In his Commentary to Shade’s poem Kinbote (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, Shade’s mad Commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla) mentions a wild letter from Queen Disa that she wrote in governess English:
When the Zemblan Revolution broke out (May 1, 1958), she wrote the King a wild letter in governess English, urging him to come and stay with her until the situation cleared up. The letter was intercepted by the Onhava police, translated into crude Zemblan by a Hindu member of the Extremist party, and then read aloud to the royal captive in a would-be ironic voice by the preposterous commandant of the palace. There happened to be in that letter one - only one, thank God - sentimental sentence: "I want you to know that no matter how much you hurt me, you cannot hurt my love," and this sentence (if we re-English it from the Zemblan) came out as: "I desire you and love when you flog me." He interrupted the commandant, calling him a buffoon and a rogue, and insulting everybody around so dreadfully that the Extremists had to decide fast whether to shoot him at once or let him have the original of the letter. (note to Lines 433-434)
In a letter of Feb. 11, 1903, to his wife Olga Knipper (a leading actress of the Moscow Art Theater) A. P. Chekhov mentions Sofia Andreevna Tolstoy’s letter to the editors of Novoe Vremya (a newspaper that published it on Feb. 7, 1903) in which she seconds Burenin (a reactionary critic) and condemns Leonid Andreev for his story V tumane (“In the Fog,” 1903):
Ты писала, что выслала мне статью Батюшкова; я не получил. А ты читала статью С. А. Толстой насчет Андреева? Я читал, и меня в жар бросало, до такой степени нелепость этой статьи резала мне глаза. Даже невероятно. Если бы ты написала что-нибудь подобное, то я бы посадил тебя на хлеб и на воду и колотил бы тебя целую неделю. Теперь кто нагло задерет морду и обнахальничает до крайности — это г. Буренин, которого она расхвалила.
According to Chekhov, if his wife had written something like that, he would feed her on bread and water and beat her a whole week. At the end of his letter Chekhov says that S. A. Tolstoy’s letter is perhaps not genuine, that somebody has forged her handwriting for fun:
Знаешь, мне кажется, что письмо С. А. Толстой не настоящее, а поддельное. Это кто-нибудь забавы ради подделал руку.
According to Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko (a playwright and director of the Moscow Art Theater), Chekhov once told him that he could never forgive his father for flogging him when he was a child. In Chekhov’s story Doch’ Albiona (“A Daughter of Albion,” 1883) the title character is Wilka Charlesovna Fyce, the imperturbable English governess of an unceremonious Russian landowner’s children. Her patronymic brings to mind Charles II, surnamed the Beloved. The characters in Chekhov’s story include Fyodor Andreich Ottsov, uezdnyi predvoditel’ dvoryanstva (the district Marshal of Nobility). In Ilf and Petrov’s novel Dvenadtsat’ stuliev (“The Twelve Chairs,” 1928) one of the three diamond hunters is Ippolit Matveyevich Vorob’yaninov, the former Marshal of Nobility. In Ilf and Petrov’s novel Zolotoy telyonok (“The Golden Calf,” 1931) Vasisualiy Lokhankin is flogged by other inhabitants of “The Crow’s Nest.” One of the novel’s chapters is entitled “Vasisualiy Lokhankin and his Role in the Russian Revolution.” According to Kinbote, in a conversation with him Shade listed Chekhov and those joint authors of genius Ilf and Petrov 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)
In Gogol’s play Revizor (“The Inspector,” 1836) the Town Mayor mentions a non-commissioned officer’s widow who has flogged herself.
At the end of her letter to the editors Sofia Tolstoy mentions Dostoevski’s characters with their degradations, weaknesses and misfortunes:
«Жалкие новые писатели современной беллетристики, как Андреев, сумели только сосредоточить свое внимание на грязной точке человеческого падения и кликнули клич неразвитой полуинтеллигенческой читающей публике, приглашая ее рассматривать и вникать в разложившийся труп человеческого падения и закрывать глаза на весь просторный, прелестный божий мир, с красотой природы, с величием искусства, с высокими стремлениями человеческих душ, с религиозной и нравственной борьбой и великими идеалами добра. Скажем, даже с падениями, слабостями, несчастьями людей, как у Достоевского. Но при описании их всякий настоящий художник должен ярко светить человечеству не в сторону сочувствия грязи и порока, а в сторону борьбы против них и высоко поставленного идеала добра, правды и торжества над злом, слабостями и пороками людей. Хотелось бы громко, горячо закричать на весь мир этот призыв и помочь опомниться тем несчастным, у которых разные господа Андреевы сшибают крылья, данные всякому для высокого полета к пониманию духовного света, красоты, добра».
