In VN’s novel Ada (1969) Van Veen (the narrator and main character) paraphrases the lines in Lermontov’s poem The Demon (1829-40), replacing “the summits of the Caucasus” with “the summits of the Tacit” and “Kazbek” with “Mount Peck:”
He greeted the dawn of a placid and prosperous century (more than half of which Ada and I have now seen) with the beginning of his second philosophic fable, a ‘denunciation of space’ (never to be completed, but forming in rear vision, a preface to his Texture of Time). Part of that treatise, a rather mannered affair, but nasty and sound, appeared in the first issue (January, 1904) of a now famous American monthly, The Artisan, and a comment on the excerpt is preserved in one of the tragically formal letters (all destroyed save this one) that his sister sent him by public post now and then. Somehow, after the interchange occasioned by Lucette’s death such nonclandestine correspondence had been established with the tacit sanction of Demon:
And o’er the summits of the Tacit
He, banned from Paradise, flew on:
Beneath him, like a brilliant’s facet,
Mount Peck with snows eternal shone.
It would seem indeed that continued ignorance of each other’s existence might have looked more suspicious than the following sort of note:
Agavia Ranch
February 5, 1905
I have just read Reflections in Sidra, by Ivan Veen, and I regard it as a grand piece, dear Professor. The ‘lost shafts of destiny’ and other poetical touches reminded me of the two or three times you had tea and muffins at our place in the country about twenty years ago. I was, you remember (presumptuous phrase!), a petite fille modèle practicing archery near a vase and a parapet and you were a shy schoolboy (with whom, as my mother guessed, I may have been a wee bit in love!), who dutifully picked up the arrows I lost in the lost shrubbery of the lost castle of poor Lucette’s and happy, happy Adette’s childhood, now a ‘Home for Blind Blacks’ — both my mother and L., I’m sure, would have backed Dasha’s advice to turn it over to her Sect. Dasha, my sister-in-law (you must meet her soon, yes, yes, yes, she’s dreamy and lovely, and lots more intelligent than I), who showed me your piece, asks me to add she hopes to ‘renew’ your acquaintance — maybe in Switzerland, at the Bellevue in Mont Roux, in October. I think you once met pretty Miss ‘Kim’ Blackrent, well, that’s exactly dear Dasha’s type. She is very good at perceiving and pursuing originality and all kinds of studies which I can’t even name! She finished Chose (where she read History — our Lucette used to call it ‘Sale Histoire,’ so sad and funny!). For her you’re le beau ténébreux, because once upon a time, once upon libellula wings, not long before my marriage, she attended — I mean at that time, I’m stuck in my ‘turnstyle’ — one of your public lectures on dreams, after which she went up to you with her latest little nightmare all typed out and neatly clipped together, and you scowled darkly and refused to take it. Well, she’s been after Uncle Dementiy to have him admonish le beau ténébreux to come to Mont Roux Bellevue Hotel, in October, around the seventeenth, I guess, and he only laughs and says it’s up to Dashenka and me to arrange matters.
So ‘congs’ again, dear Ivan! You are, we both think, a marvelous, inimitable artist who should also ‘only laugh,’ if cretinic critics, especially lower-upper-middle-class Englishmen, accuse his turnstyle of being ‘coy’ and ‘arch,’ much as an American farmer finds the parson ‘peculiar’ because he knows Greek.
P.S.
Dushevno klanyayus’ (‘am souledly bowing’, an incorrect and vulgar construction evoking the image of a ‘bowing soul’) nashemu zaochno dorogomu professoru (‘to our "unsight-unseen" dear professor’), o kotorom mnogo slïshal (about whom have heard much) ot dobrago Dementiya Dedalovicha i sestritsï (from good Demon and my sister).
S uvazheniem (with respect),
Andrey Vaynlender (3.7)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): And o’er the summits of the Tacit etc.: parody of four lines in Lermontov’s The Demon (see also p.115).
le beau ténébreux: wrapt in Byronic gloom.
