In his diary Gumbert Gumbert (Humbert Humbert's name in the Russian Lolita, 1967) calls Lolita's mother gnusnaya Geyzikha:
Накануне я прекратил режим отчуждения, который я сам себе предписал, и сейчас я испустил веселый клик, возвещавший мое прибытие, одновременно отворяя дверь гостиной. Повернутая ко мне каштановым шиньоном над сливочно-белой шеей, в той же желтой блузке и тех же темно-красных штанах, которые были на ней в день нашей первой встречи, Шарлотга сидела в углу за письменным столиком и строчила письмо. Еще не выпустив ручку двери, я повторил свой приветственный возглас. Ее рука перестала писать. С секунду Шарлотта сидела неподвижно; затем она медленно повернулась на стуле, положив локоть на его выгнутую спинку. Ее лицо, искаженное тем, что она испытывала, не представляло собой приятного зрелища. Упираясь взглядом в мои ноги, она заговорила:
"Гнусная Гейзиха, толстая стерва, старая ведьма, вредная мамаша, старая... старая дура... эта старая дура все теперь знает... Она... она..."
The day before I had ended the regime of aloofness I had imposed upon myself, and now uttered a cheerful homecoming call as I opened the door of the living room. With her cream-white nape and bronze bun to me, wearing the yellow blouse and maroon slacks she had on when I first met her, Charlotte sat at the corner bureau writing a letter. My hand still on the doorknob, I repeated my hearty cry. Her writing hand stopped. She sat still for a moment; then she slowly turned in her chair and rested her elbow on its curved back. Her face, disfigured by her emotion, was not a pretty sight as she stared at my legs and said:
“The Haze woman, the big bitch, the old cat, the obnoxious mamma, the - the old stupid Haze is no longer your dupe. She has - she has…” (1.22)
Geyzikha (the Haze woman) brings to mind Kabanikha (the Kabanov woman), Katerina's despotic mother-in-law in Ostrovski's play Groza ("The Thunderstorm," 1859). The surname Kabanov comes from kaban, Russian for "boar." In the Russian Lolita the smoke Prattsha (as Gumbert calls Miss Pratt, the headmistress of Beardsley College) exhales from her nostrils is like a pair of kaban'yi klyki (a boar's tusks):
"Что ж", продолжала она бодро, "а я вот папиросы курю и, как наш незабвенный доктор Пирс говаривал, не горжусь этим, но черезвычаянно это люблю!" Она закурила, и дым, который она выпустила из ноздрей, напомнил мне пару кабаньих клыков.
“Well,” she went on with zest, “as for me, I do smoke, and, as dear Dr. Pierce used to say: I’m not proud of it but I jeest love it.” She lit up and the smoke she exhaled from her nostrils was like a pair of tusks. (2.10)
In Ostrovski's play Katerina fears that she will be killed by lightning. Humbert's photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning), when Humbert was three. Clare Quilty (a playwright who abducts Lolita from the Elphinstone hospital and whom Humbert tracks down and kills) is the author of The Lady who Loved Lightning. Dobrolyubov's article on Ostrovski's play, Luch sveta v tyomnom tsarstve ("A Ray of Light in the Dark Kingdom," 1860), brings to mind John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert's manuscript) and Vivian Darkbloom (Clare Quilty's coauthor, anagram of Vladimir Nabokov). A radical critic, Dobrolyubov is a character in Zhizn' Chernyshevskogo ("The Life of Chernyshevski"), Chapter Four of VN's novel Dar ("The Gift," 1937). Dobrolyubov died on November 17, 1961:
Между тем 17 ноября 1861 г., имея двадцать пять лет от роду, Добролюбов скончался. Его хоронили на Волковом кладбище, "в простом дубовом гробу" (гроб в таких случаях всегда прост), рядом с Белинским. "Вдруг вышел энергичный бритый господин", - вспоминает очевидец (внешность Чернышевского была всё еще мало известна), и так как народу собралось немного, и это его раздражало, он поговорил об этом с обстоятельной иронией. Покамест он говорил, Ольга Сократовна сотрясалась от плача, опираясь на руку одного из заботливых студентов, всегда бывших при ней: другой же держал, кроме своей фуражки, енотовую шапку самого, который, в распахнутой шубе - несмотря на мороз - вынул тетрадь и сердитым наставительным голосом стал читать по ней земляные стихи Добролюбова о честности и смерти; сиял иней на березах; а немного в сторонке, рядом с дряхлой матерью одного из могильщиков, смиренно стоял в новых валенках агент третьего отделения. "Да-с, - закончил Чернышевский, - тут дело не в том, господа, что цензура, кромсавшая его статьи, довела Добролюбова до болезни почек. Для своей славы он сделал довольно. Для себя ему незачем было жить дольше. Людям такого закала и таких стремлений жизнь не дает ничего, кроме жгучей скорби. Честность - вот была его смертельная болезнь", - и свернутой в трубку тетрадью указав третье, свободное, место, Чернышевский воскликнул: "Нет для него человека в России!" (был: это место вскоре затем занял Писарев).