A word used by Sofia Tolstoy, padeniya (pl. of padenie, degradation) comes from padat’ (to fall). In his apology of suicide Kinbote repeats the word “falling” three times:
I am choosing these images rather casually. There are purists who maintain that a gentleman should use a brace of pistols, one for each temple, or a bare botkin (note the correct spelling), and that ladies should either swallow a lethal dose or drown with clumsy Ophelia. Humbler humans have preferred such sundry forms of suffocation, and minor poets have even tried such fancy releases as vein tapping in the quadruped tub of a drafty boardinghouse bathroom. All this is uncertain and messy. Of the not very many ways known of shedding one's body, falling, falling, falling is the supreme method, but you have to select your sill or ledge very carefully so as not to hurt yourself or others. Jumping from a high bridge is not recommended even if you cannot swim, for wind and water abound in weird contingencies, and tragedy ought not to culminate in a record dive or a policeman's promotion. If you rent a cell in the luminous waffle, room 1915 or 1959, in a tall business center hotel browing the star dust, and pull up the window, and gentle--not fall, not jump--but roll out as you should for air comfort, there is always the chance of knocking clean through into your own hell a pacific noctambulator walking his dog; in this respect a back room might be safer, especially if giving on the roof of an old tenacious normal house far below where a cat may be trusted to flash out of the way. Another popular take-off is a mountaintop with a sheer drop of say 500 meters but you must find it, because you will be surprised how easy it is to miscalculate your deflection offset, and have some hidden projection, some fool of a crag, rush forth to catch you, causing you to bounce off it into the brush, thwarted, mangled and unnecessarily alive. The ideal drop is from an aircraft, your muscles relaxed, your pilot puzzled, your packed parachute shuffled off, cast off, shrugged off--farewell, shootka (little chute)! Down you go, but all the while you feel suspended and buoyed as you somersault in slow motion like a somnolent tumbler pigeon, and sprawl supine on the eiderdown of the air, or lazily turn to embrace your pillow, enjoying every last instant of soft, deep, death-padded life, the voluptuous crucifixion, as you stretch yourself in the growing rush, in the nearing swish, and then your loved body's obliteration in the Lap of the Lord. If I were a poet I would certainly make an ode to the sweet urge to close one's eyes and surrender utterly unto the perfect safety of wooed death. Ecstatically one forefeels the vastness of the Divine Embrace enfolding one's liberated spirit, the warm bath of physical dissolution, the universal unknown engulfing the miniscule unknown that had been the only real part of one's temporary personality. (Note to Line 493)
On the other hand, “degradation” brings to mind Gradus, Shade’s murderer. In Chekhov’s story Dama s sobachkoy (“The Lady with the Lapdog,” 1899) Gurov, as he speaks to his daughter, a schoolgirl, uses the phrase tri gradusa (three degrees):
— Теперь три градуса тепла, а между тем идет снег, — говорил Гуров дочери. — Но ведь это тепло только на поверхности земли, в верхних же слоях атмосферы совсем другая температура.
“It’s three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing,” said Gurov to his daughter. “The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the atmosphere.” (chapter IV)
The action in "The Lady with the Lapdog" begins in Yalta (a town in the Crimea where Chekhov was forced to live). In VN's story Vesna v Fial'te (“The Spring in Fialta,” 1936) the narrator says that can hear the name Yalta echoed by Fialta’s viola:
Я этот городок люблю; потому ли, что во впадине его названия мне слышится сахаристо-сырой запах мелкого, тёмного, самого мятого из цветов, и не в тон, хотя внятное, звучание Ялты; потому ли, что его сонная весна особенно умащивает душу, не знаю; но как я был рад очнуться в нём, и вот шлёпать вверх, навстречу ручьям, без шапки, с мокрой головой, в макинтоше, надетом прямо на рубашку!
