In VN’s novel Ada (1969) Van, Ada and their half-sister Lucette are the children of Venus:
Knowing how fond his sisters were of Russian fare and Russian floor shows, Van took them Saturday night to ‘Ursus,’ the best Franco-Estotian restaurant in Manhattan Major. Both young ladies wore the very short and open evening gowns that Vass ‘miraged’ that season — in the phrase of that season: Ada, a gauzy black, Lucette, a lustrous cantharid green. Their mouths ‘echoed’ in tone (but not tint) each other’s lipstick; their eyes were made up in a ‘surprised bird-of-paradise’ style that was as fashionable in Los as in Lute. Mixed metaphors and double-talk became all three Veens, the children of Venus. (2.8)
The action in Ada takes place on Demonia, Earth's twin planet also known as Antiterra. The second planet of the Solar System, Venus (called after the Roman goddess of love) is the fifth planet in the geocentric model of the universe:
I am Venus, fifth planet above
The world, and am the light of Love.
I'm moist and cold, and in my hour
Men feel my great and awesome power.
Two houses are mine, in which I fare,
The Bull and Scales, and when I'm there
I live in joy and jollity,
And Mars can never frighten me.
In the cold, wet Fishes I'm glad to rise,
In the Virgin's sign my power dies.
In just one year and then one day
Through the signs I gently play.
In The Poems of the Seven Planets Venus's children are described as follows:
Lightly loving, full of mirth,
My children are happy here on earth.
Merry when rich and merry poor,
None can compare, you may be sure.
Pipe and tabor, harps and lutes,
They play organs, horns and flutes.
With singing, and with dancing too,
Embrace their lovers, kiss and woo.
They rejoice to hear fair music's sound.
Their mouths are darling, faces round.
Beautiful bodies, parched by Lust's heat,
My children find Love's duties sweet.
Van takes Ada and Lucette to 'Ursus' (a restaurant whose name brings to mind the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor) on Saturday. The English 'Saturday' originates from the Roman god Saturn, and can be recognized from Latin, where the day is called 'Dies Saturni'. In the geocentric model of the universe Saturn is the first planet:
Saturn is my name; I'm first
Of planets high above the earth.
I am by nature dry and cold,
And my works are manifold.
I in my houses firmly stand-
The Goat and the Waterman.
I do much damage by my might,
On sea and land, by day and night.
My exaltation's in the Scales,
But in the Ram my power fails.
It's thirty years, harsh and malign,
Ere I come again to the same sign.
In The Poems of the Seven Planets Saturn's children look as if they were the opposites of the children of Venus:
My children are vicious, dry and old,
Envious, weary, wretched, cold.
Deep eyes, hard skin, their beards are small.
They're lame, misshapen, depraved withal.
Traitorous, brooding, greedy, pale,
They often find themselves in jail.
They grub the dirt, dig graves, plow land,
In foul and stinking clothes they stand.
Condemned to die or live in sorrow,
Sweat and strain, or trouble borrow,
Always needy, never free,
It's Saturn's children there you see.
The Ptolemaic geocentric system was advocated by Pavel Florenski (1882-1937), a Russian Orthodox theologian, philosopher, mathematician, inventor, polymath, poet and neomartyr. The surname Florenski means "of Florence." Describing the torments of poor mad Aqua (the twin sister of Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother Marina), Van mentions a silly pillar in Florence and stone-heavy-dead St Zeus:
She developed a morbid sensitivity to the language of tap water — which echoes sometimes (much as the bloodstream does predormitarily) a fragment of human speech lingering in one’s ears while one washes one’s hands after cocktails with strangers. Upon first noticing this immediate, sustained, and in her case rather eager and mocking but really quite harmless replay of this or that recent discourse, she felt tickled at the thought that she, poor Aqua, had accidentally hit upon such a simple method of recording and transmitting speech, while technologists (the so-called Eggheads) all over the world were trying to make publicly utile and commercially rewarding the extremely elaborate and still very expensive, hydrodynamic telephones and other miserable gadgets that were to replace those that had gone k chertyam sobach’im (Russian ‘to the devil’) with the banning of an unmentionable ‘lammer.’ Soon, however, the rhythmically perfect, but verbally rather blurred volubility of faucets began to acquire too much pertinent sense. The purity of the running water’s enunciation grew in proportion to the nuisance it made of itself. It spoke soon after she had listened, or been exposed, to somebody talking — not necessarily to her — forcibly and expressively, a person with a rapid characteristic voice, and very individual or very foreign phrasal intonations, some compulsive narrator’s patter at a horrible party, or a liquid soliloquy in a tedious play, or Van’s lovely voice, or a bit of poetry heard at a lecture, my lad, my pretty, my love, take pity, but especially the more fluid and flou Italian verse, for instance that ditty recited between knee-knocking and palpebra-lifting, by a half-Russian, half-dotty old doctor, doc, toc, ditty, dotty, ballatetta, deboletta... tu, voce sbigottita... spigotty e diavoletta... de lo cor dolente... con ballatetta va... va... della strutta, destruttamente... mente... mente... stop that record, or the guide will go on demonstrating as he did this very morning in Florence a silly pillar commemorating, he said, the ‘elmo’ that broke into leaf when they carried stone-heavy-dead St Zeus by it through the gradual, gradual shade; or the Arlington harridan talking incessantly to her silent husband as the vineyards sped by, and even in the tunnel (they can’t do this to you, you tell them, Jack Black, you just tell them...). Bathwater (or shower) was too much of a Caliban to speak distinctly — or perhaps was too brutally anxious to emit the hot torrent and get rid of the infernal ardor — to bother about small talk; but the burbly flowlets grew more and more ambitious and odious, and when at her first ‘home’ she heard one of the most hateful of the visiting doctors (the Cavalcanti quoter) garrulously pour hateful instructions in Russian-lapped German into her hateful bidet, she decided to stop turning on tap water altogether. (1.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): lammer: amber (Fr: l’ambre), allusion to electricity.
