In society, Daniel Veen (in VN's novel Ada, 1969, Van's and Ada's Uncle Dan, the father of Van's and Ada's half-sister Lucette) is known as Durak Walter or simply Red Veen:
Van’s maternal grandmother Daria (‘Dolly’) Durmanov was the daughter of Prince Peter Zemski, Governor of Bras d’Or, an American province in the Northeast of our great and variegated country, who had married, in 1824, Mary O’Reilly, an Irish woman of fashion. Dolly, an only child, born in Bras, married in 1840, at the tender and wayward age of fifteen, General Ivan Durmanov, Commander of Yukon Fortress and peaceful country gentleman, with lands in the Severn Tories (Severnïya Territorii), that tesselated protectorate still lovingly called ‘Russian’ Estoty, which commingles, granoblastically and organically, with ‘Russian’ Canady, otherwise ‘French’ Estoty, where not only French, but Macedonian and Bavarian settlers enjoy a halcyon climate under our Stars and Stripes.
The Durmanovs’ favorite domain, however, was Raduga near the burg of that name, beyond Estotiland proper, in the Atlantic panel of the continent between elegant Kaluga, New Cheshire, U.S.A., and no less elegant Ladoga, Mayne, where they had their town house and where their three children were born: a son, who died young and famous, and a pair of difficult female twins. Dolly had inherited her mother’s beauty and temper but also an older ancestral strain of whimsical, and not seldom deplorable, taste, well reflected, for instance, in the names she gave her daughters: Aqua and Marina (‘Why not Tofana?’ wondered the good and sur-royally antlered general with a controlled belly laugh, followed by a small closing cough of feigned detachment — he dreaded his wife’s flares).
On April 23, 1869, in drizzly and warm, gauzy and green Kaluga, Aqua, aged twenty-five and afflicted with her usual vernal migraine, married Walter D. Veen, a Manhattan banker of ancient Anglo-Irish ancestry who had long conducted, and was soon to resume intermittently, a passionate affair with Marina. The latter, some time in 1871, married her first lover’s first cousin, also Walter D. Veen, a quite as opulent, but much duller, chap.
The ‘D’ in the name of Aqua’s husband stood for Demon (a form of Demian or Dementius), and thus was he called by his kin. In society he was generally known as Raven Veen or simply Dark Walter to distinguish him from Marina’s husband, Durak Walter or simply Red Veen. Demon’s twofold hobby was collecting old masters and young mistresses. He also liked middle-aged puns. (1.1)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): Severnïya Territorii: Northern Territories. Here and elsewhere transliteration is based on the old Russian orthography.
granoblastically: in a tesselar (mosaic) jumble.
Tofana: allusion to ‘aqua tofana’ (see any good dictionary).
sur-royally: fully antlered, with terminal prongs.
Durak: ‘fool’ in Russian.
Describing his visit to Brownhill (Ada's boarding school for girls), Van calls Cordula de Prey (Ada's chaperone) dura Cordula:
As Ada reached for the cream, he caught and inspected her dead-shamming hand. We remember the Camberwell Beauty that lay tightly closed for an instant upon our palm, and suddenly our hand was empty. He saw, with satisfaction, that her fingernails were now long and sharp.
‘Not too sharp, are they, my dear,’ he asked for the benefit of dura Cordula, who should have gone to the ‘powder room’ — a forlorn hope.
‘Why, no,’ said Ada.
‘You don’t,’ he went on, unable to stop, ‘you don’t scratch little people when you stroke little people? Look at your little girl friend’s hand’ (taking it), ‘look at those dainty short nails (cold innocent, docile little paw!). She could not catch them in the fanciest satin, oh, no, could you, Ardula — I mean, Cordula?’
Both girls giggled, and Cordula kissed Ada’s cheek. Van hardly knew what reaction he had expected, but found that simple kiss disarming and disappointing. The sound of the rain was lost in a growing rumble of wheels. He glanced at his watch; glanced up at the clock on the wall. He said he was sorry — that was his train.
‘Not at all,’ wrote Ada (paraphrased here) in reply to his abject apologies, ‘we just thought you were drunk; but I’ll never invite you to Brownhill again, my love.’ (1.27)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): dura: Russ., fool (fem.).