I am fond of Fialta; I am fond of it because I feel in the hollow of those violaceous syllables the sweet dark dampness of the most rumpled of small flowers, and because the altolike name of a lovely Crimean town is echoed by its viola; and also because there is something in the very somnolence of its
humid Lent that especially anoints one's soul. So I was happy to be there again, to trudge uphill in inverse direction to the rivulet of the gutter, hatless, my head wet, my skin already suffused with warmth although I wore only a light mackintosh over my shirt.
When Kinbote visits Queen Disa at her Mediterranean villa, Disa asks her husband about the crown jewels and Kinbote asks Fleur de Fyler if she still plays the viola:
No such qualms disturbed him as he sat now on the terrace of her villa and recounted his lucky escape from the Palace. She enjoyed his description of the underground link with the theater and tried to visualize the jolly scramble across the mountains; but the part concerning Garh displeased her as if, paradoxically, she would have preferred him to have gone through a bit of wholesome houghmagandy with the wench. She told him sharply to skip such interludes, and he made her a droll little bow. But when he began to discuss the political situation (two Soviet generals had just been attached to the Extremist government as Foreign Advisers), a familiar vacant expression appeared in her eyes. Now that he was safely out of the country, the entire blue bulk of Zembla, from Embla Point to Emblem Bay, could sink in the sea for all she cared. That he had lost weight was of more concern to her than that he had lost a kingdom. Perfunctorily she inquired about the crown jewels; he revealed to her their unusual hiding place, and she melted in girlish mirth as she had not done for years and years. "I do have some business matters to discuss," he said. "And there are papers you have to sign." Up in the trellis a telephone climbed with the roses. One of her former ladies in waiting, the languid and elegant Fleur de Fyler (now fortyish and faded), still wearing pearls in her raven hair and the traditional white mantilla, brought certain documents from Disa's boudoir. Upon hearing the King's mellow voice behind the laurels, Fleur recognized it before she could be misled by his excellent disguise. Two footmen, handsome young strangers of a marked Latin type, appeared with the tea and caught Fleur in mid-curtsey. A sudden breeze groped among the glycines. Defiler of flowers. He asked Fleur as she turned to go with the Disa orchids if she still played the viola. She shook her head several times not wishing to speak without addressing him and not daring to do so while the servants might be within earshot. (note to Lines 433-434)
At the end of Chekhov’s play Dyadya Vanya (“Uncle Vanya,” 1897) Sonya promises to Uncle Vanya that they will see the whole sky swarming with diamonds.
In a letter of Oct. 31, 1838 (Dostoevski’s seventeenth birthday), to his brother Dostoevski twice uses the word gradus (degree):
Друг мой! Ты философствуешь как поэт. И как не ровно выдерживает душа градус вдохновенья, так не ровна, не верна и твоя философия. Чтоб больше знать, надо меньше чувствовать, и обратно, правило опрометчивое, бред сердца.
My friend, you philosophize like a poet. And just because the soul cannot be forever in a state of exaltation, your philosophy is not true and not just. To know more one must feel less, and vice versa. Your judgment is featherheaded – it is a delirium of the heart.
Заметь, что поэт в порыве вдохновенья разгадывает Бога, следовательно, исполняет назначенье философии. Следовательно, поэтический восторг есть восторг философии... Следовательно, философия есть та же поэзия, только высший градус её!..
Remark that the poet, in the moment of inspiration, comprehends God and consequently does the philosopher's work. Consequently poetic inspiration is nothing less than poetical inspiration. Consequently philosophy is nothing but poetry, a higher degree of poetry!
