно отметаю фрейдовщину и всю её тёмную средневековую подоплеку, с её маниакальной погоней за половой символикой, с её угрюмыми эмбриончиками, подглядывающими из природных засад угрюмое родительское соитие.
Over and over again, my mind has made colossal efforts to distinguish the faintest of personal glimmers in the impersonal darkness on both sides of my life. That this darkness is caused merely by the walls of time separating me and my bruised fists from the free world of timelessness is a belief I gladly share with the most gaudily painted savage. I have journeyed back in thought—with thought hopelessly tapering off as I went—to remote regions where I groped for some secret outlet only to discover that the prison of time is spherical and without exits. I have journeyed back in thought—with thought hopelessly tapering off as I went—to remote regions where I groped for some secret outlet only to discover that the prison of time is spherical and without exits. Short of suicide, I have tried everything. I have doffed my identity in order to pass for a conventional spook and steal into realms that existed before I was conceived. I have mentally endured the degrading company of Victorian lady novelists and retired colonels who remembered having, in former lives, been slave messengers on a Roman road or sages under the willows of Lhasa. I have ransacked my oldest dreams for keys and clues—and let me say at once that I reject completely the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols (something like searching for Baconian acrostics in Shakespeare’s works) and its bitter little embryos spying, from their natural nooks, upon the love life of their parents. (Chapter One, 1)
Luch being Russian for “ray,” maleyshiy luch lichnogo (the faintest of personal glimmers) that VN tried to distinguish in the impersonal darkness on both sides of his life brings to mind John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert’s manuscript).
Like VN’s novel Dar (“The Gift,” 1952), Drugie berega were brought out by the Chekhov Publishing House in New York. In his memoir essay O Chekhove (“On Chekhov”), the first one in his book Na kladbishchakh (“At Cemeteries,” 1921), Vasiliy Nemirovich-Danchenko compares Chekhov’s laughter to luch v potyomkakh (a ray in the dark):
Смеялся он редко, но когда смеялся, всем становилось весело, точно луч в потёмках.
He laughed seldom, but when he laughed, everybody became cheerful, like a ray in the dark.
In the Russian version (1967) of Lolita Humbert Humbert becomes Gumbert Gumbert. In Otechestvennyi Tsintsinnat ("The Russian Cincinnatus"), a memoir essay on D. I. Milyutin included in “At Cemetries,” Nemirovich mentions korol' Italii Gumbert (the king of Italy Umberto I) whose wide-open and senselessly glassy eyes resembled those of Alexander II in the last years of his life:
В Александре II предполагали начало прогрессивного паралича, хотя, кажется, никаких задатков к этому у него не было. Глаза у него сделались точно стеклянные, и он всегда шёл, глядя неподвижно и прямо перед собою, точно ноги у него были заведены скрытым механизмом. Он не замечал на пути никаких препятствий. Заботою окружавших было отодвигать по этой прямой линии столы, стулья, всё, что он не видел или не удостаивал видеть. Потом я точно такие глаза, широко открытые и бессмысленно стеклянные, встречал у короля Италии Гумберта. У того и другого не мигающие и потому жуткие.
Cincinnatus C. is the main character in VN’s novel Priglashenie na kazn’ (“Invitation to a Beheading,” 1935). In a letter of Feb. 18, 1889, to Leontiev-Shcheglov (a fellow writer who nicknamed Chekhov Potyomkin) Chekhov says that he is not Potyomkin, but Cincinnatus:
Голова моя занята мыслями о лете и даче. Денно и нощно мечтаю о хуторе. Я не Потёмкин, а Цинцинат. Лежанье на сене и пойманный на удочку окунь удовлетворяют моё чувство гораздо осязательнее, чем рецензии и аплодирующая галерея. Я, очевидно, урод и плебей.
The name Potyomkin (of a favorite of the Empress Catherine II) brings to mind the saying chuzhaya dusha potyomki (you cannot read in another’s soul). In VN’s novel Cincinnatus was sentenced to death because others (all of whom are transparent to each other) cannot see through him.
In a letter of October 17 (29), 1897, to Suvorin Chekhov (who stayed in the Pension Russe in Nice) asks Suvorin to bring from Paris zhurnal "Le Rire" s portretom Gumberta (the magazine issue with King Umberto’s portrait):
Привезите журнал «Le rire» с портретом Гумберта, если попадётся на глаза.
Bring the issue of Le Rire with Umberto’s portrait, if you catch sight of it.
Lolita’s full name is Dolores Haze. In Paracelsus (1835) Robert Browning mentions a luminous haze that links star to star:
Even as a luminous haze links star to star,
I would supply all chasms with music, breathing
Mysterious motions of the soul, no way
To be defined save in strange melodies. (Part II)
Like Paracelsus, Chekhov was a doctor. Like Shade and Kinbote (Shade's mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla and whom Conmal, Shakespeare's translator into Zemblan, called Karlik, "a dwarf," on his deathbed), Gradus (Shade's murderer) seems to be a gnome (a diminutive spirit in Renaissance magic and alchemy, first introduced by Paracelsus in the 16th century).