In VN’s novel Ada (1969) Van Veen (the narrator and main character), Demon Veen (Van’s and Ada’s father) and Dorothy Vinelander (Ada’s sister-in-law) are Chose students:
In 1885, having completed his prep-school education, he [Van Veen] went up to Chose University in England, where his fathers had gone, and traveled from time to time to London or Lute (as prosperous but not overrefined British colonials called that lovely pearl-gray sad city on the other side of the Channel). (1.28)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): Lute: from 'Lutèce,' ancient name of Paris.
Before the family dinner in "Ardis the Second" Demon mentions Chose:
‘I must warn Marina,’ said Demon after a gum-rinse and a slow swallow, ‘that her husband should stop swilling tittery, and stick to French and Califrench wines — after that little stroke he had. I met him in town recently, near Mad Avenue, saw him walking toward me quite normally, but then as he caught sight of me, a block away, the clockwork began slowing down and he stopped — oh, helplessly! — before he reached me. That’s hardly normal. Okay. Let our sweethearts never meet, as we used to say, up at Chose. Only Yukonians think cognac is bad for the liver, because they have nothing but vodka. Well, I’m glad you get along so well with Ada. That’s fine. A moment ago, in that gallery, I ran into a remarkably pretty soubrette. She never once raised her lashes and answered in French when I — Please, my boy, move that screen a little, that’s right, the stab of a sunset, especially from under a thunderhead, is not for my poor eyes. Or poor ventricles. Do you like the type, Van — the bowed little head, the bare neck, the high heels, the trot, the wiggle, you do, don’t you?’
‘Well, sir —’
(Tell him I’m the youngest Venutian? Does he belong, too? Show the sign? Better not. Invent.)
‘— Well, I’m resting after my torrid affair, in London, with my tango-partner whom you saw me dance with when you flew over for that last show — remember?’
‘Indeed, I do. Curious, you calling it that.’
‘I think, sir, you’ve had enough brandy.’
‘Sure, sure,’ said Demon, wrestling with a subtle question which only the ineptitude of a kindred conjecture had crowded out of Marina’s mind, granted it could have entered by some back door; for ineptitude is always synonymous with multitude, and nothing is fuller than an empty mind. (1.38)
In her letter to Van (written a month before Demon's death in an airplane disaster) Ada says that Dorothy Vinelander finished Chose (where she read History):
He greeted the dawn of a placid and prosperous century (more than half of which Ada and I have now seen) with the beginning of his second philosophic fable, a ‘denunciation of space’ (never to be completed, but forming in rear vision, a preface to his Texture of Time). Part of that treatise, a rather mannered affair, but nasty and sound, appeared in the first issue (January, 1904) of a now famous American monthly, The Artisan, and a comment on the excerpt is preserved in one of the tragically formal letters (all destroyed save this one) that his sister sent him by public post now and then. Somehow, after the interchange occasioned by Lucette’s death such nonclandestine correspondence had been established with the tacit sanction of Demon:
And o’er the summits of the Tacit
He, banned from Paradise, flew on:
Beneath him, like a brilliant’s facet,
Mount Peck with snows eternal shone.
It would seem indeed that continued ignorance of each other’s existence might have looked more suspicious than the following sort of note:
Agavia Ranch
February 5, 1905
I have just read Reflections in Sidra, by Ivan Veen, and I regard it as a grand piece, dear Professor. The ‘lost shafts of destiny’ and other poetical touches reminded me of the two or three times you had tea and muffins at our place in the country about twenty years ago. I was, you remember (presumptuous phrase!), a petite fille modèle practicing archery near a vase and a parapet and you were a shy schoolboy (with whom, as my mother guessed, I may have been a wee bit in love!), who dutifully picked up the arrows I lost in the lost shrubbery of the lost castle of poor Lucette’s and happy, happy Adette’s childhood, now a ‘Home for Blind Blacks’ — both my mother and L., I’m sure, would have backed Dasha’s advice to turn it over to her Sect. Dasha, my sister-in-law (you must meet her soon, yes, yes, yes, she’s dreamy and lovely, and lots more intelligent than I), who showed me your piece, asks me to add she hopes to ‘renew’ your acquaintance — maybe in Switzerland, at the Bellevue in Mont Roux, in October. I think you once met pretty Miss ‘Kim’ Blackrent, well, that’s exactly dear Dasha’s type. She is very good at perceiving and pursuing originality and all kinds of studies which I can’t even name! She finished Chose (where she read History — our Lucette used to call it ‘Sale Histoire,’ so sad and funny!). For her you’re le beau ténébreux, because once upon a time, once upon libellula wings, not long before my marriage, she attended — I mean at that time, I’m stuck in my ‘turnstyle’ — one of your public lectures on dreams, after which she went up to you with her latest little nightmare all typed out and neatly clipped together, and you scowled darkly and refused to take it. Well, she’s been after Uncle Dementiy to have him admonish le beau ténébreux to come to Mont Roux Bellevue Hotel, in October, around the seventeenth, I guess, and he only laughs and says it’s up to Dashenka and me to arrange matters.
