In his foreword to Shade’s poem 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) mentions a certain ferocious lady at whose club he had refused to speak on the subject of "The Hally Valley:"
Oh, there were many such incidents. In a skit performed by a group of drama students I was pictured as a pompous woman hater with a German accent, constantly quoting Housman and nibbling raw carrots; and a week before Shade's death, a certain ferocious lady at whose club I had refused to speak on the subject of "The Hally Valley" (as she put it, confusing Odin's Hall with the title of a Finnish epic), said to me in the middle of a grocery store, "You are a remarkably disagreeable person. I fail to see how John and Sybil can stand you," and, exasperated by my polite smile, she added: "What's more, you are insane." But let me not pursue the tabulation of nonsense. Whatever was thought, whatever was said, I had my full reward in John's friendship. This friendship was the more precious for its tenderness being intentionally concealed, especially when we were not alone, by that gruffness which stems from what can be termed the dignity of the heart. His whole being constituted a mask. John Shade's physical appearance was so little in keeping with the harmonies hiving in the man, that one felt inclined to dismiss it as a coarse disguise or passing fashion; for if the fashions of the Romantic Age subtilized a poet's manliness by baring his attractive neck, pruning his profile and reflecting a mountain lake in his oval gaze, present-day bards, owing perhaps to better opportunities of aging, look like gorillas or vultures. My sublime neighbor's face had something about it that might have appealed to the eye, had it been only leonine or only Iroquoian; but unfortunately, by combining the two it merely reminded one of a fleshy Hogarthian tippler of indeterminate sex. His misshapen body, that gray mop of abundant hair, the yellow nails of his pudgy fingers, the bags under his lusterless eyes, were only intelligible if regarded as the waste products eliminated from his intrinsic self by the same forces of perfection which purifed and chiseled his verse. He was his own cancellation.
Odin's Hall ("the Scandinavians’ martial paradise," as Pushkin calls it in his Epistle to Delvig, 1827) is Valhalla; the title of a Finnish epic (compiled by Elias Lönnrot, 1802-84) is The Kalevala. On the other hand, the ferocious lady's "Hally Valley" seems to hint at Khalli Walli (Arabic slang for "take it easy, don't worry about it") and at Halley's Comet. The visible features of a comet are the coma (the nebulous envelope around the nucleus of a comet) and the tail. The Italian word for "tail" is coda. In his fragment Rim ("Rome," 1842) Gogol describes a carnival in Rome and mentions the great dead poet (il gran poeta morto) and his sonnet with a coda (sonetto colla coda):
Внимание толпы занял какой-то смельчак, шагавший на ходулях вравне с домами, рискуя всякую минуту быть сбитым с ног и грохнуться насмерть о мостовую. Но об этом, кажется, у него не было забот. Он тащил на плечах чучело великана, придерживая его одной рукою, неся в другой написанный на бумаге сонет с приделанным к нему бумажным хвостом, какой бывает у бумажного змея, и крича во весь голос: "Ecco il gran poeta morto. Ecco il suo sonetto colla coda!"
In a footnote Gogol says that in Italian poetry there is a kind of poem known as sonnet with the tail (con la coda) and explains what a coda is:
В итальянской поэзии существует род стихотворенья, известного под именем сонета с хвостом (con la coda), - когда мысль не вместилась и ведет за собою прибавление, которое часто бывает длиннее самого сонета.
Shade’s poem is almost finished when the author is killed by Gradus. Kinbote believes that, to be completed, Shade’s poem needs but one line (Line 1000, identical to Line 1: “I was the shadow of the waxwing slain”). But it seems that, like some sonnets, Shade's poem also needs a coda (Line 1001: “By its own double in the windowpane”). Gogol points out that a coda can be longer than the sonnet itself. Not only (the unwritten) Line 1001 of Shade's poem, but Kinbote's entire commentary, index and foreword to Shade's poem can be regarded as a coda of Shade's poem. A Thousand and One Nights is an Arabian collection of fairy tales. Pushkin is the author of Imitations of the Koran (1824), a cycle of nine poems, and of the homoerotic Podrazhanie arabskomu (“Imitation of the Arabic,” 1835):
Отрок милый, отрок нежный,
Не стыдись, навек ты мой;
Тот же в нас огонь мятежный,
Жизнью мы живём одной.
