At the end of VN’s novel Ada (1969) Van Veen (whom Dr Lagosse made the last merciful injection of morphine and who hastens to finish the book before it is too late) mentions a doe at gaze in the ancestral park:
Not the least adornment of the chronicle is the delicacy of pictorial detail: a latticed gallery; a painted ceiling; a pretty plaything stranded among the forget-me-nots of a brook; butterflies and butterfly orchids in the margin of the romance; a misty view descried from marble steps; a doe at gaze in the ancestral park; and much, much more. (5.6)
In his essay on Chekhov, Tvorchestvo iz nichego (“Creation from Nothing,” 1905), Lev Shestov points out that in Chekhov’s story Ward Six (1892) the doctor dies beautifully: before his death he sees a herd of deer, etc.:
И, кажется, “Палату № 6” в своё время очень сочувственно приняли. Кстати прибавим, что доктор умирает очень красиво: в последние минуты видит стадо оленей и т. п.
Chekhov had openly repented and renounced the theory of non-resistance; and, I believe, Ward No. 6 met with a sympathetic reception at the time. In passing I would say that the doctor dies very beautifully: in his last moments he sees a herd of deer... (VI)
In his essay Shestov calls Chekhov pevets beznadezhnosti (“a poet of hopelessness):
Чтобы в двух словах определить его тенденцию, я скажу: Чехов был певцом безнадежности. Упорно, уныло, однообразно в течение всей своей почти 25-летней литературной деятельности Чехов только одно и делал: теми или иными способами убивал человеческие надежды. В этом, на мой взгляд, сущность его творчества.
To define his tendency in a word, I would say that Chekhov was the poet of hopelessness. Stubbornly, sadly, monotonously, during all the years of his literary activity, nearly a quarter of a century long, Chekhov was doing one alone: by one means or another he was killing human hopes. Herein, I hold, lies the essence of his creation. (I)
In his essay on Chekhov Shestov mentions Chekhov’s story Duel’ (“The Duel,” 1891). In Ward Five (where hopeless cases are kept) of the Kalugano hospital Van (who recovers from a wound received in a pistol duel with Captain Tapper) Van visits Philip Rack (Lucette’s music teacher who was poisoned by his jealous wife Elsie):
Dr Fitzbishop congratulated him on having escaped with a superficial muscle wound, the bullet having lightly grooved or, if he might say so, grazed the greater serratus. Doc Fitz commented on Van's wonderful recuperational power which was already in evidence, and promised to have him out of disinfectants and bandages in ten days or so if for the first three he remained as motionless as a felled tree-trunk. Did Van like music? Sportsmen usually did, didn't they? Would he care to have a Sonorola by his bed? No, he disliked music, but did the doctor, being a concert-goer, know perhaps where a musician called Rack could be found? 'Ward Five,' answered the doctor promptly. Van misunderstood this as the title of some piece of music and repeated his question. Would he find Rack's address at Harper's music shop? Well, they used to rent a cottage way down Dorofey Road, near the forest, but now some other people had moved in. Ward Five was where hopeless cases were kept. (1.42)
The last words of Ada, “much, much more,” bring to mind "much of a muchness" mentioned by the Dormouse in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (chapter 7: “A Mad Tea-Party”). Russian for “much, much more” is mnogoe-mnogoe drugoe. At the end of his story Zhiteyskaya meloch’ (“A Trifling Occurrence,” 1886) Chekhov mentions mnogoe drugoe, chemu net nazvaniya na detskom yazyke (many other things which have no name in children's language):
Беляев махнул на него рукой и продолжал ходить. Он был погружен в свою обиду и уже по-прежнему не замечал присутствия мальчика. Ему, большому и серьезному человеку, было совсем не до мальчиков. А Алеша уселся в угол и с ужасом рассказывал Соне, как его обманули. Он дрожал, заикался, плакал; это он первый раз в жизни лицом к лицу так грубо столкнулся с ложью; ранее же он не знал, что на этом свете, кроме сладких груш, пирожков и дорогих часов, существует еще и многое другое, чему нет названия на детском языке.
Belyaev waved his hand at him and went on walking up and down. He was absorbed in his insult, and now, as before, he did not notice the presence of the boy. He, a big serious man, had nothing to do with boys. And Alyosha sat down in a corner and in terror told Sonya how he had been deceived. He trembled, stammered, wept. This was the first time in his life that he had been set, roughly, face to face with a lie. He had never known before that in this world besides sweet pears and cakes and expensive watches, there exist many other things which have no name in children's language.
In his essay Deti u Chekhova (“Children by Chekhov”) included in “The Silhouettes of the Russian Writers” Ayhenvald says that zhiteyskaya poshlost’ (everyday life’s vulgarity) does not spare little children and that children early learn those “many other things:”
Житейская пошлость не щадит детей. Того самого Гришу, которого мы видели в четырехугольном мире детской, няня угощает водкой. Его тезка недоумевает, почему это "кухарка женится" и почему это на нее и на ее жалованье вдруг приобрел несправедливые права какой-то большой рыжий мужик; чтобы утешить обиженную кухарку, Гриша приносит ей из кладовой самое большое яблоко. Но чем утешит он самого себя, когда встретит первую жизненную обиду? Ведь неутешен был восьмилетний Алеша, стройный, выхоленный мальчик в бархатной куртке, когда взрослый человек не сдержал своего "честного слова" и безжалостно выдал заветную, прекрасную тайну мальчика. И как прекрасен был сам этот мальчик, который однажды на вопрос о здоровье мамы ответил: "Как вам сказать? - и пожал плечами. - Ведь мама, в сущности, никогда не бывает здорова. Она ведь женщина, а у женщин, Николай Ильич, всегда что-нибудь болит"! Рассказ о нем, богатый тончайшими и прелестными штрихами детской психологии, носит ироническое заглавие "Житейская мелочь". Да, это мелочь для петербургского домовладельца Беляева, часто бывающего на скачках, розового, упитанного молодого человека, - для него, "большого и серьезного", это мелочь - обмануть ребенка. Но Алеша, не знающий, зачем это мама не позовет к себе жить папу, "добрейшего человека", и спрашивающий Беляева, который этого папу для нее заменил: "Послушайте, правда, что мы несчастные?" - Алеша, дрожа всем своим худеньким телом, с ужасом рассказывает сестре Соне, как его обманули. "Он дрожал, заикался, плакал; это он первый раз в жизни лицом к лицу так грубо столкнулся с ложью; ранее же он не знал, что на этом свете, кроме сладких груш, пирожков и дорогих часов, существует еще и многое другое, чему нет названия на детском языке".