So ‘congs’ again, dear Ivan! You are, we both think, a marvelous, inimitable artist who should also ‘only laugh,’ if cretinic critics, especially lower-upper-middle-class Englishmen, accuse his turnstyle of being ‘coy’ and ‘arch,’ much as an American farmer finds the parson ‘peculiar’ because he knows Greek.
P.S.
Dushevno klanyayus’ (‘am souledly bowing’, an incorrect and vulgar construction evoking the image of a ‘bowing soul’) nashemu zaochno dorogomu professoru (‘to our "unsight-unseen" dear professor’), o kotorom mnogo slïshal (about whom have heard much) ot dobrago Dementiya Dedalovicha i sestritsï (from good Demon and my sister).
S uvazheniem (with respect),
Andrey Vaynlender (3.7)
Chose is French for "thing" and quelque chose means "something." According to Pushkin (Eugene Onegin, One: V: 1-2),
Мы все учились понемногу
Чему-нибудь и как-нибудь
All of us had a bit of schooling
in something and somehow.
Paul Verlaine’s poem Art poétique (“Art of Poetry,” 1885) begins with the line De la musique avant toute chose (Of music before everything). Pol’ Verlen i dekadenty (“Paul Verlaine and the Decadents,” 1896) is a an essay by Gorky, the author of autobiographical trilogy Detstvo (“Childhood,” 1914), V lyudyakh (“My Apprenticeship,” 1916) and Moi universitety (“My Universities,” 1923). The heroes of Gorky’s early stories are bosyaki (paupers). The word bosyak comes from bosoy (barefoot). Old Paar of Chose (Van’s Professor at Chose) seems to hint at the phrase “old pair of shoes.” In his memoir essay F. M. Dostoevski i bosyak (“F. M. Dostoevski and the Pauper,” 1903) N. Repin (no relation to the painter) tells an anecdote about a drunken man in the street who once asked Dostoevski to give him kel’k-shoz (quelque chose in Russian spelling) and, when he did not get anything, hit the writer on his head:
Эпизод, о котором я намерен здесь говорить, произошел с нашим знаменитым писателем Ф. М. Достоевским ровно 25 лет тому назад.
Слово "босяк" тогда еще не было включено в обывательский лексикон, и те уличные забулдыги, которых теперь принято называть "босяками", в то время известны были под именем "вяземских кадет".
Как и теперешние "босяки" и "хулиганы", тогдашние "вяземские кадеты" держали себя на улице заносчиво и, несмотря на то что их не возвел еще в герои Максим Горький, они и тогда уже кичились своею принадлежностью к категории "бывших людей". Протягивая руку за милостыней, вяземские кадеты в большинстве случаев говорили: "Подайте кельк-шоз бла-ародному человеку!"
И если их назойливое требование "кельк-шоз" оставалось без удовлетворения, они, не задумываясь, награждали прохожих отборною руганью, а иногда пускали в ход кулаки.
