In an interview to Alfred Appel (included in Strong Opinions, 1974) VN says that the Zemblan crown jewels (vainly looked for by the two Soviet experts) are hidden in the ruins of some old barracks near Kobaltana:
And as a closing question, sir, may I return to Pale Fire: where, please, are the crown jewels hidden?
In the ruins, sir, of some old barracks near Kobaltana (q.v.); but do not tell it to the Russians.
Kobaltana is mentioned by Kinbote (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla) in his Index:
Kobaltana, a once fashionable mountain resort near the ruins of some old barracks, now a cold and desolate spot of difficult access and no importance but still remembered in military families and forest castles, not in the text.
Kobaltana seems to hint at cobalt, the element whose name comes from kobold (occasionally cobold), a mythical sprite. Medieval miners blamed this sprite for the poisonous and troublesome nature of the typical arsenical ores of this metal (cobaltite and smaltite) which polluted other mined elements. Cobalt was discovered by Georg Brandt (1694–1768), a Swedish chemist and mineralogist (who is also known for exposing fraudulent alchemists operating during his lifetime). There is Brandt in Rembrandt (a Dutch painter, 1606-69). In VN’s novel Pnin (1957) in Lake's studio there is a reproduction of the head of Christ from Rembrandt's 'The Pilgrims of Emmaus:'
With an intelligence quotient of about a hundred and eighty and an average grade of ninety, Victor easily ranked first in a class of thirty-six and was, in fact, one of the three best scholars in the school. He had little respect for most of his teachers; but he revered Lake, a tremendously obese man with shaggy eyebrows and hairy hands and an attitude of sombre embarrassment in the presence of athletic, rosy-cheeked lads (Victor was neither). Lake was enthroned, Buddha-like, in a curiously neat studio that looked more like a reception room in an art gallery than a workshop. Nothing adorned its pale grey walls except two identically framed pictures: a copy of Gertrude Käsebier's photographic masterpiece 'Mother and Child' (1897), with the wistful, angelic infant looking up and away (at what?); and a similarly toned reproduction of the head of Christ from Rembrandt's 'The Pilgrims of Emmaus', with the same, though slightly less celestial, expression of eyes and mouth.
He had been born in Ohio, had studied in Paris and Rome, had taught in Ecuador and Japan. He was a recognized art expert, and it puzzled people why, during the past ten winters, Lake chose to bury himself at St Bart's. While endowed with the morose temper of genius, he lacked originality and was aware of that lack; his own paintings always seemed beautifully clever imitations, although one could never quite tell whose manner he mimicked. His profound knowledge of innumerable techniques, his indifference to 'schools' and 'trends', his detestation of quacks, his conviction that there was no difference whatever between a genteel aquarelle of yesterday and, say, conventional neoplasticism or banal non-objectivism of today, and that nothing but individual talent mattered--these views made of him an unusual teacher. St Bart's was not particularly pleased either with Lake's methods or with their results, but kept him on because it was fashionable to have at least one distinguished freak on the staff. Among the many exhilarating things Lake taught was that the order of the solar spectrum is not a closed circle but a spiral of tints from cadmium red and oranges through a strontian yellow and a pale paradisal green to cobalt blues and violets, at which point the sequence does not grade into red again but passes into another spiral, which starts with a kind of lavender grey and goes on to Cinderella shades transcending human perception. He taught that there is no such thing as the Ashcan School or the Cache Cache School or the Cancan School. That the work of art created with string, stamps, a Leftist newspaper, and the droppings of doves is based on a series of dreary platitudes. That there is nothing more banal and more bourgeois than paranoia. That Dali is really Norman Rockwell's twin brother kidnapped by gipsies in babyhood. That Van Gogh is second-rate and Picasso supreme, despite his commercial foibles; and that if Degas could immortalize a calèche, why could not Victor Wind do the same to a motor car? (Chapter Four, 5)
According to Lake (one of Victor’s teachers at St. Bart’s), the order of the solar spectrum is not a closed circle but a spiral of tints from cadmium red and oranges through a strontian yellow and a pale paradisal green to cobalt blues and violets, at which point the sequence does not grade into red again but passes into another spiral, which starts with a kind of lavender grey and goes on to Cinderella shades transcending human perception. “Lavender grey” brings to mind Joe Lavender, the owner of Villa Libitina visited by Gradus (Shade’s murderer who is also known as de Grey) in Switzerland.
