Describing the last game of Flavita (the Russian Scrabble) that he played at Ardis with Ada and Lucette, Van Veen (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Ada, 1969) is on the brink of mentioning KREMLIN (the word formed by Lucette's letters):
Soon after that, as so often occurs with games, and toys, and vacational friendships, that seem to promise an eternal future of fun, Flavita followed the bronze and blood-red trees into the autumn mists; then the black box was mislaid, was forgotten — and accidentally rediscovered (among boxes of table silver) four years later, shortly before Lucette’s visit to town where she spent a few days with her father in mid-July, 1888. It so happened that this was to be the last game of Flavita that the three young Veens were ever to play together. Either because it happened to end in a memorable record for Ada, or because Van took some notes in the hope — not quite unfulfilled — of ‘catching sight of the lining of time’ (which, as he was later to write, is ‘the best informal definition of portents and prophecies’), but the last round of that particular game remained vividly clear in his mind.
‘Je ne peux rien faire,’ wailed Lucette, ‘mais rien — with my idiotic Buchstaben, REMNILK, LINKREM...’
‘Look,’ whispered Van, ‘c’est tout simple, shift those two syllables and you get a fortress in ancient Muscovy.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Ada, wagging her finger at the height of her temple in a way she had. ‘Oh, no. That pretty word does not exist in Russian. A Frenchman invented it. There is no second syllable.’
‘Ruth for a little child?’ interposed Van.
‘Ruthless!’ cried Ada.
‘Well,’ said Van, ‘you can always make a little cream, KREM or KREME — or even better — there’s KREMLI, which means Yukon prisons. Go through her ORHIDEYA.’
‘Through her silly orchid,’ said Lucette.
‘And now,’ said Ada, ‘Adochka is going to do something even sillier.’ And taking advantage of a cheap letter recklessly sown sometime before in the seventh compartment of the uppermost fertile row, Ada, with a deep sigh of pleasure, composed: the adjective TORFYaNUYu which went through a brown square at F and through two red squares (37 x 9 = 333 points) and got a bonus of 50 (for placing all seven blocks at one stroke) which made 383 in all, the highest score ever obtained for one word by a Russian scrambler. ‘There!’ she said, ‘Ouf! Pas facile.’ And brushing away with the rosy knuckles of her white hand the black-bronze hair from her temple, she recounted her monstrous points in a smug, melodious tone of voice like a princess narrating the poison-cup killing of a superfluous lover, while Lucette fixed Van with a mute, fuming appeal against life’s injustice — and then looking again at the board emitted a sudden howl of hope:
‘It’s a place name! One can’t use it! It’s the name of the first little station after Ladore Bridge!’
‘That’s right, pet,’ sang out Ada. ‘Oh, pet, you are so right! Yes, Torfyanaya, or as Blanche says, La Tourbière, is, indeed, the pretty but rather damp village where our Cendrillon’s family lives. But, mon petit, in our mother’s tongue — que dis-je, in the tongue of a maternal grandmother we all share — a rich beautiful tongue which my pet should not neglect for the sake of a Canadian brand of French — this quite ordinary adjective means "peaty," feminine gender, accusative case. Yes, that one coup has earned me nearly 400. Too bad — ne dotyanula (didn’t quite make it).’
‘Ne dotyanula!’ Lucette complained to Van, her nostrils flaring, her shoulders shaking with indignation. (1.36)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): Buchstaben: Germ., letters of the alphabet.
c’est tout simple: it’s quite simple.
pas facile: not easy.
Cendrillon: Cinderella.
mon petit... qui dis-je: darling... in fact.
Before the family dinner in "Ardis the Second" Demon Veen (Van's and Ada's father) tells Van that he refused to have his hairdresser put Crêmlin on his bald spot:
Van pulled a green bell-cord which sent a melodious message pantryward and caused the old-fashioned, bronze-framed little aquarium, with its lone convict cichlid, to bubble antiphonally in a corner of the music room (an eerie, perhaps self-aerating reaction, which only Kim Beauharnais, the kitchen boy, understood). ‘Should he ring her up after dinner,’ wondered Demon. What time would it be there? Not much use, bad for the heart.