На одного из таких босяков наткнулся однажды и покойный Ф. М. Достоевский. День был праздничный. Наш знаменитый писатель-психолог шел по Николаевской улице, по обыкновению сосредоточенно глядя себе под ноги. На самом углу Стремянной улицы, где теперь находится церковь, к Достоевскому подскакивает какой-то субъект с опухшей от пьянства физиономией и сиплым голосом бурчит: "Кельк-шоз бла-ародному человеку!.. "
Не расслышал ли он его, или по какой-либо другой причине, но Достоевский не обратил на него внимания и по-прежнему продолжал задумчиво свой путь. Вдруг с криком: "Сытый голодному не верит!" босяк этот размахнулся и ударил Достоевского кулаком по голове.
Удар был настолько силен, что наш знаменитый писатель упал на мостовую, отлетев при этом от тротуара аршина на два.
Стоявший на углу городовой подскочил к упавшему Достоевскому, помог ему встать на ноги, а кто-то из прохожих поймал катившуюся по мостовой шляпу Достоевского и отдал ее по принадлежности. Между тем босяк бросился бежать по Стремянной улице, но, по свистку городового, задержан был одним из дворников.
In his memoir essay N. Repin calls a justice of the peace, the late A. I. Trofimov, balagur i ostryak (a wag and a wit) who was known to all St. Petersburg:
В назначенный день явился Ф. М. Достоевский в камеру мирового судьи 13-го участка, помещавшуюся тогда на Стремянной улице. Мировым судьей этого участка был в то время покойный А. И. Трофимов, славившийся по всему Петербургу как балагур и остряк.
According to Ada, her husband called Demon balagur (a wag) and Dementiy Labirintovich:
‘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’): N’a pas le verbe etc.: lacks the gift of the gab.
In the Introduction to his essay Dostoevski i roman-tragediya (“Dostoevski and the Novel-Tragedy,” 1911) included in his book Borozdy i mezhi ("Furrows and Bounderies," 1916) Vyacheslav Ivanov calls Dostoevski velichayshiy iz Dedalov, stroiteley labirinta (“the greatest of Dedaluses, the builders of a labyrinth”):
Чтобы так углубить и обогатить наш внутренний мир, чтобы так осложнить жизнь, этому величайшему из Дедалов, строителей лабиринта, нужно было быть сложнейшим и в своем роде грандиознейшим из художников. Он был зодчим подземного лабиринта в основаниях строящегося поколениями храма; и оттого он такой тяжелый, подземный художник, и так редко видимо бывает в его творениях светлое лицо земли, ясное солнце над широкими полями, и только вечные звезды глянут порой через отверстия сводов, как те звезды, что видит Дант на ночлеге в одной из областей Чистилища, из глубины пещеры с узким входом, о котором говорит: "Немногое извне доступно было взору, но чрез то звезды я видел и ясными, и крупными необычно".
In his sonnet Perevodchiku (“To a Translator,” 1904) Vyacheslav Ivanov mentions the albatross Baudelaire and the nightingale Verlaine:
Будь жаворонок нив и пажитей — Вергилий,
Иль альбатрос Бодлер, иль соловей Верлен
Твоей ловитвою, — всё в чужеземный плен
Не заманить тебе птиц вольных без усилий,
Мой милый птицелов, — и, верно, без насилий
Не обойдешься ты, поэт, и без измен,
Хотя б ты другом был всех девяти камен,
И зла ботаником, и пастырем идиллий.
Затем, что стих чужой — что скользкий бог Протей:
Не улучить его охватом ни отвагой.
Ты держишь рыбий хвост, а он текучей влагой
Струится и бежит из немощных сетей.
С Протеем будь Протей, вторь каждой маске — маской!
Милей досужий люд своей забавить сказкой.
