According to Ada (the title character of a novel, 1969, by VN), the servants called Ben Wright (the English coachman in “Ardis the First” who is associated with farts) “Bengal Ben:”
Nonchalantly, Van went back to the willows and said:
‘Every shot in the book has been snapped in 1884, except this one. I never rowed you down Ladore River in early spring. Nice to note you have not lost your wonderful ability to blush.’
‘It’s his error. He must have thrown in a fotochka taken later, maybe in 1888. We can rip it out if you like.’
‘Sweetheart,’ said Van, ‘the whole of 1888 has been ripped out. One need not be a sleuth in a mystery story to see that at least as many pages have been removed as retained. I don’t mind — I mean I have no desire to see the Knabenkräuter and other pendants of your friends botanizing with you; but 1888 has been withheld and he’ll turn up with it when the first grand is spent.’
‘I destroyed 1888 myself,’ admitted proud Ada; ‘but I swear, I solemnly swear, that the man behind Blanche, in the perron picture, was, and has always remained, a complete stranger.’
‘Good for him,’ said Van. ‘Really it has no importance. It’s our entire past that has been spoofed and condemned. On second thoughts, I will not write that Family Chronicle. By the way, where is my poor little Blanche now?’
‘Oh, she’s all right. She’s still around. You know, she came back — after you abducted her. She married our Russian coachman, the one who replaced Bengal Ben, as the servants called him.’
‘Oh she did? That’s delicious. Madame Trofim Fartukov. I would never have thought it.’
‘They have a blind child,’ said Ada.
‘Love is blind,’ said Van.
‘She tells me you made a pass at her on the first morning of your first arrival.’
‘Not documented by Kim,’ said Van. ‘Will their child remain blind? I mean, did you get them a really first-rate physician?’
‘Oh yes, hopelessly blind. But speaking of love and its myths, do you realize — because I never did before talking to her a couple of years ago — that the people around our affair had very good eyes indeed? Forget Kim, he’s only the necessary clown — but do you realize that a veritable legend was growing around you and me while we played and made love?’ (2.7)
In a letter of Dec. 17, 1890, to Suvorin Chekhov (who just returned to Moscow from Sakhalin via Ceylon) says that, if in Kingdom of Heaven the sun goes down as beautifully as in the Bay of Bengal, then Kingdom of Heaven is a very good thing:
Григорович никогда не был дворником на Песках, потому так дешево и ценит царство небесное. Врет он.
Мне кажется, что жить вечно было бы так же трудно, как всю жизнь не спать.
Если в царстве небесном солнце заходит так же хорошо, как в Бенгальском заливе, то, смею Вас уверить, царство небесное очень хорошая штука.
In a letter of July 27 and July 30, 1892, to Lika Mizinov Chekhov mentions one of his guests, an artillerist, who usually shoots after dinner and, of course, not from the cannon:
У нас гостит Петр Васильич с сыном артиллеристом, который стреляет преимущественно после обеда и, конечно, не из пушки. Петр Васильич до такой степени сладок и чювствителен, что я начинаю верить в истинную дружбу. После каждого выстрела он подходит к сыну и нежно целует его в голову... Желаю Вам от души и такого мужа и такого сына.
In a letter of June 12, 1891, to Lika Mizinov (instead of signature, Chekhov drew a heart pierced with an arrow) Chekhov mentions such lomovye izvozchiki (carters) as Trophim who have a bad influence on Lika, enlarging her vocabulary with foul words:
Сейчас получил от Вас письмо. Оно сверху донизу полно такими милыми выражениями, как «чёрт вас задави», «чёрт подери», «анафема», «подзатыльник», «сволочь», «обожралась» и т. п. Нечего сказать, прекрасное влияние имеют на Вас такие ломовые извозчики, как Trophim.
When Van leaves Ardis forever, Trofim Fartukov (the Russian coachman in “Ardis the Second”) tells him that even through kozhanyi fartuk (a leathern apron) he would not think of touching Blanche (the French maid at Ardis whom Trofim later marries):
‘The express does not stop at Torfyanka, does it, Trofim?’
‘I’ll take you five versts across the bog,’ said Trofim, ‘the nearest is Volosyanka.’
