In VN’s novel Ada (1969) Van and Ada find out that they are brother and sister thanks to Marina’s old herbarium that they discovered in the attic of Ardis Hall:
The two kids’ best find, however, came from another carton in a lower layer of the past. This was a small green album with neatly glued flowers that Marina had picked or otherwise obtained at Ex, a mountain resort, not far from Brig, Switzerland, where she had sojourned before her marriage, mostly in a rented chalet. The first twenty pages were adorned with a number of little plants collected at random, in August, 1869, on the grassy slopes above the chalet, or in the park of the Hotel Florey, or in the garden of the sanatorium neat: it (‘my nusshaus,’ as poor Aqua dubbed it, or ‘the Home,’ as Marina more demurely identified it in her locality notes). Those introductory pages did not present much botanical or psychological interest; and the fifty last pages or so remained blank; but the middle part, with a conspicuous decrease in number of specimens, proved to be a regular little melodrama acted out by the ghosts of dead flowers. The specimens were on one side of the folio, with Marina Dourmanoff (sic)’s notes en regard.
Ancolie Bleue des Alpes, Ex en Valais, i.IX.69. From Englishman in hotel. ‘Alpine Columbine, color of your eyes.’
Epervière auricule. 25.X.69, Ex, ex Dr Lapiner’s walled alpine garden.
Golden [ginkgo] leaf: fallen out of a book 'The Truth about Terra' which Aqua gave me before going back to her Home. 14.XII.69.
Artificial edelweiss brought by my new nurse with a note from Aqua saying it came from a ‘mizernoe and bizarre’ Christmas Tree at the Home. 25.XII.69.
Petal of orchid, one of 99 orchids, if you please, mailed to me yesterday, Special Delivery, c’est bien le cas de le dire, from Villa Armina, Alpes Maritimes. Have laid aside ten for Aqua to be taken to her at her Home. Ex en Valais, Switzerland. ‘Snowing in Fate’s crystal ball,’ as he used to say. (Date erased.)
Gentiane de Koch, rare, brought by lapochka [darling] Lapiner from his ‘mute gentiarium’ 5.I.1870.
[blue-ink blot shaped accidentally like a flower, or improved felt-pen deletion] Compliquaria compliquata var. aquamarina. Ex, 15.I.70.
Fancy flower of paper, found in Aqua’s purse. Ex, 16.II.1870, made by a fellow patient, at the Home, which is no longer hers.
Gentiana verna (printanière). Ex, 28.III.1870, on the lawn of my nurse’s cottage. Last day here.
The two young discoverers of that strange and sickening treasure commented upon it as follows:
‘I deduce,’ said the boy, ‘three main facts: that not yet married Marina and her married sister hibernated in my lieu de naissance; that Marina had her own Dr Krolik, pour ainsi dire; and that the orchids came from Demon who preferred to stay by the sea, his dark-blue great-grandmother.’
‘I can add,’ said the girl, ‘that the petal belongs to the common Butterfly Orchis; that my mother was even crazier than her sister; and that the paper flower so cavalierly dismissed is a perfectly recognizable reproduction of an early-spring sanicle that I saw in profusion on hills in coastal California last February. Dr Krolik, our local naturalist, to whom you, Van, have referred, as Jane Austen might have phrased it, for the sake of rapid narrative information (you recall Brown, don’t you, Smith?), has determined the example I brought back from Sacramento to Ardis, as the Bear-Foot, B,E,A,R, my love, not my foot or yours, or the Stabian flower girl’s — an allusion, which your father, who, according to Blanche, is also mine, would understand like this’ (American finger-snap). ‘You will be grateful,’ she continued, embracing him, ‘for my not mentioning its scientific name. Incidentally the other foot — the Pied de Lion from that poor little Christmas larch, is by the same hand — possibly belonging to a very sick Chinese boy who came all the way from Barkley College.’
‘Good for you, Pompeianella (whom you saw scattering her flowers in one of Uncle Dan’s picture books, but whom I admired last summer in a Naples museum). Now don’t you think we should resume our shorts and shirts and go down, and bury or burn this album at once, girl. Right?
‘Right,’ answered Ada. ‘Destroy and forget. But we still have an hour before tea.’ (1.1)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Dr Lapiner: for some obscure but not unattractive reason, most of the physicians in the book turn out to bear names connected with rabbits. The French ‘lapin’ in Lapiner is matched by the Russian ‘Krolik’, the name of Ada’s beloved lepidopterist (p.13, et passim) and the Russian ‘zayats’ (hare) sounds like ‘Seitz’ (the German gynecologist on page 181); there is a Latin ‘cuniculus’ in ‘Nikulin’ (‘grandson of the great rodentiologist Kunikulinov’, p.341), and a Greek ‘lagos’ in ‘Lagosse’ (the doctor who attends Van in his old age). Note also Coniglietto, the Italian cancer-of-the-blood specialist, p.298.
mizernoe: Franco-Russian form of ‘miserable’ in the sense of ‘paltry’.
c’est bien le cas de le dire: and no mistake.
lieu de naissance: birthplace.
pour ainsi dire: so to say.
Jane Austen: allusion to rapid narrative information imparted through dialogue, in Mansfield Park.
‘Bear-Foot’, not ‘bare foot’: both children are naked.
Stabian flower girl: allusion to the celebrated mural painting (the so-called ‘Spring’) from Stabiae in the National Museum of Naples: a maiden scattering blossoms.