Durak Walter and dura Cordula (who marries Ivan G. Tobak, a shipowner, and, after divorcing him, a Baynard) bring to mind Zdravstvuyte, zhenivshis', durak i dura (Lo and behold, now married, he-fool and she-fool), the first line (repeated, slightly changed, at the end) of Vasiliy Trediakovski's famous Privetstvie, skazannoe na shutovskoy svad'be ("A Welcoming Speech Made at the Mock Wedding," 1740):
Здравствуйте, женившись, дурак и дура,
Еще блядочка, тота и фигура!
Теперь-то прямо время вам повеселиться,
Теперь-то всячески поезжанам должно беситься:
Кваснин дурак и Буженинова блядка
Сошлись любовно, но любовь их гадка.
Ну мордва, ну чуваши, ну самоеды!
Начните веселье, молодые деды,
Балалайки, гудки, рожки и волынки!
Сберите и вы бурлацки рынки,
Плешницы, волочайки и скверные бляди!
Ах, вижу, как вы теперь ради!
Гремите, гудите, брянчите, скачите,
Шалите, кричите, пляшите!
Свищи, весна, свищи, красна!
Не можно вам иметь лучшее время,
Спрягся ханский сын, взял ханское племя:
Ханский сын Кваснин, Буженинова ханка,
Кому то не видно, кажет их осанка.
О пара, о нестара!
Не жить они станут, но зоблют сахар;
А как он устанет, то другой будет пахарь,
Ей двоих иметь диковинки нету,
Знает она и десять для привету.
Итак, надлежит новобрачным приветствовать ныне,
Дабы они во всё свое время жили в благостыне,
Спалось бы им, да вралось, пилось бы, да елось.
Здравствуйте, женившись, дурак и дурка,
Еще блядочка, тота и фигурка.
At the end of Mark Aldanov's story Na 'Roze Luksemburg' ("Onboard the Rosa Luxemburg," 1942) Comissar Bogumil says: "Zdravstvuy, zhenivshis', durak i dura:"
На "Розе Люксембург" он позавтракал один и с Марьей Ильинишной встретился лишь в четвертом часу на палубе, когда британская эскадра ушла. Он долго думал о том, как встретиться, и решил, что лучше всего быть сдержанным и корректно-холодным. Но когда они встретились, Сергей Сергеевич тотчас почувствовал, что произошла какая-то перемена, как будто для него благоприятная. "Что же это? Неужели там кончено?.. Или ничего и не было!"
-- Отличный у них крейсер, я засиделся, -- сказал Прокофьев, чтобы нарушить молчание. -- Просто первый сорт.
-- Первый сорт, -- повторила она, слабо улыбаясь. -- У нас таких нет?
-- У нас таких пока нет, но будут, -- сказал он, глядя на нее сверху вниз. Она была выше его ростом. Его глаза вместо холода выразили нежность и покорную преданность. И тут же она подумала, что нельзя советской женщине-врачу выходить замуж за американского Поэта. "Между их миром и нашим -- пропасть, и она засыпана не будет, что бы там ни случилось, и никогда мы друг друга по-настоящему до конца не поймем... Да, вероятно, я рано или поздно стану женой Сергея Сергеевича", -- сказала она себе и сама не могла себе дать отчет в том, говорит ли это с тихой грустью или с тихой радостью, но улыбка, выражавшая ее тихую грусть, отразилась в его душе сумасшедшей радостью.
-- Я было и забыл, -- сказал он. -- В Мурманске перед отъездом я достал для вас букет. А потом не передал. Но цветы не совсем завяли, я каждый день свежую воду подливал. Можно дать вам теперь?
-- Почему же вы не передали раньше? -- спросила она, отлично зная, почему он не передал раньше. Она была тронута и тем, что он в Мурманске раздобыл для нее букет, и тем, что не передал ей букета, и тем, что передает его сейчас, и даже тем, что по-архангельски говорит "чветы". Они пошли по коммунальной палубе. Марья Ильинишна смотрела в ту сторону, куда ушла британская эскадра. Уже больше ничего не было видно. У лестницы дружелюбно беседовали на политические темы штурман и комиссар Богумил. Увидев их издали, штурман подмигнул комиссару.
