The action in VN's novel Ada (1969) takes place on Demonia, Earth's twin planet also known as Antiterra. Describing the difference between Terra and Antiterra, Van Veen mentions the L disaster whose details are too well-known historically, and too obscene spiritually, to be treated at length in a book addressed to young laymen and lemans — and not to grave men or gravemen:
The details of the L disaster (and I do not mean Elevated) in the beau milieu of last century, which had the singular effect of both causing and cursing the notion of ‘Terra,’ are too well-known historically, and too obscene spiritually, to be treated at length in a book addressed to young laymen and lemans — and not to grave men or gravemen.
Of course, today, after great anti-L years of reactionary delusion have gone by (more or less!) and our sleek little machines, Faragod bless them, hum again after a fashion, as they did in the first half of the nineteenth century, the mere geographic aspect of the affair possesses its redeeming comic side, like those patterns of brass marquetry, and bric-à-Braques, and the ormolu horrors that meant ‘art’ to our humorless forefathers. For, indeed, none can deny the presence of something highly ludicrous in the very configurations that were solemnly purported to represent a varicolored map of Terra. Ved’ (‘it is, isn’t it’) sidesplitting to imagine that ‘Russia,’ instead of being a quaint synonym of Estoty, the American province extending from the Arctic no longer vicious Circle to the United States proper, was on Terra the name of a country, transferred as if by some sleight of land across the ha-ha of a doubled ocean to the opposite hemisphere where it sprawled over all of today’s Tartary, from Kurland to the Kuriles! But (even more absurdly), if, in Terrestrial spatial terms, the Amerussia of Abraham Milton was split into its components, with tangible water and ice separating the political, rather than poetical, notions of ‘America’ and ‘Russia,’ a more complicated and even more preposterous discrepancy arose in regard to time — not only because the history of each part of the amalgam did not quite match the history of each counterpart in its discrete condition, but because a gap of up to a hundred years one way or another existed between the two earths; a gap marked by a bizarre confusion of directional signs at the crossroads of passing time with not all the no-longers of one world corresponding to the not-yets of the other. It was owing, among other things, to this ‘scientifically ungraspable’ concourse of divergences that minds bien rangés (not apt to unhobble hobgoblins) rejected Terra as a fad or a fantom, and deranged minds (ready to plunge into any abyss) accepted it in support and token of their own irrationality.
As Van Veen himself was to find out, at the time of his passionate research in terrology (then a branch of psychiatry) even the deepest thinkers, the purest philosophers, Paar of Chose and Zapater of Aardvark, were emotionally divided in their attitude toward the possibility that there existed’ a distortive glass of our distorted glebe’ as a scholar who desires to remain unnamed has put it with such euphonic wit. (Hm! Kveree-kveree, as poor Mlle L. used to say to Gavronsky. In Ada’s hand.)
There were those who maintained that the discrepancies and ‘false overlappings’ between the two worlds were too numerous, and too deeply woven into the skein of successive events, not to taint with trite fancy the theory of essential sameness; and there were those who retorted that the dissimilarities only confirmed the live organic reality pertaining to the other world; that a perfect likeness would rather suggest a specular, and hence speculatory, phenomenon; and that two chess games with identical openings and identical end moves might ramify in an infinite number of variations, on one board and in two brains, at any middle stage of their irrevocably converging development. (1.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): beau milieu: right in the middle.
Faragod: apparently, the god of electricity.
braques: allusion to a bric-à-brac painter.
