What we have now is not so much a Casanovanic situation (that double-wencher had a definitely monochromatic pencil - in keeping with the memoirs of his dingy era) as a much earlier canvas, of the Venetian (sensu largo) school, reproduced (in 'Forbidden Masterpieces') expertly enough to stand the scrutiny of a borders vue d'oiseau.
Thus seen from above, as if reflected in the ciel mirror that Eric had naively thought up in his Cyprian dreams (actually all is shadowy up there, for the blinds are still drawn, shutting out the gray morning), we have the large island of the bed illumined from our left (Lucette's right) by a lamp burning with a murmuring incandescence on the west-side bedtable. (2.8)
Eric Veen is the author of an essay entitled ¡®Villa Venus: an Organized Dream.¡¯ Venus being the Roman name of Aphrodite (the ancient Greek goddess of love and beauty), Eric¡¯s ¡°Cyprian dreams¡± seem to hint at Cypris (an epithet of Aphrodite meaning ¡°Lady of Cyprus¡±). Pushkin¡¯s unfinished novella Egipetskie nochi (¡°The Egyptian Nights,¡± 1835) ends in an abridged version of Cleopatra, Pushkin¡¯s poem (1828) in which Cleopatra mentions moshchnaya Kiprida (mighty Cypris), podzemnye tsari, bogi groznogo Aida (the underworld kings, gods of terrible Hades) and Avrora vechnaya (eternal Aurora):
§£§ß§Ö§Þ§Ý§Ú §Ø§Ö, §Þ§à§ë§ß§Ñ§ñ §¬§Ú§á§â§Ú§Õ§Ñ,
§ª §Ó§í, §á§à§Õ§Ù§Ö§Þ§ß§í§Ö §è§Ñ§â§Ú,
§° §Ò§à§Ô§Ú §Ô§â§à§Ù§ß§à§Ô§à §¡§Ú§Õ§Ñ,
§¬§Ý§ñ§ß§å§ã§î ¡ª §Õ§à §å§ä§â§Ö§ß§ß§Ö§Û §Ù§Ñ§â§Ú
§®§à§Ú§ç §Ó§Ý§Ñ§ã§ä§Ú§ä§Ö§Ý§Ö§Û §Ø§Ö§Ý§Ñ§ß§î§ñ
§Á §ã§Ý§Ñ§Õ§à§ã§ä§â§Ñ§ã§ä§ß§à §å§ä§à§Þ§Ý§ð
§ª §Ó§ã§Ö§Þ§Ú §ä§Ñ§Û§ß§Ñ§Þ§Ú §Ý§à§Ò§Ù§Ñ§ß§î§ñ
§ª §Õ§Ú§Ó§ß§à§Û §ß§Ö§Ô§à§Û §å§ä§à§Ý§ð.
§¯§à §ä§à§Ý§î§Ü§à §å§ä§â§Ö§ß§ß§Ö§Û §á§à§â§æ§Ú§â§à§Û
§¡§Ó§â§à§â§Ñ §Ó§Ö§é§ß§Ñ§ñ §Ò§Ý§Ö§ã§ß§×§ä,
§¬§Ý§ñ§ß§å§ã§î ¡ª §á§à§Õ §ã§Þ§Ö§â§ä§ß§à§ð §ã§Ö§Ü§Ú§â§à§Û
§¤§Ý§Ñ§Ó§Ñ §ã§é§Ñ§ã§ä§Ý§Ú§Ó§è§Ö§Ó §à§ä§á§Ñ§Õ§×§ä.
As they cross the Atlantic onboard Admiral Tobakoff, Van compares Lucette to Aurora:
'Come with me, hm?' she suggested, rising from the mat.
He shook his head, looking up at her: 'You rise,' he said, 'like Aurora,'
'His first compliment,' observed Lucette with a little cock of her head as if speaking to an invisible confidant.
He put on his tinted glasses and watched her stand on the diving board, her ribs framing the hollow of her intake as she prepared to ardis into the amber. He wondered, in a mental footnote that might come handy some day, if sunglasses or any other varieties of vision, which certainly twist our concept of 'space,' do not also influence our style of speech. The two well-formed lassies, the nurse, the prurient merman, the natatorium master, all looked on with Van.
'Second compliment ready,' he said as she returned to his side. 'You're a divine diver. I go in with a messy plop.' (3.5)
After his first night with Ada in ¡°Ardis the Second¡± Van tells Ada that he has paid her eight compliments:
'My love,' said Van, 'my phantom orchid, my lovely bladder-senna! I have not slept for two nights - one of which I spent imagining the other, and this other turned out to be more than I had imagined. I've had enough of you for the time being.'
'Not a very fine compliment,' said Ada, and rang resonantly for more toast.