Meanwhile, on November 17, 1861, at twenty-five years of age, Dobrolyubov died. He was buried in the Volkov cemetery “in a simple oak coffin” (the coffin in such cases is always simple) next to Belinski. “Suddenly there stepped forth an energetic, clean-shaven gentleman,” recalls a witness (Chernyshevski’s appearance was still unfamiliar), and since few people had gathered, and this irritated him, he started to speak of it with detailed irony. While he was speaking, Olga Sokratovna shook with tears, leaning upon the arm of one of those devoted students who were always with her: another, besides his own regulation cap, held the raccoon cap of the “boss,” who with his fur coat unbuttoned—in spite of the frost—took out an exercise book and began in an angry, didactic voice to read from it Dobrolyubov’s lumpy gray poems about honest principles and approaching death; hoarfrost shone on the birches; and a little to one side, next to the doddering mother of one of the gravediggers, in new felt boots and full of humility, stood an agent of the Secret Police. “Yes,” concluded Chernyshevski, “we are not concerned here with the fact that the censorship, by cutting his articles to bits, brought Dobrolyubov to a disease of the kidneys. For his own glory he did enough. For his own sake he had no reason to live longer. For men of such a cast and with such aspirations life has nothing but burning grief to offer. Honest principles—that was his fatal illness,” and pointing with his rolled-up notebook to an adjacent, empty place on the other side, Chernyshevski exclaimed: “There is not a man in Russia worthy of occupying that grave!” (There was: it was occupied soon afterwards by Pisarev.)
According to John Ray, Jr., Humbert Humbert died on November 16, 1952:
“Lolita, or the Confession of a White Widowed Male,” such were the two titles under which the writer of the present note received the strange pages it preambulates. “Humbert Humbert,” their author, had died in legal captivity, of coronary thrombosis, on November 16, 1952, a few days before his trial was scheduled to start. His lawyer, my good friend and relation, Clarence Choate Clark, Esq., now of he District of Columbia bar, in asking me to edit the manuscript, based his request on a clause in his client’s will which empowered my eminent cousin to use the discretion in all matters pertaining to the preparation of “Lolita” for print. Mr. Clark’s decision may have been influenced by the fact that the editor of his choice had just been awarded the Poling Prize for a modest work (“Do the Senses make Sense?”) wherein certain morbid states and perversions had been discussed.
In The Life of Chernyshevski Fyodor mentions the expressions gnusno, gnusnost' ("infamous," "infamy") that began pleasantly to enliven the pages of The Contemporary:
Но уже вскоре после образования губернских комитетов пыл его охлаждается: его возмущает дворянское своекорыстие большинства из них. Окончательное разочарование наступает во второй половине 58 года. Величина выкупной суммы! Малость надельной земли! Тон «Современника» становится резким, откровенным; словцо «гнусно», «гнусность» начинает приятно оживлять страницы этого скучноватого журнала.
But soon after the provincial committees were formed, Chernyshevski’s ardor cooled: he was incensed by the self-seeking of the nobles in most of them. His final disillusionment came in the second half of 1858. The size of the compensation! The smallness of the allotments! The tone of The Contemporary became sharp and frank; the expressions “infamous” and “infamy” began pleasantly to enliven the pages of this dullish magazine.
In The Life of Chernyshevski Fyodor mentions the German philosophers Feuerbach and Hegel:
В те годы Андрея Ивановича Фейербаха предпочли Егору Федоровичу Гегелю. Homo feuerbachi есть мыслящая мышца. Андрей Иванович находил, что человек отличается от обезьяны только своей точкой зрения; вряд ли, однако, он изучил обезьян. За ним полвека спустя Ленин опровергал теорию, что "земля есть сочетание человеческих ощущений" тем, что "земля существовала до человека", а к его торговому объявлению: "мы теперь превращаем кантовскую непознаваемую вещь в себе в вещь для себя посредством органической химии" серьезно добавлял, что "раз существовал ализарин в каменном угле без нашего ведома, то существуют вещи независимо от нашего познания". Совершенно так же Чернышевский объяснял: "мы видим дерево; другой человек смотрит на этот же предмет. В глазах у него мы видим, что дерево изображается точь-в-точь такое-же. Итак мы все видим предметы, как они действительно существуют". Во всем этом диком вздоре есть еще свой частный смешной завиток: постоянное у "материалистов" аппелирование к дереву особенно забавно тем, что все они плохо знают природу, в частности деревья. Тот осязаемый предмет, который "действует гораздо сильнее отвлеченного понятия о нем" ("Антропологический принцип в философии"), им просто неведом. Вот какая страшная отвлеченность получилась в конечном счете из "материализма"! Чернышевский не отличал плуга от сохи; путал пиво с мадерой; не мог назвать ни одного лесного цветка, кроме дикой розы; но характерно, что это незнание ботаники сразу восполнял "общей мыслью", добавляя с убеждением невежды, что "они (цветы сибирской тайги) всё те же самые, какие цветут по всей России". Какое то тайное возмездие было в том, что он, строивший свою философию на познании мира, которого сам не познал, теперь очутился, наг и одинок, среди дремучей, своеобразно роскошной, до конца еще не описанной природы северо-восточной Сибири: стихийная, мифологическая кара, не входившая в расчет его человеческих судей.
