In his pocket diary that he kept at Ramsdale as Charlotte's lodger Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN’s novel Lolita, 1955) mentions the hideous hieroglyphics of his fatal lust:
Saturday. For some days already I had been leaving the door ajar, while I wrote in my room; but only today did the trap work. With a good deal of additional fidgeting, shuffling, scraping - to disguise her embarrassment at visiting me without having been called - Lo came in and after pottering around, became interested in the nightmare curlicues I had penned on a sheet of paper. Oh no: they were not the outcome of a belle-lettrist’s inspired pause between two paragraphs; they were the hideous hieroglyphics (which she could not decipher) of my fatal lust. As she bent her brown curls over the desk at which I was sitting, Humbert the Hoarse put his arm around her in a miserable imitation of blood-relationship; and still studying, somewhat shortsightedly, the piece of paper she held, my innocent little visitor slowly sank to a half-sitting position upon my knee. Her adorable profile, parted lips, warm hair were some three inches from my bared eyetooth; and I felt the heat of her limbs through her rough tomboy clothes. All at once I knew I could kiss her throat or the wick of her mouth with perfect impunity. I knew she would let me do so, and even close her eyes as Hollywood teaches. A double vanilla with hot fudge - hardly more unusual than that. I cannot tell my learned reader (whose eyebrows, I suspect, have by now traveled all the way to the back of his bald head), I cannot tell him how the knowledge came to me; perhaps my ape-ear had unconsciously caught some slight change in the rhythm of her respiration - for now she was not really looking at my scribble, but waiting with curiosity and composure - oh, my limpid nymphet! - for the glamorous lodger to do what he was dying to do. A modern child, an avid reader of movie magazines, an expert in dream-slow close-ups, might not think it too strange, I guessed, if a handsome, intensely virile grown-up friend - too late. The house was suddenly vibrating with voluble Louise’s voice telling Mrs. Haze who had just come home about a dead something she and Leslie Tomson had found in the basement, and little Lolita was not one to miss such a tale. (1.11)
Humbert's hideous hieroglyphics bring to mind Nezyblemoy mechty ieroglify (The hieroglyphs of inviolable dream), a line in Afanasiy Fet's poem Sredi zvyozd ("Among the Stars," 1886):
Пусть мчитесь вы, как я, покорны мигу,
Рабы, как я, мне прирождённых числ,
Но лишь взгляну на огненную книгу,
Не численный я в ней читаю смысл.
В венцах, лучах, алмазах, как калифы,
Излишние средь жалких нужд земных,
Незыблемой мечты иероглифы,
Вы говорите: «Вечность мы, — ты миг.
Нам нет числа. Напрасно мыслью жадной
Ты думы вечной догоняешь тень;
Мы здесь горим, чтоб в сумрак непроглядный
К тебе просился беззакатный день.
Вот почему, когда дышать так трудно,
Тебе отрадно так поднять чело
С лица земли, где всё темно и скудно,
К нам, в нашу глубь, где пышно и светло».
A Russian poet, Afanasiy Fet (1820-1892) was a son Afanasiy Shenshin (a Russian landowner) and Charlotte Foeth, née Becker. Charlotte Becker is the maiden name of Charlotte Haze (Lolita's mother):
A few words more about Mrs. Humbert while the going is good (a bad accident is to happen quite soon). I had been always aware of the possessive streak in her, but I never thought she would be so crazily jealous of anything in my life that had not been she. She showed a fierce insatiable curiosity for my past. She desired me to resuscitate all my loves so that she might make me insult them, and trample upon them, and revoke them apostately and totally, thus destroying my past. She made me tell her about my marriage to Valeria, who was of course a scream; but I also had to invent, or to pad atrociously, a long series of mistresses for Charlotte’s morbid delectation. To keep her happy, I had to present her with an illustrated catalogue of them, all nicely differentiated, according to the rules of those American ads where schoolchildren are pictured in a subtle ratio of races, with one - only one, but as cute as they make them - chocolate-colored round-eyed little lad, almost in the very middle of the front row. So I presented my women, and had them smile and sway - the languorous blond, the fiery brunette, the sensual copperhead - as if on parade in a bordello. The more popular and platitudinous I made them, the more Mrs. Humbert was pleased with the show.