Не боюся я насмешек:
Мы сдвоились меж собой,
Мы точь в точь двойной орешек
Под единой скорлупой.
Sweet lad, tender lad,
Have no shame, you’re mine for good;
We share a sole insurgent fire,
We live in boundless brotherhood.
I do not fear the gibes of men;
One being split in two we dwell,
The kernel of a double nut
Embedded in a single shell.
(transl. Michael Green)
In Chapter One (XVI: 8) of Eugene Onegin Pushkin mentions vino komety (comet wine):
Уж тёмно: в санки он садится.
«Поди! поди!» — раздался крик;
Морозной пылью серебрится
Его бобровый воротник.
К Talon4 помчался: он уверен,
Что там уж ждет его ***.
Вошел: и пробка в потолок,
Вина кометы брызнул ток,
Пред ним Rost-beef окровавленный,
И трюфли — роскошь юных лет,
Французской кухни лучший цвет, —
И Стразбурга пирог нетленный
Меж сыром Лимбургским живым
И ананасом золотым.
'Tis dark by now. He gets into a sleigh.
The cry “Way, way!” resounds.
With frostdust silvers
his beaver collar.
To Talon's4 he has dashed off: he is certain
that there already waits for him [Kavérin];
has entered — and the cork goes ceilingward,
the flow of comet wine spurts forth,
a bloody roast beef is before him,
and truffles, luxury of youthful years,
the best flower of French cookery,
and a decayless Strasbourg pie
between a living Limburg cheese
and a golden ananas.
4. Well-known restaurateur. (Pushkin's note)
Vin de la comète is the 1811 comet vintage, coinciding with the appearance of the Great Comet of 1811. After the death of Martin Gradus (the father of Shade's murderer) his widow moved to Strasbourg (cf. a decayless Strasbourg pie mentioned by Pushkin):
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)
Jakob Gradus was born (on July 5, 1915, which is also Kinbote's birthday) in Riga. In his Epistle to Delvig Pushkin mentions Riga (where Anton Delvig's ancestor, a German Baron, was buried, as imagined by Pushkin):
Покойником в церковной книге
Уж был давно записан он,
И с предками своими в Риге
Вкушал непробудимый сон.
Vinograd ("The Grapes," 1824) is a poem by Pushkin; Portret ("The Portrait," 1835) is a story by Gogol included in Arabesques, a collection of short stories. In his poem Portret (1828) Pushkin compares Agrafena Zakrevski (portrayed as “Cleopatra of the Neva” in Chapter Eight of EO) to bezzakonnaya kometa v krugu raschislennom svetil (a lawless comet in the circle of calculated planets):
С своей пылающей душой,
С своими бурными страстями,
О жёны Севера, меж вами
Она является порой
И мимо всех условий света
Стремится до утраты сил,
Как беззаконная комета
В кругу расчисленном светил.
The poem's last line, V krugu raschislennom svetil (In the circle of calculated planets), brings to mind Adam Krug, the main character in VN's novel Bend Sinister (1947). Btw., Paduk (Krug's former schoolmate, the dictator of Padukgrad) brings to mind paduchaya zvezda (a falling star) mentioned by Pushkin in Chapter Five (VI: 2) of EO:
Татьяна верила преданьям
Простонародной старины,
И снам, и карточным гаданьям,
И предсказаниям луны.
Ее тревожили приметы;
Таинственно ей все предметы
Провозглашали что-нибудь,
Предчувствия теснили грудь.
Жеманный кот, на печке сидя,
Мурлыча, лапкой рыльце мыл:
То несомненный знак ей был,
Что едут гости. Вдруг увидя
Младой двурогий лик луны
На небе с левой стороны,
Она дрожала и бледнела.