Shade, Kinbote and Gradus have one and the same birthday: July 5 (Shade was born in 1898, Kinbote and Gradus were born seventeen years later, in 1915). Pushkin's poem Iz Pindemonti ("From Pindemonte," 1836) is dated in the draft July 5. In his Eugene Onegin Commentary (vol. II, p. 428) VN points out that at the beginning of May, 1820, Pushkin fought a duel with a person who repeated the rumor that the poet was flogged in the secret chancellery of the Ministry of the Interior in St. Petersburg. After Pushkin had left St. Petersburg, Count Tolstoy the American (who became the poet’s spokesman in the days of Pushkin’s courtship of Natalia Goncharov) regaled his Petersburg friends with lurid accounts of the “flogging.” In his epigram on Tolstoy the American Pushkin calls the man whom he planned to challenge to a duel kartyozhnyi vor (a cardsharp). In his Commentary and Index Kinbote mentions Odon (a world famous actor who helps the king to escape from Zembla) and his epileptic half-brother Nodo who cheated at cards:
For almost a whole year after the King's escape the Extremists remained convinced that he and Odon had not left Zembla. The mistake can be only ascribed to the streak of stupidity that fatally runs through the most competent tyranny. Airborne machines and everything connected with them cast a veritable spell over the minds of our new rulers whom kind history had suddenly given a boxful of these zipping and zooming gadgets to play with. That an important fugitive would not perform by air the act of fleeing seemed to them inconceivable. Within minutes after the King and the actor had clattered down the backstairs of the Royal Theater, every wing in the sky and on the ground had been accounted for - such was the efficiency of the government. During the next weeks not one private or commercial plane was allowed to take off, and the inspection of transients became so rigorous and lengthy that international lines decided to cancel stopovers at Onhava. There were some casualties. A crimson balloon was enthusiastically shot down and the aeronaut (a well-known meteorologist) drowned in the Gulf of Surprise. A pilot from a Lapland base flying on a mission of mercy got lost in the fog and was so badly harassed by Zemblan fighters that he settled atop a mountain peak. Some excuse for all this could be found. The illusion of the King's presence in the wilds of Zembla was kept up by royalist plotters who decoyed entire regiments into searching the mountains and woods of our rugged peninsula. The government spent a ludicrous amount of energy on solemnly screening the hundreds of impostors packed in the country's jails. Most of them clowned their way back to freedom; a few, alas, fell. Then, in the spring of the following year, a stunning piece of news came from abroad. The Zemblan actor Odon was directing the making of a cinema picture in Paris!
It was now correctly conjectured that if Odon had fled, the King had fled too: At an extraordinary session of the Extremist government there was passed from hand to hand, in grim silence, a copy of a French newspaper with the headline: L'EX-ROI DE ZEMBLA EST-IL À PARIS? Vindictive exasperation rather than state strategy moved the secret organization of which Gradus was an obscure member to plot the destruction of the royal fugitive. Spiteful thugs! They may be compared to hoodlums who itch to torture the invulnerable gentleman whose testimony clapped them in prison for life. Such convicts have been known to go berserk at the thought that their elusive victim whose very testicles they crave to twist and tear with their talons, is sitting at a pergola feast on a sunny island or fondling some pretty young creature between his knees in serene security - and laughing at them! One supposes that no hell can be worse than the helpless rage they experience as the awareness of that implacable sweet mirth reaches them and suffuses them, slowly destroying their brutish brains. A group of especially devout Extremists calling themselves the Shadows had got together and swore to hunt down the King and kill him wherever he might be. They were, in a sense, the shadow twins of the Karlists and indeed several had cousins or even brothers among the followers of the King. No doubt, the origin of either group could be traced to various reckless rituals in student fraternities and military clubs, and their development examined in terms of fads and anti-fads; but, whereas an objective historian associates a romantic and noble glamor with Karlism, its shadow group must strike one as something definitely Gothic and nasty. The grotesque figure of Gradus, a cross between bat and crab, was not much odder than many other Shadows, such as, for example, Nodo, Odon's epileptic half-brother who cheated at cards, or a mad Mandevil who had lost a leg in trying to make anti-matter. (note to Line 171)
Odon = Nodo = odno (neut. of odin, “one”). In Chapter Two (XIV: 6-7) of EO Pushkin mentions dvunogikh tvarey milliony (the millions of two-legged creatures) who for us are orudie odno (only tools):
Но дружбы нет и той меж нами.
Все предрассудки истребя,
Мы почитаем всех нулями,
А единицами – себя.