His vulgar Russian word for Maidenhair; a whistle stop; train probably crowded.
Maidenhair. Idiot! Percy boy might have been buried by now! Maidenhair. Thus named because of the huge spreading Chinese tree at the end of the platform. Once, vaguely, confused with the Venus’-hair fern. She walked to the end of the platform in Tolstoy’s novel. First exponent of the inner monologue, later exploited by the French and the Irish. N’est vert, n’est vert, n’est vert. L’arbre aux quarante écus d’or, at least in the fall. Never, never shall I hear again her ‘botanical’ voice fall at biloba, ‘sorry, my Latin is showing.’ Ginkgo, gingko, ink, inkog. Known also as Salisbury’s adiantofolia, Ada’s infolio, poor Salisburia: sunk; poor Stream of Consciousness, marée noire by now. Who wants Ardis Hall!
‘Barin, a barin,’ said Trofim, turning his blond-bearded face to his passenger.
‘Da?’
‘Dazhe skvoz’ kozhanïy fartuk ne stal-bï ya trogat’ etu frantsuzskuyu devku.’
Barin: master. Dázhe skvoz’ kózhanïy fártuk: even through a leathern apron. Ne stal-bï ya trógat’: I would not think of touching. Étu: this (that). Frantsúzskuyu: French (adj., accus.). Dévku: wench. Úzhas, otcháyanie: horror, despair. Zhálost’: pity, Kóncheno, zagázheno, rastérzano: finished, fouled, torn to shreds. (1.41)
In Tolstoy’s novel Voyna i mir (“War and Peace,” 1869) belyi kozhanyi fartuk (a white leathern apron) is put on Pierre Bezukhov, when he becomes a member of the Masons:
Двое из братьев подвели Пьера к алтарю, поставили ему ноги в прямоугольное положение и приказали ему лечь, говоря, что он повергается к вратам храма. - Он прежде должен получить лопату, - сказал шопотом один из братьев. - А! полноте пожалуйста, - сказал другой. Пьер, растерянными, близорукими глазами, не повинуясь, оглянулся вокруг себя, и вдруг на него нашло сомнение. "Где я? Что я делаю? Не смеются ли надо мной? Не будет ли мне стыдно вспоминать это?" Но сомнение это продолжалось только одно мгновение. Пьер оглянулся на серьезные лица окружавших его людей, вспомнил всё, что он уже прошел, и понял, что нельзя остановиться на половине дороги. Он ужаснулся своему сомнению и, стараясь вызвать в себе прежнее чувство умиления, повергся к вратам храма. И действительно чувство умиления, еще сильнейшего, чем прежде, нашло на него. Когда он пролежал несколько времени, ему велели встать и надели на него такой же белый кожаный фартук, какие были на других, дали ему в руки лопату и три пары перчаток, и тогда великий мастер обратился к нему. Он сказал ему, чтобы он старался ничем не запятнать белизну этого фартука, представляющего крепость и непорочность; потом о невыясненной лопате сказал, чтобы он трудился ею очищать свое сердце от пороков и снисходительно заглаживать ею сердце ближнего. Потом про первые перчатки мужские сказал, что значения их он не может знать, но должен хранить их, про другие перчатки мужские сказал, что он должен надевать их в собраниях и наконец про третьи женские перчатки сказал: "Любезный брат, и сии женские перчатки вам определены суть. Отдайте их той женщине, которую вы будете почитать больше всех. Сим даром уверите в непорочности сердца вашего ту, которую изберете вы себе в достойную каменьщицу". И помолчав несколько времени, прибавил: - "Но соблюди, любезный брат, да не украшают перчатки сии рук нечистых".