Когда ж падучая звезда
По небу темному летела
И рассыпалася, — тогда
В смятенье Таня торопилась,
Пока звезда еще катилась,
Желанье сердца ей шепнуть.
Когда случалось где-нибудь
Ей встретить черного монаха
Иль быстрый заяц меж полей
Перебегал дорогу ей,
Не зная, что начать со страха,
Предчувствий горестных полна,
Ждала несчастья уж она.
Tatiana credited the lore
of plain-folk ancientry,
dreams, cartomancy,
prognostications by the moon.
Portents disturbed her:
mysteriously all objects
foretold her something,
presentiments constrained her breast.
The mannered tomcat sitting on the stove,
purring, would wash his muzzlet with his paw:
to her 'twas an indubitable sign
that guests were coming. Seeing all at once
the young two-horned moon's visage
in the sky on her left,
she trembled and grew pale.
Or when a falling star
along the dark sky flew
and dissipated, then
in agitation Tanya hastened
to whisper, while the star still rolled,
her heart's desire to it.
When anywhere she happened
a black monk to encounter,
or a swift hare amid the fields
would run across her path,
so scared she knew not what to undertake,
full of grievous forebodings,
already she expected some mishap.
Chyornyi monakh ("The Black Monk," 1894) is a story by Chekhov (a writer whom Shade listed among Russian humorists). The crux of the legend in Chekhov's story is that 1,000 years after the day the monk walked, his mirage will return to earth and reappear to men. This brings to mind Halley's Comet (the only known short-period comet that is consistently visible to the naked eye from Earth, appearing every 72–80 years).
In his foreword and commentary to Shade’s poem Kinbote mentions his powerful Kramler:
Despite a wobbly heart (see line 735), a slight limp, and a certain curious contortion in his method of progress, Shade had an inordinate liking for long walks, but the snow bothered him, and he preferred, in winter, to have his wife call for him after classes with the car. A few days later, as I was about to leave Parthenocissus Hall – or Main Hall (or now Shade Hall, alas), I saw him waiting outside for Mrs. Shade to fetch him. I stood beside him for a minute, on the steps of the pillared porch, while pulling my gloves on, finger by finger, and looking away, as if waiting to review a regiment: "That was a thorough job," commented the poet. He consulted his wrist watch. A snowflake settled upon it. "Crystal to crystal," said Shade. I offered to take him home in my powerful Kramler. "Wives, Mr. Shade, are forgetful." He cocked his shaggy head to look at the library clock. Across the bleak expanse of snow-covered turf two radiant lads in colorful winter clothes passed, laughing and sliding. Shade glanced at his watch again and, with a shrug, accepted my offer. (Foreword)
Moaning and shifting from one foot to the other, Gradus started leafing through the college directory but when he found the address, he was faced with the problem of getting there.
"Dulwich Road," he cried to the girl. "Near? Far? Very far, probably?"
"Are you by any chance Professor Pnin's new assistant?" asked Emerald.
"No," said the girl. "This man is looking for Dr. Kinbote, I think. You are looking for Dr. Kinbote, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I can't any more," said Gradus.
"I thought so," said the girl. "Doesn't he live somewhere near Mr. Shade, Gerry?"
"Oh, definitely," said Gerry, and turned to the killer: "I can drive you there if you like. It is on my way."
Did they talk in the car, these two characters, the man in green and the man in brown? Who can say? They did not. After all, the drive took only a few minutes (it took me, at the wheel of my powerful Kramler, four and a half).
"I think I'll drop you here," said Mr. Emerald. "It's that house up there." (note to Line 949)
"My powerful Kramler” (as Kinbote calls his red car) seems to be a cross between Samuel Kramer (1897-1990), the author of a monograph on Sumerian mythology, a powerful Cramer Comet car (created by Tom Cramer in 1954) and Gottlieb Daimler (1834-1900), a German engineer, pioneer of internal-combustion engines and automobile development.