In a conversation with Van in “Ardis the Second” Marina (in VN’s novel Ada, 1969, Van’s, Ada’s and Lucette’s mother) tells Van that the Zemskis were terrible rakes (razvratniki):
Naked-faced, dull-haired, wrapped up in her oldest kimono (her Pedro had suddenly left for Rio), Marina reclined on her mahogany bed under a golden-yellow quilt, drinking tea with mare’s milk, one of her fads.
‘Sit down, have a spot of chayku,’ she said. ‘The cow is in the smaller jug, I think. Yes, it is.’ And when Van, having kissed her freckled hand, lowered himself on the ivanilich (a kind of sighing old hassock upholstered in leather): ‘Van, dear, I wish to say something to you, because I know I shall never have to repeat it again. Belle, with her usual flair for the right phrase, has cited to me the cousinage-dangereux-voisinage adage — I mean "adage," I always fluff that word — and complained qu’on s’embrassait dans tous les coins. Is that true?’
Van’s mind flashed in advance of his speech. It was, Marina, a fantastic exaggeration. The crazy governess had observed it once when he carried Ada across a brook and kissed her because she had hurt her toe. I’m the well-known beggar in the saddest of all stories.
‘Erunda (nonsense),’ said Van. ‘She once saw me carrying Ada across the brook and misconstrued our stumbling huddle (spotïkayushcheesya sliyanie).’
‘I do not mean Ada, silly,’ said Marina with a slight snort, as she fussed over the teapot. ‘Azov, a Russian humorist, derives erunda from the German hier und da, which is neither here nor there. Ada is a big girl, and big girls, alas, have their own worries. Mlle Larivière meant Lucette, of course. Van, those soft games must stop. Lucette is twelve, and naive, and I know it’s all clean fun, yet (odnako) one can never behave too delikatno in regard to a budding little woman. A propos de coins: in Griboedov’s Gore ot uma, "How stupid to be so clever," a play in verse, written, I think, in Pushkin’s time, the hero reminds Sophie of their childhood games, and says:
How oft we sat together in a corner
And what harm might there be in that?
but in Russian it is a little ambiguous, have another spot, Van?’ (he shook his head, simultaneously lifting his hand, like his father), ‘because, you see, — no, there is none left anyway — the second line, i kazhetsya chto v etom, can be also construed as "And in that one, meseems," pointing with his finger at a corner of the room. Imagine — when I was rehearsing that scene with Kachalov at the Seagull Theater, in Yukonsk, Stanislavski, Konstantin Sergeevich, actually wanted him to make that cosy little gesture (uyutnen’kiy zhest).’
‘How very amusing,’ said Van.
The dog came in, turned up a brimming brown eye Vanward, toddled up to the window, looked at the rain like a little person, and returned to his filthy cushion in the next room.
‘I could never stand that breed,’ remarked Van. ‘Dackelophobia.’
‘But girls — do you like girls, Van, do you have many girls? You are not a pederast, like your poor uncle, are you? We have had some dreadful perverts in our ancestry but — Why do you laugh?’
‘Nothing,’ said Van. ‘I just want to put on record that I adore girls. I had my first one when I was fourteen. Mais qui me rendra mon Hélène? She had raven black hair and a skin like skimmed milk. I had lots of much creamier ones later. I kazhetsya chto v etom?’