The Russian word for 'summit' (used by Lermontov in The Demon) is vershina:
И над вершинами Кавказа
Изгнанник рая пролетал:
Под ним Казбек, как грань алмаза,
Снегами вечными сиял
And o'er the summits of the Caucasus
He, banned from Paradise, flew on:
Beneath him, like a brilliant’s facet,
Kazbek with snows eternal shone. (III)
I nad vershinami Kavkaza (And o'er the summits of the Caucasus) brings to mind Vershnyov, a character in Pushkin’s fragment My provodili vecher na dache… (“We were spending the evening at the dacha,” 1835). In Pushkin's fragment Aleksey Ivanych compares Aurelius Victor, a Roman historian of the 4th century (the author of De Viris illustribus, a work that was attributed to Aurelius Victor in Pushkin's time), to Tacitus (a Roman historian and politician, c. 56 - c. 120 AD):
— Ей-богу, — сказал молодой человек, — я робею: я стал стыдлив, как ценсура. Ну, так и быть...
Надобно знать, что в числе латинских историков есть некто Аврелий Виктор, о котором, вероятно, вы никогда не слыхивали.
— Aurelius Victor? — прервал Вершнев, который учился некогда у езуитов, — Аврелий Виктор, писатель четвертого столетия. Сочинения его приписываются Корнелию Непоту и даже Светонию; он написал книгу de Viris illustribus — о знаменитых мужах города Рима, знаю...
— Точно так, — продолжал Алексей Иваныч, — книжонка его довольно ничтожна, но в ней находится то сказание о Клеопатре, которое так меня поразило. И, что замечательно, в этом месте сухой и скучный Аврелий Виктор силою выражения равняется Тациту: Наес tantae libidinis fuit ut saepe prostiterit; tantae pulchritudinis ut multi noctem illius morte emerint...
— Прекрасно! — воскликнул Вершнев. — Это напоминает мне Саллюстия — помните? Tantae...
— Что же это, господа? — сказала хозяйка, — уж вы изволите разговаривать по-латыни! Как это для нас весело! Скажите, что значит ваша латинская фраза?
— Дело в том, что Клеопатра торговала своею красотою, и что многие купили ее ночи ценою своей жизни...
According to Aurelius Victor, Cleopatra (the queen of Egypt) used to sell her beauty and many men bought her nights at the price of their lives. Cleopatra was the lover of Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar was assassinated on March 15, 44 BC. In March, 1905, Demon Veen (Van's and Ada's father) perishes in a mysterious airplane disaster above the Pacific:
Furnished Space, l’espace meublé (known to us only as furnished and full even if its contents be ‘absence of substance’ — which seats the mind, too), is mostly watery so far as this globe is concerned. In that form it destroyed Lucette. Another variety, more or less atmospheric, but no less gravitational and loathsome, destroyed Demon.
Idly, one March morning, 1905, on the terrace of Villa Armina, where he sat on a rug, surrounded by four or five lazy nudes, like a sultan, Van opened an American daily paper published in Nice. In the fourth or fifth worst airplane disaster of the young century, a gigantic flying machine had inexplicably disintegrated at fifteen thousand feet above the Pacific between Lisiansky and Laysanov Islands in the Gavaille region. A list of ‘leading figures’ dead in the explosion comprised the advertising manager of a department store, the acting foreman in the sheet-metal division of a facsimile corporation, a recording firm executive, the senior partner of a law firm, an architect with heavy aviation background (a first misprint here, impossible to straighten out), the vice president of an insurance corporation, another vice president, this time of a board of adjustment whatever that might be —
‘I’m hongree,’ said a maussade Lebanese beauty of fifteen sultry summers.
‘Use bell,’ said Van, continuing in a state of odd fascination to go through the compilation of labeled lives:
— the president of a wholesale liquor-distributing firm, the manager of a turbine equipment company, a pencil manufacturer, two professors of philosophy, two newspaper reporters (with nothing more to report), the assistant controller of a wholesome liquor distribution bank (misprinted and misplaced), the assistant controller of a trust company, a president, the secretary of a printing agency —
The names of those big shots, as well as those of some eighty other men, women, and silent children who perished in blue air, were being withheld until all relatives had been reached; but the tabulatory preview of commonplace abstractions had been thought to be too imposing not to be given at once as an appetizer; and only on the following morning did Van learn that a bank president lost in the closing garble was his father.