Never in my life had I confessed so much or received so many confessions. The sincerity and artlessness with which she discussed what she called her “love-life,” from first necking to connubial catch-as-catch-can, were, ethically, in striking contrast with my glib compositions, but technically the two sets were congeneric since both were affected by the same stuff (soap operas, psychoanalysis and cheap novelettes) upon which I drew for my characters and she for her mode of expression. I was considerably amused by certain remarkable sexual habits that the good Harold Haze had had according to Charlotte who thought my mirth improper; but otherwise her autobiography was as devoid of interests as her autopsy would have been. I never saw a healthier woman than she, despite thinning diets.
Of my Lolita she seldom spoke – more seldom, in fact, than she did of the blurred, blond male baby whose photograph to the exclusion of all others adorned our bleak bedroom. In one of her tasteless reveries, she predicted that the dead infant’s soul would return to earth in the form of the child she would bear in her present wedlock. And although I felt no special urge to supply the Humbert line with a replica of Harold’s production (Lolita, with an incestuous thrill, I had grown to regard as my child), it occurred to me that a prolonged confinement, with a nice Cesarean operation and other complications in a safe maternity ward sometime next spring, would give me a chance to be alone with my Lolita for weeks, perhaps - and gorge the limp nymphet with sleeping pills.
Oh, she simply hated her daughter! What I thought especially vicious was that she had gone out of her way to answer with great diligence the questionnaires in a fool’s book she had (A guide to Your Child’s Development), published in Chicago. The rigmarole went year by year, and Mom was supposed to fill out a kind of inventory at each of her child’s birthdays. On Lo’s twelfth, January 1, 1947, Charlotte Haze, née Becker, had underlined the following epithets, ten out of forty, under “Your Child’s Personality”: aggressive, boisterous, critical, distrustful, impatient, irritable, inquisitive, listless, negativistic (underlined twice) and obstinate. She had ignored the thirty remaining adjectives, among which were cheerful, co-operative, energetic, and so forth. It was really maddening. With a brutality that otherwise never appeared in my loving wife’s mild nature, she attacked and routed such of Lo’s little belongings that had wandered to various parts of the house to freeze there like so many hypnotized bunnies. Little did the good lady dream that one morning when an upset stomach (the result of my trying to improve on her sauces) had prevented me from accompanying her to church, I deceived her with one of Lolita’s anklets. And then, her attitude toward my saporous darling’s letters!
“Dear Mummy and Hummy,
Hope you are fine. Thank you very much for the candy. I [crossed out and re-written again] I lost my new sweater in the woods. It has been cold here for the last few days. I’m having a time. Love,
Dolly.”
“The dumb child,” said Mrs. Humbert, “has left out a word before ‘time.’ That sweater was all-wool, and I wish you would not send her candy without consulting me.” (1.19)
In Fet's poem Among the Stars the line Nezyblemoy mechty ieroglify (The hieroglyphs of inviolable dream) is paired with the line (the first one in the second stanza) V ventsakh, luchakh, almazakh, kak kalify (In crowns, rays, diamonds, like caliphs). V luchakh (in rays) and kak kalify (like caliphs) make one think of kak luch (ray-like), in the Russian Lolita (1967) a phrase used by Gumbert Gumbert in his pocket diary:
Как луч, проскальзываю в гостиную и устанавливаю, что радио молчит (между тем как мамаша все еще говорит с миссис Чатфильд или миссис Гамильтон, очень приглушенно, улыбаясь, рдея, прикрывая ладонью свободной руки трубку, отрицая и намекая, что не совсем отрицает забавные слухи о квартиранте, ах, перестаньте, и все это нашептывая так задушевно, как никогда не делает она, эта отчетливая дама, в обыкновенной беседе).