Van and Ada are the children of Demon Veen and Marina Durmanov. Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother, Marina marries Daniel Veen (Demon's first cousin) and, out of spite and pity (a not unusual blend), Demon (Van's and Ada's father) marries Aqua, Marina's twin sister who goes mad and commits suicide in 1883. Marina's album brings to mind a bothersome herbarium album with dried edelweiss and purple leaves in it and with inscriptions in pale violet ink in VN's novel Zashchita Luzhina ("The Luzhin Defense," 1930):
По лестнице он попробовал съехать, как делалось в школе, как он сам никогда в школе не делал; но ступени были слишком высокие. Под лестницей, в шкалу, еще не до конца исследованном, он поискал журналов. Журнал он выкопал, нашел в нем шашечный отдел, глупые неповоротливые плошки, тупо стоявшие на доске, но шахмат не было. Под руку все попадался альбом-гербарий с сухими эдельвейсами и багровыми листьями и с надписями детским, тоненьким, бледно-лиловым почерком, столь непохожим на теперешний почерк матери: Давос, 1885 г.; Гатчина, 1886 г. Он в сердцах стал выдирать листья и цветы и зачихал от мельчайшей пыли, сидя на корточках среди разбросанных книг. Потом стало так темно под лестницей, что уже страницы журнала, который он снова перелистывал, стали сливаться в серую муть, и иногда какая-нибудь небольшая картинка обманывала, казалась в расплывчатой темноте шахматной задачей. Он засунул кое-как книги в шкал, побрел в гостиную, вяло подумал, что, верно, уже восьмой час, так как буфетчик зажигает керосиновые лампы. Опираясь на трость и держась за перила, в сиреневом пеньюаре, тяжело спускалась мать, и лицо у нее было испуганное. "Я не понимаю, почему твой отец еще не приехал",- сказала она и, с трудом передвигаясь, вышла на веранду, стала вглядываться в дорогу между еловых стволов, обтянутых там и сям ярко-рыжим лучом.
Он приехал только к десяти, опоздал, оказывается, на поезд, очень много было дел, обедал с издателем,- нет, нет, супа не нужно. Он смеялся и говорил очень громко и шумно ел, и Лужин вдруг почувствовал, что отец все время смотрит на него, точно ошеломлен его присутствием. Обед как-то слился с вечерним чаем, мать, облокотясь на стол, молча щурилась, глядя на тарелку с малиной, и, чем веселее рассказывал отец, тем больше она щурилась. Потом она встала и тихо ушла, и Лужину показалось, что все это уже раз было. Он остался на веранде один с отцом и боялся поднять голову, все время чувствуя на себе пристальный, странный взгляд.
He tried to slide down the stairs the way they did at school--the way he himself never did it there; but the steps were too high. Beneath the staircase, in a cupboard that had still not been thoroughly explored, he looked for magazines. He dug out one and found a checkers section in it, diagrams of stupid clumsy round blobs on their boards, but there was no chess. As he rummaged on, he kept coming across a bothersome herbarium album with dried edelweiss and purple leaves in it and with inscriptions in pale violet ink, in a childish, thin-spun hand that was so different from his mother's present handwriting: Davos 1885; Gatchina 1886. Wrathfully he began to tear out the leaves and flowers, sneezing from the fine dust as he squatted on his haunches amid the scattered books. Then it got so dark beneath the stairs that the pages of the magazine he was again leafing through began to merge into a gray blur and sometimes a small picture would trick him, because it looked like a chess problem in the diffuse darkness. He thrust the books back anyhow into the drawers and wandered into the drawing room, thinking listlessly that it must be well past seven o'clock since the butler was lighting the kerosene lamps. Leaning on a cane and holding on to the banisters, his mother in mauve peignoir came heavily down the stairs, a frightened look on her face. "I don't understand why your father isn't here yet," she said, and moving with difficulty she went out onto the veranda and began to peer down the road between the fir trunks that the setting sun banded with bright copper.