-- Здравствуй женившись, дурак и дура, -- сказал вполголоса комиссар. (Chapter XVI)
Bogumil's joke is at the expence of the Captain who gives flowers (and, presumably, will soon propose) to the ship's doctor. The Captain of the Rosa Luxemburg is a full namesake of Sergey Sergeevich Prokofiev, a Russian composer (1891-1953) who was born on April 23, 1891 (April 23 is VN's birthday; on April 23, 1869, Demon Veen married Aqua Durmanov). In the 1930s Prokofiev returned from Paris to Moscow and died on March 5, 1953, the same day as Stalin. March 5 is Rosa Luzemburg's birthday. Vasiliy Trediakovski (1703-69) was born on March 5, 1703, in Astrakhan. VN's home city, St. Petersburg was founded by Peter I in 1703.
Prokofiev's opera Lyubov' k tryom apel'sinam (L'amour des trois oranges, 1921) based on a play by Carlo Gozzi (an Italian playwright and champion of commedia dell'arte, 1720-1806), L'Amore delle tre melarance (1761), brings to mind Ronald Oranger, old Van's secretary (and the editor of Ada) who marries Violet Knox (old Van's typist whom Ada calls Fialochka, 'little Violet') after Van's and Ada's death. Because love is blind, Van fails to see that Andrey Vinelander (Ada's husband) and Ada have at least two children and that Ronald Oranger and Violet Knox are Ada's grandchildren. Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and Juliet (1935) based on a play by William Shakespeare makes one think of "the way Juliet is recommended to receive her Romeo" (a phrase used by Van when he describes the Night of the Burning Barn, an allusion the Nurse's words in Shakespeare's play):
But the shag of the couch was as tickly as the star-dusted sky. Before anything new happened, Ada went on all fours to rearrange the lap robe and cushions. Native girl imitating rabbit. He groped for and cupped her hot little slew from behind, then frantically scrambled into a boy’s sandcastle-molding position; but she turned over, naïvely ready to embrace him the way Juliet is recommended to receive her Romeo. She was right. For the first time in their love story, the blessing, the genius of lyrical speech descended upon the rough lad, he murmured and moaned, kissing her face with voluble tenderness, crying out in three languages — the three greatest in all the world — pet words upon which a dictionary of secret diminutives was to be based and go through many revisions till the definitive edition of 1967. When he grew too loud, she shushed, shushingly breathing into his mouth, and now her four limbs were frankly around him as if she had been love-making for years in all our dreams — but impatient young passion (brimming like Van’s overflowing bath while he is reworking this, a crotchety gray old wordman on the edge of a hotel bed) did not survive the first few blind thrusts; it burst at the lip of the orchid, and a bluebird uttered a warning warble, and the lights were now stealing back under a rugged dawn, the firefly signals were circumscribing the reservoir, the dots of the carriage lamps became stars, wheels rasped on the gravel, all the dogs returned well pleased with the night treat, the cook’s niece Blanche jumped out of a pumpkin-hued police van in her stockinged feet (long, long after midnight, alas) — and our two naked children, grabbing lap robe and nightdress, and giving the couch a parting pat, pattered back with their candlesticks to their innocent bedrooms. (1.19)
At the end of the preceding chapter Ada says "zdravstvuyte: apofeoz, the Night of the Burning Barn!:"
'Fine,’ said Van, ‘that’s certainly fascinating; but I was thinking of the first time you might have suspected I was also a sick pig or horse. I am recalling,’ he continued, ‘the round table in the round rosy glow and you kneeling next to me on a chair. I was perched on the chair’s swelling arm and you were building a house of cards, and your every movement was magnified, of course, as in a trance, dream-slow but also tremendously vigilant, and I positively reveled in the girl odor of your bare arm and in that of your hair which now is murdered by some popular perfume. I date the event around June 10 — a rainy evening less than a week after my first arrival at Ardis.’
‘I remember the cards,’ she said, ‘and the light and the noise of the rain, and your blue cashmere pullover — but nothing else, nothing odd or improper, that came later. Besides, only in French love stories les messieurs hument young ladies.’