‘The lost shafts of every man’s destiny remain scattered all around him,’ etc. (Reflections in Sidra). (3.7)
Van does not realize that his father died, because Ada (who could not pardon Demon his forcing Van to give her up) managed to persuade the pilot to destroy his machine in midair (the pilot must have promised Ada, who spent a night with him, to commit suicide). Sidra is Ardis (the family estate of Daniel Veen, Demon's cousin) in reverse. The title of Van's book, Reflections in Sidra, also hints at the Gulf of Sidra, a body of water in the Mediterranean Sea on the northern coast of Lybia. Describing his travels, Van mentions the pyramids of Ladorah and a hotel balcony in Sidra:
He traveled, he studied, he taught.
He contemplated the pyramids of Ladorah (visited mainly because of its name) under a full moon that silvered the sands inlaid with pointed black shadows. He went shooting with the British Governor of Armenia, and his niece, on Lake Van. From a hotel balcony in Sidra his attention was drawn by the manager to the wake of an orange sunset that turned the ripples of a lavender sea into goldfish scales and was well worth the price of enduring the quaintness of the small striped rooms he shared with his secretary, young Lady Scramble. On another terrace, overlooking another fabled bay, Eberthella Brown, the local Shah’s pet dancer (a naive little thing who thought ‘baptism of desire’ meant something sexual), spilled her morning coffee upon noticing a six-inch-long caterpillar, with fox-furred segments, qui rampait, was tramping, along the balustrade and curled up in a swoon when picked up by Van — who for hours, after removing the beautiful animal to a bush, kept gloomily plucking itchy bright hairs out of his fingertips with the girl’s tweezers. (3.1)
The action in Ada takes place on Demonia, Earth's twin planet also known as Antiterra. The pyramids of Ladorah visited by Van mainly because of its name seem to correspond to Egyptian pyramids. In Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary (1856) the beadle in the Rouen Сathedral mentions the Great Egyptian Pyramid:
Mais Léon tira vivement une pièce blanche de sa poche et saisit Emma par le bras. Le Suisse demeura tout stupéfait, ne comprenant point cette munificence intempestive, lorsqu'il restait encore à l'étranger tant de choses à voir. Aussi le rappelant :
— Eh ! monsieur. La Flèche ! la Flèche !…
— Merci, dit Léon.
— Monsieur a tort ! Elle aura quatre cent quarante pieds, neuf de moins que la grande pyramide d'Égypte. Elle est tout en fonte, elle…
But Leon quickly produced a piece of silver and grasped Emma by the arm. The beadle looked completely dumbfounded, quite unable to understand this premature munificence when there were still so many things to show the stranger. So he started shouting after him.
'Hi! Monsieur. The steeple! the steeple!'
'No, thanks!' said Leon.
'Oh, but Monsieur, what a pity! It's four hundred and forty feet high – only nine feet less than the Great Egyptian Pyramid. It's all made of cast iron, it...' (Chapter 25)
According to Van, Ardis Hall is “le Château de la Flèche, Flesh Hall:”
On Monday around noon he was allowed to sit in a deckchair, on the lawn, which he had avidly gazed at for some days from his window. Dr Fitzbishop had said, rubbing his hands, that the Luga laboratory said it was the not always lethal ‘arethusoides’ but it had no practical importance now, because the unfortunate music teacher, and composer, was not expected to spend another night on Demonia, and would be on Terra, ha-ha, in time for evensong. Doc Fitz was what Russians call a poshlyak (‘pretentious vulgarian’) and in some obscure counter-fashion Van was relieved not to be able to gloat over the wretched Rack’s martyrdom.
A large pine tree cast its shadow upon him and his book. He had borrowed it from a shelf holding a medley of medical manuals, tattered mystery tales, the Rivière de Diamants collection of Monparnasse stories, and this odd volume of the Journal of Modern Science with a difficult essay by Ripley, ‘The Structure of Space.’ He had been wrestling with its phoney formulas and diagrams for several days now and saw he would not be able to assimilate it completely before his release from Lakeview Hospital on the morrow.
A hot sunfleck reached him, and tossing the red volume aside, he got up from his chair. With the return of health the image of Ada kept rising within him like a bitter and brilliant wave, ready to swallow him. His bandages had been removed; nothing but a special vest-like affair of flannel enveloped his torso, and though it was tight and thick it did not protect him any longer from the poisoned point of Ardis. Arrowhead Manor. Le Château de la Flèche, Flesh Hall. (1.42)