'I've paid you eight compliments, as a certain Venetian -'
'I'm not interested in vulgar Venetians. You have become so coarse, dear Van, so strange...'
'Sorry,' he said, getting up. 'I don't know what I'm saying, I'm dead tired, I'll see you at lunch.'
'There will be no lunch today,' said Ada. 'It will be some messy snack at the poolside, and sticky drinks all day.' (1.31)
The ¡°vulgar Venetian¡± is, of course, Casanova (the author of Memoirs mentioned by Tomski in Pushkin¡¯s ¡°Queen of Spades;¡± see my previous post).
One of the three volunteers who in Pushkin¡¯s poem accept Cleopatra¡¯s challenge, Kriton (Cryto) is an admirer of the Charites, Cypris and Amor:
§©§Ñ §ß§Ú§Þ §¬§â§Ú§ä§à§ß, §Þ§Ý§Ñ§Õ§à§Û §Þ§å§Õ§â§Ö§è,
§²§à§Ø§Õ§×§ß§ß§í§Û §Ó §â§à§ë§Ñ§ç §¿§á§Ú§Ü§å§â§Ñ,
§¬§â§Ú§ä§à§ß, §á§à§Ü§Ý§à§ß§ß§Ú§Ü §Ú §á§Ö§Ó§Ö§è
§·§Ñ§â§Ú§ä, §¬§Ú§á§â§Ú§Õ§í §Ú §¡§Þ§å§â§Ñ...
The name of another volunteer, Flaviy (Flavius), brings to mind Flavita, the Russian Scrabble that Van, Ada and Lucette play in Ardis:
The name came from alfavit, an old Russian game of chance and skill, based on the scrambling and unscrambling of alphabetic letters. It was fashionable throughout Estoty and Canady around 1790, was revived by the 'Madhatters' (as the inhabitants of New Amsterdam were once called) in the beginning of the nineteenth century, made a great comeback, after a brief slump, around 1860, and now a century later seems to be again in vogue, so I am told, under the name of 'Scrabble,' invented by some genius quite independently from its original form or forms. (1.36)
A set of Flavita was given to Marina¡¯s children by Baron Klim Avidov (anagram of Vladimir Nabokov):
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. (ibid.)
Gritz hints at the Ritz hotels and at Mme Gritsatsuev, ¡°a passionate woman, a poet¡¯s dream¡± in Ilf and Petrov¡¯s novel Dvenadtsat¡¯ stuliev (¡°The Twelve Chairs,¡± 1928). Bender and Vorob¡¯yaninov visit Mme Gritsatsuev after getting the orders for the set of twelve Hambs chairs from Varfolomey Korobeynikov (a former clerk in the town administration and now an office-employment official). Alfavit ¨C zerkalo zhizni (¡°The Mirror of Life Alphabet,¡± the title of the chapter on Korobeynikov and his archive) brings to mind not only Flavita, but also the ciel mirror naively thought up by Eric in his Cyprian dreams.
Pushkin¡¯s poem Cleopatra begins: "Chertog siyal..." ("The palace shone..."). As a little girl, Ada spent the winters in the former Zemski chertog:
Most summers she spent at Ardis; most winters in their Kaluga town home - two upper stories in the former Zemski chertog (palazzo). (1.24)
One of the photographs in Kim Beauharnais¡¯ album depicts a portrait of Princess Sophia Zemski:
A photograph of an oval painting, considerably diminished, portrayed Princess Sophia Zemski as she was at twenty, in 1775, with her two children (Marina's grandfather born in 1772, and Demon's grandmother, born in 1773).
'I don't seem to remember it,' said Van, 'where did it hang?'
'In Marina's boudoir. And do you know who this bum in the frock coat is?'
'Looks to me like a poor print cut out of a magazine. Who's he?'
'Sumerechnikov! He took sumerographs of Uncle Vanya years ago.'
'The Twilight before the Lumi¨¨res. Hey, and here's Alonso, the swimming-pool expert. I met his sweet sad daughter at a Cyprian party - she felt and smelt and melted like you. The strong charm of coincidence.' (2.7)
Van met Alonso¡¯s daughter in his first floramor (Eric Veen¡¯s Villa Venus):
Three Egyptian squaws, dutifully keeping in profile (long ebony eye, lovely snub, braided black mane, honey-hued faro frock, thin amber arms, Negro bangles, doughnut earring of gold bisected by a pleat of the mane, Red Indian hairband, ornamental bib), lovingly borrowed by Eric Veen from a reproduction of a Theban fresco (no doubt pretty banal in 1420 B.C.), printed in Germany (K¨¹nstlerpostkarte Nr. 6034, says cynical Dr Lagosse), prepared me by means of what parched Eric called 'exquisite manipulations of certain nerves whose position and power are known only to a few ancient sexologists,' accompanied by the no less exquisite application of certain ointments, not too specifically mentioned in the pornolore of Eric's Orientalia, for receiving a scared little virgin, the descendant of an Irish king, as Eric was told in his last dream in Ex, Switzerland, by a master of funerary rather than fornicatory ceremonies.