In 1924 VN translated Baudelaire's poem L'Albatros into Russian. Describing a game of poker that he played at Chose with Dick C. (a cardsharp) and the French twins, Van mentions “rosy aurora” and “laborious old Chose” (allusions to Baudelaire’s poem Le Crépuscle du Matin):
He now constatait avec plaisir, as he told his victims, that only a few hundred pounds separated him from the shoreline of the minimal sum he needed to appease his most ruthless creditor. whereupon he went on fleecing poor Jean and Jacques with reckless haste, and then found himself with three honest aces (dealt to him lovingly by Van) against Van’s nimbly mustered four nines. This was followed by a good bluff against a better one; and with Van’s generously slipping the desperately flashing and twinkling young lord good but not good enough hands, the latter’s martyrdom came to a sudden end (London tailors wringing their hands in the fog, and a moneylender, the famous St Priest of Chose, asking for an appointment with Dick’s father). After the heaviest betting Van had yet seen, Jacques showed a forlorn couleur (as he called it in a dying man’s whisper) and Dick surrendered with a straight flush to his tormentor’s royal one. Van, who up to then had had no trouble whatever in concealing his delicate maneuvers from Dick’s silly lens, now had the pleasure of seeing him glimpse the second joker palmed in his, Van’s, hand as he swept up and clasped to his bosom the ‘rainbow ivory’ — Plunkett was full of poetry. The twins put on their ties and coats and said they had to quit.
‘Same here, Dick,’ said Van. ‘Pity you had to rely on your crystal balls. I have often wondered why the Russian for it — I think we have a Russian ancestor in common — is the same as the German for "schoolboy," minus the umlaut’ — and while prattling thus, Van refunded with a rapidly written check the ecstatically astonished Frenchmen. Then he collected a handful of cards and chips and hurled them into Dick’s face. The missiles were still in flight when he regretted that cruel and commonplace bewgest, for the wretched fellow could not respond in any conceivable fashion, and just sat there covering one eye and examining his damaged spectacles with the other — it was also bleeding a little — while the French twins were pressing upon him two handkerchiefs which he kept good-naturedly pushing away. Rosy aurora was shivering in green Serenity Court. Laborious old Chose.
(There should be a sign denoting applause. Ada’s note.) (1.28)
Green Serenity Court seems to hint at les trésors de sa sérénité (the treasures of her serenity) mentioned by Baudelaire in his poem Lesbos:
— Plus belle que Vénus se dressant sur le monde
Et versant les trésors de sa sérénité
Et le rayonnement de sa jeunesse blonde
Sur le vieil Océan de sa fille enchanté;
Plus belle que Vénus se dressant sur le monde!
— Lovelier than Venus dominating the world,
Pouring out the treasures of her serenity
And the radiance of her golden-haired youth
Upon old Ocean, delighted with his daughter;
Lovelier than Venus dominating the world!
(tr. W. Aggeler)
According to Baudelaire, Lesbos chose him of all men on earth to sing the secret of her virgins in their bloom:
Car Lesbos entre tous m'a choisi sur la terre
Pour chanter le secret de ses vierges en fleurs,
Et je fus dès l'enfance admis au noir mystère
Des rires effrénés mêlés aux sombres pleurs;
Car Lesbos entre tous m'a choisi sur la terre.
For Lesbos chose me among all other poets
To sing the secret of her virgins in their bloom,
And from childhood I witnessed the dark mystery
Of unbridled laughter mingled with tears of gloom;
For Lesbos chose me among all other poets.
(tr. W. Aggeler)
The title of Baudelaire's poem brings to mind "labial lesbianitis" mentioned by Ada:
Several rieuses, a few of which were still wearing their tight black summer bonnets, had settled on the vermilion railing along the lakeside, with their tails to the path and watched which of them would stay staunchly perched at the approach of the next passerby. The majority flapped waterward as Ada and Van neared; one twitched its tail feathers and made a movement analogous to ‘bending one’s knees’ but saw it through and remained on the railing.
‘I think we noticed that species only once in Arizona — at a place called Saltsink — a kind of man-made lake. Our common ones have quite different wing tips.’
A Crested Grebe, afloat some way off, slowly, slowly, very slowly started to sink, then abruptly executed a jumping fish plunge, showing its glossy white underside, and vanished.
‘Why on earth,’ asked Van, ‘didn’t you let her know, in one way or another, that you were not angry with her? Your phoney letter made her most unhappy!’
‘Pah!’ uttered Ada. ‘She put me in a most embarrassing situation. I can quite understand her being mad at Dorothy (who meant well, poor stupid thing — stupid enough to warn me against possible "infections" such as "labial lesbianitis." Labial lesbianitis!) but that was no reason for Lucette to look up Andrey in town and tell him she was great friends with the man I had loved before my marriage. He didn’t dare annoy me with his revived curiosity, but he complained to Dorothy of Lucette’s neopravdannaya zhestokost’ (unjustified cruelty).’
