Describing his stay with Lolita in The Enchanted Hunters (a hotel in Briceland where Humbert and Lolita spend their first night together), Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN’s novel Lolita, 1955) exclaims “Oh, Fame! Oh, Femina!”:
The dining room met us with a smell of fried fat and a faded smile. It was a spacious and pretentious place with maudlin murals depicting enchanted hunters in various postures and states of enchantment amid a medley of pallid animals, dryads and trees. A few scattered old ladies, two clergymen, and a man in a sports coat were finishing their meals in silence. The dining room closed at nine, and the green-clad, poker-faced serving girls were, happily, in a desperate hurry to get rid of us.
“Does not he look exactly, but exactly, like Quilty?” said Lo in a soft voice, her sharp brown elbow not pointing, but visibly burning to point, at the lone diner in the loud checks, in the far corner of the room.
“Like our fat Ramsdale dentist?”
Lo arrested the mouthful of water she had just taken, and put down her dancing glass.
“Course not,” she said with a splutter of mirth. “I meant the writer fellow in the Dromes ad.”
Oh, Fame! Oh, Femina! (1.27)
In Ilf and Petrov's novel Zolotoy telyonok ("The Little Golden Calf," 1931) Panikovski whispers "Kakya femina! Ya lyublyu eyo, kak doch'! ("What a femina! I love her [Zosya Sinitski], like a daughter!)":
На заходе солнца Остап роздал обещанные гостинцы. Козлевич получил брелок в виде компаса, который очень подошел к его толстым серебряным часам. Балаганову был преподнесен «Чтец-декламатор» в дерматиновом переплете, а Паниковскому — розовый галстук с синими цветами.
— А теперь, друзья мои, — сказал Бендер, когда «Антилопа» возвратилась в город, — мы с Зосей Викторовной немного погуляем, а вам пора на постоялый двор, бай-бай.
Уж постоялый двор заснул и Балаганов с Козлевичем выводили носами арпеджио, а Паниковский с новым галстуком на шее бродил среди подвод, ломая руки в немой тоске.
— Какая фемина! — шептал он. — Я люблю ее, как дочь! (Chapter XXIV "The Weather was Favorable for Love")
A playwright and pornograper who, like Humbert, loves little girls, Clare Quilty (the writer fellow in the Dromes ad) advertizes Drome cigarettes. Short of dromedary, the Dromes hint at Camel cigarettes. In Ilf and Petrov's novel The Little Golden Calf Bender and Koreyko (a secret Soviet millionaire) cross the Karakum Desert on the (Bactrian) camels:
-- Транспорт отбился от рук. С железной дорогой мы поссорились. Воздушные пути сообщения для нас закрыты. Пешком? Четыреста километров. Это не воодушевляет. Остается одно -- принять ислам и передвигаться на верблюдах.
Насчет ислама Корейко промолчал, но мысль о верблюдах ему понравилась. Заманчивый вид вагон-ресторана и самолета утвердил его в желании совершить развлекательную поездку врача-общественника, конечно без гусарства, но и не без некоторой лихости.
Аулы, прибывшие на смычку, еще не снялись, и верблюдов удалось купить неподалеку от Гремящего Ключа. Корабли пустыни обошлись по сто восемьдесят рублей за штуку.
-- Как дешево! -- шепнул Остап. -- Давайте купим пятьдесят верблюдов. Или сто!
-- Это гусарство, -- хмуро сказал Александр Иванович. -- Что с ними делать? Хватит и двух.
Казахи с криками усадили путешественников между горбами, помогли привязать чемодан, мешок и провизию на дорогу-бурдюк с кумысом и двух баранов. Верблюды поднялись сперва на задние ноги, отчего миллионеры низко поклонились, а потом на передние ноги и зашагали вдоль полотна Восточной Магистрали. Бараны, привязанные веревочками, трусили позади, время от времени катя шарики и блея душераздирающим образом.
-- Эй, шейх Корейко! -- крикнул Остап. -- Александр Ибн-Иванович! Прекрасна ли жизнь?
Шейх ничего не ответил. Ему попался ледащий верблюд, и он яростно лупил его по плешивому заду саксауловой палкой. (Chapter XXX "Alexander ibn Ivanovich")
As he speaks to the interpreter from the Intourist, Ostap Bender (the main character in The Twelve Chairs, 1928, and in The Little Golden Calf) mentions Repin's famous painting Ivan Groznyi ubivaet svoego syna ("Ivan the Terrible Murders his Son"):
— Скажите, — перебил он, — эти двое не из Рио-де-Жанейро?
