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 “Terra the Fair, an orbicle of jasp:”
While snubbing gods, including the big G,
Iph borrowed some peripheral debris
From mystic visions; and it offered tips
(The amber spectacles for life's eclipse) -
How not to panic when you're made a ghost:
Sidle and slide, choose a smooth surd, and coast,
Meet solid bodies and glissade right through,
Or let a person circulate through you.
How to locate in blackness, with a gasp,
Terra the Fair, an orbicle of jasp.
How to keep sane in spiral types of space.
Precautions to be taken in the case
Of freak reincarnation: what to do
On suddenly discovering that you
Are now a young and vulnerable toad
Plump in the middle of a busy road,
Or a bear cub beneath a burning pine,
Or a book mite in a revived divine. (ll. 549-566)
According to Kinbote (Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla), “How to locate in blackness, with a gasp, / Terra the Fair, an orbicle of jasp” is the loveliest couplet in the Canto. Describing the Antiterran L disaster in the beau milieu of the 19th century and the torments of poor mad Aqua (the twin sister of Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother Marina), Van Veen (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Ada, 1969) mentions Terra the Fair:
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)
The action in Ada takes place on Demonia, Earth's twin planet also known as Antiterra. Le Démon de l'analogie ("The Demon of Analogy," 1864) is a celebrated prose poem by Stéphane Mallarmé (a French Symbolist poet, 1842-1898). Demonia's twin planet, Terra the Fair seems to hint at Terre-Juste and Terre-Libre, the bordering kingdoms in L'Étoile des fées, Stéphane Mallarmé's French version of The Star of the Fairies (1881), a children's fantasy novel by Mrs. W.-C. Elphinstone Hope (an English writer who was born before 1861 and whose death date is unknown). Stéphane Mallarmé's translation begins as follows:
Il était une fois, dans une des étoiles du ciel, un monde appelé Luminarium qui, comme notre terre, renfermait des contrées nombreuses. Terre-Libre avait été entre toutes une des plus puissantes et des plus florissantes ; mais, au moment où débute cette histoire, Dorigénès, le roi, était prématurément vieux et faible et laissait son royaume entièrement aux soins de ses ministres, plus soucieux de leur propre popularité et de leur élévation aux honneurs que de la gloire du pays. Dorigénès s’était marié tard dans la vie : il eut plusieurs enfants, entre lesquels sa favorite était la princesse Blanche, sa fille aînée, alors âgée de douze ans ; celle qui ressemblait le plus à sa mère Lucinde. Cette jeune Princesse avait de grands talents et un goût particulier pour la lecture ; mais, quoique faisant ses délices du récit de nobles faits, il ne lui arrivait jamais de s’essayer à les égaler. Satisfaite d’être née grande princesse, d’avoir tout ce qu’elle désirait, elle ne s’inquiétait pas des créatures ses pareilles, non plus qu’elle ne s’intéressait à savoir si son rang la mettait à même de soulager quelqu’une des misères de ce monde, et d’être noble ainsi. La Fée Égoïste était sa compagne perpétuelle, et gâtait chez elle ce qui eût pu, sous une tutelle différente, lui faire une réputation distinguée.
Lucinde's daughter, Princess Blanche brings to mind Blanche, a French handmaid at Ardis (in Ada, the family estate of Daniel Veen, Lucette's father) who is associated with Cendrillon, the heroine of Charles Perrault's fairy tale Cendrillon ou la Petite Pantoufle de verre (1697). In his foreword to Humbert Humbert's manuscript John Ray, Jr. (a character in VN's novel Lolita, 1955) mentions his colleague, Dr. Blanche Schwarzmann:
Viewed simply as a novel, “Lolita” deals with situations and emotions that would remain exasperatingly vague to the reader had their expression been etiolated by means of platitudinous evasions. True, not a single obscene term is to be found in the whole work; indeed, the robust philistine who is conditioned by modern conventions into accepting without qualms a lavish array of four-letter words in a banal novel, will be quite shocked by their absence here. If, however, for this paradoxical prude’s comfort, an editor attempted to dilute or omit scenes that a certain type of mind might call “aphrodisiac” (see in this respect the monumental decision rendered December 6, 1933, by Hon. John M. Woolsey in regard to another, considerably more outspoken, book), one would have to forego the publication of “Lolita” altogether, since those very scenes that one might inpetly accuse of sensuous existence of their own, are the most strictly functional ones in the development of a tragic tale tending unswervingly to nothing less than a moral apotheosis. The cynic may say that commercial pornography makes the same claim; the learned may counter by asserting that “H. H.”‘s impassioned confession is a tempest in a test tube; that at least 12% of American adult males - a “conservative” estimate according to Dr. Blanche Schwarzmann (verbal communication) - enjoy yearly, in one way or another, the special experience “H. H.” describes with such despare; that had our demented diarist gone, in the fatal summer of 1947, to a competent psycho-pathologist, there would have been no disaster; but then, neither would there have been this book.