‘Well, I did while you went on with your delicate work. Tactile magic. Infinite patience. Fingertips stalking gravity. Badly bitten nails, my sweet. Forgive these notes, I cannot really express the discomfort of bulky, sticky desire. You see I was hoping that when your castle toppled you would make a Russian splash gesture of surrender and sit down on my hand.’
‘It was not a castle. It was a Pompeian Villa with mosaics and paintings inside, because I used only court cards from Grandpa’s old gambling packs. Did I sit down on your hot hard hand?’
‘On my open palm, darling. A pucker of paradise. You remained still for a moment, fitting my cup. Then you rearranged your limbs and reknelt.’
‘Quick, quick, quick, collecting the flat shining cards again to build again, again slowly? We were abominably depraved, weren’t we?’
‘All bright kids are depraved. I see you do recollect —’
‘Not that particular occasion, but the apple tree, and when you kissed my neck, et tout le reste. And then — zdravstvuyte: apofeoz, the Night of the Burning Barn!’ (1.18)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): hument: inhale.
tout le reste: all the rest.
zdravstvuyte etc.: Russ., lo and behold: the apotheosis.
Zdravstvuyte: apofeoz brings to mind "Kim's apotheosis of Ardis" (as Van calls the last photograph in Kim Beauharnais's album):
In an equally casual tone of voice Van said: 'Darling, you smoke too much, my belly is covered with your ashes. I suppose Bouteillan knows Professor Beauharnais's exact address in the Athens of Graphic Arts.'
'You shall not slaughter him,' said Ada. 'He is subnormal, he is, perhaps, blackmailerish, but in his sordidity, there is an istoshnïy ston ('visceral moan') of crippled art. Furthermore, this page is the only really naughty one. And let's not forget that a copperhead of eight was also ambushed in the brush'.
‘Art my foute. This is the hearse of ars, a toilet roll of the Carte du Tendre! I’m sorry you showed it to me. That ape has vulgarized our own mind-pictures. I will either horsewhip his eyes out or redeem our childhood by making a book of it: Ardis, a family chronicle.’
‘Oh do!’ said Ada (skipping another abominable glimpse — apparently, through a hole in the boards of the attic). ‘Look, here’s our little Caliph Island!’
‘I don’t want to look any more. I suspect you find that filth titillating. Some nuts get a kick from motor-bikini comics.’
‘Please, Van, do glance! These are our willows, remember?’
‘"The castle bathed by the Adour:
The guidebooks recommend that tour."’
‘It happens to be the only one in color. The willows look sort of greenish because the twigs are greenish, but actually they are leafless here, it’s early spring, and you can see our red boat Souvenance through the rushes. And here’s the last one: Kim’s apotheosis of Ardis.’
The entire staff stood in several rows on the steps of the pillared porch behind the Bank President Baroness Veen and the Vice President Ida Larivière. Those two were flanked by the two prettiest typists, Blanche de la Tourberie (ethereal, tearstained, entirely adorable) and a black girl who had been hired, a few days before Van’s departure, to help French, who towered rather sullenly above her in the second row, the focal point of which was Bouteillan, still wearing the costume sport he had on when driving off with Van (that picture had been muffed or omitted). On the butler’s right side stood three footmen; on his left, Bout (who had valeted Van), the fat, flour-pale cook (Blanche’s father) and, next to French, a terribly tweedy gentleman with sightseeing strappings athwart one shoulder: actually (according to Ada), a tourist, who, having come all the way from England to see Bryant’s Castle, had bicycled up the wrong road and was, in the picture, under the impression of accidentally being conjoined to a group of fellow tourists who were visiting some other old manor quite worth inspecting too. The back rows consisted of less distinguished menservants and scullions, as well as of gardeners, stableboys, coachmen, shadows of columns, maids of maids, aids, laundresses, dresses, recesses — getting less and less distinct as in those bank ads where limited little employees dimly dimidiated by more fortunate shoulders, but still asserting themselves, still smile in the process of humble dissolve.
‘Isn’t that wheezy Jones in the second row? I always liked the old fellow.’