He came only around ten, said he had missed the train, had been extremely busy, had dined with his publisher--no, no soup, thank you. He laughed and spoke very loudly and ate noisily, and Luzhin was struck by the feeling that his father was looking at him all the time as if staggered by his presence. Dinner graded into late evening tea. Mother, her elbow propped on the table, silently slitted her eyes at her plate of raspberries, and the gayer her husband's stories became the narrower her eyes grew. Then she got up and quietly left and it seemed to Luzhin that all this had happened once before. He remained alone on the veranda with his father and was afraid to raise his head, feeling that strange searching stare on him the whole time. (Chapter 4)
Luzhin's father, the writer of books for boys, deceives his wife (Luzhin's mother) with her sister. It is Luzhin's young aunt (elderly Luzhin's mistress) who teaches the boy to play chess. Compliquaria compliquata var. aquamarina (Van's marginal note in Marina's album) seems to hint at podvokh, podkop, komplikatsiya (trickery, subversion, complication) mentioned by Luzhin in a conversation with the father of his fiancée:
В эту минуту белые двери распахнулись, и быстро вошел, уже протягивая на ходу руку, господин в пенсне, очень прямой, остриженный бобриком. «Милости просим, — сказал он. — Рад познакомиться». Тут же он, как фокусник, открыл кустарный портсигар с александровским орлом на крышке. «С мундштучками, — сказал Лужин, покосившись на папиросы. — Этих не курю. А вот…» Он стал рыться в карманах, извлекая толстые папиросы, высыпавшиеся из бумажного мешочка; несколько штук он уронил, и господин ловко их поднял. «Душенька, — сказал он, — дай нам пепельницу. Садитесь, пожалуйста. Виноват… ваше имя-отчество?» Хрустальная пепельница опустилась между ними, и, одновременно макнув в нее папиросы, они сшиблись кончиками. «Жадуб», — добродушно сказал Лужин, выправляя согнувшуюся папиросу. «Ничего, ничего, — быстро сказал господин и выпустил две тонких струи дыма из ноздрей вдруг сузившегося носа. — Ну вот, вы в нашем богоспасаемом Берлине. Моя дочь мне рассказала, что вы приехали на состязание». Он высвободил крахмальную манжету, подбоченился и продолжал: «Я, между прочим, всегда интересовался, нет ли в шахматной игре такого хода, благодаря которому всегда выиграешь. Я не знаю, понимаете ли вы меня, но я хочу сказать… простите, ваше имя-отчество?» — «Нет, я понимаю, — сказал Лужин, прилежно пораздумав. — Мы имеем ходы тихие и ходы сильные. Сильный ход…» «Так, так, вот оно что», — закивал господин. «Сильный ход, это который, — громко и радостно продолжал Лужин, — который сразу дает нам несомненное преимущество. Двойной шах, примерно, со взятием фигуры тяжелого веса или пешка возводится в степень ферзя. И так далее. И так далее. А тихий ход…» «Так, так, — сказал господин. — Сколько же дней приблизительно будет продолжаться состязание?» «Тихий ход это значит подвох, подкоп, компликация, — стараясь быть любезным и сам входя во вкус, говорил Лужин. — Возьмем какое-нибудь положение. Белые…» Он задумался, глядя на пепельницу. «К сожалению, — нервно сказал господин, — я в шахматах ничего не смыслю. Я только вас спрашивал… Но это пустяк, пустяк. Мы сейчас пройдем в столовую. Что, душенька, чай готов?» «Да! — воскликнул Лужин. — Мы просто возьмем положение, на котором сегодня был прерван эндшпиль. Белые: король сэ-три, ладья а-один, конь дэ-пять, пешки бэ-три, сэ-четыре. Черные же…» «Сложная штука шахматы», — проворно вставил господин и пружинисто вскочил на ноги, стараясь пресечь поток букв и цифр, которые имели какое-то отношение к черным. «Предположим теперь, — веско сказал Лужин, — что черные сделают лучший в этом положении ход, — э-шесть жэ-пять. На это я и отвечаю следующим тихим ходом…» Лужин прищурился и почти шепотом, выпятив губы, как для осторожного поцелуя, испустил не слова, не простое обозначение хода, а что-то нежнейшее, бесконечно хрупкое. У него было то же выражение на лице — выражение человека, который сдувает перышко с лица младенца, — когда, на следующий день, он этот ход воплотил на доске. Венгр, совершенно желтый после бессонной ночи, за которую он успел проверить все варианты (приводившие к ничьей), не заметив только вот этой скрытой комбинации, крепко задумался над доской, пока Лужин, жеманно покашливая, любовно отмечал сделанный ход на листочке. Венгр скоро сдался, и Лужин сел играть с компатриотом. Партия началась интересно, и вскоре вокруг их стола образовалось плотное кольцо зрителей. Любопытство, напор, хруст суставов, чужое дыхание и, главное, — шепот — шепот, прерываемый еще более громким и раздражительным «цыс!» — часто мучили Лужина: он живо чувствовал этот хруст, и шелест, и отвратительное тепло, если не слишком глубоко уходил в шахматные бездны. Краем глаза он видел ноги столпившихся, и его почему-то особенно раздражала, среди всех этих темных штанов, пара дамских ног в блестящих серых чулках. Эти ноги явно ничего не понимали в игре, непонятно, зачем они пришли… Сизые, заостренные туфли с какими-то перехватцами лучше бы цокали по панели, — подальше, подальше отсюда. Останавливая свои часы, записывая ход или отставляя взятую фигуру, он искоса посматривал на эти неподвижные ноги, и только через полтора часа, когда он выиграл партию и встал, оттягивая вниз жилет, Лужин увидел, что эти ноги принадлежат его невесте. Он ощутил острое счастье оттого, что она присутствовала при его победе, и жадно ждал исчезновения шахматных досок и всех этих шумных людей, чтобы поскорей ее погладить. Но шахматы не сразу исчезли, и, даже, когда появилась светлая столовая и огромный, медью сияющий самовар, сквозь белую скатерть проступали смутные, ровные квадраты, и такие же квадраты, шоколадные и кремовые, несомненно были на пироге. Мать невесты встретила его с тем же снисходительным, слегка насмешливым благодушием, с каким встретила его накануне, когда появлением своим прервала шахматный разговор, — а вчерашний господин, по-видимому ее муж, подробно рассказывал, какое у него было образцовое имение в России. «Пойдем к вам в комнату», — хрипло шепнул Лужин невесте, и она прикусила губу и сделала большие глаза. «Пойдем же», — повторил он. Но она ловко положила ему на стеклянную тарелочку чудесного малинового варенья, и сразу подействовала эта клейкая, ослепительно красная сладость, которая зернистым огнем переливалась на языке, душистым сахаром облипала зубы. «Мерси, мерси», — кланялся Лужин, пока ему накладывали вторую порцию, и среди гробового молчания зачмокал опять, облизывая еще горячую от чаю ложечку, боясь растерять хоть каплю упоительного сока. И когда, наконец, он добился своего и оказался с ней наедине, правда, не у нее в комнате, а в цветистой гостиной, он привлек ее к себе, грузно сел, держа ее за кисти, но она молча вывернулась и, закружившись, опустилась на пуф. «Я вовсе еще не решила, выйду ли я за вас замуж, — сказала она. — Помните это». «Все решено, — сказал Лужин. — Если они не захотят, мы их заставим силой, чтоб они подписали». «Подписали что?» — спросила она удивленно. «А я не знаю… Ведь нужны, кажется, какие-то подписи». «Глупый, глупый, — несколько раз повторила она. — Непроницаемая и неисправимая глупость. Ну что мне с вами делать, как мне с вами быть… И какой у вас усталый вид. Я уверена, что вам вредно так много играть». «Ach wo, — сказал Лужин, — пара партишек». «А по ночам думаете. Нельзя так. Уже поздно, знаете. Идите домой. Спать вам нужно, вот что».