‘How strange, how sad! Sad, because I know hardly anything about your life, my darling (moy dushka). The Zemskis were terrible rakes (razvratniki), one of them loved small girls, and another raffolait d’une de ses juments and had her tied up in a special way-don’t ask me how’ (double hand gesture of horrified ignorance ‘— when he dated her in her stall. Kstati (à propos), I could never understand how heredity is transmitted by bachelors, unless genes can jump like chess knights. I almost beat you, last time we played, we must play again, not today, though — I’m too sad today. I would have liked so much to know everything, everything, about you, but now it’s too late. Recollections are always a little "stylized" (stilizovanï), as your father used to say, an irrisistible and hateful man, and now, even if you showed me your old diaries, I could no longer whip up any real emotional reaction to them, though all actresses can shed tears, as I’m doing now. You see (rummaging for her handkerchief under her pillow), when children are still quite tiny (takie malyutki), we cannot imagine that we can go without them, for even a couple of days, and later we do, and it’s a couple of weeks, and later it’s months, gray years, black decades, and then the opéra bouffe of the Christians’ eternity. I think even the shortest separation is a kind of training for the Elysian Games — who said that? I said that. And your costume, though very becoming, is, in a sense, traurnïy (funerary). I’m spouting drivel. Forgive me these idiotic tears... Tell me, is there anything I could do for you? Do think up something! Would you like a beautiful, practically new Peruvian scarf, which he left behind, that crazy boy? No? It’s not your style? Now go. And remember — not a word to poor Mlle Larivière, who means well!’ (1.37)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): chayku: Russ., tea (diminutive).
Ivanilich: a pouf plays a marvelous part in Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich, where it sighs deeply under a friend of the widow’s.
cousinage: cousinhood is dangerous neighborhood.
on s’embrassait: kissing went on in every corner.
erunda: Russ., nonsense.
hier und da: Germ., here and there.
raffolait etc.: was crazy about one of his mares.
In VN’s novel Zashchita Luzhina (“The Luzhin Defense,” 1930) the mother of Luzhin’s bride asks Luzhin if he is a razvratnik (lecher):
Ночи были какие-то ухабистые. Никак нельзя было себя заставить не думать о шахматах, хотя клонило ко сну, а потом сон никак не мог войти к нему в мозг, искал лазейки, но у каждого входа стоял шахматный часовой, и это было ужасно мучительное чувство,- что вот, сон тут как тут, но по ту сторону мозга: Лужин, томно рассеянный по комнате, спит, а Лужин, представляющий собой шахматную доску, бодрствует и не может слиться со счастливым двойником. Но что было еще хуже,- он после каждого турнирного сеанса все с большим и большим трудом вылезал из мира шахматных представлений, так что и днем намечалось неприятное раздвоение. После трехчасовой партии странно болела голова, не вся, а частями, черными квадратами боли, и не сразу он находил дверь, заслоненную черным пятном, и не мог вспомнить адрес заветного дома: по счастью, в кармане хранилась старая, сложенная вдвое и уже рвущаяся по сгибу открытка ("Приехали. Ждем вас вечером"). Он еще продолжал ощущать радость, когда входил в дом, полный русских игрушек, но радость тоже была пятнами. И как-то, в день передышки, он пришел раньше обыкновенного, и дома была только сама хозяйка. Она решила продолжить разговор, бывший на закате в буковой роще, и, преувеличивая свою, весьма ценимую ею самой, способность резать правду-матку (за что молодые люди, посещавшие ее дом, считали ее большой умницей и очень ее боялись), она насела на Лужина, первым делом отчитала его за окурки, находимые во всех вазочках и даже в пасти распластанного медведя, а затем предложила ему нынче же, в субботний вечер, принять у них ванну, после того, как выкупается муж. "Редко, наверное, моетесь,- сказала она без обиняков.- Редко? Признайтесь-ка". Лужин мрачно пожал плечами, глядя на пол, где происходило легкое, ему одному приметное движение, недобрая дифференциация теней. "И вообще,- продолжала она,- надо подтянуться". И таким образом создав необходимое настроение у слушателя, она перешла к самому главному. "Скажите,- спросила она,- я думаю, вы успели очень развратить мою девочку? Такие, как вы, большие развратники. А она у меня чистая, не то, что нынешние. Скажите, ведь вы развратник, развратник?" "Нет, мадам",- со вздохом ответил Лужин и затем поморщился, быстро провел подошвой по полу, стирая некоторое, уже совсем определенное, сгущение. "Я ведь вас вовсе не знаю,- продолжал быстрый, звучный голос.