‘No,’ answered Ada, ‘that’s Price. Jones came four years later. He is now a prominent policeman in Lower Ladore. Well, that’s all.’
Nonchalantly, Van went back to the willows and said:
‘Every shot in the book has been snapped in 1884, except this one. I never rowed you down Ladore River in early spring. Nice to note you have not lost your wonderful ability to blush.’
‘It’s his error. He must have thrown in a fotochka taken later, maybe in 1888. We can rip it out if you like.’
‘Sweetheart,’ said Van, ‘the whole of 1888 has been ripped out. One need not bb a sleuth in a mystery story to see that at least as many pages have been removed as retained. I don’t mind — I mean I have no desire to see the Knabenkräuter and other pendants of your friends botanizing with you; but 1888 has been withheld and he’ll turn up with it when the first grand is spent.’
‘I destroyed 1888 myself,’ admitted proud Ada; ‘but I swear, I solemnly swear, that the man behind Blanche, in the perron picture, was, and has always remained, a complete stranger.’
‘Good for him,’ said Van. ‘Really it has no importance. It’s our entire past that has been spoofed and condemned. On second thoughts, I will not write that Family Chronicle. By the way, where is my poor little Blanche now?’
‘Oh, she’s all right. She’s still around. You know, she came back — after you abducted her. She married our Russian coachman, the one who replaced Bengal Ben, as the servants called him.’
‘Oh she did? That’s delicious. Madame Trofim Fartukov. I would never have thought it.’
‘They have a blind child,’ said Ada.
‘Love is blind,’ said Van.
‘She tells me you made a pass at her on the first morning of your first arrival.’
‘Not documented by Kim,’ said Van. ‘Will their child remain blind? I mean, did you get them a really first-rate physician?’
‘Oh yes, hopelessly blind. But speaking of love and its myths, do you realize — because I never did before talking to her a couple of years ago — that the people around our affair had very good eyes indeed? Forget Kim, he’s only the necessary clown — but do you realize that a veritable legend was growing around you and me while we played and made love?’
She had never realized, she said again and again (as if intent to reclaim the past from the matter-of-fact triviality of the album), that their first summer in the orchards and orchidariums of Ardis had become a sacred secret and creed, throughout the countryside. Romantically inclined handmaids, whose reading consisted of Gwen de Vere and Klara Mertvago, adored Van, adored Ada, adored Ardis’s ardors in arbors. Their swains, plucking ballads on their seven-stringed Russian lyres under the racemosa in bloom or in old rose gardens (while the windows went out one by one in the castle), added freshly composed lines — naive, lackey-daisical, but heartfelt — to cyclic folk songs. Eccentric police officers grew enamored with the glamour of incest. Gardeners paraphrased iridescent Persian poems about irrigation and the Four Arrows of Love. Nightwatchmen fought insomnia and the fire of the clap with the weapons of Vaniada’s Adventures. Herdsmen, spared by thunderbolts on remote hillsides, used their huge ‘moaning horns’ as ear trumpets to catch the lilts of Ladore. Virgin chatelaines in marble-floored manors fondled their lone flames fanned by Van’s romance. And another century would pass, and the painted word would be retouched by the still richer brush of time. (2.7)
Darkbloom ('Notes to Ada'): Carte du Tendre: ‘Map of Tender Love’, sentimental allegory of the seventeenth century.
At the end of his review of Volume Two of Aldanov's novel Peshchera ("The Cave," 1936) in Contemporary Notes (No. 61) VN mentions the description of a group photograph of Lenin and his gang taken in the Kremlin:
Все «письмо из России» великолепно и особенно описание, как Ленин с шайкой «снимался для потомства». «За его стулом стояли Троцкий во френче и Зиновьев в какой-то блузе или толстовке». «…Какие люциферовы чувства они должны испытывать к нежно любимому Ильичу…» «А ведь, если бы в таком-то году, на таком-то съезде, голосовать не так, а иначе, да на такую-то брошюру ответить вот так, то ведь не он, а я бы „Давыдычем“ на стуле, а он стоял бы у меня за спиной с доброй, товарищески-верноподданнической улыбкой!» Это звучит приговором окончательным, вечным, тем приговором, который вынесут будущие времена.
