According to Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Lolita, 1955), as a young man in Paris he discussed Soviet movies with expatriates:
The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car. In my sanitary relations with women I was practical, ironical and brisk. While a college student, in London and Paris, paid ladies sufficed me. My studies were meticulous and intense, although not particularly fruitful. At first, I planned to take a degree in psychiatry and many manqué talents do; but I was even more manqué than that; a peculiar exhaustion, I am so oppressed, doctor, set in; and I switched to English literature, where so many frustrated poets end as pipe-smoking teachers in tweeds. Paris suited me. I discussed Soviet movies with expatriates. I sat with uranists in the Deux Magots. I published tortuous essays in obscure journals. I composed pastiches:
…Fräulen von Kulp
may turn, her hand upon the door;
I will not follow her. Nor Fresca. Nor
that Gull.
A paper of mine entitled “The Proustian theme in a letter from Keats to Benjamin Bailey” was chuckled over by the six or seven scholars who read it. I launched upon an “Histoire abrégée de la poésie anglaise ” for a prominent publishing firm, and then started to compile that manual of French literature for English-speaking students (with comparisons drawn from English writers) which was to occupy me throughout the forties - and the last volume of which was almost ready for press by the time of my arrest. (1.5)
Aelita, also known as Aelita: Queen of Mars, is a 1924 Soviet silent science fiction film directed by Yakov Protazanov. It was based on Aleksey Tolstoy's 1923 novel of the same name. Aelita (in the language spoken on Mars the name means "the light of a star seen for the last time") is Lolita's Russian rhymesake. Expatriates whith whom Humbert discussed Soviet films bring to mind Aleksey Tolstoy's novel (written after the author had returned to the Soviet Russia) Emigranty ("The Emigrants," 1931). Uranists (as Humbert calls homosexuals, after Aphrodite Urania) make one think of the planet Uran. Aphrodite Urania (the heavenly Aphrodite, in opposition to Aphrodite Pandemos, "common to all people") is also known as Venus Urania.
In his commentary 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 Amphitheatricus, a not unkindly writer of fugitive poetry in the liberal gazettes who dubbed Onhava (the capital of Zembla) "Uranograd:"
Alfin the Vague (1873-1918; regnal dates 1900-1918, but 1900-1919 in most biographical dictionaries, a fumble due to the coincident calendar change from Old Style to New) was given his cognomen by Amphitheatricus, a not unkindly writer of fugitive poetry in the liberal gazettes (who was also responsible for dubbing my capital Uranograd!). King Alfin's absent-mindedness knew no bounds. He was a wretched linguist, having at his disposal only a few phrases of French and Danish, but every time he had to make a speech to his subjects - to a group of gaping Zemblan yokels in some remote valley where he had crash-landed - some uncontrollable switch went into action in his mind, and he reverted to those phrases, flavoring them for topical sense with a little Latin. Most of the anecdotes relating to his naïve fits of abstraction are too silly and indecent to sully these pages; but one of them that I do not think especially funny induced such guffaws from Shade (and returned to me, via the Common Room, with such obscene accretions) that I feel inclined to give it here as a sample (and as a corrective). One summer before the first world war, when the emperor of a great foreign realm (I realize how few there are to choose from) was paying an extremely unusual and flattering visit to our little hard country, my father took him and a young Zemblan interpreter (whose sex I leave open) in a newly purchased custom-built car on a jaunt in the countryside. As usual, King Alfin traveled without a vestige of escort, and this, and his brisk driving, seemed to trouble his guest. On their way back, some twenty miles from Onhava, King Alfin decided to stop for repairs. While he tinkered with the motor, the emperor and the interpreter sought the shade of some pines by the highway, and only when King Alfin was back in Onhava, did he gradually realize from a reiteration of rather frantic questions that he had left somebody behind ("What emperor?" has remained his only memorable mot). Generally speaking, in respect of any of my contributions (or what I thought to be contributions) I repeatedly enjoined my poet to record them in writing, by all means, but not to spread them in idle speech; even poets, however, are human.