- Мне придется навести справки,- да-да, справки,- не больны ли вы какой-нибудь такой болезнью". "Одышка,- сказал Лужин.- И еще - маленький ревматизм". "Я не про то говорю,- сухо перебила она.- Дело серьезное. Вы по-видимому считаете себя женихом, бываете у нас, уединяетесь. Но я не думаю, чтобы скоро могла быть речь о свадьбе". "А в прошлом году был геморрой",- скучно сказал Лужин. "Послушайте, я с вами говорю об очень важных вещах. Вы, вероятно, хотели бы жениться уже сегодня, сейчас. Знаю я вас. Потом будет она ходить с брюхом, замучите ее сразу". Лужин, вытоптав в одном месте тень, с тоской увидел, что далеко от того места, где он сидит, происходит на полу новая комбинация. "Если вы хоть немножко интересуетесь моим мнением, то должна вам сказать, что считаю этот брак чепухой. Кроме того, вы, вероятно, думаете, что мой муж будет вас содержать. Признайтесь: думаете?" "Я испытываю стеснение в капиталах,- сказал Лужин.- Я бы совсем немножко брал. И мне предлагали вести шахматный отдел в одном журнале..." Тут неприятности на полу так обнаглели, что Лужин невольно протянул руку, чтобы увести теневого короля из-под угрозы световой пешки. И вообще, с этого дня он стал избегать сидеть в гостиной, где было слишком много всяких деревянных вещиц, принимавших, если долго смотреть на них, очень определенные очертания. Его невеста замечала, как, с каждым турнирным днем, он все хуже и хуже выглядит. Мутно-фиолетовые оттенки появились у него вокруг глаз, а тяжелые веки были воспалены. Он был так бледен, что всегда казался плохо выбритым, хотя, по настоянию невесты, брился каждое утро. Окончание турнира ожидалось ею с большим нетерпением, и ей было больно думать, какие страшные, вредные для него усилия должен он делать, добывая каждое очко. Бедный Лужин, таинственный Лужин... Играя утром в теннис с приятельницей немкой, слушая давно приевшиеся лекции по истории искусства, перелистывая у себя в комнате потрепанные, разношерстные книжки,- андреевский "Океан", роман Краснова, брошюру "Как сделаться йогом", она все время сознавала, что вот сейчас Лужин погружен в шахматные вычисления, борется, мучится, и ей было немного обидно, что она не может разделить муки его искусства. В его гениальность она верила безусловно, а кроме того была убеждена, что эта гениальность не может исчерпываться только шахматной игрой, как бы чудесна она ни была, и что, когда пройдет турнирная горячка, и Лужин успокоится, отдохнет, в нем заиграют какие-то еще неведомые силы, он расцветет, проснутся, проявит свой дар и в других областях жизни. Ее отец называл Лужина узким фанатиком, но добавлял, что это несомненно очень наивный и очень порядочный человек. Мать же утверждала, что Лужин не по дням, а по часам сходит с ума, что умалишенным по закону запрещено жениться, и первые дни скрывала невероятного жениха от всех своих знакомых, что было сначала легко,- думали, что она с дочерью на курорте,- но потом, очень скоро, появились опять все те люди, которые обыкновенно у них в доме бывали,- как например: очаровательный старенький генерал, всегда доказывавший, что не России нам жаль, а молодости, молодости; двое русских немцев; Олег Сергеевич Смирновский, теософ и хозяин ликерной фабрики; несколько бывших офицеров; несколько барышень; певица Воздвиженская; чета Алферовых; а также престарелая княгиня Уманова, которую называли пиковой дамой (по известной опере). Она-то первая и увидала Лужина и заключала из поспешного и невразумительного разъяснения хозяйки дома, что он имеет какое-то отношение к литературе, к журналам,- сочинитель, одним словом. "А вот это вы знаете? - спросила она, учтиво завязав литературный разговор.- Из новой поэзии... немного декадентское... что-то о васильках, "все васильки, васильки"... Олег Сергеевич немедленно попросил его сыграть с ним партию в шахматы, но, к сожалению, шахмат в доме не оказалось. Молодые люди между собой прозвали его шляпой, и только старенький генерал отнесся к нему с сердечнейшей простотой и долго увещевал его пойти посмотреть на маленького жирафа, только что родившегося в зоологическом саду. Лужин, с тех пор как стали приходить гости, появлявшиеся теперь каждый вечер в различных комбинациях, ни минуты не мог остаться один с невестой, и борьба с ними, стремление проникнуть через их гущу к невесте, немедленно приобрело шахматный оттенок. Однако, побороть их оказалось невозможно, появлялись все новые и новые, и ему мерещилось, что они же, эти бесчисленные, безликие гости, плотно и жарко окружают его в часы турнира.
