The action in VN's novel Ada (1969) takes place on Demonia, Earth's twin planet also known as Antiterra. The phenomenon of Terra appeared on Demonia after the L disaster in the beau milieu of the 19th century:
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.
The modest narrator has to remind the rereader of all this, because in April (my favorite month), 1869 (by no means a mirabilic year), on St George’s Day (according to Mlle Larivière’s maudlin memoirs) Demon Veen married Aqua Veen — out of spite and pity, a not unusual blend.
Was there some additional spice? Marina, with perverse vainglory, used to affirm in bed that Demon’s senses must have been influenced by a queer sort of ‘incestuous’ (whatever that term means) pleasure (in the sense of the French plaisir, which works up a lot of supplementary spinal vibrato), when he fondled, and savored, and delicately parted and defiled, in unmentionable but fascinating ways, flesh (une chair) that was both that of his wife and that of his mistress, the blended and brightened charms of twin peris, an Aquamarina both single and double, a mirage in an emirate, a germinate gem, an orgy of epithelial alliterations.
Actually, Aqua was less pretty, and far more dotty, than Marina. During her fourteen years of miserable marriage she spent a broken series of steadily increasing sojourns in sanatoriums. A small map of the European part of the British Commonwealth — say, from Scoto-Scandinavia to the Riviera, Altar and Palermontovia — as well as most of the U.S.A., from Estoty and Canady to Argentina, might be quite thickly prickled with enameled red-cross-flag pins, marking, in her War of the Worlds, Aqua’s bivouacs. She had plans at one time to seek a modicum of health (‘just a little grayishness, please, instead of the solid black’) in such Anglo-American protectorates as the Balkans and Indias, and might even have tried the two Southern Continents that thrive under our joint dominion. Of course, Tartary, an independent inferno, which at the time spread from the Baltic and Black seas to the Pacific Ocean, was touristically unavailable, though Yalta and Altyn Tagh sounded strangely attractive... But her real destination was Terra the Fair and thither she trusted she would fly on libellula long wings when she died. Her poor little letters from the homes of madness to her husband were sometimes signed: Madame Shchemyashchikh-Zvukov (‘Heart rending-Sounds’). (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.
Abraham Milton seems to combine Abraham Lincoln with John Milton, the author of Paradise Lost (1667). "An independent inferno" (as Van calls Tartary) brings to mind Inferno, the first part of Dante's Divine Comedy (1308-21). In Paradiso (Canto XXVI: 133-138), the third part of The Divine Comedy, Adam (the first man) mentions terra and El (a name of the Chief Good):
Pria ch'i' scendessi a l'infernale ambascia,
I s'appellava in terra il sommo bene
onde vien la letizia che mi fascia;
e El si chiamò poi: e ciò convene,
ché l'uso d'i mortali è come fronda
in ramo, che sen va e altra vene.
Ere I descended to the grieving place
below, the Highest Good, from whom proceeds
the joy which swathes me, was on earth called I;
EL was He called thereafter; this must be,
for human custom is, as on a bough
a leaf, which goeth as another comes.
Describing the torments of poor mad Aqua (the twin sister of Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother Marina), Van quotes a poem by Dante's friend Guido Cavalcanti:
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.’
Chronologically, the Antiterran L disaster corresponds to the mock execution of Dostoevski and the Petrashevskians on Jan. 3, 1850 (NS). At the beginning of his essay on Dostoevski in The Silhouettes of Russian Writers (1923) the critic Yuli Ayhenvald mentions this tragic incident in Dostoevski's life and calls Dostoevski "the only author who wrote after he had seen the world and listened to his soul from the height of a scaffold:"
Уже одно то, что Достоевский, пловец страшных человеческих глубин, провидец тьмы, рудокоп души, пережил психологию смертной казни, невероятный ужас ее ожидания, — одно это делает его существом инфернальным, как бы вышедшим из могилы и в саване блуждающим среди людей живых; а в России, на празднестве палачей, это придает ему еще трагическую современность и зажигает вокруг него особенно зловещий ореол. Пусть казнь стала теперь явлением бытовым и частым до пошлости, это все-таки не сделало ее менее страшной. И часто, когда приходит новая весть о ней, невольно вспоминаешь, какой роковой момент составляла она в его внутреннем мире и как неотступно возвращался он к ней в своих произведениях. Он не только в праведные уста князя Мышкина вложил эти волнующие речи о "судорогах", до которых доводят на эшафоте человеческую душу, о безмерном "надругательстве над нею" ("нет, с человеком так нельзя поступать!"), — он, не боясь смешного, заставил и пьяного, плутоватого чиновника Лебедева молиться за упокой души графини Дюбарри (казалось бы, что ему эта Гекуба?) и из всячески далекой для Лебедева французской истории приблизил к его сознанию и совести ту сцену, когда подталкивают Дюбарри к ножу гильотины, а она, "на потеху пуасардок парижских", кричит: encore un monent, monsieur le bourreau, encore un moment! "Что и означает: "минуточку одну еще повремените, господин буро, всего одну!" И вот за эту-то минуточку ей, может, Господь и простит, ибо дальше этакого мизера с человеческой душой вообразить невозможно... От этого графининого крика об одной минуточке, я как прочитал, у меня точно сердце захватило щипцами".