Those preparations proceeded in such sustained, unendurably delicious rhythms that Eric dying in his sleep and Van throbbing with foul life on a rococo couch (three miles south of Bedford) could not imagine how those three young ladies, now suddenly divested of their clothes (a well-known oneirotic device), could manage to draw out a prelude that kept one so long on the very lip of its resolution. I lay supine and felt twice the size I had ever been (senescent nonsense, says science!) when finally six gentle hands attempted to ease la gosse, trembling Adada, upon the terrible tool. Silly pity - a sentiment I rarely experience - caused my desire to droop, and I had her carried away to a feast of peach tarts and cream. The Egypsies looked disconcerted, but very soon perked up. I summoned all the twenty hirens of the house (including the sweet-lipped, glossy chinned darling) into my resurrected presence. After considerable examination, after much flattering of haunches and necks, I chose a golden Gretchen, a pale Andalusian, and a black belle from New Orleans. The handmaids pounced upon them like pards and, having empasmed them with not unlesbian zest, turned the three rather melancholy graces over to me. The towel given me to wipe off the sweat that filmed my face and stung my eyes could have been cleaner. I raised my voice, I had the reluctant accursed casement wrenched wide open. A lorry had got stuck in the mud of a forbidden and unfinished road, and its groans and exertions dissipated the bizarre gloom. Only one of the girls stung me right in the soul, but I went through all three of them grimly and leisurely, 'changing mounts in midstream' (Eric's advice) before ending every time in the grip of the ardent Ardillusian, who said as we parted, after one last spasm (although non-erotic chitchat was against the rules), that her father had constructed the swimming pool on the estate of Demon Veen's cousin. (2.3)
The dirty towel with which Van wipes off the sweat from his face brings to mind the handkerchief with which at the end of ¡°The Egyptian Nights¡± the improvisatore wipes his lofty forehead:
§¯§à §å§Ø§Ö §Ú§Þ§á§â§à§Ó§Ú§Ù§Ñ§ä§à§â §é§å§Ó§ã§ä§Ó§à§Ó§Ñ§Ý §á§â§Ú§Ò§Ý§Ú§Ø§Ö§ß§Ú§Ö §Ò§à§Ô§Ñ... §°§ß §Õ§Ñ§Ý §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ü §Þ§å§Ù§í§Ü§Ñ§ß§ä§Ñ§Þ §Ú§Ô§â§Ñ§ä§î... §§Ú§è§à §Ö§Ô§à §ã§ä§â§Ñ§ê§ß§à §á§à§Ò§Ý§Ö§Õ§ß§Ö§Ý§à, §à§ß §Ù§Ñ§ä§â§Ö§á§Ö§ä§Ñ§Ý §Ü§Ñ§Ü §Ó §Ý§Ú§ç§à§â§Ñ§Õ§Ü§Ö; §Ô§Ý§Ñ§Ù§Ñ §Ö§Ô§à §Ù§Ñ§ã§Ó§Ö§â§Ü§Ñ§Ý§Ú §é§å§Õ§ß§í§Þ §à§Ô§ß§×§Þ; §à§ß §á§â§Ú§á§à§Õ§ß§ñ§Ý §â§å§Ü§à§ð §é§×§â§ß§í§Ö §ã§Ó§à§Ú §Ó§à§Ý§à§ã§í, §à§ä§×§â §á§Ý§Ñ§ä§Ü§à§Þ §Ó§í§ã§à§Ü§à§Ö §é§Ö§Ý§à, §á§à§Ü§â§í§ä§à§Ö §Ü§Ñ§á§Ý§ñ§Þ§Ú §á§à§ä§Ñ... §Ú §Ó§Õ§â§å§Ô §ê§Ñ§Ô§ß§å§Ý §Ó§á§Ö§â§×§Õ, §ã§Ý§à§Ø§Ú§Ý §Ü§â§Ö§ã§ä§à§Þ §â§å§Ü§Ú §ß§Ñ §Ô§â§å§Õ§î... §Þ§å§Ù§í§Ü§Ñ §å§Þ§à§Ý§Ü§Ý§Ñ... §ª§Þ§á§â§à§Ó§Ú§Ù§Ñ§è§Ú§ñ §ß§Ñ§é§Ñ§Ý§Ñ§ã§î.