At that moment a white double-leafed door burst open and a very upright gentleman with his hair en brosse and a pince-nez came swiftly into the room, one hand already stretched out. “Welcome," he said, “Pleased to meet you." Here, like a conjuror, he opened a handmade cigarette case that had an Alexander-the-First eagle on the lid. “With mouthpieces," said Luzhin, squinting at the cigarettes. “I don't smoke that kind. But look..." He began to burrow in his pockets, extracting some thick cigarettes that were spilling from a paper pack; he dropped several of them and the gentle- man nimbly picked them up. “My pet," he said, “get us an ashtray. Please take a seat. Excuse me ... er ... I don’t know your name and patronymic." A crystal ashtray came down between them and simultaneously dipping their cigarettes they knocked the ends together. 'J'adoube,' said the chess player good-naturedly, straightening his bent cigarette. ‘"Never mind, never mind,'’ said the other quickly and expelled two thin streams of smoke through the nostrils of his suddenly narrowed nose. “Well, here you are in our good old Berlin. My daughter tells me you came for a contest." He freed a starched cuff, placed one hand on his hip and continued: “By the way, I have always wondered, is there a move in chess that always enables one to win? I don’t know if you understand me, but what I mean is . . . sorry. . . your name and patronymic?" “I understand,” said Luzhin, conscientiously considering for a moment. “You see, we have quiet moves and strong moves. A strong move . . “Ah yes, yes, so that’s it,” nodded the gentleman. “A strong move is one that,” continued Luzhin loudly and enthusiastically, “that immediately gives us an undoubted advantage. A double check, for example, with the taking of a heavyweight piece, or say, when a Pawn is queened. Et cetera. Et cetera. And a quiet move...” “I see, I see,” said the gentleman. “About how many days will the contest last?” “A quiet move implies trickery, subversion, complication,” said Luzhin, trying to please but also entering into the spirit of things. “Let’s take some position. White . . .” He pondered, staring at the ashtray. “Unfortunately,” said his host nervously, “I don’t understand anything about chess. I only asked you . . . But that does not matter at all, at all. In a moment we’ll proceed to the dining room. Tell me, my pet, is tea ready?” “Yes!” exclaimed Luzhin. “We’ll simply take the endgame position at the point it was interrupted today. White: King c3. Rook al, Knight d5. Pawns b3 and c4. Black . . “A complicated thing, chess,” interjected the gentleman and jumped buoyantly to his feet, trying to cut off the flood of letters and numbers having some kind of relation to black. “Let us suppose now," said Luzhin weightily, “that black makes the best possible move in this position— e6 to g5. To this I reply with the following quiet move . . Luzhin narrowed his eyes and almost in a whisper, pursing his lips as for a careful kiss, emitted not words, not the mere designation of a move, but something most tender and infinitely fragile. The same expression was on his face —the expression of a person blowing a tiny feather from the face of an infant— when the following day he embodied this move on the board. The Hungarian, sallow-cheeked after a sleepless night, during which he had managed to check all the variations (leading to a draw), but had failed to notice just this one hidden combination, sank into deep meditation over the board while Luzhin, with a finicky little cough, lovingly noted his own move on a sheet of paper. The Hungarian soon resigned and Luzhin sat down to play with a Russian. The game began interestingly and soon a solid ring of spectators had formed around their table. The curiosity, the pressure, the crackling of joints, the alien breathing and most of all the whispering— whispering interrupted by a still louder and more irritating “shush!"— frequently tormented Luzhin: he used to be keenly affected by this crackling and rustling, and smelly human warmth if he did not retreat too deeply into the abysses of chess. Out of the corner of his eye he now saw die legs of the bystanders and found particularly irritating, among all those dark trousers, a pair of woman’s feet in gleaming gray stockings and bluish shoes. These feet obviously understood nothing of the game, one wondered why they had come, . . . Those pointed shoes with transverse straps or something would be better clicking along the sidewalk ... as far away as possible from here. While stopping his clock, jotting down a move or putting a captured piece aside he would glance askance at these motionless feminine feet, and only an hour and a half later, when he had won the game and stood up, tugging his waistcoat down, did Luzhin see that these feet belonged to his fiancée. He experienced a keen sense of happiness that she had been there to see him win and he waited avidly for the chessboards and all these noisy people to disappear in order the sooner to caress her. But the chessboards did not disappear immediately, and