Ray-like, I glide in through to the parlor and find the radio silent (and mamma still talking to Mrs. Chatfield or Mrs. Hamilton, very softly, flushed, smiling, cupping the telephone with her free hand, denying by implication that she denies those amusing rumors, rumor, roomer, whispering intimately, as she never does, the clear-cut lady, in face to face talk). (1.11)
"Ray-like" brings to mind John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert's manuscript). According to John Ray, Jr., Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” (Lolita's married name) died in childbed, giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952, in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest:
For the benefit of old-fashioned readers who wish to follow the destinies of “real” people beyond the “true” story, a few details may be given as received from Mr. “Windmuller,” of “Ramsdale,” who desires his identity suppressed so that “the long shadows of this sorry and sordid business” should not reach the community to which he is proud to belong. His daughter, “Louise,” is by now a college sophomore. “Mona Dahl” is a student in Paris. “Rita” has recently married the proprietor of a hotel in Florida. Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” died in childbed, giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952, in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest. ‘Vivian Darkbloom’ has written a biography, ‘My Cue,’ to be published shortly, and critics who have perused the manuscript call it her best book. The caretakers of the various cemeteries involved report that no ghosts walk.
But it seems that, actually, Lolita dies of ague in the Elphinstone hospital on July 4, 1949, and everything what happens after her sudden death (Lolita's escape from the hospital, Humbert's affair with Rita, Lolita's marriage and pregnancy, and the murder of Clare Quilty) was invented by Humbert Humbert (whose "real" name is John Ray, Jr.). Describing his (imaginary) visit to Ramsdale in September 1952, Humbert mentions his conversation with Mrs. Chatfield:
Feeling I was losing my time, I drove energetically to the downtown hotel where I had arrived with a new bag more than five years before. I took a room, made two appointments by telephone, shaved, bathed, put on black clothes and went down for a drink in the bar. Nothing had changed. The barroom was suffused with the same dim, impossible garnet-red light that in Europe years ago went with low haunts, but here meant a bit of atmosphere in a family hotel. I sat at the same little table where at the very start of my stay, immediately after becoming Charlotte’s lodger, I had thought fit to celebrate the occasion by suavely sharing with her half a bottle of champagne, which had fatally conquered her poor brimming heart. As then, a moon-faced waiter was arranging with stellar care fifty sherries on a round tray for a wedding party. Murphy-Fantasia, this time. It was eight minutes to three. As I walked though the lobby, I had to skirt a group of ladies who with mille grâces were taking leave of each other after a luncheon party. With a harsh cry of recognition, one pounced upon me. She was a stout, short woman in pearl-gray, with a long, gray, slim plume to her small hat. It was Mrs. Chatfield. She attacked me with a fake smile, all aglow with evil curiosity. (Had I done to Dolly, perhaps, what Frank Laselle, a fifty-year-old mechanic, had done to eleven-year-old Sally Horner in 1948?) Very soon I had that avid glee well under control. She thought I was in California. How was –? With exquisite pleasure I informed her that my stepdaughter had just married a brilliant young mining engineer with a hush-hush job in the Northwest. She said she disapproved of such early marriages, she would never let her Phillys, who was now eighteen –
“Oh yes, of course,” I said quietly. “I remember Phyllis. Phyllis and Camp Q. Yes, of course. By the way, did she ever tell you how Charlie Holmes debauched there his mother’s little charges?”
Mrs. Chatfield’s already broken smile now disintegrated completely.
“For shame,” she cried, “for shame, Mr. Humbert! The poor boy has just been killed in Korea.”
I said didn’t she think “vient de,” with the infinitive, expressed recent events so much more neatly than the English “just,” with the past? But I had to be trotting off, I said. (2.33)
On September 24, 1952, Stella Fantasia (Lolita's classmate in Ramsdale school, adorable Stella who has let strangers touch her) marries Murphy. Stella (the name means in Latin "star") is a character (a young woman) in Konstantin Merezhkovski's Ray Zemnoy ili Son v zimnyuyu noch' ("The Earthly Paradise, or a Midwinter Night's Dream," 1903), an utopian novel set in the 27th century on a Polynesian island:
- Однако, - заметил я, - вы ужасно упростили жизнь.