In his pocket diary that he keeps in Ramsdale as Charlotte's lodger Humbert describes his dream and mentions Dr. Blanche Schwarzmann who would have paid him a sack of schillings for adding such a libidream to her files:
Friday. I long for some terrific disaster. Earthquake. Spectacular explosion. Her mother is messily but instantly and permanently eliminated, along with everybody else for miles around. Lolita whimpers in my arms. A free man, I enjoy her among the ruins. Her surprise, my explanations, demonstrations, ullulations. Idle and idiotic fancies! A brave Humbert would have played with her most disgustingly (yesterday, for instance, when she was again in my room to show me her drawings, school-artware); he might have bribed her - and got away with it. A simpler and more practical fellow would have soberly stuck to various commercial substitutes - if you know where to go, I don’t. Despite my many looks, I am horribly timid. My romantic soul gets all clammy and shivery at the thought of running into some awful indecent unpleasantness. Those ribald sea monsters. “Mais allez-y, allez-y! ” Annabel skipping on one foot to get into her shorts, I seasick with rage, trying to screen her.
Same date, later, quite late. I have turned on the light to take down a dream. It had an evident antecedent. Haze at dinner had benevolently proclaimed that since the weather bureau promised a sunny weekend we would go to the lake Sunday after church. As I lay in bed, erotically musing before trying to go to sleep, I thought of a final scheme how to profit by the picnic to come. I was aware that mother Haze hated my darling for her being sweet on me. So I planned my lake day with a view to satisfying the mother. To her alone would I talk; but at some appropriate moment I would say I had left my wrist watch or my sunglasses in that glade yonderand plunge with my nymphet into the wood. Reality at this juncture withdrew, and the Quest for the Glasses turned into a quiet little orgy with a singularly knowing, cheerful, corrupt and compliant Lolita behaving as reason knew she could not possibly behave. At 3 a. m. I swallowed a sleeping pill, and presently, a dream that was not a sequel but a parody revealed to me, with a kind of meaningful clarity, the lake I had never yet visited: it was glazed over with a sheet of emerald ice, and a pockmarked Eskimo was trying in vain to break it with a pickax, although imported mimosas and oleanders flowered on its gravelly banks. I am sure Dr. Blanche Schwarzmann would have paid me a sack of schillings for adding such a libidream to her files. Unfortunately, the rest of it was frankly eclectic. Big Haze and little Haze rode on horseback around the lake, and I rode too, dutifully bobbing up and down, bowlegs astraddle although there was no horse between them, only elastic air - one of those little omissions due to the absentmindedness of the dream agent. (1.11)
In an attempt to save his life Clare Quilty (a playwright and pornographer whom Humbert murders for abducting Lolita from the Elphinstone hospital) offers Humbert the in folio de-luxe Bagration Island by the explorer and psychoanalyst Melanie Weiss (whose name is a negative, as it were, of Blanche Schwarzmann):
“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 playI 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 thingyou 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)
According to Quilty, he has been called the American Maeterlinck. Maurice Maeterlinck's play L'Oiseau bleu ("The Blue Bird," 1908) brings to mind Dr. Blue (in Lolita, the chief physician at the Elphinstone hospital) and the great Starover Blue (the lean and glum college astronomer in Pale Fire) whom Shade mentions in Canto Two:
The little scissors I am holding are
A dazzling synthesis of sun and star.
I stand before the window and I pare
My fingernails and vaguely am aware
Of certain flinching likenesses: the thumb,
Our grocer's son; the index, lean and glum
College astronomer Starover Blue;
The middle fellow, a tall priest I knew;
The feminine fourth finger, an old flirt;
And little pinky clinging to her skirt.
