The characters in VN's novel Bend Sinister (1947) include Krug's friend Ember, the Shakespeare scholar and translator. Hamlet's famous soliloquy in Ember's version begins: Ubit' il' ne ubit'? (To kill or not to kill?), a play on Byt' ili ne byt' (To be or not to be), the beginning of Hamlet's soliloquy in a standard Russian translation:
But enough of this, let us hear Ember's rendering of some famous lines:
Ubit' il' ne ubit'? Vot est' oprosen.
Vto bude edler: v rasume tzerpieren
Ogneprashchi i strely zlovo roka –
(or as a Frenchman might have it:)
L’éorgerai-je ou non? Voici le vrai problème.
Est-il plus noble en soi de supporter quand même
Et les dards et le feu d'un accablant destin –
Yes, I am still jesting. We now come to the real thing.
Tam nad ruch'om rostiot naklonno iva,
V vode iavliaia list'ev sedinu;
Guirliandy fantasticheskie sviv
Iz etikh list'ev – s primes'u romashek,
Krapivy, lutikov –
(over yon brook there grows aslant a willow
Showing in the water the hoariness of its leaves;
Having tressed fantastic garlands
of these leaves, with a sprinkling of daisies,
Nettles, crowflowers – )
You see, I have to choose my commentators.
Or this difficult passage:
Ne dumaete-li Vy, sudar', shto vot eto (the song about the wounded deer), da les per'ev na shliape, da dve kamchatye rozy na proreznykh bashmakakh, mogli by, kol' fortuna zadala by mne turku, zasluzhit' mne uchast'e v teatralnoy arteli; a, sudar'?
Or the beginning of my favourite scene:
As he sits listening to Ember's translation, Krug cannot help marvelling at the strangeness of the day. He imagines himself at some point in the future recalling this particular moment. He, Krug, was sitting beside Ember's bed. Ember, with knees raised under the counterpane, was reading bits of blank verse from scraps of paper. Krug had recently lost his wife. A new political order had stunned the city. Two people he was fond of had been spirited away and perhaps executed. But the room was warm and quiet and Ember was deep in Hamlet. And Krug marvelled at the strangeness of the day. He listened to the rich-toned voice (Ember's father had been a Persian merchant) and tried to simplify the terms of his reaction. Nature had once produced an Englishman whose domed head had been a hive of words; a man who had only to breathe on any particle of his stupendous vocabulary to have that particle live and expand and throw out tremulous tentacles until it became a complex image with a pulsing brain and correlated limbs. Three centuries later, another man, in another country, was trying to render these rhythms and metaphors in a different tongue. This process entailed a prodigious amount of labour, for the necessity of which no real reason could be given. It was as if someone, having seen a certain oak tree (further called Individual T) growing in a certain land and casting its own unique shadow on the green and brown ground, had proceeded to erect in his garden a prodigiously intricate piece of machinery which in itself was as unlike that or any other tree as the translator's inspiration and language were unlike those of the original author, but which, by means of ingenious combination of parts, light effects, breeze-engendering engines, would, when completed, cast a shadow exactly similar to that of Individual T - the same outline, changing in the same manner, with the same double and single spots of sun rippling in the same position, at the same hour of the day. From a practical point of view, such a waste of time and material (those headaches, those midnight triumphs that turn out to be disasters in the sober light of morning!) was almost criminally absurd, since the greatest masterpiece of imitation presupposed a voluntary limitation of thought, in submission to another man's genius. Could this suicidal limitation and submission be compensated by the miracle of adaptive tactics, by the thousand devices of shadography, by the keen pleasure that the weaver of words and their witness experienced at every new wile in the warp, or was it, taken all in all, but an exaggerated and spiritualized replica of Paduk's writing machine? (chapter 7)
Individual T seems to be a play on 'individuality.' A second-person pronoun, ty (the last syllable of 'individuality') is Russian for 'thou' (archaic or dialect form of you). 'Thou shalt not kill' is a moral imperative included as one of the Ten Commandments. Its Russian equivalent, Ne ubiy, brings to mind Ubit' il' ne ubit', the first words of Hamlet's soliloquy in Ember's playful rendering.
The T in 'Individual T' seems to stand for Tree. The Russian word for 'tree,' derevo begins with D. D is also the initial of dub (Russian for oak tree). In the old Russian alphabet the letter D was called dobro (good as a noun). "A good night for mothing" (a play on "good for nothing") is the last sentence of Bend Sinister. In Shakespeare's play (2.2) Hamlet says: "There is nothing good or bad, only thinking makes it so."
On the other hand, the Russian word for "shadow," ten' begins with T and rhymes with den' (day), a word that begins with D. The early Russian translators of Hamlet, Polevoy and Kronberg rendered the Ghost of Hamlets' father as Ten' ottsa Gamleta.
As to the name Ember, in Hungarian ember means "human being."