The characters in VN’s novel Dar (“The Gift,” 1937) include Klara Stoboy, Fyodor’s landlady:
Затем, все тем же взлетающим шагом, он воротился к дому. Там, на панели, не было сейчас никого, ежели не считать трех васильковых стульев, сдвинутых, казалось, детьми. Внутри же фургона лежало небольшое коричневое пианино, так связанное, чтобы оно не могло встать со спины, и поднявшее кверху две маленьких металлических подошвы. На лестнице он встретил валивших вниз, коленями врозь, грузчиков, а пока звонил у двери новой квартиры, слышал, как наверху переговариваются голоса, стучит молоток. Впустив его, квартирохозяйка сказала, что положила ключи к нему в комнату. У этой крупной, хищной немки было странное имя; мнимое подобие творительного падежа придавало ему звук сентиментального заверения: ее звали Clara Stoboy.
Thereupon he returned with the same springy step to the house. The sidewalk before it was now empty save for three blue chairs that looked as if they had been placed together by children. Within the van a small brown piano lay supine, tied up so that it could not rise, and with its two little metal soles up in the air. On the stairs he met the movers pounding down, knees turned out, and, as he was ringing the doorbell of his new abode, he heard voices and hammering upstairs. His landlady let him in and said that she had left his keys in his room. This large, predatory German woman and had a funny name: Klara Stoboy—which to a Russian’s ear sounded with sentimental firmness as “Klara is with thee (s toboy).” (Chapter One)
S toboy brings to mind so mnoy (with me), a phrase repeated by Gumbert Gumbert (Humbert Humbert's name in the Russian version of VN's novel Lolita, 1955) four times during his last meeting with Lolita:
"Лолита", проговорил я, "это, может быть, бессмысленно и бесполезно, но я должен это сказать. Жизнь весьма коротка. Отсюда до старого автомобиля, который так хорошо тебе знаком, двадцать, двадцать пять шагов расстояния. Это очень небольшая прогулка. Сделай эти двадцать пять шагов. И будем жить-поживать до скончания века.
Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?
"Ты хочешь сказать", ответила она, открыв глаза и слегка приподнявшись (змея, собирающаяся ударить), "ты хочешь сказать, что дашь нам (нам!) денег, только если я пересплю с тобой в гостинице? Ты это хочешь сказать?"
"Нет, нет. Ты меня превратно поняла. Я хочу, чтобы ты покинула своего случайного Дика, и эту страшную дыру и переехала ко мне - жить со мной, умереть со мной, всё, всё со мной (даю общий смысл моих слов).
"Ты ненормальный", сказала она, по-детски гримасничая.
"Обдумай, Лолита. Никакой разницы не будет. Кроме - одной вещи, но это не важно (отмены казни, я хотел сказать, но не сказал). Во всяком случае, даже если ты откажешься, ты все равно получишь своё... trousseau".
"Ты не шутишь?" спросила Долли.
Я передал ей конверт с четырьмястами долларами и чеком на три тысячи шестьсот.
Неуверенно, с опаской, она приняла mon petit cadeau, и вдруг лоб у нее залился очаровательной розовой краской.
"Погоди-ка", проговорила она с мучительной силой, "ты нам даешь четыре тысячи монет?"
Я прикрыл лицо рукой и разразился слезами - самыми горячими из всех пролитых мной. Я чувствовал, как они вьются промеж моих пальцев и стекают по подбородку, и обжигают меня, и нос у меня был заложен, и я не мог перестать рыдать, и тут она прикоснулась к моей кисти.
"Я умру, если тронешь меня", сказал я. "Ты совсем уверена, что не поедешь со мной? Нет ли отдалённой надежды, что поедешь? Только на это ответь мне".
"Нет", сказала она, "нет, душка, нет". Первый раз в жизни она так ко мне обратилась.
"Нет", повторила она. "Об этом не может быть речи. Я бы, скорее, вернулась к Ку. Дело в том, что - "
Ей не хватило, видимо, слов. Я мысленно снабдил ее ими - ("...он разбил моё сердце, ты всего лишь разбил мою жизнь").