Two of the brothers led Pierre up to the altar, placed his feet at right angles, and bade him lie down, saying that he must prostrate himself at the Gates of the Temple. "He must first receive the trowel," whispered one of the brothers. "Oh, hush, please!" said another. Pierre, perplexed, looked round with his shortsighted eyes without obeying, and suddenly doubts arose in his mind. "Where am I? What am I doing? Aren't they laughing at me? Shan't I be ashamed to remember this?" But these doubts only lasted a moment. Pierre glanced at the serious faces of those around, remembered all he had already gone through, and realized that he could not stop halfway. He was aghast at his hesitation and, trying to arouse his former devotional feeling, prostrated himself before the Gates of the Temple. And really, the feeling of devotion returned to him even more strongly than before. When he had lain there some time, he was told to get up, and a white leather apron, such as the others wore, was put on him: he was given a trowel and three pairs of gloves, and then the Grand Master addressed him. He told him that he should try to do nothing to stain the whiteness of that apron, which symbolized strength and purity; then of the unexplained trowel, he told him to toil with it to cleanse his own heart from vice, and indulgently to smooth with it the heart of his neighbor. As to the first pair of gloves, a man's, he said that Pierre could not know their meaning but must keep them. The second pair of man's gloves he was to wear at the meetings, and finally of the third, a pair of women's gloves, he said: "Dear brother, these woman's gloves are intended for you too. Give them to the woman whom you shall honor most of all. This gift will be a pledge of your purity of heart to her whom you select to be your worthy helpmeet in Masonry." And after a pause, he added: "But beware, dear brother, that these gloves do not deck hands that are unclean." (Book Five, chapter 4)
In a letter of Nov. 25, 1891, to Suvorin Chekhov says that he wakes up every night and reads “War and Peace:”
Каждую ночь просыпаюсь и читаю «Войну и мир». Читаешь с таким любопытством и с таким наивным удивлением, как будто раньше не читал. Замечательно хорошо. Только не люблю тех мест, где Наполеон. Как Наполеон, так сейчас и натяжки, и всякие фокусы, чтобы доказать, что он глупее, чем был на самом деле. Всё, что делают и говорят Пьер, князь Андрей или совершенно ничтожный Николай Ростов, — всё это хорошо, умно, естественно и трогательно; всё же, что думает и делает Наполеон, — это не естественно, не умно, надуто и ничтожно по значению. Когда я буду жить в провинции (о чем я мечтаю теперь день и ночь), то буду медициной заниматься и романы читать.
Chekhov praises Tolstoy’s novel but criticizes the portrayal of Napoleon in it. The surname of Kim Beauharnais (the kitchen boy and photographer at Ardis whom Van blinds for spying on him and Ada and attempting to blackmail Ada, 2.11) hints at Josephine Beauharnais (Napoleon’s first wife, the Empress of the French). During Van’s first tea party at Ardis Marina (Van’s, Ada’s and Lucette’s mother) mentions Queen Josephine (sic):
They now had tea in a prettily furnished corner of the otherwise very austere central hall from which rose the grand staircase. They sat on chairs upholstered in silk around a pretty table. Ada’s black jacket and a pink-yellow-blue nosegay she had composed of anemones, celandines and columbines lay on a stool of oak. The dog got more bits of cake than it did ordinarily. Price, the mournful old footman who brought the cream for the strawberries, resembled Van’s teacher of history, ‘Jeejee’ Jones.
‘He resembles my teacher of history,’ said Van when the man had gone.
‘I used to love history,’ said Marina, ‘I loved to identify myself with famous women. There’s a ladybird on your plate, Ivan. Especially with famous beauties — Lincoln’s second wife or Queen Josephine.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed — it’s beautifully done. We’ve got a similar set at home.’
‘Slivok (some cream)? I hope you speak Russian?’ Marina asked Van, as she poured him a cup of tea.
‘Neohotno no sovershenno svobodno (reluctantly but quite fluently),’ replied Van, slegka ulïbnuvshis’ (with a slight smile). ‘Yes, lots of cream and three lumps of sugar.’
‘Ada and I share your extravagant tastes. Dostoevski liked it with raspberry syrup.’
‘Pah,’ uttered Ada. (1.5)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): with a slight smile: a pet formula of Tolstoy’s denoting cool superiority, if not smugness, in a character’s manner of speech.
In a letter of March 5, 1889, to Suvorin Chekhov says that he is reading Dostoevski:
Купил я в Вашем магазине Достоевского и теперь читаю. Хорошо, но очень уж длинно и нескромно. Много претензий.
I bought Dostoevski in your shop and am now reading him. It is fine, but very long and indiscreet. It is over-pretentious.