In those days Andrey Ivanovich Feuerbach was preferred to Egor Fyodorovich Hegel. Homo feuerbachi is a cogitating muscle. Andrey Ivanovich found that man differs from the ape only in his point of view; he could hardly, however, have studied the apes. A half-century after him Lenin refuted the theory that “the earth is the sum of human sensations” with “the earth existed before man did”; and to his trade announcement: “We now turn Kant’s unknowable ‘thing in itself,’ into a ‘thing for us,’ by means of organic chemistry,” he added quite seriously that “since alizarin has existed in coal without our knowledge, then things must exist independently of our cognition.” Similarly, Chernyshevski explained: “We see a tree; another man looks at the same object. We see by the reflection in his eyes that his image of the tree looks exactly the same as our tree. Thus we all see objects as they really exist.” All this wild rubbish has its own private hilarious twist: the “materialists’ ” constant appeal to trees is especially amusing because they are all so badly acquainted with nature, particularly with trees. That tangible object which according to Chernyshevski “acts much more strongly than the abstract concept of it” (the Anthropological Principle in Philosophy) is simply beyond their ken. Look what a terrible abstraction resulted, in the final analysis, from “materialism”! Chernyshevski did not know the difference between a plow and the wooden soha; he confused beer with Madeira; he was unable to name a single wild flower except the wild rose; and it is characteristic that this deficiency of botanical knowledge was immediately made up by a “generalization” when he maintained with the conviction of an ignoramus that “they [the flowers of the Siberian taiga] are all just the same as those which bloom all over Russia!” There lurks a secret retribution in the fact that he who had constructed his philosophy on a basis of knowing the world was now placed, naked and alone, amidst the bewitched, strangely luxuriant, and still incompletely described nature of northeast Siberia: an elemental, mythological punishment which had not been taken into account by his human judges.
According to Humbert, in comparision to Rita (a girl whom Humbert picks up 0ne depraved May evening somewhere between Montreal and New York) Valeria (Humbert's first wife) was a Schlegel, and Charlotte (Lolita's mother) a Hegel:
She had a natty little coupe; and in it we traveled to California so as to give my venerable vehicle a rest. her natural speed was ninety. Dear Rita! We cruised together for two dim years, from summer 1950 to summer 1952, and she was the sweetest, simplest, gentles, dumbest Rita imaginable. In comparison to her, Valechka was a Schlegel, and Charlotte a Hegel. There is no earthly reason why I should dally with her in the margin of this sinister memoir, but let me say (hi, Ritawherever you are, drunk or hangoverish, Rita, hi!) that she was the most soothing, the most comprehending companion that I ever had, and certainly saved me from the madhouse. I told her I was trying to trace a girl and plug that girl’s bully. Rita solemnly approved of the planand in the course of some investigation she undertook on her own (without really knowing a thing), around San Humbertino, got entangled with a pretty awful crook herself; I had the devil of a time retrieving herused and bruised but still cocky. Then one day she proposed playing Russian roulette with my sacred automatic; I said you couldn’t, it was not a revolver, and we struggled for it, until at last it went off, touching off a very thin and very comical spurt of hot water from the hole it made in the wall of the cabin room; I remember her shrieks of laughter. (2.26)
Describing his arrest, Humbert mentions a thoughtful Hegelian synthesis linking up two dead women (Humbert's mother and Lolita's mother):
The road now stretched across open country, and it occurred to me - not by way of protest, not as a symbol, or anything like that, but merely as a novel experience - that since I had disregarded all laws of humanity, I might as well disregard the rules of traffic. So I crossed to the left side of the highway and checked the feeling, and the feeling was good. It was a pleasant diaphragmal melting, with elements of diffused tactility, all this enhanced by the thought that nothing could be nearer to the elimination of basic physical laws than deliberately driving on the wrong side of the road. In a way, it was a very spiritual itch. Gently, dreamily, not exceeding twenty miles an hour, I drove on that queer mirror side. Traffic was light. Cars that now and then passed me on the side I had abandoned to them, honked at me brutally. Cars coming towards me wobbled, swerved, and cried out in fear. Presently I found myself approaching populated places. Passing through a red light was like a sip of forbidden Burgundy when I was a child. Meanwhile complications were arising. I was being followed and escorted. Then in front of me I saw two cars placing themselves in such a manner as to completely block my way. With a graceful movement I turned off the road, and after two or three big bounces, rode up a grassy slope, among surprised cows, and there I came to a gentle rocking stop. A kind of thoughtful Hegelian synthesis linking up two dead women. (2.36)