During a game of Flavita (Russian Scrabble) Lucette's letters form the word Kremlin (that does not exist in Russian):
Soon after that, as so often occurs with games, and toys, and vacational friendships, that seem to promise an eternal future of fun, Flavita followed the bronze and blood-red trees into the autumn mists; then the black box was mislaid, was forgotten — and accidentally rediscovered (among boxes of table silver) four years later, shortly before Lucette’s visit to town where she spent a few days with her father in mid-July, 1888. It so happened that this was to be the last game of Flavita that the three young Veens were ever to play together. Either because it happened to end in a memorable record for Ada, or because Van took some notes in the hope — not quite unfulfilled — of ‘catching sight of the lining of time’ (which, as he was later to write, is ‘the best informal definition of portents and prophecies’), but the last round of that particular game remained vividly clear in his mind.
‘Je ne peux rien faire,’ wailed Lucette, ‘mais rien — with my idiotic Buchstaben, REMNILK, LINKREM...’
‘Look,’ whispered Van, ‘c’est tout simple, shift those two syllables and you get a fortress in ancient Muscovy.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Ada, wagging her finger at the height of her temple in a way she had. ‘Oh, no. That pretty word does not exist in Russian. A Frenchman invented it. There is no second syllable.’
‘Ruth for a little child?’ interposed Van.
‘Ruthless!’ cried Ada.
‘Well,’ said Van, ‘you can always make a little cream, KREM or KREME — or even better — there’s KREMLI, which means Yukon prisons. Go through her ORHIDEYA.’
‘Through her silly orchid,’ said Lucette.
‘And now,’ said Ada, ‘Adochka is going to do something even sillier.’ And taking advantage of a cheap letter recklessly sown sometime before in the seventh compartment of the uppermost fertile row, Ada, with a deep sigh of pleasure, composed: the adjective TORFYaNUYu which went through a brown square at F and through two red squares (37 x 9 = 333 points) and got a bonus of 50 (for placing all seven blocks at one stroke) which made 383 in all, the highest score ever obtained for one word by a Russian scrambler. ‘There!’ she said, ‘Ouf! Pas facile.’ And brushing away with the rosy knuckles of her white hand the black-bronze hair from her temple, she recounted her monstrous points in a smug, melodious tone of voice like a princess narrating the poison-cup killing of a superfluous lover, while Lucette fixed Van with a mute, fuming appeal against life’s injustice — and then looking again at the board emitted a sudden howl of hope:
‘It’s a place name! One can’t use it! It’s the name of the first little station after Ladore Bridge!’
‘That’s right, pet,’ sang out Ada. ‘Oh, pet, you are so right! Yes, Torfyanaya, or as Blanche says, La Tourbière, is, indeed, the pretty but rather damp village where our cendrillon’s family lives. But, mon petit, in our mother’s tongue — que dis-je, in the tongue of a maternal grandmother we all share — a rich beautiful tongue which my pet should not neglect for the sake of a Canadian brand of French — this quite ordinary adjective means "peaty," feminine gender, accusative case. Yes, that one coup has earned me nearly 400. Too bad — ne dotyanula (didn’t quite make it).’
‘Ne dotyanula!’ Lucette complained to Van, her nostrils flaring, her shoulders shaking with indignation.
He tilted her chair to make her slide off and go. The poor child’s final score for the fifteen rounds or so of the game was less than half of her sister’s last masterstroke, and Van had hardly fared better, but who cared! The bloom streaking Ada’s arm, the pale blue of the veins in its hollow, the charred-wood odor of her hair shining brownly next to the lampshade’s parchment (a translucent lakescape with Japanese dragons), scored infinitely more points than those tensed fingers bunched on the pencil stub could ever add up in the past, present or future. (1.36)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): Je ne peux etc.: I can do nothing, but nothing.
Buchstaben: Germ., letters of the alphabet.
c’est tout simple: it’s quite simple.
pas facile: not easy.
Cendrillon: Cinderella.
mon petit... qui dis-je: darling... in fact.