‘Ada, Ada,’ groaned Van, ‘I want you to get rid of that husband of yours, and his sister, right now!’
‘Give me a fortnight,’ she said, ‘I have to go back to the ranch. I can’t bear the thought of her poking among my things.’ (3.8)
At Chose Dorothy Vinelander read History. During Van's first tea party at Ardis Marina (Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother) says that she used to love history and mentions Dostoevski:
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.
The Russian word for "raspberry" is malina. In Dostoevski's novel Brat'ya Karamazovy ("The Brothers Karamazov," 1880) Rakitin uses the phrase sizhu v maline (I'm sitting in clover):
— Чего тут договаривать, всё ясно. Всё это, брат, старая музыка. Если уж и ты сладострастника в себе заключаешь, то что же брат твой Иван, единоутробный? Ведь и он Карамазов. В этом весь ваш карамазовский вопрос заключается: сладострастники, стяжатели и юродивые! Брат твой Иван теперь богословские статейки пока в шутку по какому-то глупейшему неизвестному расчету печатает, будучи сам атеистом, и в подлости этой сам сознается — брат твой этот, Иван. Кроме того, от братца Мити невесту себе отбивает, ну и этой цели, кажется, что достигнет. Да еще как: с согласия самого Митеньки, потому что Митенька сам ему невесту свою уступает, чтобы только отвязаться от нее да уйти поскорей к Грушеньке. И всё это при всем своем благородстве и бескорыстии, заметь себе это. Вот эти-то люди самые роковые и есть! Черт вас разберет после этого: сам подлость свою сознает и сам в подлость лезет! Слушай дальше: Митеньке теперь пересекает дорогу старикашка отец. Ведь тот по Грушеньке с ума вдруг сошел, ведь у него слюна бежит, когда на нее глядит только. Ведь это он только из-за нее одной в келье сейчас скандал такой сделал, за то только, что Миусов ее беспутною тварью назвать осмелился. Влюбился хуже кошки. Прежде она ему тут только по делишкам каким-то темным да кабачным на жалованье прислуживала, а теперь вдруг догадался и разглядел, остервенился, с предложениями лезет, не с честными конечно. Ну и столкнутся же они, папенька с сыночком, на этой дорожке. А Грушенька ни тому, ни другому; пока еще виляет да обоих дразнит, высматривает, который выгоднее, потому хоть у папаши можно много денег тяпнуть, да ведь зато он не женится, а пожалуй, так под конец ожидовеет и запрет кошель. В таком случае и Митенька свою цену имеет; денег у него нет, но зато способен жениться. Да-с, способен жениться! Бросить невесту, несравненную красоту, Катерину Ивановну, богатую, дворянку и полковничью дочь, и жениться на Грушеньке, бывшей содержанке старого купчишки, развратного мужика и городского головы Самсонова. Из всего сего действительно может столкновение произойти уголовное. А этого брат твой Иван и ждет, тут он и в малине: и Катерину Ивановну приобретет, по которой сохнет, да и шестьдесят ее тысяч приданого тяпнет. Маленькому-то человечку и голышу, как он, это и весьма прельстительно для начала. И ведь заметь себе: не только Митю не обидит, но даже по гроб одолжит. Ведь я наверно знаю, что Митенька сам и вслух, на прошлой неделе еще, кричал в трактире пьяный, с цыганками, что недостоин невесты своей Катеньки, а брат Иван — так вот тот достоин. А сама Катерина Ивановна уж, конечно, такого обворожителя, как Иван Федорович, под конец не отвергнет; ведь она уж и теперь между двумя ими колеблется. И чем только этот Иван прельстил вас всех, что вы все пред ним благоговеете? А он над вами же смеется: в малине, дескать, сижу и на ваш счет лакомствую.