— Нет, — ответил соотечественник, — они из Чикаго. А я — переводчик из «Интуриста».
— Чего же они здесь делают, на распутье, в диком древнем поле, вдалеке от Москвы, от балета «Красный мак», от антикварных магазинов и знаменитой картины художника Репина «Иван Грозный убивает своего сына»? Не понимаю! Зачем вы их сюда завезли? (The Little Golden Calf, Chapter VII "The Sweet Burden of Fame")
Actually, Ilya Repin's painting is entitled Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581. According to John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert's manuscript), Humbert Humbert had died in legal captivity, of coronary thrombosis, on November 16, 1952, a few days before his trial was scheduled to start:
“Lolita, or the Confession of a White Widowed Male,” such were the two titles under which the writer of the present note received the strange pages it preambulates. “Humbert Humbert,” their author, had died in legal captivity, of coronary thrombosis, on November 16, 1952, a few days before his trial was scheduled to start. His lawyer, my good friend and relation, Clarence Choate Clark, Esq., now of the District of Columbia bar, in asking me to edit the manuscript, based his request on a clause in his client’s will which empowered my eminent cousin to use the discretion in all matters pertaining to the preparation of “Lolita” for print. Mr. Clark’s decision may have been influenced by the fact that the editor of his choice had just been awarded the Poling Prize for a modest work (“Do the Senses make Sense?”) wherein certain morbid states and perversions had been discussed.
In Ilf and Petrov's novel, Bender asks the interpreter from the Intourist if his companions are not from Rio de Janeiro (the intepreter replies that they are from Chicago). In an attempt to save his life Quilty offers Humbert an old-fashioned rencontre, pistol or sword, in Rio or elsewhere:
“Now look here, Mac,” he said. “You are drunk and I am a sick man. Let us postpone the matter. I need quiet. I have to nurse my impotence. Friends are coming in the afternoon to take me to a game. This pistol-packing farce is becoming a frightful nuisance. We are men of the world, in everything - sex, free verse, marksmanship. If you bear me a grudge, I am ready to make unusual amends. Even an old-fashioned rencontre, sword or pistol, in Rio or elsewhere - is not excluded. My memory and my eloquence are not at their best today, but really, my dear Mr. Humbert, you were not an ideal stepfather, and I did not force your little protégé to join me. It was she made me remove her to a happier home. This house is not as modern as that ranch we shared with dear friends. But it is roomy, cool in summer and winter, and in a word comfortable, so, since I intend retiring to England or Florence forever, I suggest you move in. It is yours, gratis. Under the condition you stop pointing at me that [he swore disgustingly] gun. By the way, I do not know if you care for the bizarre, but if you do, I can offer you, also gratis, as house pet, a rather exciting little freak, a young lady with three breasts, one a dandy, this is a rare and delightful marvel of nature. Now, soyons raisonnables. You will only wound me hideously and then rot in jail while I recuperate in a tropical setting. I promise you, Brewster, you will be happy here, with a magnificent cellar, and all the royalties from my next play - I have not much at the bank right now but I propose to borrow - you know, as the Bard said, with that cold in his head, to borrow and to borrow and to borrow. There are other advantages. We have here a most reliable and bribable charwoman, a Mrs. Vibrissa - curious name - who comes from the village twice a week, alas not today, she has daughters, granddaughters, a thing or two I know about the chief of police makes him my slave. I am a playwright. I have been called the American Maeterlinck. Maeterlinck-Schmetterling, says I. Come on! All this is very humiliating, and I am not sure I am doing the right thing. Never use herculanita with rum. Now drop that pistol like a good fellow. I knew your dear wife slightly. You may use my wardrobe. Oh, another thing - you are going to like this. I have an absolutely unique collection of erotica upstairs. Just to mention one item: the in folio de-luxe Bagration Island - by the explorer and psychoanalyst Melanie Weiss, a remarkable lady, a remarkable work - drop that gun - with photographs of eight hundred and something male organs she examined and measured in 1932 on Bagration, in the Barda Sea, very illuminating graphs, plotted with love under pleasant skies - drop that gun - and moreover I can arrange for you to attend executions, not everybody knows that the chair is painted yellow” (2.35)