But the improvisatore already felt the approach of the god. . . . He gave a sign to the musicians to play. His face became terribly pale; he trembled as if in a fever ; his eyes sparkled with a strange fire; he raised with his hand his dark hair, wiped with his handkerchief his lofty forehead, covered with beads of perspiration. . . . then suddenly stepped forward and folded his arms across his breast. . . . the musicians ceased. . . . the improvisation began:
¡°The palace shone¡ etc.¡±
In an apologetic note to Lucette written after the debauch ¨¤ trois in Van¡¯s Manhattan flat Van and Ada call Lucette ¡°BOP¡± (bird of paradise):
Poor L.
We are sorry you left so soon. We are even sorrier to have inveigled our Esmeralda and mermaid in a naughty prank. That sort of game will never be played again with you, darling firebird. We apollo [apologize]. Remembrance, embers and membranes of beauty make artists and morons lose all self-control. Pilots of tremendous airships and even coarse, smelly coachmen are known to have been driven insane by a pair of green eyes and a copper curl. We wished to admire and amuse you, BOP (bird of paradise). We went too far. I, Van, went too far. We regret that shameful, though basically innocent scene. These are times of emotional stress and reconditioning. Destroy and forget.
Tenderly yours A & V.
(in alphabetic order). (2.8)
In a letter of Sep. 10, 1824, to Pushkin Delvig compares Pushkin's poem Proserpina (1824) to a bird of paradise's singing that one can hear for a thousand years without noticing the passage of time:
§±§â§à§Ù§Ö§â§á§Ú§ß§Ñ §ß§Ö §ã§ä§Ú§ç§Ú, §Ñ §Þ§å§Ù§í§Ü§Ñ: §ï§ä§à §á§Ö§ß§î§Ö §â§Ñ§Û§ã§Ü§à§Û §á§ä§Ú§é§Ü§Ú, §Ü§à§ä§à§â§à§Ö §ã§Ý§å§ê§Ñ§ñ, §ß§Ö §å§Ó§Ú§Õ§Ö§ê§î, §Ü§Ñ§Ü §á§â§à§Û§Õ§×§ä §ä§í§ã§ñ§é§Ñ §Ý§Ö§ä. §¿§ä§Ú §Õ§Ó§Ö§â§Ú §Õ§Ñ§Ó§ß§à §Þ§ß§Ö §Ù§ß§Ñ§Ü§à§Þ§í. §³§Ü§Ó§à§Ù§î §ß§Ú§ç, §Ö§ë§× §Ó §§Ú§è§Ö§Ö, §Þ§Ö§ß§ñ [§Ú§ß§à§Ô§Õ§Ñ] §é§Ñ§ã§ä§à §Ó§í§ä§Ñ§Ý§Ü§Ú§Ó§Ñ§Ý§Ú §Ú§Ù §¿§Ý§Ú§Ù§Ö§ñ. §¬§Ñ§Ü§Ñ§ñ §Ú§ã§Ü§å§ã§ä§ß§Ñ§ñ §ë§Ö§Ô§à§Ý§Ú§ç§Ñ §å §ä§Ö§Ò§ñ §Ú§ã§ä§Ú§ß§Ñ. §±§à§Õ§à§Ò§ß§í§ç §è§Ó§Ö§ä§à§Ó §Þ§à§â§à§Ù §ß§Ö §ä§â§à§ß§Ö§ä!
"What a smart dashing lady is istina (truth) in your poems. Such flowers will be spared by the frost!"
The wife of Pluto (Hades), Proserpina is a goddess of the underworld (cf. ¡°the underworld kings, gods of terrible Hades¡± mentioned by Cleopatra). A line in Proserpina, Ada gordaya tsaritsa ("the proud queen of Hades"), can be read as "proud Queen Ada."
The phrase ¡°destroy and forget¡± at the end of Van¡¯s and Ada¡¯s note to Lucette seems to hint at oubli ou regret? (¡°oblivion or regret?¡±), a question with which in Pushkin¡¯s ¡°Queen of Spades¡± three ladies at a ball approach Tomski (see my post of May 22 ¡°destroy & forget in Ada¡±). According to Van, he and Ada ¡°regret that shameful, though basically innocent scene.¡±
My previous post (¡°vue d'oiseau & Eric Veen in Ada¡±) should have ended as follows:
Ptitsa (the word used by Turgenev¡¯s diarist and by fourteen-year-old Pushkin) is Russian for ¡°bird;¡± oiseau is the French word for ¡°bird.¡± The phrase chto ya byl za ptitsa (what kind of man I was; literary: ¡°what kind of bird I was¡±) brings to mind Sirin, the bird of Russian fairy tales and VN¡¯s Russian nom de plume.
In another sentence of the same post of mine the pronoun ¡°he¡± is missing:
In the opening lines of his poem K Natalye (¡°To Natalia,¡± 1813) Pushkin says that he learnt chto za ptitsa Kupidon (what kind of god Cupid was).
Alexey Sklyarenko