even when the bright dining room appeared together with its huge brassy bright samovar, indistinct regular squares showed through the white tablecloth and similar squares— chocolate and cream ones— were indubitably there on the frosted cake. His fiancée's mother met him with the same condescending, slightly ironic indulgence with which she had greeted him the night before, when her appearance had put an end to the conversation about chess—and the person with whom he had talked, her husband evidently, now started to tell him what a model country estate he had owned in Russia. “Let's go to your room," whispered Luzhin hoarsely to his betrothed and she bit her lip and looked surprised. “Let's go," he repeated. But she adroitly placed some heavenly raspberry jam on his glass plate and this sticky, dazzlingly red sweetness, which ran over the tongue like granular fire and gummed the teeth with fragrant sugar, took immediate effect. ''Merci, merci,' Luzhin bowed as he was served a second helping, and amid deathly silence smacked his lips again, licking his spoon that was still hot from the tea for fear of losing even a single drop of the entrancing syrup. And when finally he got his own way and found himself alone with her, not, it is true, in her room, but in the gaudy drawing room, he drew her to him and sat down heavily, holding her by the wrists, but she silently freed herself, circled and sat down on a hassock. ‘'I have not at all made up my mind yet whether to marry you," she said. "Remember that." "Everything's decided," said Luzhin. "If they won't let you, we’ll use force to make them sign." “Sign what?" she asked with surprise. "I don’t know . . . But it seems we need some kind oi signature or other." "Stupid, stupid," she repeated several times. "Impenetrable and in- corrigible stupidity. What am I to do with you, what course of action shall I take with you?... And how tired you look. I’m sure it’s bad for you to play so much." ''Ach wo” said Luzhin, "a couple of little games." "And at night you keep thinking. You mustn’t do it. It’s already late you know. Go home. You need sleep, that’s what." (Chapter 8)
The twins Aqua and Marina (and the Erminin twins, Greg and Grace) bring to mind the twins (Marthe's brothers) in VN's novel Priglashenie na kazn' ("Invitation to a Beheading," 1935). Cincinnatus' dark-haired brother-in-law (the wit who begins to sing from the opera: mali e trano t’amesti) seems to be none other than Thanatos (the personification of death in Greek mythology), while his blond twin brother is Hypnos (the personification of sleep). A limpid aquamarine sparkles on the mizinetz (auricular finger) of M'sieur Pierre (the executioner whom Cincinnatus is allowed to see through the peephole on the door of his neighbor's cell):
На цыпочках, балансируя руками, Родриг Иванович вышел и с ним Цинциннат в своих больших шепелявых туфлях. В глубине коридора, у двери с внушительными скрепами, уже стоял, согнувшись, Родион и, отодвинув заслонку, смотрел в глазок. Не отрываясь, он сделал рукой жест, требующий еще большей тишины, и незаметно изменил его на другой -- приглашающий. Директор еще выше поднялся на цыпочках, обернулся, грозно гримасничая, но Цинциннат не мог не пошаркивать немножко. Там и сям, в полутьме переходов, собирались, горбились, прикладывали козырьком ладонь, словно стараясь что-то вдали разглядеть, смутные фигуры тюремных служащих. Лаборант Родион пустил Родрига Ивановича к наставленному окуляру. Плотно скрипнув спиной, Родриг Иванович впился... Между тем, в серых потемках, смутные фигуры беззвучно перебегали, беззвучно подзывали друг друга, строились в шеренги, и уже как поршни ходили на месте их мягкие ноги, готовясь выступить. Директор наконец медленно отодвинулся и легонько потянул Цинцинната за рукав, приглашая его, как профессор -- захожего профана, посмотреть на препарат. Цинциннат кротко припал к светлому кружку. Сперва он увидел только пузыри солнца, полоски, -- а затем: койку, такую же, как у него в камере, около нее сложены были два добротных чемодана с горящими кнопками и большой продолговатый футляр вроде как для тромбона... -- Ну что, видите что-нибудь, -- прошептал директор, близко наклоняясь и благоухая, как лилии в открытом гробу. Цинциннат кивнул, хотя еще не видел главного; передвинул взгляд левее и тогда увидел по-настоящему. На стуле, бочком к столу, неподвижно, как сахарный, сидел безбородый толстячок, лет тридцати, в старомодной, но чистой, свежевыглаженной арестантской пижамке, -- весь полосатый, в полосатых носках, в новеньких сафьяновых туфлях, -- являл девственную подошву, перекинув одну короткую ногу через другую и держась за голень пухлыми руками; на мизинце вспыхивал прозрачный аквамарин, светло-русые волосы на удивительно круглой голове были разделены пробором посредине, длинные ресницы бросали тень на херувимскую щеку, между малиновых губ сквозила белизна чудных, ровных зубов. Весь он был как бы подернут слегка блеском, слегка таял в снопе солнечных лучей, льющихся на него сверху. На столе ничего не было, кроме щегольских дорожных часов в кожаной раме.