‘I don’t know if you know,’ said Van, resuming his perch on the fat arm of his father’s chair. ‘Uncle Dan will be here with the lawyer and Lucette only after dinner.’
‘Capital,’ said Demon.
‘Marina and Ada should be down in a minute — ce sera un dîner à quatre.’
‘Capital,’ he repeated. ‘You look splendid, my dear, dear fellow — and I don’t have to exaggerate compliments as some do in regard to an aging man with shoe-shined hair. Your dinner jacket is very nice — or, rather it’s very nice recognizing one’s old tailor in one’s son’s clothes — like catching oneself repeating an ancestral mannerism — for example, this (wagging his left forefinger three times at the height of his temple), which my mother did in casual, pacific denial; that gene missed you, but I’ve seen it in my hairdresser’s looking-glass when refusing to have him put Crêmlin on my bald spot; and you know who had it too — my aunt Kitty, who married the Banker Bolenski after divorcing that dreadful old wencher Lyovka Tolstoy, the writer.’
Demon preferred Walter Scott to Dickens, and did not think highly of Russian novelists. As usual, Van considered it fit to make a corrective comment:
‘A fantastically artistic writer, Dad.’
‘You are a fantastically charming boy,’ said Demon, shedding another sweet-water tear. He pressed to his cheek Van’s strong shapely hand. Van kissed his father’s hairy fist which was already holding a not yet visible glass of liquor. Despite the manly impact of their Irishness, all Veens who had Russian blood revealed much tenderness in ritual overflows of affection while remaining somewhat inept in its verbal expression. (1.38)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): ce sera etc.: it will be a dinner for four.
Wagging his left forefinger: that gene did not miss his daughter (see p.178, where the name of the cream is also prefigured).
Lyovka: derogative or folksy diminutive of Lyov (Leo).
In his story for children (included in Azbuka) Kak gusi Rim spasli ("How the Geese Saved Rome," 1872) Leo Tolstoy calls Capitolium (an ancient Roman temple dedicated to the Capitoline Triad of gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva) "the Roman Kremlin:"
В 390-м году до Р. X. дикие народы галлы напали на римлян. Римляне не могли с ними справиться, и которые убежали совсем вон из города, а которые заперлись в кремле. Кремль этот назывался Капитолий. Остались только в городе одни сенаторы. Галлы вошли в город, перебили всех сенаторов и сожгли Рим. В середине Рима оставался только кремль Капитолий, куда не могли добраться галлы. Галлам хотелось разграбить Капитолий, потому что они знали, что там много богатств. Но Капитолий стоял на крутой горе: с одной стороны были стены и ворота, а с другой был крутой обрыв. Ночью галлы украдкою полезли из-под обрыва на Капитолий: они поддерживали друг друга снизу и передавали друг другу копья и мечи.
Так они потихоньку взобрались на обрыв, — ни одна собака не услыхала их.
Они уже полезли через стену, как вдруг гуси почуяли народ, загоготали и захлопали крыльями. Один римлянин проснулся, бросился к стене и сбил под обрыв одного галла. Галл упал и свалил за собою других. Тогда сбежались римляне и стали кидать брёвна и каменья под обрыв и перебили много галлов. Потом пришла помощь к Риму, и галлов прогнали.
С тех пор римляне в память этого дня завели у себя праздник. Жрецы идут наряженные по городу; один из них несёт гуся, а за ним на верёвке тащат собаку. И народ подходит к гусю и кланяется ему и жрецу: для гусей дают дары, а собаку бьют палками до тех пор, пока она не издохнет.
Describing Flavita, Van mentions Jupiter (the ancient Roman god of the sky and thunder, as well as the king of the gods) and Jurojin:
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)
Baron Klim Avidov is an anagram of Vladimir Nabokov. One of the Seven Gods of Fortune (Shichifukujin), Jurōjin is the Japanese god of longevity and wisdom, originating from Chinese Taoist folklore as the personification of the Southern Polar Star.