my lad, my pretty, etc: paraphrase of a verse in Housman.
ballatetta: fragmentation and distortion of a passage in a ‘little ballad’ by the Italian poet Guido Cavalcanti (1255-1300). The relevant lines are: ‘you frightened and weak little voice that comes weeping from my woeful heart, go with my soul and that ditty, telling of a destroyed mind.’
Stone-heavy-dead St Zeus brings to mind Jupiter, the Roman counterpart of Zeus (the ancient Greek god of sky and thunder). In the Ptolemaic system Jupiter is the second of the seven planets. Describing Flavita (the Russian Scrabble), Van mentions a blank check signed by Jupiter or Jurojin (a Japanese god of wisdom and longevity, one of the Seven Gods of Fortune):
The set our three children received in 1884 from an old friend of the family (as Marina’s former lovers were known), Baron Klim Avidov, consisted of a large folding board of saffian and a boxful of weighty rectangles of ebony inlaid with platinum letters, only one of which was a Roman one, namely the letter J on the two joker blocks (as thrilling to get as a blank check signed by Jupiter or Jurojin). It was, incidentally, the same kindly but touchy Avidov (mentioned in many racy memoirs of the time) who once catapulted with an uppercut an unfortunate English tourist into the porter’s lodge for his jokingly remarking how clever it was to drop the first letter of one’s name in order to use it as a particule, at the Gritz, in Venezia Rossa. (1.36)
In 'Ursus' Van meets Flora, a slender, hardly nubile, half-naked music-hall dancer of uncertain origin:
The uha, the shashlik, the Ai were facile and familiar successes; but the old songs had a peculiar poignancy owing to the participation of a Lyaskan contralto and a Banff bass, renowned performers of Russian ‘romances,’ with a touch of heart-wringing tsiganshchina vibrating through Grigoriev and Glinka. And there was Flora, a slender, hardly nubile, half-naked music-hall dancer of uncertain origin (Rumanian? Romany? Ramseyan?) whose ravishing services Van had availed himself of several times in the fall of that year. As a ‘man of the world,’ Van glanced with bland (perhaps too bland) unconcern at her talented charms, but they certainly added a secret bonus to the state of erotic excitement tingling in him from the moment that his two beauties had been unfurred and placed in the colored blaze of the feast before him; and that thrill was somehow augmented by his awareness (carefully profiled, diaphanely blinkered) of the furtive, jealous, intuitive suspicion with which Ada and Lucette watched, unsmilingly, his facial reactions to the demure look of professional recognition on the part of the passing and repassing blyadushka (cute whorelet), as our young misses referred to (very expensive and altogether delightful) Flora with ill-feigned indifference. Presently, the long sobs of the violins began to affect and almost choke Van and Ada: a juvenile conditioning of romantic appeal, which at one moment forced tearful Ada to go and ‘powder her nose’ while Van stood up with a spasmodic sob, which he cursed but could not control. He went back to whatever he was eating, and cruelly stroked Lucette’s apricot-bloomed forearm, and she said in Russian ‘I’m drunk, and all that, but I adore (obozhayu), I adore, I adore, I adore more than life you, you (tebya, tebya), I ache for you unbearably (ya toskuyu po tebe nevïnosimo), and, please, don’t let me swill (hlestat’) champagne any more, not only because I will jump into Goodson River if I can’t hope to have you, and not only because of the physical red thing — your heart was almost ripped out, my poor dushen’ka (‘darling,’ more than ‘darling’), it looked to me at least eight inches long —’
‘Seven and a half,’ murmured modest Van, whose hearing the music impaired.
‘— but because you are Van, all Van, and nothing but Van, skin and scar, the only truth of our only life, of my accursed life, Van, Van, Van.’ (2.8)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): romances, tsiganshchina: Russ., pseudo-Tsigan ballads.
Detachedly, merely tactually, as if he had met those two slow-moving, hip-swaying graces only that night, Van, while steering them through a doorway (to meet the sinchilla mantillas that were being rushed toward them by numerous, new, eager, unfairly, inexplicably impecunious, humans), place one palm, the left, on Ada’s long bare back and the other on Lucette’s spine, quite as naked and long (had she meant the lad or the ladder? Lapse of the lisping lips?). Detachedly, he sifted and tasted this sensation, then that. His girl’s ensellure was hot ivory; Lucette’s was downy and damp. He too had had just about his ‘last straw’ of champagne, namely four out of half a dozen bottles minus a rizzom (as we said at old Chose) and now, as he followed their bluish furs, he inhaled like a fool his right hand before gloving it.
‘I say, Veen,’ whinnied a voice near him (there were lots of lechers around), ‘you don’t rally need two, d’you?’
Van veered, ready to cuff the gross speaker — but it was only Flora, a frightful tease and admirable mimic. He tried to give her a banknote, but she fled, bracelets and breast stars flashing a fond farewell. (ibid.)
See also the expanded version of my previous post, "342 & Ramsdale in Lolita."