Мы все глядим в Наполеоны;
Двуногих тварей миллионы
Для нас орудие одно;
Нам чувство дико и смешно.
Сноснее многих был Евгений;
Хоть он людей, конечно, знал
И вообще их презирал, —
Но (правил нет без исключений)
Иных он очень отличал
И вчуже чувство уважал.
But in our midst there’s even no such friendship:
Having destroyed all the prejudices,
We deem all people naughts
And ourselves units.
We all expect to be Napoleons;
the millions of two-legged creatures
for us are only tools;
feeling to us is weird and ludicrous.
More tolerant than many was Eugene,
though he, of course, knew men
and on the whole despised them;
but no rules are without exceptions:
some people he distinguished greatly
and, though estranged from it, respected feeling.
At the end of his Commentary Kinbote says that he may join forces with Odon in a new motion picture and mentions a million photographers:
God will help me, I trust, to rid myself of any desire to follow the example of the other two characters in this work. I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist. I may turn up yet, on another campus, as an old, happy, health heterosexual Russian, a writer in exile, sans fame, sans future, sans audience, sans anything but his art. I may join forces with Odon in a new motion picture: Escape from Zembla (ball in the palace, bomb in the palace square). I may pander to the simple tastes of theatrical critics and cook up a stage play, an old-fashioned melodrama with three principles: a lunatic who intends to kill an imaginary king, another lunatic who imagines himself to be that king, and a distinguished old poet who stumbles by chance into the line of fire, and perishes in the clash between the two figments. Oh, I may do many things! History permitting, I may sail back to my recovered kingdom, and with a great sob greet the gray coastline and the gleam of a roof in the rain. I may huddle and groan in a madhouse. But whatever happens, wherever the scene is laid, somebody, somewhere, will quietly set out--somebody has already set out, somebody still rather far away is buying a ticket, is boarding a bus, a ship, a plane, has landed, is walking toward a million photographers, and presently he will ring at my door--a bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus. (note to Line 1000)
Shade’s poem is almost finished when the author is killed by Gradus. Kinbote believes that, to be completed, Shade's poem needs but one line (Line 1000 identical to Line 1: "I was the shadow of the waxwing slain"). But it seems that, like some sonnets, Shade's poem also needs a coda (Line 1001: "By its own double in the windowpane"). Dvoynik ("The Double," 1846) is a short novel by Dostoevski.
Shade, Kinbote and Gradus seem to be one and the same person whose “real” name is Botkin. An American scholar of Russian descent, Professor Vsevold Botkin went mad and became Shade, Kinbote and Gradus after the tragic death of his daughter Nadezhda (Hazel Shade of Kinbote’s Commentary). There is a hope (nadezhda) that, when Kinbote completes his work on Shade’s poem and commits suicide (on Oct. 19, 1959, the anniversary of Pushkin's Lyceum), Botkin, like Count Vorontsov (a target of Pushkin’s epigrams, “half-milord, half-merchant, etc."), will be full again.
Duchess of Payn, of Great Payn and Mone, Queen Disa seems to blend Leonardo's Mona Lisa with Desdemona, Othello's wife in Shakespeare's Othello. One of Chekhov’s humorous stories is entitled Deputat, ili povest' o tom, kak u Dezdemonova 25 rubley propalo (“The Deputy, or the Tale of How Desdemonov Lost 25 Rubles,” 1883).
The “real” name of both Sybil Shade (the poet’s wife) and Queen Disa (the wife of Charles the Beloved) seems to be Sofia Botkin, born Lastochin. The author of Lastochki (“The Swallows,” 1884), Afanasiy Fet was married to Maria Botkin and addressed or dedicated several poems to Sofia Andreevna Tolstoy (Leo Tolstoy’s wife), to her full namesake (the widow of Count A. K. Tolstoy) and to Sofia Khitrovo (who was adopted by A. K. Tolstoy and his wife, Sonya Khitrovo's aunt). Sofia Khitrovo was a mistress and muse of the philosopher and poet Vladimir Solovyov (who proposed to her several times but was rejected), the author of a doctrine about Divine Sophia. Vladimir Solovyov's brother Vsevolod was a novelist and a friend of Dostoevski.