L is a Roman numeral that corresponds to Arabic 50. The Antiterran L disaster in the beau milieu of the 19th century seems to correspond to the mock execution of Dostoevski and the Petrashevskians on Jan. 3, 1850 (NS), in our world. In Dostoevski’s story Son smeshnogo cheloveka (“The Dream of a Ridiculous Man,” 1877) the narrator shoots himself dead in his dream and an angel takes him through space to a planet very much like Earth, but the earth before the Fall. Describing his suicide attempt, Van mentions his Thunderbolt pistol:
He judged it would take him as much time to find a taxi at this hour of the day as to walk, with his ordinary swift swing, the ten blocks to Alex Avenue. He was coatless, tieless, hatless; a strong sharp wind dimmed his sight with salty frost and played Medusaean havoc with his black locks. Upon letting himself in for the last time into his idiotically cheerful apartment, he forthwith sat down at that really magnificent desk and wrote the following note:
Do what he tells you. His logic sounds preposterous, prepsupposing [sic] a vague kind of ‘Victorian’ era, as they have on Terra according to ‘my mad’ [?], but in a paroxysm of [illegible] I suddenly realized he was right. Yes, right, here and there, not neither here, nor there, as most things are. You see, girl, how it is and must be. In the last window we shared we both saw a man painting [us?] but your second-floor level of vision probably prevented your seeing that he wore what looked like a butcher’s apron, badly smeared. Good-bye, girl.
Van sealed the letter, found his Thunderbolt pistol in the place he had visualized, introduced one cartridge into the magazine and translated it into its chamber. Then, standing before a closet mirror, he put the automatic to his head, at the point of the pterion, and pressed the comfortably concaved trigger. Nothing happened — or perhaps everything happened, and his destiny simply forked at that instant, as it probably does sometimes at night, especially in a strange bed, at stages of great happiness or great desolation, when we happen to die in our sleep, but continue our normal existence, with no perceptible break in the faked serialization, on the following, neatly prepared morning, with a spurious past discreetly but firmly attached behind. Anyway, what he held in his right hand was no longer a pistol but a pocket comb which he passed through his hair at the temples. It was to gray by the time that Ada, then in her thirties, said, when they spoke of their voluntary separation:
‘I would have killed myself too, had I found Rose wailing over your corpse. "Secondes pensées sont les bonnes," as your other, white, bonne used to say in her pretty patois. As to the apron, you are quite right. And what you did not make out was that the artist had about finished a large picture of your meek little palazzo standing between its two giant guards. Perhaps for the cover of a magazine, which rejected that picture. But, you know, there’s one thing I regret,’ she added: ‘Your use of an alpenstock to release a brute’s fury — not yours, not my Van’s. I should never have told you about the Ladore policeman. You should never have taken him into your confidence, never connived with him to burn those files — and most of Kalugano’s pine forest. Eto unizitel’no (it is humiliating).’
‘Amends have been made,’ replied fat Van with a fat man’s chuckle. ‘I’m keeping Kim safe and snug in a nice Home for Disabled Professional People, where he gets from me loads of nicely brailled books on new processes in chromophotography.’
There are other possible forkings and continuations that occur to the dream-mind, but these will do. (2.11)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): secondes pensées etc.: second thoughts are the good ones.
bonne: housemaid.
German for "thunderbolt" is Donnerschlag or Blitz und Donner. Donnerstag is the German word for "Thursday." January 3, 1850 (the day of Dostoevski's mock execution), was Thursday. Van compares his love-makings with Ada in their old age to Blitzpartien (quick chess games):
He discovered that a touch of subtle sport could be derived from constantly fighting temptation while constantly dreaming of somehow, sometime, somewhere, yielding to it. He also discovered that whatever fire danced in those lures, he could not spend one day without Ada; that the solitude he needed to sin properly did not represent a matter of a few seconds behind an evergreen bush, but a comfortable night in an impregnable fortress; and that, finally, the temptations, real or conjured up before sleep, were diminishing in frequency. By the age of seventy-five fortnightly intimacies with cooperative Ada, mostly Blitzpartien, sufficed for perfect contentment. The successive secretaries he engaged got plainer and plainer (culminating in a coconut-haired female with a horse mouth who wrote love notes to Ada); and by the time Violet Knox broke the lack-luster series Van Veen was eighty-seven and completely impotent. (5.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Blitzpartien: Germ., quickies (quick chess games).