The nights were somehow bumpy. He just could not manage to force himself not to think of chess, and although he felt drowsy, sleep could find no way into his brain; it searched for a loophole, but every entrance was guarded by a chess sentry and he had the agonizing feeling that sleep was just there, close by, but on the outside of his brain: the Luzhin who was wearily scattered around the room slumbered, but the Luzhin who visualized a chessboard stayed awake and was unable to merge with his happy double. But still worse--after each session of the tournament it was with ever greater difficulty that he crawled out of the world of chess concepts, so that an unpleasant split began to appear even in daytime. After a three-hour game his head ached strangely, not all of it but in parts, in black squares of pain, and for a while he could not find the door, which was obscured by a black spot, nor could he remember the address of the cherished house: luckily his pocket still preserved that old postcard, folded in two and already tearing along the crease ("... vas vecherom--" "expecting you this evening."). He still continued to feel joy when he entered this house filled with Russian toys, but the joy, too, was spotty. Once, on a day with no play, he came earlier than usual when only the mother was at home. She decided to continue the conversation that had taken place at sunset in the beech coppice, and overestimating her own highly prized ability to speak her mind (for which the young men who visited their house considered her tremendously intelligent and were very much afraid of her), she swooped on Luzhin, lecturing him first of all on the cigarette butts found in all the vases and even in the jaws of the spread-eagled bear, and then suggested that there and then, this Saturday evening, he take a bath at their place after her husband had finished his own weekly ablutions. "I dare say you don't wash often," she said without circumlocution. "Not too often? Admit it, now." Luzhin gloomily shrugged his shoulders looking at the floor, where a slight movement was taking place perceptible to him alone, an evil differentiation of shadows. "And in general," she continued, "you must pull yourself together." And having thus put her hearer in the right mood she went on to the main subject. "Tell me," she asked, "I imagine you've managed to debauch my little girl thoroughly? People like you are great lechers. But my daughter is chaste, not like today's girls. Tell me, you're a lecher, aren't you?" "No, madame," replied Luzhin with a sigh, and then he frowned and quickly drew the sole of his shoe over the floor, obliterating a certain grouping that was already quite distinct. "Why, I don't know you at all," continued the swift, sonorous voice. "I shall have to make inquiries about you--yes, yes, inquiries--to see if you haven't one of those special diseases." "Shortness of breath," said Luzhin, "and also a bit of rheumatism." "I'm not talking about that," she interrupted crossly. "It's a serious matter. You evidently consider yourself engaged, you come here and you spend time alone with her. But I don't think there can be any talk of marriage for a while." "And last year I had the piles," said Luzhin dully. "Listen, I'm talking to you about extremely important things. You would probably like to get married today, right away. I know you. Then she'll be going about with a big belly, you'll brutalize her immediately." Having stamped out a shadow in one place, Luzhin saw with despair that far from where he was sitting a new combination was taking shape on the floor. "If you are in the least interested in my opinion then I must tell you I consider this match ridiculous. You probably think my husband will support you. Admit it: you do think that?" "I am in straitened circumstances," said Luzhin. "I would need very little. And a magazine has offered me to edit its chess section ..." Here the nuisances on the floor became so brazen that Luzhin involuntarily put out