Telling Van about strange visitors at the Agavia Ranch (where she lives with her husband Andrey Vinelander), Ada uses the phrase vsyu kompaniyu (the entire company):
‘My upper-lip space feels indecently naked.’ (He had shaved his mustache off with howls of pain in her presence). ‘And I cannot keep sucking in my belly all the time.’
‘Oh, I like you better with that nice overweight — there’s more of you. It’s the maternal gene, I suppose, because Demon grew leaner and leaner. He looked positively Quixotic when I saw him at Mother’s funeral. It was all very strange. He wore blue mourning. D’Onsky’s son, a person with only one arm, threw his remaining one around Demon and both wept comme des fontaines. Then a robed person who looked like an extra in a technicolor incarnation of Vishnu made an incomprehensible sermon. Then she went up in smoke. He said to me, sobbing: "I will not cheat the poor grubs!" Practically a couple of hours after he broke that promise we had sudden visitors at the ranch — an incredibly graceful moppet of eight, black-veiled, and a kind of duenna, also in black, with two bodyguards. The hag demanded certain fantastic sums — which Demon, she said, had not had time to pay, for "popping the hymen" — whereupon I had one of our strongest boys throw out vsyu (the entire) kompaniyu.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said Van, ‘they had been growing younger and younger — I mean the girls, not the strong silent boys. His old Rosalind had a ten-year-old niece, a primed chickabiddy. Soon he would have been poaching them from the hatching chamber.’
‘You never loved your father,’ said Ada sadly.
‘Oh, I did and do — tenderly, reverently, understandingly, because, after all, that minor poetry of the flesh is something not unfamiliar to me. But as far as we are concerned, I mean you and I, he was buried on the same day as our uncle Dan.’
‘I know, I know. It’s pitiful! And what use was it? Perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you, but his visits to Agavia kept getting rarer and shorter every year. Yes, it was pitiful to hear him and Andrey talking. I mean, Andrey n’a pas le verbe facile, though he greatly appreciated — without quite understanding it — Demon’s wild flow of fancy and fantastic fact, and would often exclaim, with his Russian "tssk-tssk" and a shake of the head — complimentary and all that — "what a balagur (wag) you are!" — And then, one day, Demon warned me that he would not come any more if he heard again poor Andrey’s poor joke (Nu i balagur-zhe vï, Dementiy Labirintovich) or what Dorothy, l’impayable ("priceless for impudence and absurdity") Dorothy, thought of my camping out in the mountains with only Mayo, a cowhand, to protect me from lions.’
‘Could one hear more about that?’ asked Van.
‘Well, nobody did. All this happened at a time when I was not on speaking terms with my husband and sister-in-law, and so could not control the situation. Anyhow, Demon did not come even when he was only two hundred miles away and simply mailed instead, from some gaming house, your lovely, lovely letter about Lucette and my picture.’
‘One would also like to know some details of the actual coverture — frequence of intercourse, pet names for secret warts, favorite smells —’
‘Platok momental’no (handkerchief quick)! Your right nostril is full of damp jade,’ said Ada, and then pointed to a lawnside circular sign, rimmed with red, saying: Chiens interdits and depicting an impossible black mongrel with a white ribbon around its neck: Why, she wondered, should the Swiss magistrates forbid one to cross highland terriers with poodles? (3.8)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): comme etc.: shedding floods of tears.
N’a pas le verbe etc.: lacks the gift of the gab.
chiens etc.: dogs not allowed.
In Chekhov’s story Osen’yu (“In Autumn,” 1883) muzhichonok (a small peasant) who enters kabak (the tavern) okinul vzglyadom vsyu kompaniyu (looks around at all people in the tavern):
На дворе скрипнула телега. Послышалось «тпррр» и шлепанье по грязи… В кабак вбежал маленький мужичок в длинном тулупе и с острой бородой. Он был мокр и грязен.
— Ну-кася! — крикнул он, стуча пятаком о прилавок. — Стакан мадеры настоящей! Наливай!
И, ухарски повернувшись на одной ноге, он окинул взглядом всю компанию.
— Растаяли сахарные, тетка ваша подкурятина! Дождя испугались, ахиды! Нежные! А это что за изюмина?
Мужичонок прыгнул к прохвосту и поглядел ему в лицо.
— Вот туды! Барин! — сказал он. — Семен Сергеич! Господа наши! А? С какой такой стати вы в этом кабаке прохлаждаетесь? Нешто вам здесь место? Эх… мученик несчастный!
Барин взглянул на мужичонка и закрылся рукавом. Мужичонок вздохнул, покачал головой, отчаянно махнул обеими руками и пошел к прилавку пить водку.
Kura being Russian for “hen” (the word podkuryatina derives from kura), tyotka vasha podkuryatina (an obscure locution used by the muzhichonok) brings to mind “a primed chickabiddy” and “the hatching chamber” mentioned by Van. The muzhichonok in Chekhov’s story proceeds to the counter to drink vodka. In his story Zhenshchina s tochki zreniya p’yanitsy (“Woman as Seen by a Drunkard,” 1885) signed Brat moego brata (My brother’s brother) Chekhov compares girls younger than sixteen to aquae distillatae (distilled water). The last note of Demon’s wife Aqua (Marina’s poor mad twin sister) was signed “My sister’s sister who teper’ iz ada (now is out of hell)” (1.3).
On the other hand, in Chekhov’s story Kashtanka (1887) Kashtanka is given a new name Tyotka (Auntie) by the circus clown. “A young foxey-looking mongrel,” Kashtanka is a cross between dachshund and mongrel. Ada wonders why should the Swiss magistrates forbid one to cross highland terriers with poodles.
Officially, Marina (Van’s, Ada’s and Lucette’s mother) is Van’s aunt (cf. Kashtanka's new name). Also, Van does not suspect that by October, 1905 (when he and Ada meet again after the thirteen-year-long separation), Ada and Andrey Vinelander have at least two children (who were born after June 4, 1901, the day of Lucette's suicide). Btw., in a letter of June 4, 1901, to his sister Chekhov explains why he married Olga Knipper (a leading actress of the Moscow Art Theater):
Милая Маша, твое письмо, в котором ты советуешь мне не жениться, прислано мне сюда из Москвы вчера. Не знаю, ошибся я или нет, но женился я, главным образом, из того соображения, что, во-первых, мне теперь более 40 лет, во-вторых, у Ольги добродетельная родня и, в-третьих, если понадобится разойтись с ней, то я разойдусь ничтоже сумняся, как будто и не женился; ведь она самостоятельный человек и живет на свои средства. Затем, важно соображение, что эта женитьба нисколько не изменила образа жизни ни моего, ни тех, кто жил и живет около меня. Всё, решительно всё останется так, как было, и я в Ялте по-прежнему буду проживать один.