И собственное сердце Достоевского было тоже защемлено этими щипцами людской муки, и нельзя будет его вполне понять, если мы забудем, что в самой жизни испытал он смерть и что это — единственный писатель, который творил после того, как он видел мир и слушал свою душу с высоты эшафота.
At the end of his essay Ayhenvald calls Dostoevski zhivaya Bozhestvennaya komediya (the live Divine Comedy) - whose most powerful and terrible part is Inferno:
Тяжкой поступью, с бледным лицом и горящим взглядом, прошел этот великий каторжник, бряцая цепями, по нашей литературе, и до сих пор она не может опомниться и прийти в себя от его исступленного шествия. Какие-то еще не разобранные сигналы показал он на вершинах русского самосознания, какие-то вещие и зловещие слова произнес он своими опаленными устами, и мы их теперь без него разгадываем. И гнетущей загадкой встает он перед нами, как олицетворенная боль, как черное солнце страдания. Были доступны ему глубокие мистерии человеческого, и не случайность он, не просто эпизод психологический, одна из возможных встреч на дороге или на бездорожьях русской жизни, не пугающий мираж чеховского монаха или бредовое приключение ночной души: нет, он — трагическая необходимость духа, так что каждый должен переболеть Достоевским и, если можно, его преодолеть. Трудна эта моральная задача, потому что сам он был точно живая Божественная комедия; в ней же нет сильнее и страшнее — Ада.
The last word in Ayhenvald's essay on Dostoevski is Ada (gen. of Ad, the Russian title of the first part of Dante's Comedy). Aqua's last note was signed My sister's sister who teper' iz ada ('now is out of hell'):
Aujourd’hui (heute-toity!) I, this eye-rolling toy, have earned the psykitsch right to enjoy a landparty with Herr Doktor Sig, Nurse Joan the Terrible, and several ‘patients,’ in the neighboring bar (piney wood) where I noticed exactly the same skunk-like squirrels, Van, that your Darkblue ancestor imported to Ardis Park, where you will ramble one day, no doubt. The hands of a clock, even when out of order, must know and let the dumbest little watch know where they stand, otherwise neither is a dial but only a white face with a trick mustache. Similarly, chelovek (human being) must know where he stands and let others know, otherwise he is not even a klok (piece) of a chelovek, neither a he, nor she, but ‘a tit of it’ as poor Ruby, my little Van, used to say of her scanty right breast. I, poor Princesse Lointaine, très lointaine by now, do not know where I stand. Hence I must fall. So adieu, my dear, dear son, and farewell, poor Demon, I do not know the date or the season, but it is a reasonably, and no doubt seasonably, fair day, with a lot of cute little ants queuing to get at my pretty pills.
[Signed] My sister’s sister who teper’
iz ada (‘now is out of hell’) (1.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): aujourd’hui, heute: to-day (Fr., Germ.).
Princesse Lointaine: Distant Princess, title of a French play.
Brat moego brata (My brother's brother) was one of young Chekhov's pseudonyms. In his essay Ayhenvald calls Dostoevski brat brat'yev Karamazovykh (brother of brothers Karamazov):
Брат братьев Карамазовых, соубийца своих убийц, бес среди своих бесов, он только себя лично, свое солнце и свою ночь, свою Мадонну и свой Содом, выявлял в запутанном лабиринте, в беспокойной ткани своих сочинений.
In Canto Three of his poem John Shade (the poet in VN's novel Pale Fire, 1962) describes IPH (a lay Institute of Preparation for the Hereafter) and mentions fra Karamazov mumbling his inept all is allowed and Terra the Fair, an orbicle of jasp. "Through the gradual, gradual shade" (a phrase used by Van when he describes Aqua's torments) seems to combine Shade with his murderer Gradus.
During Van's first tea party at Ardis Marina mentions Lincoln's second wife and Dostoevski (actually, it is Milton and Dostoevski who were married twice):
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.
In Dostoevski's story Son smeshnogo cheloveka ("The Dream of a Ridiculous Man," 1877) the hero shoots himself dead in his dream and an angel takes him to a planet that looks exactly like Earth, but Earth before the fall.