a hand to remove shadow's King from the threat of light's Pawn. From that day on he avoided sitting in that drawing room, where there were too many knickknacks of polished wood that assumed very definite features if you looked at them long enough. His fiancee noticed that with each day of the tournament he looked worse and worse. His eyes were ringed with dull violet and his heavy lids were inflamed. He was so pale that he always seemed ill-shaven, although on his fiancee's insistence he shaved every morning. She awaited the end of the tournament with great impatience and it pained her to think what fabulous, harmful exertions he had to make to gain each point. Poor Luzhin, mysterious Luzhin.... All through those autumn days, while playing tennis in the mornings with a German girl friend, or listening to lectures on art that had long since palled on her, or leafing through a tattered assortment of books in her room--Andreyev's The Ocean, a novel by Krasnov and a pamphlet entitled "How to Become a Yogi"--she was conscious that right now Luzhin was immersed in chess calculations, struggling and suffering--and it vexed her that she was unable to share in the torments of his art. She believed in his genius unconditionally and was convinced moreover that this genius could not be exhausted by the mere playing of chess, however wonderful it might be, and that when the tournament fever had passed and Luzhin had calmed down, he would rest, and within him some kind of still unfathomed forces would come into play and he would blossom out and display his gift in other spheres of life as well. Her father called Luzhin a narrow fanatic, but added that he was undoubtedly a very naive and very respectable person. Her mother, on the other hand, maintained that Luzhin was going out of his mind not by the day but by the hour and that lunatics were forbidden by law to marry and she concealed the inconceivable fiance from all her friends, which was easy at first--they thought she was at the resort with her daughter--but then, very soon, there reappeared all those people who usually frequented their house--such as a charming old general who always maintained that it was not Russia we expatriates regretted but youth, youth; a couple of Russian Germans; Oleg Sergeyevich Smirnovski--theosophist and proprietor of a liqueur factory; several former officers of the White Army; several young ladies; the singer Mme. Vozdvishenski; the Alfyorov couple; and also the aged Princess Umanov, whom they called the Queen of Spades (after the well-known opera). She it was who was the first to see Luzhin, concluding from a hasty and unintelligible explanation by the mistress of the house that he had some kind of connection with literature, with magazines--was, in a word, an author. "And that thing, do you know it?" she asked, politely striking up a literary conversation. "From Apukhtin--one of the new poets ... slightly decadent ... something about yellow and red cornflowers ..." Smirnovski lost no time in asking him for a game of chess, but unfortunately there proved to be no set in the house. The young people among themselves called him a ninny, and only the old general treated him with the most cordial simplicity, exhorting him at length to go see the little giraffe that had just been born at the zoo. Once the visitors began to come, appearing every evening now in various combinations, Luzhin was unable to be alone with his fiancee for a single moment and his struggle with them, his efforts to penetrate through the thick of them to her, immediately took on a tinge of chess. However, it proved impossible to overcome them, more and more of them would appear, and he fancied it was they, these numberless, faceless visitors, who densely and hotly surrounded him during the hours of the tournament. (Chapter 8)
Takie malyutki (“when the children are so tiny,” a phrase used by Marina) bring to mind ne tak strashen chyort kak ego malyutki (the devil is not as terrible as his babies), a quip of the father of Luzhin’s bride:
Слова психиатра произвели дома лёгкую сенсацию. "Значит, шахматам капут? -- с удовлетворением отметила мать.-- Что же это от него останется, -- одно голое сумасшествие?" "Нет-нет,-- сказал отец.-- О сумасшествии нет никакой речи. Человек будет здоров. Не так страшен чёрт, как его малютки. Я сказал "малютки",-- Ты слышишь, душенька?" Но дочь не улыбнулась, только вздохнула. По правде сказать, она чувствовала себя очень усталой. Большую часть дня она проводила в санатории, и было что-то невероятно утомительное в преувеличенной белизне всего окружающего и в бесшумных белых движениях сестер. Все еще очень бледный, обросший щетиной, в чистой рубашке, Лужин лежал неподвижно. Правда, бывали минуты, когда он поднимал под простыней колено или мягко двигал рукой, да и в лице проходили легкие теневые перемены и в раскрытых глазах бывал иногда почти осмысленный свет,- но все же только и можно было о нем сказать, что он неподвижен,- тягостная неподвижность, изнурительная для взгляда, искавшего в ней намека на сознательную жизнь. И взгляд нельзя было отвести,- так хотелось проникнуть под этот желтовато-бледный лоб, который изредка сморщивался от неведомого внутреннего движения, проникнуть в неведомый туман, трудно шевелящийся, пытающийся, быть может, распутаться, сгуститься в отдельные земные мысли. Да, было движение, было. Безобразный туман жаждал очертаний, воплощений, и однажды во мраке появилось как бы зеркальное пятнышко, и в этом тусклом луче явилось Лужину лицо с черной курчавой бородой, знакомый образ, обитатель детских кошмаров. Лицо в тусклом зеркальце наклонилось, и сразу просвет затянулся, опять был туманный мрак и медленно рассеивавшийся ужас. И по истечении многих темных веков - одной земной ночи - опять зародился свет, и вдруг что-то лучисто лопнуло, мрак разорялся, и остался только в виде тающей теневой рамы, посреди которой было сияющее голубое окно. В этой голубизне блестела мелкая, желтая листва, бросая пятнистую тень на белый ствол, скрытый пониже темно-зеленой лапищей елки; и сразу это видение наполнилось жизнью, затрепетали листья, поползли пятна по стволу, колыхнулась зеленая липа, и Лужин, не выдержав, прикрыл глаза, но светлое колыхание осталось под веками. "Там, в роще, я что-то зарыл",- блаженно подумал он. И только хотел вспомнить, что именно, как услышал над собой шелест и два спокойных голоса. Он стал вслушиваться, стараясь понять, где он, и почему на лоб легло что-то мягкое и холодное, Погодя, он снова открыл глаза. Толстая белая женщина держала ладонь у него на лбу,- а там, в окне, было все то же счастливое сияние. Он подумал, что сказать, и, увидев на ее груди приколотые часики, облизал губы и спросил, который час. Сразу кругом произошло движение, женщины зашептались, и с удивлением Лужин заметил, что понимает их язык, сам может на нем говорить. "Который час""- повторил он. "Девять часов утра,- сказала одна из женщин,- Как вы себя чувствуете?" В окно, если чуть приподняться, был виден забор, тоже в пятнах теней. "По-видимому, я попал домой",- в раздумий проговорил Лужин и опять опустил пустую, легкую голову на подушку. Он слышал некоторое время шепот, легкий звон стекла... Ему показалось, что нелепость всего происходящего чем-то приятна, и что удивительно хорошо лежать, не двигаясь. Так он незаметно заснул и, когда проснулся, увидел опять голубой блеск русской осени. Но что-то изменилось, кто-то незнакомый появился рядом с его постелью. Лужин повернул голову: на стуле справа сидел господин в белом, с черной бородой, и внимательно смотрел улыбающимися глазами. Лужин смутно подумал, что он похож на мужика с мельницы, но сходство сразу пропало, когда господин заговорил: "Карашо?"- дружелюбно осведомился он. "Кто вы?"- спросил Лужин по-немецки. "Друг,- ответил господин,- верный друг. Вы были больны, но теперь здоровы. Слышите,- совершенно здоровы". Лужин стал думать над этими словами, но господин не дал ему додуматься и ласково сказал; "Вы должны лежать тихо. Отдыхайте. Побольше спите".