“What is there to finish? It’s all clear. It’s all the same old tune, brother. If there’s a sensualist even in you, then what about your brother Ivan, your full brother? He’s a Karamazov, too. The whole question of you Karamazovs comes down to this: you’re sensualists, money-grubbers, and holy fools! Right now your brother Ivan is publishing little theological articles as a joke, for some unknown, stupid reason, since he himself is an atheist and admits the baseness of it—that’s your brother Ivan. Besides which, he’s stealing his dear brother Mitya’s fiancée, and it looks like he’ll reach that goal. And how? With Mitenka’s own consent, because Mitenka himself is giving her up to him, just to get rid of her, so that he can run to Grushenka. All the while being a noble and disinterested man—make note of that. Such people are the most fatal of all! The devil alone can sort you all out after that: he admits his own baseness even while he throws himself into it! But there’s more: now dear old papa crosses Mitenka’s path. He’s lost his mind over Grushenka, starts drooling the moment he sees her. Why do you think he caused such a scandal in the cell just now? Only because of her, because Miusov dared to call her a loose creature. He’s worse than a lovesick tomcat. Before, she only served him on salary in his shady tavern business, but now he suddenly sees and realizes, he goes wild, he pesters her with his propositions—not honorable ones, of course. So the papa and his boy will run into each other on that path. And Grushenka takes neither the one nor the other; so far she’s still hedging and teasing them both, trying to decide which of them will be more profitable, because while she might be able to grab a lot of money from the papa, still he won’t marry her, and maybe in the end he’ll get piggish and shut his purse. In which case, Mitenka, too, has his value; he has no money, but he’s capable of marrying her. Oh, yes, sir, he’s capable of marrying her! Of dropping his fiancée, an incomparable beauty, Katerina Ivanovna, rich, an aristocrat and a colonel’s daughter, and marrying Grushenka, formerly the kept woman of an old shopkeeper, a profligate peasant, the town mayor Samsonov. Out of all that some criminal conflict may indeed come. And that is what your brother Ivan is waiting for. He’ll be in clover. He’ll acquire Katerina Ivanovna, whom he’s pining for, and also grab her dowry of sixty thousand roubles. For a poor, bare little fellow like him, that’s rather tempting to start with. And note: not only will he not offend Mitya, he’ll even be doing him an undying service. Because I know for certain that Mitenka himself, just last week, when he got drunk with some gypsy women, shouted out loud in the tavern that he was not worthy of his fiancée Katenka, but that Ivan, his brother, he was worthy of her. And in the end, Katerina Ivanovna herself will not, of course, reject such a charmer as Ivan Fyodorovich; even now she’s already hesitating between the two of them. And how is it that Ivan has seduced you all, that you’re all so in awe of him? He’s laughing at you: he’s sitting there in clover, relishing at your expense!” (Part One, Book II, chapter 7 "A Seminarist-Careerist")
Like Rakitin, Stalin was a seminarist. In his satire on Stalin, My zhivyom, pod soboyu ne chuya strany... ("We live not feeling land beneath us," 1933), Mandelshtam compares Stalin's execution to a raspberry:
Мы живем, под собою не чуя страны,
Наши речи за десять шагов не слышны,
А где хватит на полразговорца,
Там припомнят кремлёвского горца.
Его толстые пальцы, как черви, жирны,
И слова, как пудовые гири, верны,
Тараканьи смеются глазища
И сияют его голенища.
А вокруг него сброд тонкошеих вождей,
Он играет услугами полулюдей.
Кто свистит, кто мяучит, кто хнычет,
Он один лишь бабачит и тычет.
Как подкову, куёт за указом указ --
Кому в пах, кому в лоб, кому в бровь, кому в глаз.
Что ни казнь у него -- то малина
И широкая грудь осетина.
We live without feeling the country beneath us,
our speech at ten paces inaudible,
and where there are enough for half a conversation
the name of the Kremlin mountaineer is dropped.
His thick fingers are fatty like worms,
but his words are as true as pound weights.
his cockroach whiskers laugh,
and the tops of his boots shine.
Around him a rabble of thick-skinned leaders,
he plays with the attentions of half-men.
Some whistle, some miaul, some shivel,
but he just bangs and pokes.
He forges his decrees like horseshoes —
some get it in the groin, some in the forehead.
some in the brows, some in the eyes.