And I make mouths as I snip off the thin
Strips of what Aunt Maud used to call "scarf-skin." (ll. 183-194)
and then again in Canto Three of his poem:
We heard cremationists guffaw and snort
At Grabermann's denouncing the Retort
As detrimental to the birth of wraiths.
We all avoided criticizing faiths.
The great Starover Blue reviewed the role
Planets had played as landfalls of the soul.
The fate of beasts was pondered. A Chinese
Discanted on the etiquette at teas
With ancestors, and how far up to go.
I tore apart the fantasies of Poe,
And dealt with childhood memories of strange
Nacreous gleams beyond the adults' range. (ll. 623-634)
Starover is Russian for "Old Believer." In his article Sotsial-demokraticheskaya dushechka (“The Social-Democratic Darling,” 1905) Lenin compares Comrade Starover (the pen name of Alexander Potresov, 1869-1934, one of the leaders of the Menshevik faction of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party) to the heroine of Chekhov’s story Dushechka (“The Darling,” 1899):
«Тов. Старовер очень похож на героиню чеховского рассказа „Душечка“. Душечка жила сначала с антрепренёром и говорила: мы с Ванечкой ставим серьёзные пьесы. Потом жила она с торговцем лесом и говорила: мы с Васечкой возмущены высоким тарифом на лес. Наконец, жила с ветеринаром и говорила: мы с Колечкой лечим лошадей. Так и тов. Старовер. „Мы с Лениным“ ругали Мартынова. „Мы с Мартыновым“ ругаем Ленина. Милая социал-демократическая душечка! в чьих-то объятиях очутишься ты завтра?»
Describing the difference between Terra and Antiterra, Van Veen mentions the New Believers:
Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution. Sick minds identified the notion of a Terra planet with that of another world and this ‘Other World’ got confused not only with the ‘Next World’ but with the Real World in us and beyond us. Our enchanters, our demons, are noble iridescent creatures with translucent talons and mightily beating wings; but in the eighteen-sixties the New Believers urged one to imagine a sphere where our splendid friends had been utterly degraded, had become nothing but vicious monsters, disgusting devils, with the black scrota of carnivora and the fangs of serpents, revilers and tormentors of female souls; while on the opposite side of the cosmic lane a rainbow mist of angelic spirits, inhabitants of sweet Terra, restored all the stalest but still potent myths of old creeds, with rearrangement for melodeon of all the cacophonies of all the divinities and divines ever spawned in the marshes of this our sufficient world.
Sufficient for your purpose, Van, entendons-nous. (Note in the margin.) (1.3)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): entendons-nous: let’s have it clear (Fr.).
In 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, Konstantin Merezhkovski (a zoologist and pedophile, 1855-1921) mentions Terra, terrism and terrist (a person who advocates terrism, as Merezhkovski calls his theory):
Что такое терризм? Это, прежде всего, убеждение, что люди, обитатели земли, — Terra — имеют право и не только право, но и обязанность (обязанность, налагаемую как разумом, логикой, так и чувством — состраданием к людям) интересоваться и заниматься исключительно земными делами, предоставляя обитателям неба — если таковые есть — ведаться с делами небесными. Не смешным ли показалось бы вам, если бы жители земли, пренебрегая своими собственными интересами, все внимание свое, все заботы свои, все помышления обратили на планету Марс и ее обитателей, если бы интересы обитателей Марса лежали к их сердцу ближе, чем интересы людские? А между тем на деле так это часто и происходит, с той только разницей, что объектом внимания людей является не планета Марс, а Небо — в сущности, столь же отдаленное от нас, как и Марс, если не более, и еще менее нам знакомое. И это большое зло: сколько усилий ума, воображения, чувства, сколько человеческой энергии, и притом людей по большей части из числа лучших, наиболее возвышенных, было потрачено на дела воображаемые, на интересы небесные в ущерб делам земным, реальным. Если бы все эти усилия были направлены на наши собственные, людские дела, на устройство нашего земного благополучия, то, право, наша жизнь здесь, на земле была бы легче, чем она есть теперь!
Итак, террист, прежде всего, не забывает, что он обитатель Земли, и старается забыть, что есть на свете еще другие планеты: Марс, Меркурий, Небо и проч. и проч. Теперь, говорит он, — Земля и ее интересы, а там, если есть еще что-нибудь, — видно будет, что делать. (Introduction)