On tiptoe, balancing with his arms, Rodrig Ivanovich left the cell and with him went Cincinnatus in his oversize shuffling slippers. In the depths of the corridor Rodion was already stooping at the door with imposing bolts: he had pushed aside the cover of the peephole and was peering into it. Without turning, he made a motion with his hand demanding even greater silence and then imperceptibly changed the gesture into a different, beckoning one. The director rose even higher on tiptoe and turned with a threatening grimace, but Cincinnatus could not help scraping a little with his feet. Here and there, in the semi-darkness of the passageways, the shadowy figures of the prison employees gathered, stooped, shaded their eyes with their hands as if to make out something in the distance. Laboratory assistant Rodion let the boss look through the focused eyepiece. His back emitting a solid squeak, Rodrig Ivanovich bent to peer in . . . Meanwhile, in the grey shadows, indistinct figures noiselessly changed their positions, noiselessly summoned each other, formed ranks, and already their many silent feet were working in place like pistons, preparing to step out. At last the director slowly moved away and tugged Cincinnatus lightly by the sleeve, inviting him, as a professor would a layman who had dropped in, to examine the slide. Cincinnatus meekly placed his eye against the luminous circle. At first he saw only bubbles of sunlight and bands of colour, but then he distinguished a cot, identical to the one he had in his cell; piled nearby were two good suitcases with gleaming locks and a large oblong case like the kind used to carry a trombone. ‘Well, do you see anything?’ whispered the director, stooping close to him, and reeking of lilies in an open grave. Cincinnatus nodded, even though he did not yet see the main attraction; he shifted his gaze to the left, and then really saw something. Seated on a chair, sideways to the table, as still as if he were made of candy, was a beardless little fat man, about thirty years old, dressed in old-fashioned but clean and freshly ironed prison pyjamas; he was all in stripes — in striped socks, and brand-new morocco slippers — and revealed a virgin sole as he sat with one stubby leg crossed over the other and clasped his shin with his plump hands; a limpid aquamarine sparkled on his auricular finger, his honey-blond hair was parted in the middle of his remarkably round head, his long eyelashes cast shadows on his cherubic cheek, and the whiteness of his wonderful, even teeth gleamed between his crimson lips. He seemed to be all frosted with gloss, melting just a little in the shaft of sunlight falling on him from above. There was nothing on the table except an elegant travelling clock encased in leather. (Chapter 5)
In the fortress Cinicinnatus C. (the main character in Invitation to a Beheading) plays chess with M'sieur Pierre:
Родион собрался свирепо захлопнуть уже визжавшую дверь, но, как и вчера, -- липко шлепая сафьяновыми туфлями, дрыгая полосатыми телесами, держа в руках шахматы, карты, бильбокэ... -- Симпатичному Родиону мое нижайшее, -- тоненьким голосом произнес м-сье Пьер и, не меняя шага, дрыгая, шлепая, вошел в камеру.
-- Я вижу, -- сказал он, садясь, -- что симпатяга понес от вас письмо. Верно, то, которое вчера лежало тут на столе? К супруге? Нет, нет -- простая дедукция, я не читаю чужих писем, хотя, правда, оно лежало весьма на виду, пока мы в якорек резались. Хотите нынче в шахматы?
Он разложил шерстяную шашечницу и пухлой рукой со взведенным мизинцем расставил фигуры, прочно сделанные -- по старому арестантскому рецепту -- из хлебного мякиша, которому камень мог позавидовать.
-- Сам я холост, но я понимаю, конечно... Вперед. Я это быстро... Хорошие игроки никогда много не думают. Вперед. Вашу супругу я мельком видал -- ядреная бабенка, что и говорить, -- шея больно хороша, люблю... Э, стойте. Это я маху дал, разрешите переиграть. Так-то будет правильнее. Я большой любитель женщин, а уж меня как они любят, подлые, прямо не поверите. Вот вы писали вашей супруге о ее там глазках, губках. Недавно, знаете, я имел -- Почему же я не могу съесть? Ах, вот что. Прытко, прытко. Ну, ладно, -- ушел. Недавно я имел половое общение с исключительно здоровой и роскошной особой. Какое получаешь удовольствие, когда крупная брюнетка... Это что же? Вот тебе раз. Вы должны предупреждать, так не годится. Давайте, сыграю иначе. Так-с. Да, роскошная, страстная -- а я, знаете, сам с усам, обладаю такой пружиной, что -- ух! Вообще говоря, из многочисленных соблазнов жизни, которые, как бы играя, но вместе с тем очень серьезно, собираюсь постепенно представить вашему вниманию, соблазн любви... -- Нет, погодите, я еще не решил, пойду ли так. Да, пойду. Как -- мат? Почему -- мат? Сюда -- не могу, сюда -- не могу, сюда... Тоже не могу. Позвольте, как же раньше стояло? Нет, еще раньше. Ну, вот это другое дело. Зевок. Пошел так. Да, -- красная роза в зубах, черные ажурные чулки по сии места и больше ни-че-го, -- это я понимаю, это высшее... а теперь вместо восторгов любви -- сырой камень, ржавое железо, а впереди... сами знаете, что впереди. Не заметил. А если так? Так лучше. Партия все равно -- моя, вы делаете ошибку за ошибкой. Пускай она изменяла вам, но ведь и вы держали ее в своих объятиях. Когда ко мне обращаются за советами, я всегда говорю: господа, побольше изобретательности. Ничего нет приятнее, например, чем окружиться зеркалами и смотреть, как там кипит работа, -- замечательно! А вот это вовсе не замечательно. Я, честное слово, думал, что пошел не сюда, а сюда. Так что вы не могли... Назад, пожалуйста. Я люблю при этом курить сигару и говорить о незначительных вещах, и чтобы она тоже говорила, -- ничего не поделаешь, известная развратность... Да, -- тяжко, страшно и обидно сказать всему этому "прости" -- и думать, что другие, такие же молодые и сочные, будут продолжать работать, работать... эх! не знаю, как вы, но я в смысле ласок обожаю то, что у нас, у борцов, зовется макароны: шлеп ее по шее, и чем плотнее мяса... Во-первых, могу съесть, во-вторых, могу просто уйти; ну, так. Постойте, постойте, я все-таки еще подумаю. Какой был последний ход? Поставьте обратно и дайте подумать. Вздор, никакого мата нет. Вы, по-моему, тут что-то, извините, смошенничали, вот это стояло тут или тут, а не тут, я абсолютно уверен. Ну, поставьте, поставьте...