Whatever the execution, it's a raspberry to him,
And he has the broad chest of an Osette.
Describing the beginning of Demon's affair with Marina, Van mentions "Eugene and Lara," a stage play in which several merry young gardeners wearing for some reason the garb of Georgian tribesmen are popping raspberries into their mouths:
Even before the old Eskimo had shuffled off with the message, Demon Veen had left his pink velvet chair and proceeded to win the wager, the success of his enterprise being assured by the fact that Marina, a kissing virgin, had been in love with him since their last dance on New Year’s Eve. Moreover, the tropical moonlight she had just bathed in, the penetrative sense of her own beauty, the ardent pulses of the imagined maiden, and the gallant applause of an almost full house made her especially vulnerable to the tickle of Demon’s moustache. She had ample time, too, to change for the next scene, which started with a longish intermezzo staged by a ballet company whose services Scotty had engaged, bringing the Russians all the way in two sleeping cars from Belokonsk, Western Estoty. In a splendid orchard several merry young gardeners wearing for some reason the garb of Georgian tribesmen were popping raspberries into their mouths, while several equally implausible servant girls in sharovars (somebody had goofed — the word ‘samovars’ may have got garbled in the agent’s aerocable) were busy plucking marshmallows and peanuts from the branches of fruit trees. At an invisible sign of Dionysian origin, they all plunged into the violent dance called kurva or ‘ribbon boule’ in the hilarious program whose howlers almost caused Veen (tingling, and light-loined, and with Prince N.’s rose-red banknote in his pocket) to fall from his seat. (1.2)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Raspberries; ribbon: allusions to ludicrous blunders in Lowell’s versions of Mandelshtam’s poems (in the N.Y. Review, 23 December 1965).
Belokonsk: the Russian twin of ‘Whitehorse’ (city in N.W. Canada).
The action in "The Brothers Karamazov" takes place in Skotoprigonievsk (the town's name brings to mind Skotty, Marina's impresario).
One of the seconds in Demon's duel with Baron d'Onsky is Colonel St Alin, a scoundrel:
Upon being questioned in Demon’s dungeon, Marina, laughing trillingly, wove a picturesque tissue of lies; then broke down, and confessed. She swore that all was over; that the Baron, a physical wreck and a spiritual Samurai, had gone to Japan forever. From a more reliable source Demon learned that the Samurai’s real destination was smart little Vatican, a Roman spa, whence he was to return to Aardvark, Massa, in a week or so. Since prudent Veen preferred killing his man in Europe (decrepit but indestructible Gamaliel was said to be doing his best to forbid duels in the Western Hemisphere — a canard or an idealistic President’s instant-coffee caprice, for nothing was to come of it after all), Demon rented the fastest petroloplane available, overtook the Baron (looking very fit) in Nice, saw him enter Gunter’s Bookshop, went in after him, and in the presence of the imperturbable and rather bored English shopkeeper, back-slapped the astonished Baron across the face with a lavender glove. The challenge was accepted; two native seconds were chosen; the Baron plumped for swords; and after a certain amount of good blood (Polish and Irish — a kind of American ‘Gory Mary’ in barroom parlance) had bespattered two hairy torsoes, the whitewashed terrace, the flight of steps leading backward to the walled garden in an amusing Douglas d’Artagnan arrangement, the apron of a quite accidental milkmaid, and the shirtsleeves of both seconds, charming Monsieur de Pastrouil and Colonel St Alin, a scoundrel, the latter gentlemen separated the panting combatants, and Skonky died, not ‘of his wounds’ (as it was viciously rumored) but of a gangrenous afterthought on the part of the least of them, possibly self-inflicted, a sting in the groin, which caused circulatory trouble, notwithstanding quite a few surgical interventions during two or three years of protracted stays at the Aardvark Hospital in Boston — a city where, incidentally, he married in 1869 our friend the Bohemian lady, now keeper of Glass Biota at the local museum. (ibid.)