The psychiatrist's words produced a small sensation at home. 'That means chess is kaput?' noted the mother with satisfaction. 'What will be left of him then — pure madness?' 'No, no,' said the father. 'There's no question of madness. The man will be healthy. The devil's not as black as his painters. I said "painters" — did you hear, my pet?' But the daughter did not smile and only sighed. To tell the truth she felt very tired. She spent the larger part of the day at the sanatorium and there was something unbelievably exhausting in the exaggerated whiteness of everything surrounding her and in the noiseless white movements of the nurses. Still extremely pale, with a growth of bristle and wearing a clean shirt, Luzhin lay immobile. There were moments, it is true, when he raised one knee under the sheet or gently moved an arm, and changing shadows would flit over his face, and sometimes an almost rational light would appear in his eyes--but nonetheless all that could be said of him was that he was immobile--a distressing immobility, exhausting for the gaze that sought a hint of conscious life in it. And it was impossible to tear one's gaze away--one so wanted to penetrate behind this pale yellowish forehead wrinkling from time to time with a mysterious inner movement, to pierce the mysterious fog that stirred with difficulty, endeavoring, perhaps, to disentangle itself, to condense into separate human thoughts. Yes, there was movement, there was. The formless fog thirsted for contours, for embodiments, and once something, a mirror-like glint, appeared in the darkness, and in this dim ray Luzhin perceived a face with a black, curly beard, a familiar image, an inhabitant of childish nightmares. The face in the dim little mirror came closer, and immediately the clear space clouded over and there was foggy darkness and slowly dispersing horror. And upon the expiry of many dark centuries--a single earthly night--the light again came into being, and suddenly something burst radiantly, the darkness parted and remained only in the form of a fading shadowy frame, in the midst of which was a shining, blue window. Tiny yellow leaves gleamed in this blueness, throwing a speckled shadow on a white tree trunk, that was concealed lower down by the dark green paw of a fir tree; and immediately this vision filled with life, the leaves began to quiver, spots crept over the trunk and the green paw oscillated, and Luzhin, unable to support it, closed his eyes, but the bright oscillation remained beneath his lids. I once buried something under those trees, he thought blissfully. And he seemed on the point of recalling exactly what it was when he heard a rustle above him and two calm voices. He began to listen, trying to understand where he was and why something soft and cold was lying on his forehead. After a while he opened his eyes again. A fat woman in white was holding her palm on his forehead--and there in the window was the same happy radiance. He wondered what to say, and catching sight of a little watch pinned on her breast, he licked his lips and asked what time it was. Movement immediately began around him, women whispered, and Luzhin remarked with astonishment that he understood their language, could even speak it himself. "Wie spat ist es--what time is it?" he repeated. "Nine in the morning," said one of the women. "How do you feel?" In the window, if you lifted yourself a little, you could see a fence that was also spotted with shadow. "Evidently I got home," said Luzhin pensively and again lowered his light, empty head onto the pillow. For a while he heard whispers, the light tinkle of glass.... There was something pleasing in the absurdity of everything that was happening, and it was amazingly good to lie there without moving. Thus he imperceptibly fell asleep and when he awoke saw again the blue gleam of a Russian autumn. But something had changed, someone unfamiliar had appeared next to his bed. Luzhin turned his head: on a chair to the right sat a man in white, with a black beard, looking at him attentively with smiling eyes. Luzhin thought vaguely that he resembled the peasant from the mill, but the resemblance immediately vanished when the man spoke: "Karasho?" he inquired amiably. "Who are you?" asked Luzhin in German. "A friend," replied the gentleman, "a faithful friend. You have been sick but now you are well. Do you hear? You are quite well." Luzhin began to meditate on these words, but the man did not allow him to finish and said sympathetically: "You must lie quiet. Rest. Get lots of sleep." (chapter X)
When Van and Ada visit the family dentist in Kaluga, Van hears Ada scream and say chort (devil) in the next room:
They went boating and swimming in Ladore, they followed the bends of its adored river, they tried to find more rhymes to it, they walked up the hill to the black ruins of Bryant’s Castle, with the swifts still flying around its tower. They traveled to Kaluga and drank the Kaluga Waters, and saw the family dentist. Van, flipping through a magazine, heard Ada scream and say ‘chort’ (devil) in the next room, which he had never heard her do before. They had tea at a neighbor’s, Countess de Prey — who tried to sell them, unsuccessfully, a lame horse. They visited the fair at Ardisville where they especially admired the Chinese tumblers, a German clown, and a sword-swallowing hefty Circassian Princess who started with a fruit knife, went on to a bejeweled dagger and finally engulfed, string and all, a tremendous salami sausage. (1.22)