In Brandt there is Brand, the title character of a play in verse (1865) by Ibsen. The Keeper of the Treasure, who jumped or fell from the North Tower of the royal palace in Onhava, Baron Bland seems to blend Alexander Blok (the poet whose wife was a daughter of Dmitri Mendeleyev, the Father of the Periodic Table of elements) with Brand. In the penultimate line of his poem Vozmezdie («Retribution», 1910-21) Blok mentions quantum satis Branda voli (quantum satis of strong-willed Brand):
Когда ты загнан и забит
Людьми, заботой, иль тоскою;
Когда под гробовой доскою
Всё, что тебя пленяло, спит;
Когда по городской пустыне,
Отчаявшийся и больной,
Ты возвращаешься домой,
И тяжелит ресницы иней,
Тогда - остановись на миг
Послушать тишину ночную:
Постигнешь слухом жизнь иную,
Которой днём ты не постиг;
По-новому окинешь взглядом
Даль снежных улиц, дым костра,
Ночь, тихо ждущую утра
Над белым запушённым садом,
И небо - книгу между книг;
Найдёшь в душе опустошённой
Вновь образ матери склонённый,
И в этот несравненный миг -
Узоры на стекле фонарном,
Мороз, оледенивший кровь,
Твоя холодная любовь -
Всё вспыхнет в сердце благодарном,
Ты всё благословишь тогда,
Поняв, что жизнь - безмерно боле,
Чем quantum satis Бранда воли,
А мир - прекрасен, как всегда.
When you are cornered and depressed
By people, dues or anguish.
When, underneath the coffin lid,
All that inspired you, perished;
When through the deserted town dome,
Hopeless and weak,
You're finally returning home,
And rime is on thy eyelashes, -
Then - come to rest for short-lifted flash
To hear the silence of night
You'll fathom other life by ears
That's hard to fathom at daylight
In new way you will do the glance
Of long snow streets and foam of fire,
Of night, quite waiting for the lance
Of morning in white garden, piled.
Of heaven - Book among the books
You'll find in the drained soul
Again your loving mother's look
And at this moment, peerless, sole
The patterns on the lamppost's glass
The frost, that chilled your blood
Your stone-hold love, already past
All will flare up in your heart.
Then everything you'll highly bless
You'll see that life is much greater
Than quantum satis of strong-willed Brand
And the world is beautiful as always. (chapter III)
In his Foreword to “Retribution” Blok mentions those infinitely high qualities that once shined like luchshie almazy v chelovecheskoy korone (the best diamonds in man’s crown), such as humanism, virtues, impeccable honesty, rectitude, etc.:
Тема заключается в том, как развиваются звенья единой цепи рода. Отдельные отпрыски всякого рода развиваются до положенного им предела и затем вновь поглощаются окружающей мировой средой; но в каждом отпрыске зреет и отлагается нечто новое и нечто более острое, ценою бесконечных потерь, личных трагедий, жизненных неудач, падений и т. д.; ценою, наконец, потери тех бесконечно высоких свойств, которые в своё время сияли, как лучшие алмазы в человеческой короне (как, например, свойства гуманные, добродетели, безупречная честность, высокая нравственность и проч.)
At the end of Chekhov’s play Dyadya Vanya (“Uncle Vanya,” 1898) Sonya promises to Uncle Vanya that they will see vsyo nebo v almazakh (the whole sky swarming with diamonds). In Chekhov’s play Astrov uses the phrase quantum satis (the amount which is enough):
Астров (Елене Андреевне). Я ведь к вашему мужу. Вы писали, что он очень болен, ревматизм и еще что-то, а оказывается, он здоровехонек.
Елена Андреевна. Вчера вечером он хандрил, жаловался на боли в ногах, а сегодня ничего...
Астров. А я-то сломя голову скакал тридцать верст. Ну, да ничего, не впервой. Зато уж останусь у вас до завтра и, по крайней мере, высплюсь quantum satis.
Соня. И прекрасно. Это такая редкость, что вы у нас ночуете. Вы, небось, не обедали?
Астров. Нет-с, не обедал.
Соня. Так вот кстати и пообедаете. Мы теперь обедаем в седьмом часу. (Пьет.) Холодный чай!
Телегин. В самоваре уже значительно понизилась температура.
Елена Андреевна. Ничего, Иван Иваныч, мы и холодный выпьем.
Телегин. Виноват-с... Не Иван Иваныч, а Илья Ильич-с... Илья Ильич Телегин, или, как некоторые зовут меня по причине моего рябого лица, Вафля. Я когда-то крестил Сонечку, и его превосходительство, ваш супруг, знает меня очень хорошо. Я теперь у вас живу-с, в этом имении-с... Если изволили заметить, я каждый день с вами обедаю.
Соня. Илья Ильич наш помощник, правая рука. (Нежно.) Давайте, крестненький, я вам еще налью.
ASTROV (to Elena Andreyena.) I came to see your husband. You wrote that he was very ill, rheumatism and whatever, but it turns out he’s as sprightly as a chicken.
ELENA ANDREYEVNA Yesterday evening he was very low, he complained of pains in his legs, but today it’s all gone...
ASTROV And I of course came here breaking my neck a full fifteen miles. Ah well, it’s nothing, it’s not the first time. At least I can stay here until tomorrow and sleep my fill, quantum satis.