In his poem Net, ne spryatat’sya mne ot velikoy mury… (“No, I can’t hide from the great nonsense…” 1931) Mandelshtam mentions kurva-Moskva (“Moscow the whore”). On the other hand, in a letter of Nov. 6, 1833, to his wife Natalia Nikolaevna Pushkin calls Ninon de Lenclos (whose hairdo was just copied by the poet’s wife) kurva (a whore) and quotes Ninon’s words “Il est écrit sur le coeur de tout homme: à la plus facile (it is written on the heart of every man: to the most accessible):”
Курва, у которой переняла ты причёску (NB: ты очень должна быть хороша в этой причёске; я об этом думал сегодня ночью), Ninon говорила: Il est écrit sur le coeur de tout homme: à la plus facile. После этого, изволь гордиться похищением мужских сердец.
Describing his meeting with Ada in Mont Roux, Van mentions Vere’s Ninon and Ada’s lenclose:
Before the two ladies proceeded toward the lift, Ada glanced at Van - and he - no fool in amorous strategy - refrained to comment on her 'forgetting' her tiny black silk handbag on the seat of her chair. He did not accompany them beyond the passage leading liftward and, clutching the token, awaited her planned return behind a pillar of hotel-hall mongrel design, knowing that in a moment she would say to her accursed companion (by now revising, no doubt, her views on the 'beau ténébreux') as the lift's eye turned red under a quick thumb: 'Akh, sumochku zabïla (forgot my bag)!' – and instantly flitting back, like Vere's Ninon, she would be in his arms.
Their open mouths met in tender fury, and then he pounced upon her new, young, divine, Japanese neck which he had been coveting like a veritable Jupiter Olorinus throughout the evening. 'We'll vroom straight to my place as soon as you wake up, don't bother to bathe, jump into your lenclose -' and, with the burning sap brimming, he again devoured her, until (Dorothy must have reached the sky!) she danced three fingers on his wet lips - and escaped. (3.8)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Olorinus: from Lat. olor, swan (Leda’s lover).
lenclose: distorted ‘clothes’ (influenced by ‘Ninon de Lenclos’), the courtesan in Vere de Vere’s novel mentioned above.
The daughter of Zeus and Leda, Helen of Troy was born from a swan’s egg. Asking Ada to leave her sick husband, Van mentions Helen of Troy:
As had been peculiar to his nature even in the days of his youth, Van was apt to relieve a passion of anger and disappointment by means of bombastic and arcane utterances which hurt like a jagged fingernail caught in satin, the lining of Hell.
‘Castle True, Castle Bright!’ he now cried, ‘Helen of Troy, Ada of Ardis! You have betrayed the Tree and the Moth!’
‘Perestagne (stop, cesse)!’
‘Ardis the First, Ardis the Second, Tanned Man in a Hat, and now Mount Russet —’
‘Perestagne!’ repeated Ada (like a fool dealing with an epileptic).
‘Oh! Qui me rendra mon Hélène —’
‘Ach, perestagne!’
‘— et le phalène.’
‘Je t’emplie ("prie" and "supplie"), stop, Van. Tu sais que j’en vais mourir.’
‘But, but, but’ — (slapping every time his forehead) — ‘to be on the very brink of, of, of — and then have that idiot turn Keats!’
‘Bozhe moy, I must be going. Say something to me, my darling, my only one, something that might help!’
There was a narrow chasm of silence broken only by the rain drumming on the eaves.
‘Stay with me, girl,’ said Van, forgetting everything — pride, rage, the convention of everyday pity.
For an instant she seemed to waver — or at least to consider wavering; but a resonant voice reached them from the drive and there stood Dorothy, gray-caped and mannish-hatted, energetically beckoning with her unfurled umbrella.
‘I can’t, I can’t, I’ll write you,’ murmured my poor love in tears.
Van kissed her leaf-cold hand and, letting the Bellevue worry about his car, letting all Swans worry about his effects and Mme Scarlet worry about Eveline’s skin trouble, he walked some ten kilometers along soggy roads to Rennaz and thence flew to Nice, Biskra, the Cape, Nairobi, the Basset range —
And oe’r the summits of the Basset — (ibid.)
Émile Basset was Dostoevski's teacher of French at the Main Military Engineering school housed in the Mikhaylovski Castle (where the tsar Paul I was assassinated in March, 1801).