On his way to Norman Miller (Uncle Dan's lawyer) Demon Veen (Van's and Ada's father) runs into Mrs. Arfour, the widow of his dentist:
They took a great many precautions — all absolutely useless, for nothing can change the end (written and filed away) of the present chapter. Only Lucette and the agency that forwarded letters to him and to Ada knew Van’s address. Through an amiable lady in waiting at Demon’s bank, Van made sure that his father would not turn up in Manhattan before March 30. They never came out or went in together, arranging a meeting place at the Library or in an emporium whence to start the day’s excursions — and it so happened that the only time they broke that rule (she having got stuck in the lift for a few panicky moments and he having blithely trotted downstairs from their common summit), they issued right into the visual field of old Mrs Arfour who happened to be passing by their front door with her tiny tan-and-gray long-silked Yorkshire terrier. The simultaneous association was immediate and complete: she had known both families for years and was now interested to learn from chattering (rather than chatting) Ada that Van had happened to be in town just when she, Ada, had happened to return from the West; that Marina was fine; that Demon was in Mexico or Oxmice; and that Lenore Colline had a similar adorable pet with a similar adorable parting along the middle of the back. That same day (February 3, 1893) Van rebribed the already gorged janitor to have him answer all questions which any visitor, and especially a dentist’s widow with a caterpillar dog, might ask about any Veens, with a brief assertion of utter ignorance. The only personage they had not reckoned with was the old scoundrel usually portrayed as a skeleton or an angel.
Van’s father had just left one Santiago to view the results of an earthquake in another, when Ladore Hospital cabled that Dan was dying. He set off at once for Manhattan, eyes blazing, wings whistling. He had not many interests in life.
At the airport of the moonlit white town we call Tent, and Tobakov’s sailors, who built it, called Palatka, in northern Florida, where owing to engine trouble he had to change planes, Demon made a long-distance call and received a full account of Dan’s death from the inordinately circumstantial Dr Nikulin (grandson of the great rodentiologist Kunikulinov — we can’t get rid of the lettuce). Daniel Veen’s life had been a mixture of the ready-made and the grotesque; but his death had shown an artistic streak because of its reflecting (as his cousin, not his doctor, instantly perceived) the man’s latterly conceived passion for the paintings, and faked paintings, associated with the name of Hieronymus Bosch.
Next day, February 5, around nine p.m., Manhattan (winter) time, on the way to Dan’s lawyer, Demon noted — just as he was about to cross Alexis Avenue, an ancient but insignificant acquaintance, Mrs Arfour, advancing toward him, with her toy terrier, along his side of the street. Unhesitatingly, Demon stepped off the curb, and having no hat to raise (hats were not worn with raincloaks and besides he had just taken a very exotic and potent pill to face the day’s ordeal on top of a sleepless journey), contented himself — quite properly — with a wave of his slim umbrella; recalled with a paint dab of delight one of the gargle girls of her late husband; and smoothly passed in front of a slow-clopping horse-drawn vegetable cart, well out of the way of Mrs R4. But precisely in regard to such a contingency, Fate had prepared an alternate continuation. As Demon rushed (or, in terms of the pill, sauntered) by the Monaco, where he had often lunched, it occurred to him that his son (whom he had been unable to ‘contact’) might still be living with dull little Cordula de Prey in the penthouse apartment of that fine building. He had never been up there — or had he? For a business consultation with Van? On a sun-hazed terrace? And a clouded drink? (He had, that’s right, but Cordula was not dull and had not been present.) (2.10)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): R4: ‘rook four’, a chess indication of position (pun on the woman’s name).
In March, 1905, Demon Veen perishes in a mysterious airplane disaster above the Pacific. Van never finds out that his father died, because Ada (who could not pardon Demon his forcing Van to give her up) managed to persuade the pilot to destroy his machine in midair. Similarly, he does not suspect that Andrey Vinelander (Ada's husband) and Ada have at least two children and that Ronald Oranger (old Van's secretary, the editor of Ada) and Violet Knox (old Van's typist whom Ada calls Fialochka, little Violet, and who marries Ronald Oranger after Van's and Ada's death) are Ada's grandchildren. The characters in Griboedov's "Woe from Wit" include grafinya-babushka (Countess Grandmother) and grafinya-vnuchka (Countess Granddaughter).