Дети рано узнают это "многое другое".
In the epilogue of Ada Van mentions his and Ada’s half-sister Lucette (who dies young because she learns much too early those “many other things” which have no name in children's language):
In spite of the many intricacies of plot and psychology, the story proceeds at a spanking pace. Before we can pause to take breath and quietly survey the new surroundings into which the writer’s magic carpet has, as it were, spilled us, another attractive girl, Lucette Veen, Marina’s younger daughter, has also been swept off her feet by Van, the irresistible rake. Her tragic destiny constitutes one of the highlights of this delightful book. (5.6)
In Chekhov’s “Trifling Occurrence” Alyosha and Sonya secretly meet their father in Apfel's confectionery:
Алеша оглянулся, сделал большие глаза и зашептал:
— Только, ради бога, не говорите маме… Вообще никому не говорите, потому что тут секрет. Не дай бог, узнает мама, то достанется и мне, и Соне, и Пелагее… Ну, слушайте. С папой я и Соня видимся каждый вторник и пятницу. Когда Пелагея водит нас перед обедом гулять, то мы заходим в кондитерскую Апфеля, а там уж нас ждет папа… Он всегда в отдельной комнатке сидит, где, знаете, этакий мраморный стол и пепельница в виде гуся без спины…
Alyosha looked round, made big eyes and began to whisper.
"Only for God's sake don't tell Mother! Never tell it to anyone at all, because it's a secret. God forbid that Mother should ever get to know; then I and Sonya and Pelageya will pay for it . . . Listen. Sonya and I meet Father every Tuesday and Friday. When Pelageya takes us for a walk before dinner, we go into Apfel's sweet-shop and Father's waiting for us. He always sits in a separate room, you know, where there's a splendid marble table and an ash-tray shaped like a goose without a back . . ."
Apfel being German for “apple,” Apfel's confectionery brings to mind Mr. Ronald Oranger, old Van’s secretary and the editor of Ada who marries Violet Knox (old Van’s typist) after Van’s and Ada’s death. Van does not realize that Ronald Oranger and Violet Knox seem to be Ada’s grandchildren.
When Van meets Ada (now married to Andrey Vinelander) and her family at the Bellevue Hotel in Mont Roux, Switzerland, the conversation at table is a parody of Chekhov's mannerisms:
ANDREY: Adochka, dushka (darling), razskazhi zhe pro rancho, pro skot (tell about the ranch, the cattle), emu zhe lyubopïtno (it cannot fail to interest him).
ADA (as if coming out of a trance): O chyom tï (you were saying something)?
ANDREY: Ya govoryu, razskazhi emu pro tvoyo zhit’yo bït’yo (I was saying, tell him about your daily life, your habitual existence). Avos’ zaglyanet k nam (maybe he’d look us up).
ADA: Ostav’, chto tam interesnago (what’s so interesting about it)?
DASHA (turning to Ivan): Don’t listen to her. Massa interesnago (heaps of interesting stuff). Delo brata ogromnoe, volnuyushchee delo, trebuyushchee ne men’she truda, chem uchyonaya dissertatsiya (his business is a big thing, quite as demanding as a scholar’s). Nashi sel’skohozyaystvennïya mashinï i ih teni (our agricultural machines and their shadows) — eto tselaya kollektsiya predmetov modernoy skul’pturï i zhivopisi (is a veritable collection of modern art) which I suspect you adore as I do.
IVAN (to Andrey): I know nothing about farming but thanks all the same.
(A pause.)
IVAN (not quite knowing what to add): Yes, I would certainly like to see your machinery some day. Those things always remind me of long-necked prehistoric monsters, sort of grazing here and there, you know, or just brooding over the sorrows of extinction — but perhaps I’m thinking of excavators —
DOROTHY: Andrey’s machinery is anything but prehistoric! (laughs cheerlessly).
ANDREY: Slovom, milosti prosim (anyway, you are most welcome). Budete zharit’ verhom s kuzinoy (you’ll have a rollicking time riding on horseback with your cousin).
(Pause.)
IVAN (to Ada): Half-past nine tomorrow morning won’t be too early for you? I’m at the Trois Cygnes. I’ll come to fetch you in my tiny car — not on horseback (smiles like a corpse at Andrey).
DASHA: Dovol’no skuchno (rather a pity) that Ada’s visit to lovely Lake Leman need be spoiled by sessions with lawyers and bankers. I’m sure you can satisfy most of those needs by having her come a few times chez vous and not to Luzon or Geneva. (3.8).
If Van looked Andrey and Ada up, he would have learned a lot of interesting things (for instance, that Andrey and Ada have at least two children).