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 the star that no party member can ever reach:
We all know those dreams in which something Stygian soaks through and Lethe leaks in the dreary terms of defective plumbing. Following this line, there is a false start preserved in the draft – and I hope the reader will feel something of the chill that ran down my long and supple spine when I discovered this variant:
Should the dead murderer try to embrace
His outraged victim whom he now must face?
Do objects have a soul? Or perish must
Alike great temples and Tanagra dust?
The last syllable of Tanagra and the first three letters of "dust" form the name of the murderer whose shargar (puny ghost) the radiant spirit of our poet was soon to face. "Simple chance!" the pedestrian reader may cry. But let him try to see, as I have tried to see, how many such combinations are possible and plausible. "Leningrad used to be Petrograd?" "A prig rad (obs. past tense of read) us?"
This variant is so prodigious that only scholarly discipline and a scrupulous regard for the truth prevented me from inserting it here, and deleting four lines elsewhere (for example, the weak lines 627-630) so as to preserve the length of the poem.
Shade composed these lines on Tuesday, July 14th. What was Gradus doing that day? Nothing. Combinational fate rests on its laurels. We saw him last on the late afternoon of July 10th when he returned from Lex to his hotel in Geneva, and there we left him.
For the next four days Gradus remained fretting in Geneva. The amusing paradox with these men of action is that they constantly have to endure long stretches of otiosity that they are unable to fill with anything, lacking as they do the resources of an adventurous mind. As many people of little culture, Gradus was a voracious reader of newspapers, pamphlets, chance leaflets and the multilingual literature that comes with nose drops and digestive tablets; but this summed up his concessions to intellectual curiosity, and since his eyesight was not too good, and the consumability of local news not unlimited, he had to rely a great deal on the torpor of sidewalk cafes and on the makeshift of sleep.
How much happier the wide-awake indolents, the monarchs among men, the rich monstrous brains deriving intense enjoyment and rapturous pangs from the balustrade of a terrace at nightfall, from the lights and the lake below, from the distant mountain shapes melting into the dark apricot of the afterglow, from the black conifers outlined against the pale ink of the zenith, and from the garnet and green flounces of the water along the silent, sad, forbidden shoreline. Oh my sweet Boscobel! And the tender and terrible memories, and the shame, and the glory, and the maddening intimation, and the star that no party member can ever reach.
On Wednesday morning, still without news, Gradus telegraphed headquarters saying that he thought it unwise to wait any longer and that he would be staying at Hotel Lazuli, Nice. (note to Line 596)
Shade’s murderer, Jakob Gradus is also known as James de Gray:
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)
De Gray and the star that no party member can ever reach bring to mind Gray Star, in VN’s novel Lolita (1955) a settlement in the remotest Northwest where Mrs. “Richard F. Schiller” (Lolita’s married name) dies in childbed:
For the benefit of old-fashioned readers who wish to follow the destinies of “real” people beyond the “true” story, a few details may be given as received from Mr. “Windmuller,” of “Ramsdale,” who desires his identity suppressed so that “the long shadows 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 published 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. (John Ray Jr.’s Foreword)
The narrator and main character in Lolita, Humbert Humbert writes his Confession of a White Widowed Male in imprisonment. In his essay Torzhestvo dobrodeteli (“The Triumph of Virtue,” 1930) VN compares the Soviet literature to those select unctuous libraries that one can find in prisons:
К счастью, нет никаких оснований предполагать, что советская литература в скором времени свернет с пути истины. Все благополучно, добродетель торжествует. Совершенно неважно, что превозносимое добро и караемое зло - добро и зло классовые. В этом маленьком классовом мире соотношения нравственных сил и приемы борьбы те же, что и в большом мире, человеческом. Все знакомые литературные типы, выражающие собой резко и просто хорошее или худое в человеке (или в обществе), светлые личности, никогда не темнеющие, и темные личности, обреченные на беспросветность, все эти старые наши знакомые, резонеры, элодеи, праведные грубияны и коварные льстецы, опять теснятся на страницах советской книги. Тут и отголосок "Хижины дяди Тома", и своеобразное повторение какой-нибудь темы из старых приложений к "Ниве" (молодая княжна увлекается отцовским секретарем, честным разночинцем с народническими наклонностями), и искание розы без шипов на торном пути от политического неведения к большевицкому откровению, и факел знания, и рыцарские приключения, где Красный Рыцарь разбивает один полчища врагов. То, что в общечеловеческой литературе до сих пор так или иначе еще держится в произведениях высоконравственных дам и писателей для юношества и будет, вероятно, держаться до конца мира, повторяется в советской литературе как нечто новое, с апломбом, с жаром, с упоением. Мы возвращаемся к самым истокам литературы, к простоте, еще не освященной вдохновением, и к нравоучительству, еще не лишенному пафоса. Советская литература несколько напоминает те отборные елейные библиотеки, которые бывают при тюрьмах и исправительных домах для просвещения и умиротворения заключенных.
