On September 22, 1952, Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Lolita, 1952) receives a letter (dated September 18, 1952) from Lolita (who lives with her husband, Dick Schiller, in Coalmont):
I remember letting myself into my flat and starting to say: Well, at least we shall now track them down - when the other letter began talking to me in a small matter-of-fact voice:
Dear Dad:
How’s everything? I’m married. I’m going to have a baby. I guess he’s going to be a big one. I guess he’ll come right for Christmas. This is a hard letter to write. I’m going nuts because we don’t have enough to pay our debts and get out of here. Dick is promised a big job in Alaska in his very specialized corner of the mechanical field, that’s all I know about it but it’s really grand. Pardon me for withholding our home address but you may still be mad at me, and Dick must not know. This town is something. You can’t see the morons for the smog. Please do send us a check, Dad. We could manage with three or four hundred or even less, anything is welcome, you might sell my old things, because once we go there the dough will just start rolling in. Write, please. I have gone through much sadness and hardship.
Yours expecting,
Dolly (Mrs. Richard F. Schiller) (2.27)
The letter was dated September 18, 1952 (this was September 22), and the address she gave was “General Delivery, Coalmont” (not “Va.,” not “Pa.,” not “Tenn.”and not Coalmont, anyway - I have camouflaged everything, my love). Inquiries showed this to be a small industrial community some eight hundred miles from New York City. At first I planned to drive all day and all night, but then thought better of it and rested for a couple of hours around dawn in a motor court room, a few miles before reaching the town. I had made up my mind that the fiend, this Schiller, had been a car salesman who had perhaps got to know my Lolita by giving her a ride in Beardsley - the day her bike blew a tire on the way to Miss Emperorand that he had got into some trouble since then. The corpse of the executed sweater, no matter how I changed its contours as it lay on the back seat of the car, had kept revealing various outlines pertaining to Trapp-Schillerthe grossness and obscene bonhomie of his body, and to counteract this taste of coarse corruption I resolved to make myself especially handsome and smart as I pressed home the nipple of my alarm clock before it exploded at the set hour of six a. m. Then, with the stern and romantic care of a gentleman about to fight a duel, I checked the arrangement of my papers, bathed and perfumed my delicate body, shaved my face and chest, selected a silk shirt and clean drawers, pulled on transparent taupe socks, and congratulated myself for having with me in my trunk some very exquisite clothes - a waistcoat with nacreous buttons, for instance, a pale cashmere tie and so on. (2.28)
On September 22, 1843, the wife of George d'Anthès (Pushkin's adversary in his fatal duel, 1812-95) gave birth to a long-awaited son, Louis Joseph de Heeckeren d'Anthès (1843-1902), dying of puerperal fever on October 15, 1843. According to John Ray, Jr. (the author of the Foreword to Humbert's manuscript), Mrs. Richard F. Schiller outlived Humbert (who died in legal captivity, of coronary thrombosis, on November 16, 1952, a few days before his trial was scheduled to start) by forty days and died in childbed, giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952 (less than a week before her eighteenth birthday), in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest:
For the benefit of old-fashioned readers who wish to follow the destinies of the “real” people beyond the “true” story, a few details may be given as received from Mr. “Windmuller,” or “Ramsdale,” who desires his identity suppressed so that “the long shadow of this sorry and sordid business” should not reach the community to which he is proud to belong. His daughter, “Louise,” is by now a college sophomore, “Mona Dahl” is a student in Paris. “Rita” has recently married the proprietor of a hotel in Florida. Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” died in childbed, giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952, in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest. “Vivian Darkbloom” has written a biography, “My Cue,” to be publshed shortly, and critics who have perused the manuscript call it her best book. The caretakers of the various cemeteries involved report that no ghosts walk.
D'Anthès married Ekaterina Goncharov (Pushkin's sister-in-law, 1809-43) on January 10, 1837. In a letter of Jan. 26, 1837, to Pushkin Baron van Heeckeren (d'Anthès' adoptive father) says that cette rencontre (Pushkin's duel with d'Anthès) ne souffre aucun délai (should take place without delay):
Monsieur
Ne connaissant ni votre écriture ni votre signature, j’ai recours à Monsieur le Vicomte d’Archiac, qui vous remettra la présente pour constater que la lettre à laquelle je réponds, vient de vous. Son contenu est tellement hors de toutes les bornes du possible que je me refuse à répondre à tous les détails de cet épître. Vous paraissez avoir oublié Monsieur, que c’est vous qui vous êtes dedit de la provocation, que vous aviez fait adresser au Baron Georges de Heeckeren et qui avait été acceptée par lui. La preuve de ce que j’avance ici existe, écrite de votre main, et est restée entre les mains des seconds. Il ne me reste qu’à vous prévenir que Monsieur le Vicomte d’Archiac se rend chez vous pour convenir avec vous du lieu où vous vous rencontrerez avec le Baron Georges de Heeckeren et à vous prévenir que cette rencontre ne souffre aucun délai.
Je saurai plus tard, Monsieur, vous faire apprécier le respect du au Caractère dont je suis révêtu et qu’aucune démarche de votre part ne saurait atteindre.
Je suis
Monsieur
Votre très humble serviteur
B. de Heeckeren.
Lu et approuvé par moi
Le B-on Georges de Heeckeren.
In an attempt to save his life Clare Quilty (the playwright and pornographer whom Humbert murders for abducting Lolita from him) offers Humbert an old-fashioned rencontre, sword or pistol, in Rio or elsewhere:
“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 play - I 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 thing - you 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)
Humbert receives a letter from Lolita on Sept. 22, 1952, visits her in Coalmont on the next day (Sept. 23), revisits Ramsdale (where he finds out Quilty's address) on Sept. 24, and murders Quilty on Sept. 25. Pushkin finished Eugene Onegin in Boldino (the poet's family estate in the Province of Nizhniy Novgorod) in the fall of 1830. The last page of EO bears the following date: "Boldino, September 25, 3-1/4."