"Это так дивно", продолжала она, - упс! (конверт соскользнул с дивана на пол, она подняла его), "так невероятно дивно с твоей стороны... такую уйму денег! Это разрешает все вопросы. Мы можем выехать хоть на будущей неделе. Перестань плакать, прошу тебя! Ты должен понять. Позволь мне принести тебе еще пива? Ах, не плачь! Мне так жалко, что я так обманывала тебя, но ничего теперь не поделаешь".
“Lolita,” I said, “this may be neither here nor there but I have to say it. Life is very short. From here to that old car you know so well thee is a stretch of twenty, twenty-five paces. It is a very short walk. Make those twenty-five steps. Now. Right now. Come just as you are. And we shall live happily ever after.”
Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?
“You mean,” she said opening her eyes and raising herself slightly, the snake that may strike, “you mean you will give us [us] that money only if I go with you to a motel. Is that what you mean?”
“No,” I said, “you got it all wrong. I want you to leave your incidental Dick, and this awful hole, and come to live with me, and die with me, and everything with me” (words to that effect).
“You’re crazy,” she said, her features working.
“Think it over, Lolita. There are no strings attached. Except, perhaps - well, no matter.” (A reprieve, I wanted to say but did not.) “Anyway, if you refuse you will still get your… trousseau .”
“No kidding?” asked Dolly.
I handed her an envelope with four hundred dollars in cash and a check for three thousand six hundred more.
Gingerly, uncertainly, she received mon petit cadeau; and then her forehead became a beautiful pink. “You mean,” she said, with agonized emphasis, “you are giving us four thousand bucks?” I covered my face with my hand and broke into the hottest tears I had ever shed. I felt them winding through my fingers and down my chin, and burning me, and my nose got clogged, and I could not stop, and then she touched my wrist.
“I’ll die if you touch me,” I said. “You are sure you are not coming with me? Is there no hope of your coming? Tell me only this.”
“No,” she said. “No, honey, no.”
She had never called me honey before.
“No,” she said, “it is quite out of the question. I would sooner go back to Cue. I mean”
She groped for words. I supplied them mentally (“He broke my heart. You merely broke my life”).
“I think,” she went on - "oops” - the envelope skidded to the floor - she picked it up” - I think it’s oh utterly grand of you to give us all that dough. It settles everything, we can start next week. Stop crying, please. You should understand. Let me get you some more beer. Oh, don’t cry, I’m so sorry I cheated so much, but that’s the way things are.” (Part Two, chapter 29)
Lolita tells Humbert that she would sooner go back to Cue (Clare Quilty). While Humbert Humbert in certain respect resembles Boris Shchyogolev (Zina Mertz's step-father, Fyodor's landlord in "The Gift"), Clare Quilty brings to mind Klara Stoboy. When they leave Wace (where they saw a play by Clare Quilty and Vivian Darkbloom), Lolita tells Humbert that Clare is a woman:
Oh, disaster. Some confusion had occurred, she had misread a date in the Tour Book, and the Magic Cave ceremonies were over! She took it bravely, I must admit - and, when we discovered there was in kurortish Wace a summer theatre in full swing, we naturally drifted toward it one fair mid-June evening. I really could not tell you the plot of the play we saw. A trivial affair, no doubt, with self-conscious light effects and a mediocre leading lady. The only detail that pleased me was a garland of seven little graces, more or less immobile, prettily painted, bare-limbed - seven bemused pubescent girls in colored gauze that had been recruited locally (judging by the partisan flurry here and there among the audience) and were supposed to represent a living rainbow, which lingered throughout the last act, and rather teasingly faded behind a series of multiplied veils. I remember thinking that this idea of children-colors had been lifted by authors Clare Quilty and Vivian Darkbloom from a passage in James Joyce, and that two of the colors were quite exasperatingly lovely - Orange who kept fidgeting all the time, and Emerald who, when her eyes got used to the pitch-black pit where we all heavily sat, suddenly smiled at her mother or her protector.