Он как бы нечаянно сбил несколько фигур и, не удержавшись, со стоном, смешал остальные. Цинциннат сидел, облокотясь на одну руку; задумчиво копал коня, который в области шеи был, казалось, не прочь вернуться в ту хлебную стихию, откуда вышел.
Rodion was about to furiously slam the already screeching door, but, as the day before, there entered, morocco slippers squeaking stickily, striped jelly-body quivering, hands carrying a chess set, cards, a cup-and-ball game. ‘My humblest respects to friend Rodion,’ said M’sieur Pierre, in his reedy voice, and, without breaking stride, quivering, squeaking, he walked into the cell. ‘I see,’ he said, seating himself, ‘that the dear fellow took a letter with him. Must have been the one that was lying here on the table yesterday, eh? To your spouse? No, no, a simple deduction, I don’t read other people’s letters, although it’s true it was lying right in plain sight, while we were going at our game of anchors. How about some chess today?’ He spread out a checkerboard made of wool and with his plump hand, cocking the little finger, he set up the pieces, which were fashioned of kneaded bread, according to an old prisoner’s recipe, so solidly, that a stone might envy them. ‘I’m a bachelor myself, but of course I understand . . . Forward. I shall quickly . . . Good players do not take a long time to think. Forward. I caught just a glimpse of your spouse — a juicy little piece, no two ways about it — what a neck, that’s what I like . . . Hey, wait a minute, that was an over- sight, allow me to take my move back. Here, this is better. I am a great aficionado of women, and the way they love me, the rascals, you simply wouldn’t believe it. You were writing to your spouse there about her pretty eyes and lips. Recently, you know, I had . . . Why can’t my pawn take it? Oh, I see. Clever, clever. All right, I retreat. Recently I had sexual intercourse with an extraordinarily healthy and splendid in- dividual. What pleasure you experience, when a large brun- ette . . . What is this? That’s a snide move on your part. You must warn your opponent, this won’t do. Here, let me change my last move. So. Yes, a gorgeous, passionate creature — and, you know. I’m no piker myself, I’ve got such a spring that — wow! Generally speaking, of the numerous earthly tempta- tions, which, in jest, but really with the utmost seriousness, I intend to submit gradually for your consideration, the temptation of sex . . . No, wait a minute, I haven’t decided yet if I want to move that piece there. Yes, I will. What do you mean, checkmate? Why checkmate? I can’t go here; I can’t go there; I can’t go anywhere. Wait a minute, what was the position? No, before that. Ah, now that’s a different story. A mere oversight. All right, I’ll move here. Yes, a red rose between her teeth, black net stockings up to here, and not a stitch besides — that’s really something, that’s the supreme . . . and now, instead of the raptures of love, dank stone, rusty iron, and ahead — well, you know yourself what lies ahead. Now this I overlooked. And what if I move otherwise? Yes, this is better. The game is mine, anyway — you make one mistake after another. What if she was unfaithful to you — didn’t you also hold her in your embraces? When people ask me for advice I always tell them, “Gentlemen, be inventive. There is nothing more pleasant, for example, than to sur- round oneself with mirrors and watch the good work going on there — wonderful!” Hey! Now this is far from wonderful. Word of honour, I thought I had moved to this square, not to that. So therefore you were unable . . . Back, please. Simultaneously I like to smoke a cigar and talk of insignificant matters, and I like her to talk too — there’s nothing to be done, I have a certain streak of perversion in me ... Yes, how grievous, how frightening and hurtful to say farewell to all this — and to think that others, who are just as young and sappy, will continue to work and work . . . ah! I don’t know about you, but when it comes to caresses I love what we French wrestlers call “ macarons you give her a nice slap on the neck, and, the firmer the meat . . . First of all, I can take your knight, secondly, I can simply move my king away; all right — there. No, stop, stop, I’d like to think for a minute after all. What was your last move? Put that piece back and let me think. Nonsense, there’s no checkmate here. You, it seems to me — if you do not mind my saying so — are cheating: this piece stood here, or maybe here, but not there, I am absolutely certain. Come, put it back, put it back . . .’ As though accidentally, he knocked over several men, and, unable to restrain himself, with a groan, he mixed up the remainder. Cincinnatus sat leaning on one elbow; he was pensively picking at a knight which, in the neck region, seemed not loath to return to the mealy state whence it had sprung. (Chapter 13)
In 1901, in Paris, Greg Erminin (whose father, Colonel Erminin, was a chess partner of Dr Krolik, the local entomologist and Ada's beloved teacher of natural history) tells Van that he would have consented to be beheaded by a Tartar, if in exchange he could have kissed Ada's instep:
On a bleak morning between the spring and summer of 1901, in Paris, as Van, black-hatted, one hand playing with the warm loose change in his topcoat pocket and the other, fawn-gloved, upswinging a furled English umbrella, strode past a particularly unattractive sidewalk café among the many lining the Avenue Guillaume Pitt, a chubby bald man in a rumpled brown suit with a watch-chained waistcoat stood up and hailed him.