King's Alfin's absent-mindedness was strangely combined with a passion for mechanical things, especially for flying apparatuses. In 1912, he managed to rise in an umbrella-like Fabre "hydroplane" and almost got drowned in the sea between Nitra and Indra. He smashed two Farmans, three Zemblan machines, and a beloved Santos Dumont Demoiselle. A very special monoplane, Blenda IV, was built for him in 1916 by his constant "aerial adjutant" Colonel Peter Gusev (later a pioneer parachutist and, at seventy, one of the greatest jumpers of all time), and this was his bird of doom. On the serene, and not too cold, December morning that the angels chose to net his mild pure soul, King Alfin was in the act of trying solo a tricky vertical loop that Prince Andrey Kachurin, the famous Russian stunter and War One hero, had shown him in Gatchina. Something went wrong, and the little Blenda was seen to go into an uncontrolled dive. Behind and above him, in a Caudron biplane, Colonel Gusev (by then Duke of Rahl) and the Queen snapped several pictures of what seemed at first a noble and graceful evolution but then turned into something else. At the last moment, King Alfin managed to straighten out his machine and was again master of gravity when, immediately afterwards, he flew smack into the scaffolding of a huge hotel which was being constructed in the middle of a coastal heath as if for the special purpose of standing in a king's way. This uncompleted and badly gutted building was ordered razed by Queen Blenda who had it replaced by a tasteless monument of granite surmounted by an improbable type of aircraft made of bronze. The glossy prints of the enlarged photographs depicting the entire catastrophe were discovered one day by eight-year-old Charles Xavier in the drawer of a secretary bookcase. In some of these ghastly pictures one could make out the shoulders and leathern casque of the strangely unconcerned aviator, and in the penultimate one of the series, just before the white-blurred shattering crash, one distinctly saw him raise one arm in triumph, and reassurance. The boy had hideous dreams after that but his mother never found out that he had seen those infernal records. (note to Line 71)
King Alfin's "aerial adjutant," Colonel Peter Gusev brings to mind Alexey Gusev, a retired soldier (an engineer Mstislav Los's companion in his voyage to Mars) in Aleksey Tolstoy's Aelita. In Canto Three of his poem John Shade mentions Hurricane Lolita that swept from Florida to Maine and the planet Mars:
It was a year of Tempests: Hurricane
Lolita swept from Florida to Maine.
Mars glowed. Shahs married. Gloomy Russians spied.
Lang made your portrait. And one night I died. (ll. 679-682)
According to Kingbote, during the reign of Charles the Beloved Mars never marred the record:
That King's reign (1936-1958) will be remembered by at least a few discerning historians as a peaceful and elegant one. Owing to a fluid system of judicious alliances, Mars in his time never marred the record. Internally, until corruption, betrayal, and Extremism penetrated it, the People's Place (parliament) worked in perfect harmony with the Royal Council. Harmony, indeed, was the reign's password. The polite arts and pure sciences flourished. Technicology, applied physics, industrial chemistry and so forth were suffered to thrive. A small skyscraper of ultramarine glass was steadily rising in Onhava. The climate seemed to be improving. Taxation had become a thing of beauty. The poor were getting a little richer, and the rich a little poorer (in accordance with what may be known some day as Kinbote's Law). Medical care was spreading to the confines of the state: less and less often, on his tour of the country, every autumn, when the rowans hung coral-heavy, and the puddles tinkled with Muscovy glass, the friendly and eloquent monarch would be interrupted by a pertussal "back-draucht" in a crowd of schoolchildren. Parachuting had become a popular sport. Everybody, in a word, was content - even the political mischiefmakers who were contentedly making mischief paid by a contented Sosed (Zembla's gigantic neighbor). But let us not pursue this tiresome subject. (note to Line 12)