SONYA Oh excellent! It’s so rare that you spend the night with us. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.
ASTROV No Miss, I haven’t eaten.
SONYA Well that fits in nicely, you can dine with us. We have dinner at seven now. (She drinks.) This tea is cold!
TELEGIN Yes, in the samovar the temperature has dropped significantly.
ELENA ANDREYEVNA It doesn’t matter, Ivan Ivanych, we’ll drink it cold.
TELEGIN I beg pardon ma’am, it’s not Ivan Ivanych, it’s Ilya Ilyich... Ilya Ilyich Telegin, or as some people call me because of my pock marked face, Waffle. I was Sonya’s godfather, and his excellency, your husband, knows me very well. I live now in this house ma’am... Perhaps you might notice that I dine with you each evening.
SONYA Ilya Ilyich – our indispensable assistant, our right hand man. (Tenderly.) Here, dear godfather, let me pour you some more tea. (Act One)
Telegin's nickname brings to mind the luminous waffle mentioned by Kinbote in his Commentary:
Of the not very many ways known of shedding one's body, falling, falling, falling is the supreme method, but you have to select your sill or ledge very carefully so as not to hurt yourself or others. Jumping from a high bridge is not recommended even if you cannot swim, for wind and water abound in weird contingencies, and tragedy ought not to culminate in a record dive or a policeman's promotion. If you rent a cell in the luminous waffle, room 1915 or 1959, in a tall business center hotel browing the star dust, and pull up the window, and gently - not fall, not jump - but roll out as you should for air comfort, there is always the chance of knocking clean through into your own hell a pacific noctambulator walking his dog; in this respect a back room might be safer, especially if giving on the roof of an old tenacious normal house far below where a cat may be trusted to flash out of the way. (note to Line 493)
1915 is the year of Kinbote's (and Gradus's) birth; 1959 is the year of Shade's (and Gradus's and Kinbote's) death. 1959 − 1915 = 44. Like A. P. Chekhov (1860-1904), Kinbote and Gradus die at the age of forty-four. According to Kinbote, Gradus never became a real success in the glass business to which he turned again and again between his wine-selling and pamphlet-printing jobs. Cobalt glass is a type of colored glass made from cobalt oxide, which gives it its distinctive blue hue. It was first created by Englishman George Ravenscroft in 1675 when he discovered that adding cobalt oxide to molten glass would create a deep blue color. Since then, cobalt glass has been used for many different purposes, from decorative items to scientific instruments. In the police records Gradus also appears as Ravenstone:
By an extraordinary coincidence (inherent perhaps in the contrapuntal nature of Shade's art) our poet seems to name here (gradual, gray) a man, whom he was to see for one fatal moment three weeks later, but of whose existence at the time (July 2) he could not have known. Jakob Gradus called himself variously Jack Degree or Jacques de Grey, or James de Gray, and also appears in police records as Ravus, Ravenstone, and d'Argus. Having a morbid affection for the ruddy Russia of the Soviet era, he contended that the real origin of his name should be sought in the Russian word for grape, vinograd, to which a Latin suffix had adhered, making it Vinogradus. His father, Martin Gradus, had been a Protestant minister in Riga, but except for him and a maternal uncle (Roman Tselovalnikov, police officer and part-time member of the Social-Revolutionary party), the whole clan seems to have been in the liquor business. Martin Gradus died in 1920, and his widow moved to Strasbourg where she soon died, too. Another Gradus, an Alsatian merchant, who oddly enough was totally unrelated to our killer but had been a close business friend of his kinsmen for years, adopted the boy and raised him with his own children. It would seem that at one time young Gradus studied pharmacology in Zurich, and at another, traveled to misty vineyards as an itinerant wine taster. We find him next engaging in petty subversive activities - printing peevish pamphlets, acting as messenger for obscure syndicalist groups, organizing strikes at glass factories, and that sort of thing. Sometime in the forties he came to Zembla as a brandy salesman. There he married a publican's daughter. His connection with the Extremist party dates from its first ugly writhings, and when the revolution broke out, his modest organizational gifts found some appreciation in various offices. His departure for Western Europe, with a sordid purpose in his heart and a loaded gun in his pocket, took place on the very day that an innocent poet in an innocent land was beginning Canto Two of Pale Fire. We shall accompany Gradus in constant thought, as he makes his way from distant dim Zembla to green Appalachia, through the entire length of the poem, following the road of its rhythm, riding past in a rhyme, skidding around the corner of a run-on, breathing with the caesura, swinging down to the foot of the page from line to line as from branch to branch, hiding between two words (see note to line 596), reappearing on the horizon of a new canto, steadily marching nearer in iambic motion, crossing streets, moving up with his valise on the escalator of the pentameter, stepping off, boarding a new train of thought, entering the hall of a hotel, putting out the bedlight, while Shade blots out a word, and falling asleep as the poet lays down his pen for the night. (note to Line 17)