After Van's and Ada's death Violet Nox (old Van's typist whom Ada calls Fialochka, 'little Violet') marries Ronald Oranger (old Van's secretary, the editor of Ada):
Violet Knox [now Mrs Ronald Oranger. Ed.], born in 1940, came to live with us in 1957. She was (and still is — ten years later) an enchanting English blonde with doll eyes, a velvet carnation and a tweed-cupped little rump [.....]; but such designs, alas, could no longer flesh my fancy. She has been responsible for typing out this memoir — the solace of what are, no doubt, my last ten years of existence. A good daughter, an even better sister, and half-sister, she had supported for ten years her mother’s children from two marriages, besides laying aside [something]. I paid her [generously] per month, well realizing the need to ensure unembarrassed silence on the part of a puzzled and dutiful maiden. Ada called her ‘Fialochka’ and allowed herself the luxury of admiring ‘little Violet’ ‘s cameo neck, pink nostrils, and fair pony-tail. Sometimes, at dinner, lingering over the liqueurs, my Ada would consider my typist (a great lover of Koo-Ahn-Trow) with a dreamy gaze, and then, quick-quick, peck at her flushed cheek. The situation might have been considerably more complicated had it arisen twenty years earlier. (5.4)
Because love is blind, Van fails to see that Ronald Oranger and Violet Knox are Ada's grandchildren. In VN’s novel Camera Obscura (1933) the little boy in Horn’s and Magda’s train compartment asks his mother to give him an orange («Donne-moi une orange, un tout petit bout d’orange!»):
Горн сжал ей руку. Она вздохнула и, так как жара её размаяла, положила голову ему на плечо, продолжая нежно ёжиться и говорить, – всё равно французы в купе не могли понять. У окна сидела толстая усатая женщина в чёрном, рядом с ней мальчик, который всё повторял: «Donne-moi une orange, un tout petit bout d’orange!» «Fiche-moi la paiz», – отвечала мать. Он замолкал и потом начинал скулить сызнова. Двое молодых французов тихо обсуждали выгоды автомобильного дела; у одного из них была сильнейшая зубная боль, щека была повязана, он издавал сосущий звук, перекашивая рот. А прямо против Магды сидел маленький лысый господин в очках, с чёрной записной книжкой в руке – должно быть, провинциальный нотариус. (chapter XXVI)
Horn and Magda mistake their fellow traveler Segelkranz (the writer who becomes Udo Conrad in Laughter in the Dark, 1938, the English version of Camera Obscura) for a provincial notary. A poet and clergyman, John Donne (1572–1631) received legal training at Lincoln's Inn in London. During Van's first tea party at Ardis Marina (Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother) says that she loved to identify herself with famous beauties — Lincoln’s second wife or Queen Josephine — 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.
An American lawyer, politician, and statesman who served as the 16th president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln (1809-65) was married once. The Amerussia of Abraham Milton blends not only America with Russia but also Abraham Lincoln with John Milton (1608-74), the author of Paradise Lost (1667) and The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce (1643) who was married twice. Queen Josephine seems to be the Antiterran counterpart of Josephine Beaugarnais, Napoleon's first wife, the Empress of the French. Van blinds Kim Beauharnais (a kitchen boy and photographer at Ardis) for spying on him and Ada and attempting to blackmail Ada. In Camera Obscura Kretschmar (who becomes Albinus in Laughter in the Dark) becomes blind as a result of a car crash. The novel's English version begins as follows:
ONCE upon a time there lived in Berlin, Germany, a man called Albinus. He was rich, respectable, happy; one day he abandoned his wife for the sake of a youthful mistress; he loved; was not loved; and his life ended in disaster.