- Да! - воскликнул как-то особенно торжественно старик, и вы сказали слова глубокого значения! Упрощение жизни - это один из основных наших догматов; только при этом условии возможна счастливая жизнь на земле! Мы допускаем все радости, все наслаждения жизни, кроме тех, которые требуют больших усложнений. А подумайте, с какими ужасными усложнениями связана была ваша наука. Наука и вместе с нею цивилизация со всеми ее ужасами, или ни та, ни другая - вот что предстояло нам выбрать, и мы избрали последнее.
- И теперешние люди довольствуются этим? - спросил я, и они не жаждут знания, не требуют его сами от вас? Неужели вам удалось сковать гордый ум человеческий, некогда паривший так высоко? Неужели никто из них не пытается создать что-нибудь в области науки или искусства?
- А вот, посмотрите сами, - ответил старик и, обратившись к одной молодой женщине, спросил ее:
- Стелла, скажи мне, хотела бы ты сочинять такую музыку, какую мы слышим?
- Да ведь это должно быть очень трудно, - ответила она.
- Да, для этого нужно каждый день и целый день все учиться и учиться.
- Нет, - живо ответила она, - спасибо, а когда же я буду играть, купаться, гулять? Я лучше хочу целый день веселиться.
- Милая Стелла, - обратился я к ней с вопросом, - неужели вам не надоест каждый день все играть и веселиться?
- Надоест? - спросила она с удивлением. - То есть к вечеру я устаю, это правда, но утром я просыпаюсь бодрой и мне опять хочется играть и веселиться. А вам разве не надоест каждый день все есть да есть? - спросила она, лукаво улыбаясь.
И, сказав это, она сделала шаг по направлению ко мне с грациозным свободным движением руки и, слегка наклонив свою прелестную головку, стала глядеть на меня с вызывающей улыбкой.
Я не знал, что ответить, смущенный и ее вопросом и еще более изящной грацией и красотой, которыми дышала вся ее фигура...
- Ну, а ты, Эрос, - обратился старик к одному из молодых людей, - хотел бы ты сидеть целые дни за книгами и изучать природу и ее законы, чтобы проникнуть во все ее тайны?
- Я не понимаю, для чего это? Разве мы и без того не знаем все, что нужно? Знаем же мы, что такое земля, солнце, луна, звезды, как они движутся, отчего бывает день и ночь, знаем, как образовалась земля, как, благодаря нашему дорогому солнцу, постепенно развились на ней растения, животные, знаем, что люди прежде жили как звери, потом строили себе города, а когда стали учеными, то были очень несчастными и мучили друг друга всевозможными способами, как потом наши покровители все это изменили. Вероятно, можно узнать еще много подробностей, но на что они нам? Нет, я, как Стелла, предпочитаю лучше жить, как мы живем, так веселее.
- Правда, Акита? - обратился он к прелестной девушке, вероятно его маленькой женке.
Но Акита только засмеялась и бросила в него цветком, который она держала в руках, за ней бросила другая, третья, и скоро посыпался целый дождь цветов на юношу, побежавшего к выходу и преследуемого роем смеющихся красавиц.
- Когда нам это надоест, - заметила Стелла, - мы, может быть, сделаемся учеными. Но вряд ли это будет. (Day Two, chapter 1)
Ezrar (the gray-bearded protector) asks Stella if she would like to compose music. Ludwig van Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, marked Quasi una fantasia, Op. 27, No. 2, is known throughout the world as the Moonlight Sonata (Mondscheinsonate). "Beethoven's Anruf an die Geliebte" (1857) is a poem by Afanasiy Fet:
Пойми хоть раз тоскливое признанье,
Хоть раз услышь души молящей стон!
Я пред тобой, прекрасное созданье,
Безвестных сил дыханьем окрылен.
Я образ твой ловлю перед разлукой,
Я, полон им, и млею, и дрожу,
И, без тебя томясь предсмертной мукой,
Своей тоской, как счастьем, дорожу.
Ее пою, во прах упасть готовый.
Ты предо мной стоишь как божество —
И я блажен; я в каждой муке новой
Твоей красы провижу торжество.
Humbert's fatal lust brings to mind Aubrey McFate (Lolita's classmate in Ramsdale school) and Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67, also known as the Fate Symphony (German: Schicksalssinfonie).