Van's and Ada's willow island (photographed by Kim Beauharnais) brings to mind Trediakovski's Ezda v ostrov lyubvi (1730), a translation of Paul Tallemant's frivolous novel Voyage de l'isle d'amour (1663). In spring of 1888 Ada visited the willow island on the Ladore River with Philip Rack, Lucette's music teacher and a composer of genius. A kitchen boy and photographer at Ardis, Kim Beauharnais has the same surname as Josephine Beauharnais (1763-1814), Napoleon's first wife, the Empress of the French. Mark Aldanov is the author of Zhozefina Bogarne i eyo gadalka ("Josephine Beauharnais and her Fortune Teller," 1935). At the beginning of his biographic essay Aldanov says that, if a film is to be made out of Josephine's fairy tale life, the author of the script would not have to think anything up:
Это жизнь сказочная: горе и счастье, нищета и горы золота, трон и "подножье эшафота" -- все так и просится в фильм; ничего не надо было бы выдумывать автору сценария. Самое же удивительное в жизни Жозефины то, что воля тут была совершенно ни при чем: ни к чему будущая императрица не стремилась, никаких целей себе не ставила, все пришло само собой, -- по случайности не взошла на эшафот, по случайности взошла на трон, по случайности с трона сошла. Она была женой Наполеона, была близка с тремя людьми, которые по своей шумной славе шли тотчас вслед за Наполеоном. Но и это вышло случайно. Есть шаблонное слово -- "плыть по течению". Так по течению она и плыла, -- очень бурное было течение. Сколько таких существований видели и мы собственными глазами! Революция вносит практическую поправку в идею свободы воли. (Chapter I)
On the other hand, Durak Walter and dura Cordula bring to mind Khozyayka dura i suprug durak (The fool a hostess and the fool her husband), a line in Alexander Blok's poem Kak tyazhko mertvetsu sredi lyudey (How hard for a dead man among people," 1912), the first poem in Blok's cycle Plyaski smerti ("Dances of Death," 1912-14):
Как тяжко мертвецу среди людей
Живым и страстным притворяться!
Но надо, надо в общество втираться,
Скрывая для карьеры лязг костей...
Живые спят. Мертвец встает из гроба,
И в банк идет, и в суд идет, в сенат...
Чем ночь белее, тем чернее злоба,
И перья торжествующе скрипят.
Мертвец весь день трудится над докладом.
Присутствие кончается. И вот —
Нашептывает он, виляя задом,
Сенатору скабрезный анекдот...
Уж вечер. Мелкий дождь зашлепал грязью
Прохожих, и дома, и прочий вздор...
А мертвеца — к другому безобразью
Скрежещущий несет таксомотор.
В зал многолюдный и многоколонный
Спешит мертвец. На нем — изящный фрак.
Его дарят улыбкой благосклонной
Хозяйка — дура и супруг — дурак.
Он изнемог от дня чиновной скуки,
Но лязг костей музыкой заглушон...
Он крепко жмет приятельские руки —
Живым, живым казаться должен он!
Лишь у колонны встретится очами
С подругою — она, как он, мертва.
За их условно-светскими речами
Ты слышишь настоящие слова:
«Усталый друг, мне странно в этом зале». —
«Усталый друг, могила холодна». —
«Уж полночь». — «Да, но вы не приглашали
На вальс NN. Она в вас влюблена…»
А там — NN уж ищет взором страстным
Его, его — с волнением в крови...
В её лице, девически прекрасном,
Бессмысленный восторг живой любви...
Он шепчет ей незначащие речи,
Пленительные для живых слова,
И смотрит он, как розовеют плечи,
Как на плечо склонилась голова...
И острый яд привычно-светской злости
С нездешней злостью расточает он...
«Как он умён! Как он в меня влюблён!»
В её ушах — нездешний, странный звон:
То кости лязгают о кости.
The "Rose Cordula" is a type of floribunda rose, known for its clusters of double orange-red flowers and dark green foliage. It is a compact shrub, typically reaching a height of 50-60 cm and a width of 40 cm. Oda v pokhvalu tsvetu roze ("The Ode in Praise of Flower Rose," 1735) is a poem by Trediakovski.