This is the whole of the story and we might have left it at that had there not been profit and pleasure in the telling; and although there is plenty of space on a gravestone to contain, bound in moss, the abridged version of a man's life, detail is always welcome. (Chapter 1)
Disaster, gravestone and detail bring to mind the details of the L disaster in Ada. After the L disaster electricity was banned on Demonia. In Camera Obscura people who are able to readjust an electrical connection after the mysterious occurrence known as a "short circuit" are mentioned:
Есть множество людей, которые, не обладая специальными знаниями, умеют, однако, и воскресить электричество после таинственного события, называемого «коротким замыканием», и починить ножичком механизм остановившихся часов, и нажарить, если нужно, котлет. Кречмар к их числу не принадлежал. В детстве он ничего не строил, не мастерил, не склеивал, как иные ребята. В юности он ни разу не разобрал своего велосипеда и, когда лопалась шина, катил хромую, пищащую, как дырявая галоша, машину в ремонтное заведение. На войне он славился удивительной нерасторопностью, неумением ничего сделать собственными руками. Изучая реставрацию картин, паркетацию, рантуаляцию, он сам боялся к картине прикоснуться. Не удивительно поэтому, что автомобилем, например, он управлял прескверно. (Chapter XXIX)
THERE are a great many people who, without possessing any expert knowledge, are yet able to readjust an electrical connection after the mysterious occurrence known as a "short circuit"; or, with the aid of a penknife, to set a watch going again; or even, if necessary, to fry a cutlet. Albinus was not one of them. He could not tie a dress-tie nor pare his right-hand nails, nor make up a parcel; he could not uncork a bottle without picking to bits one half of the cork, and drowning the other. As a child he never built things like other boys. As a youth he had never taken his bicycle to pieces, nor, indeed, could do anything with it save ride it; and when he punctured a tire, he pushed the disabled machine--squelching like an old galosh--to the nearest repair shop. Later, when he studied the restoration of pictures, he was always afraid to touch the canvas himself. During the War he had distinguished himself by an amazing incapacity to do anything whatever with his hands. In view of all this it is less surprising that he was a very bad driver than that he could drive at all. (Chapter 31)
The mysterious disaster's initial, L seems to hint at Lermontov, the author of the prophetic Predskazanie ("The Prediction," 1831) and Geroy nashego vremeni ("A Hero of Our Time," 1840), and Lenin, the leader of the Bolsheviks who came to power in Russia in October, 1917. In Apokalipsis nashego vremeni ("The Apocalypse of Our Time," 1918) Rozanov (the writer whose first wife, Apolinaria Suslov, was once Dostoevski's mistress) mentions Lenin and the socialists:
Хороши же социалисты и вообще всероссийская демократия: скормить, все отечество скормить лютейшему врагу. Скормить не в переносном смысле, а в буквальном. Но нельзя не сказать: хороши и "лучшие люди России", начинавшие революцию в такую роковую войну и, как оказалось потом, ничего решительно не предвидевшие. Ленин и социалисты оттого и мужественны, что знают, что их некому будет судить, что судьи будут отсутствовать, так как они будут съедены. (Октябрь.)
***
Есть ли душа? Есть ли загробная жизнь? Вот это важнее всех революций!
According to Rozanov, the questions "is there a soul?", "is there an afterlife?" are more important than all revolutions. Describing the torments of poor mad Aqua (Marina's twin sister who married Demon Veen, Van's and Ada's father), Van says that Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution:
Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution. Sick minds identified the notion of a Terra planet with that of another world and this ‘Other World’ got confused not only with the ‘Next World’ but with the Real World in us and beyond us. Our enchanters, our demons, are noble iridescent creatures with translucent talons and mightily beating wings; but in the eighteen-sixties the New Believers urged one to imagine a sphere where our splendid friends had been utterly degraded, had become nothing but vicious monsters, disgusting devils, with the black scrota of carnivora and the fangs of serpents, revilers and tormentors of female souls; while on the opposite side of the cosmic lane a rainbow mist of angelic spirits, inhabitants of sweet Terra, restored all the stalest but still potent myths of old creeds, with rearrangement for melodeon of all the cacophonies of all the divinities and divines ever spawned in the marshes of this our sufficient world.
Sufficient for your purpose, Van, entendons-nous. (Note in the margin.) (1.3)
The final book of the New Testament (and therefore the final book of the Christian Bible), The Book of Revelation is also known as The Apocalypse (from the first word of the text, apokalypsis, meaning 'unveiling' or 'revelation') of John the Revelator. The Apocalypse of Paul (Apocalypsis Pauli, more commonly known in the Latin tradition as the Visio Pauli or Visio sancti Pauli) is a fourth-century non-canonical apocapypse and part of the New Testament apocrypha. John Donne eventually rose to the eminent position of Dean of St Paul's in London.