In the next paragraph VN says that, in the books of Soviet writers, the popularity of a sailor or of a soldier is nothing compared to the popularity of a party member:
Имена не запоминаются, имен нет. Матрос в изображении писателя второго сорта и матрос в изображении писателя сорта третьего ничем друг от друга не отличны, и только обезумевший от благонамеренности пролетарский критик может там и сям выскоблить ересь. В этой, в лучшем случае второсортной, литературе (первого сорта в продаже нет) тип матроса так же отчетлив, как, скажем, старинный тип простака. Этот матрос, очень любимый советскими писателями, говорит "амба", добродетельно матюгается и читает "разные книжки". Он женолюбив, как всякий хороший, здоровый парень, но иногда из-за этого попадает в сети буржуазной или партизанской сирены и на время сбивается с линии классового добра. На эту линию, впрочем, он неизбежно возвращается. Матрос - светлая личность, хотя и туповат. Несколько похож на него тип "солдата" - другой баловень советской литературы. Солдат тоже любит тискать налитых всякими соками деревенских девчат и ослеплять своей белозубой улыбкой сельских учительниц. Как и матрос, солдат часто попадает из-за бабы впросак. Он всегда жизнерадостен, отлично знает политическую грамоту и щедр на бодрые восклицания, вроде "а ну, ребята!". Мужики избирают его председателем, причем какой-нибудь старый крестьянин неизменно ухмыляется в бороду и одобрительно говорит: "здорово загнул парень" (т. е. старый крестьянин прозрел). Но популярность матроса и солдата ничто перед популярностью партийца. Партиец угрюм, мало спит, много курит, видит до поры до времени в женщине товарища и очень прост в обращении, так что всем делается хорошо на душе от его спокойствия, мрачности и деловитости. Партийная мрачность, впрочем, вдруг прорывается детской улыбкой или же в трудном для чувств положении он кому-нибудь жмет руку, и у боевого товарища сразу слезы навертываются на глаза. Партиец редко бывает красив, но зато лицо у него точно высечено из камня. Светлее этого типа просто не сыскать. "Эх, брат",- говорит он в минуту откровенности, и читателю дано одним глазком увидеть жизнь, полную лишений, подвигов и страданий. Его литературная связь с графом Монтекристо или с каким-нибудь вождем краснокожих совершенно очевидна.
According to VN, there is an obvious literary connection between the type of a party member in Soviet literature and the Count of Monte Cristo. The Count of Monte Cristo (1844) is a novel by Alexandre Dumas père. In Dumas’ novel Twenty Years After (1845) d’Artagnan and his friends try to save the life of Charles I (a King of England who was beheaded in 1649). A more fortunate monarch, Charles II is the son of Charles I. Kinbote’s sweet Boscobel hints at Boscobel: or, the history of His Sacred Majesties most miraculous preservation after the Battle of Worcester, 3 Sept. 1651, by Thomas Blount (an English antiquarian and lexicographer, 1618-79). It is an account of Charles II's preservation after Worcester, with the addition of the king's own account dictated to Pepys.