Van considered for a moment those red round cheeks, that black goatee.
‘Ne uznayosh’ (You don’t recognize me)?’
‘Greg! Grigoriy Akimovich!’ cried Van tearing off his glove.
‘I grew a regular vollbart last summer. You’d never have known me then. Beer? Wonder what you do to look so boyish, Van.’
‘Diet of champagne, not beer,’ said Professor Veen, putting on his spectacles and signaling to a waiter with the crook of his ‘umber.’ ‘Hardly stops one adding weight, but keeps the scrotum crisp.’
‘I’m also very fat, yes?’
‘What about Grace, I can’t imagine her getting fat?’
‘Once twins, always twins. My wife is pretty portly, too.’
‘Tak tï zhenat (so you are married)? Didn’t know it. How long?’
‘About two years.’
‘To whom?’
‘Maude Sween.’
‘The daughter of the poet?’
‘No, no, her mother is a Brougham.’
Might have replied ‘Ada Veen,’ had Mr Vinelander not been a quicker suitor. I think I met a Broom somewhere. Drop the subject. Probably a dreary union: hefty, high-handed wife, he more of a bore than ever.
‘I last saw you thirteen years ago, riding a black pony — no, a black Silentium. Bozhe moy!’
‘Yes — Bozhe moy, you can well say that. Those lovely, lovely agonies in lovely Ardis! Oh, I was absolyutno bezumno (madly) in love with your cousin!’
‘You mean Miss Veen? I did not know it. How long —’
‘Neither did she. I was terribly —’
‘How long are you staying —’
‘— terribly shy, because, of course, I realized that I could not compete with her numerous boy friends.’
Numerous? Two? Three? Is it possible he never heard about the main one? All the rose hedges knew, all the maids knew, in all three manors. The noble reticence of our bed makers.
‘How long will you be staying in Lute? No, Greg, I ordered it. You pay for the next bottle. Tell me —’
‘So odd to recall! It was frenzy, it was fantasy, it was reality in the x degree. I’d have consented to be beheaded by a Tartar, I declare, if in exchange I could have kissed her instep. You were her cousin, almost a brother, you can’t understand that obsession. Ah, those picnics! And Percy de Prey who boasted to me about her, and drove me crazy with envy and pity, and Dr Krolik, who, they said, also loved her, and Phil Rack, a composer of genius — dead, dead, all dead!’
‘I really know very little about music but it was a great pleasure to make your chum howl. I have an appointment in a few minutes, alas. Za tvoyo zdorovie, Grigoriy Akimovich.’
‘Arkadievich,’ said Greg, who had let it pass once but now mechanically corrected Van.
‘Ach yes! Stupid slip of the slovenly tongue. How is Arkadiy Grigorievich?’
‘He died. He died just before your aunt. I thought the papers paid a very handsome tribute to her talent. And where is Adelaida Danilovna? Did she marry Christopher Vinelander or his brother?’
‘In California or Arizona. Andrey’s the name, I gather. Perhaps I’m mistaken. In fact, I never knew my cousin very well: I visited Ardis only twice, after all, for a few weeks each time, years ago.’
‘Somebody told me she’s a movie actress.’
‘I’ve no idea, I’ve never seen her on the screen.’
‘Oh, that would be terrible, I declare — to switch on the dorotelly, and suddenly see her. Like a drowning man seeing his whole past, and the trees, and the flowers, and the wreathed dachshund. She must have been terribly affected by her mother’s terrible death.’
Likes the word ‘terrible,’ I declare. A terrible suit of clothes, a terrible tumor. Why must I stand it? Revolting — and yet fascinating in a weird way: my babbling shadow, my burlesque double.
Van was about to leave when a smartly uniformed chauffeur came up to inform’ my lord’ that his lady was parked at the corner of rue Saïgon and was summoning him to appear.
‘Aha,’ said Van, ‘I see you are using your British title. Your father preferred to pass for a Chekhovian colonel.’
‘Maude is Anglo-Scottish and, well, likes it that way. Thinks a title gets one better service abroad. By the way, somebody told me — yes, Tobak! — that Lucette is at the Alphonse Four. I haven’t asked you about your father? He’s in good health?’ (Van bowed,) ‘And how is the guvernantka belletristka?’
‘Her last novel is called L‘ami Luc. She just got the Lebon Academy Prize for her copious rubbish.’
They parted laughing. (3.2)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): So you are married, etc.: see Eugene Onegin, Eight: XVIII: 1-4.
za tvoyo etc.: Russ., your health.
guvernantka etc.: Russ., governess-novelist.
Greg Erminin's "reality in the x degree" brings to mind Ex, a place in Switzerland where Van was born. Someone told Greg that Ada is a movie actress. On the eve of Luzhin's suicide, Valentinov (Luzhin's chess tutor and impressario who becomes a movie man in Berlin) asks Luzhin to participate in a film he is making.