Napoleon died on the island of St. Helena. In Ostrov Sakhalin (“Sakhalin Island,” 1893) Chekhov mentions a convict whose name is Napoleon:
Случается, что православный русский мужичок на вопрос, как его зовут, отвечает не шутя: «Карл». Это бродяга, который по дороге сменился именем с каким-то немцем. Таких, помнится, записано мною двое: Карл Лангер и Карл Карлов. Есть каторжный, которого зовут Наполеоном. Есть женщина-бродяга Прасковья, она же Марья. Что касается фамилий, то по какой-то странной случайности на Сахалине много Богдановых и Беспаловых. Много курьезных фамилий: Шкандыба, Желудок, Безбожный, Зевака. Татарские фамилии, как мне говорили, сохраняют и на Сахалине, несмотря на лишение всех прав состояния, приставки и частицы, означающие высокие звания и титулы. Насколько это верно, не знаю, но ханов, султанов и оглы записал я немало. У бродяг самое употребительное имя Иван, а фамилия Непомнящий. Вот несколько бродяжеских прозвищ: Мустафа Непомнящий, Василий Безотечества, Франц Непомнящий, Иван Непомнящий 20 лет, Яков Беспрозвания, бродяга Иван 35 лет, Человек Неизвестного Звания. (Part III)
In his essay The Texture of Time (1922) Van mentions the faces of two memorable coachmen: Ben Wright, 1884, and Trofim Fartukov, 1888:
The Past, then, is a constant accumulation of images. It can be easily contemplated and listened to, tested and tasted at random, so that it ceases to mean the orderly alternation of linked events that it does in the large theoretical sense. It is now a generous chaos out of which the genius of total recall, summoned on this summer morning in 1922, can pick anything he pleases: diamonds scattered allover the parquet in 1888; a russet black-hatted beauty at a Parisian bar in 1901; a humid red rose among artificial ones in 1883; the pensive half-smile of a young English governess, in 1880, neatly reclosing her charge’s prepuce after the bedtime treat; a little girl, in 1884, licking the breakfast honey off the badly bitten nails of her spread fingers; the same, at thirty-three, confessing, rather late in the day, that she did not like flowers in vases; the awful pain striking him in the side while two children with a basket of mushrooms looked on in the merrily burning pine forest; and the startled quonk of a Belgian car, which he had overtaken and passed yesterday on a blind bend of the alpine highway. Such images tell us nothing about the texture of time into which they are woven — except, perhaps, in one matter which happens to be hard to settle. Does the coloration of a recollected object (or anything else about its visual effect) differ from date to date? Could I tell by its tint if it comes earlier or later, lower or higher, in the stratigraphy of my past? Is there any mental uranium whose dream-delta decay might be used to measure the age of a recollection? The main difficulty, I hasten to explain, consists in the experimenter not being able to use the same object at different times (say, the Dutch stove with its little blue sailing boats in the nursery of Ardis Manor in 1884 and 1888) because of the two or more impressions borrowing from one another and forming a compound image in the mind; but if different objects are to be chosen (say, the faces of two memorable coachmen: Ben Wright, 1884, and Trofim Fartukov, 1888), it is impossible, insofar as my own research goes, to avoid the intrusion not only of different characteristics but of different emotional circumstances, that do not allow the two objects to be considered essentially equal before, so to speak, their being exposed to the action of Time. I am not sure, that such objects cannot be discovered. In my professional work, in the laboratories of psychology, I have devised myself many a subtle test (one of which, the method of determining female virginity without physical examination, today bears my name). Therefore we can assume that the experiment can be performed — and how tantalizing, then, the discovery of certain exact levels of decreasing saturation or deepening brilliance — so exact that the ‘something’ which I vaguely perceive in the image of a remembered but unidentifiable person, and which assigns it ‘somehow’ to my early boyhood rather than to my adolescence, can be labeled if not with a name, at least with a definite date, e.g., January 1, 1908 (eureka, the ‘e.g.’ worked — he was my father’s former house tutor, who brought me Alice in the Camera Obscura for my eighth birthday). (Part Four)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): dream-delta: allusion to the disintegration of an imaginary element.
See also the updated version of my previous post, “muscat wine & some more of mouse-and-cat in Ada.”