As soon as the thing was over, and manual applause - a sound my nerves cannot stand - began to crash all around me, I started to pull and push Lo toward the exit, in my so natural amorous impatience to get her back to our neon-blue cottage in the stunned, starry night: I always say nature is stunned by the sights she sees. Dolly-Lo, however, lagged behind, in a rosy daze, her pleased eyes narrowed, her sense of vision swamping the rest of her senses to such an extent that her limp hands hardly came together at all in the mechanical action of clapping they still went through. I had seen that kind of thing in children before but, by God, this was a special child, myopically beaming at the already remote stage where I glimpsed something of the joint authors - a man’s tuxedo and the bare shoulders of a hawk-like, black-haired, strikingly tall woman.
“You’ve again hurt my wrist, you brute,” said Lolita in a small voice as she slipped into her car seat.
“I am dreadfully sorry, my darling, my own ultraviolet darling,” I said, unsuccessfully trying to catch her elbow, and I added, to change the conversation - to change the direction of fate, oh God, oh God: “Vivian is quite a woman. I am sure we saw her yesterday in that restaurant, in Soda pop.”
“Sometimes,” said Lo, “you are quite revoltingly dumb. First, Vivian is the male author, the gal author is Clare; and second, she is forty, married and has Negro blood.”
“I thought,” I said kidding her, “Quilty was an ancient flame of yours, in the days when you loved me, in sweet old Ramsdale.”
“What?” countered Lo, her features working. “that fat dentist? You must be confusing me with some other fast little article.”
And I thought to myself how those fast little articles forget everything, everything, while we, old lovers, treasure every inch of their nymphancy. (Part Two, chapter 18)
Humbert finds out Clare Quilty's address from his uncle Ivor (the fat Ramsdale dentist):
A white-smocked, gray-haired man, with a crew cut and the big flat cheeks of a politician, Dr. Quilty perched on the corner of his desk, one foot dreamily and seductively rocking as he launched on a glorious long-range plan. He would first provide me with provisional plates until the gums settled. Then he would make me a permanent set. He would like to have a look at that mouth of mine. He wore perforated pied shoes. He had not visited with the rascal since 1946, but supposed he could be found at his ancestral home, Grimm Road, not far from Parkington. It was a noble dream. His foot rocked, his gaze was inspired. It would cost me around six hundred. He suggested he take measurements right away, and make the first set before starting operations. My mouth was to him a splendid cave full of priceless treasures, but I denied him entrance.
“No,” I said. “On second thoughts, I shall have it all done by Dr. Molnar. His price is higher, but he is of course a much better dentist than you.” (Part Two, chapter 33)
"A splendid cave full of priceless treasures" brings to mind the Magic Cave ceremonies that are over when Humbert and Lolita arrive in Wace and a kind of cave mentioned by Humbert as he describes his childhood romance with Annabel Leigh:
Among some treasures I lost during the wanderings of my adult years, there was a snapshot taken by my aunt which showed Annabel, her parents and the staid, elderly, lame gentleman, a Dr. Cooper, who that same summer courted my aunt, grouped around a table in a sidewalk café. Annabel did not come out well, caught as she was in the act of bending over her chocolat glacé, and her thin bare shoulders and the parting in her hair were about all that could be identified (as I remember that picture) amid the sunny blur into which her lost loveliness graded; but I, sitting somewhat apart from the rest, came out with a kind of dramatic conspicuousness: a moody, beetle-browed boy in a dark sport shirt and well-tailored white shorts, his legs crossed, sitting in profile, looking away. That photograph was taken on the last day of our fatal summer and just a few minutes before we made our second and final attempt to thwart fate. Under the flimsiest of pretexts (this was our very last chance, and nothing really mattered) we escaped from the café to the beach, and found a desolate stretch of sand, and there, in the violet shadow of some red rocks forming a kind of cave, had a brief session of avid caresses, with somebody’s lost pair of sunglasses for only witness. I was on my knees, and on the point of possessing my darling, when two bearded bathers, the old man of the sea and his brother, came out of the sea with exclamations of ribald encouragement, and four months later she died of typhus in Corfu. (1.3)
Incidentally, Aldanov's novel Peshchera ("The Cave," 1936) was reviewed by VN in Sovremennye Zapiski ("Contemporary Notes"), a literary magazine in which VN's Dar (with the omission of Chapter Four, "The Life of Chernyshevski") was serialized.