Speaking of Amphitheatricus (a not unkindly writer of fugitive poetry in the liberal gazettes), Aleksandr Amfiteatrov (1862-1938) is the author of Gospoda Obmanovy (“The Obmanov Family,” 1902), a satire on the Russian imperial family (the Romanovs), and Novaya sila ("A New Power," 1910), an article about Aleksey Tolstoy's early prose. In his book Zver’ iz bezdny (“Beast from the Abyss,” 1911) Amfitearov speaks of the phenomenon that K. H. Ulrichs dubbed uranizm (Urningism):
С 1864 по 1880 год в Лейпциге у Отто и Кадлера вышла целая серия работ по социальной физиологии некоего советника Ульрикса, озаглавленных в большинстве латинскими титулами — Vindex-Inclusa, Vindicta, Formatrix, Ara spei, Gladius furens. Критические стрелы. Идея этих статей — что «половое чувство не имеет отношения к полу». В мужском теле может заключаться женская и женскими страстями одаренная душа (anima muliebris in corpore virili inclusa) и, наоборот, женщина по телу может обладать душою и страстями мужчины. Ульрикс настаивал, что явление это, которое он назвал «уранизмом», есть лишь физиологическое исключение, а отнюдь не патологическая аномалия. На этом основании он требовал, чтобы закон и общество относились к любви урнингов как к явлению совершенно дозволительному и естественному и советовал даже разрешать браки между лицами одного и того же поля, которых судьба создала с урнингическими наклонностями. Нельзя не согласиться, что мальчишеские выходки развратного и пьяного юноши- язычника, которому было «все дозволено», оставлены обдуманной и научно поставленной теорией Ульрикса, старого ученого-христианина, далеко за флагом. А процесс Оскара Уайльда? А столь много нашумевшие разоблачения «Pall Mall Gazette» о подвигах английской родовой и коммерческой аристократии в лондонских трущобах? А записки Горона? А Эйленбург? А гомосексуальные радения — «лиги любви» — в современной России? А повести, в которых участники гомосексуального приключения предварительно молятся коленопреклоненно пред «иконами, приведшими де нас к общей радости»? Если урнингизм пытается переползти порог этики, его воспрещающей, — это симптом, пожалуй, поярче того, что две тысячи лет тому назад он откровенно переползал порог этики, к нему совершенно равнодушной.
«Я слыхал от некоторых, — говорит Светоний, — будто Нерон высказывал твердое убеждение, что стыд не свойствен природе человеческой, равно как нет в человеческом теле частей, обреченных на целомудрие, но что большинство людей только скрывают свои половые пороки и ловко притворяются целомудренными. Поэтому он извинял все другие пороки тем, кто откровенно предавался в его обществе похабству (professis apud se obscoenitatem»). Эта проповедь упразднения стыда откровенно развивалась в XV веке забубенною литературою Италии, в XVII — Англии, в XVIII — Франции, в конце XIX и в XX — России. В одном подпольно-порнографическом французском романе, приписываемом перу Альфреда де Мюссе, изображается общество, члены которого обязывались клятвою именно — как требовал Нерон — совершенно упразднить половой стыд и стараться довести тело своё до такой изощрённости, чтобы каждую часть его можно было использовать в целях сладострастия. (vol. III, “The Orgy,” chapter 1)
Bronenosets Potyomkin (Battleship Potemkin) is a 1925 Soviet silent drama film directed and co-written by Sergei Eisenstein. In the Russian Lolita (1967) one of Quilty’s addresses is “P. O. Tyomkin, Odessa, Texas:”
Я замечал, что, как только ему начинало казаться, что его плутни становятся чересчур заумными, даже для такого зксперта, как я, он меня приманивал опять загадкой полегче. "Арсен Люпэн" был очевиден полуфранцузу, помнившему детективные рассказы, которыми он увлекался в детстве; и едва ли следовало быть знатоком кинематографа, чтобы раскусить пошлую подковырку в адресе: "П. О. Темкин, Одесса, Техас".
I noticed that whenever he felt his enigmas were becoming too recondite, even for such a solver as I, he would lure me back with an easy one. “Arsne Lupin” was obvious to a Frenchman who remembered the detective stories of his youth; and one hardly had to be a Coleridgian to appreciate the trite poke of “A. Person, Porlock, England.” (2.23)