Leaving Rita forever, Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Lolita, 1955) tapes a note of tender adieu to her navel:
I was again on the road, again at the wheel of the old blue sedan, again alone. Rita had still been dead to the world when I read that letter and fought the mountains of agony it raised within me. I had glanced at her as she smiled in her sleep and had kissed her on her moist brow, and had left her forever, with a note of tender adieu which I taped to her navel - otherwise she might not have found it. (2.28)
In the Russian Lolita (1967) Gumbert Gumbert says that the other day Rita wanted to visit him in prison, but he refused to see her:
Я опять находился в пути, опять сидел за рулем старого синего седана, опять был один. Когда я читал письмо, когда боролся с исполинской мукой, которую оно во мне возбуждало, Рита еще спала мертвым сном. Я взглянул на нее: она улыбалась во сне. Поцеловал ее в мокрый лоб и навсегда покинул: на днях бедняжка хотела меня навестить тут, но я не принимаю выходцев с того (для вас "этого") света. Нежную прощальную записку я прилепил пластырем к ее пупочку - иначе она, пожалуй, не нашла бы ее. (2.28)
In Rembrandt's painting The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp (1632) the corpse's navel is formed from the letter R (Rembrandt van Rijn's initial). The name Rita begins with R. Describing his life with Rita, Humbert mentions Rita's appendix (that she had had removed in jail):
The oddly prepubescent curve of her back, her ricey skin, her slow languorous columbine kisses kept me from mischief. It is not the artistic aptitudes that are secondary sexual characters as some shams and shamans have said; it is the other way around: sex is but the ancilla of art. One rather mysterious spree that had interesting repercussions I must notice. I had abandoned the search: the fiend was either in Tartary or burning away in my cerebellum (the flames fanned by my fancy and grief) but certainly not having Dolores Haze play champion tennis on the Pacific Coast. One afternoon, on our way back East, in a hideous hotel, the kind where they hold conventions and where labeled, fat, pink men stagger around, all first names and business and booze - dear Rita and I awoke to find a third in our room, a blond, almost albino, young fellow with white eyelashes and large transparent ears, whom neither Rita nor I recalled having ever seen in our sad lives. Sweating in thick dirty underwear, and with old army boots on, he lay snoring on the double bed beyond my chaste Rita. One of his front teeth was gone, amber pustules grew on his forehead. Ritochka enveloped her sinuous nudity in my raincoat - the first thing at hand; I slipped on a pair of candy-striped drawers; and we took stock of the situation. Five glasses had been used, which in the way of clues, was an embarrassment of riches. The door was not properly closed. A sweater and a pair of shapeless tan pants lay on the floor. We shook their owner into miserable consciousness. He was completely amnesic. In an accent that Rita recognized as pure Brooklynese, he peevishly insinuated that somehow we had purloined his (worthless) identity. We rushed him into his clothes and left him at the nearest hospital, realizing on the way that somehow or other after forgotten gyrations, we ewer in Grainball. Half a year later Rita wrote the doctor for news. Jack Humbertson as he had been tastelessly dubbed was still isolated from his personal past. Oh Mnemosyne, sweetest and most mischievous of muses!
I would not have mentioned this incident had it not started a chain of ideas that resulted in my publishing in the Cantrip Review an essay on “Mimir and Memory,” in which I suggested among other things that seemed original and important to that splendid review’s benevolent readers, a theory of perceptual time based on the circulation of the blood and conceptually depending (to fill up this nutshell) on the mind’s being conscious not only of matter but also of its own self, thus creating a continuous spanning of two points (the storable future and the stored past). In result of this venture - and in culmination of the impression made by my previous travaux I was called from New York, where Rita and I were living in a little flat with a view of gleaming children taking shower baths far below in a fountainous arbor of Central Park, to Cantrip College, four hundred miles away, for one year. I lodged there, in special apartments for poets and philosophers, from September 1951 to June 1952, while Rita whom I preferred not to display vegetated - somewhat indecorously, I am afraid - in a roadside inn where I visited her twice a week. Then she vanished - more humanly than her predecessor had done: a month later I found her in the local jail. She was très digne, had had her appendix removed, and managed to convince me that the beautiful bluish furs she had been accused of stealing from a Mrs. Roland MacCrum had really been a spontaneous, if somewhat alcoholic, gift from Roland himself. I succeeded in getting her out without appealing to her touchy brother, and soon afterwards we drove back to Central Park West, by way of Briceland, where we had stopped for a few hours the year before. (2.26)
Cantrip is a word of Scots origin to mean a magical spell of any kind, or one which reads the same forwards and backwards. It can also be a witch's trick, or a sham. It is possibly derived from the Gaelic canntaireachd, a piper's mnemonic chant. The Piped Piper of Hamelin (1842) is a narrative poem by Robert Browning. In Browning's poem the Piper mentions Tartary (according to Humbert, the fiend is either in Tartary or burning away in his cerebellum):
He advanced to the council-table:
And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper."
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the self-same check;
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:
And as for what your brain bewilders--
If I can rid your town of rats
Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
"One? Fifty thousand!" was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. (VI)
Rita’s brother is the mayor and boaster of Grainball who pays his sister several hundred dollars per month under the stringent condition that she would never enter Grainball:
She was twice Lolita’s age and three quarters of mine: a very slight, dark-haired, pale-skinned adult, weighing a hundred and five pounds, with charmingly asymmetrical eyes, and angular, rapidly sketched profile, and a most appealing ensellure to her supple back - I think she had some Spanish or Babylonian blood. I picked her up one depraved May evening somewhere between Montreal and New York, or more narrowly, between Toylestown and Blake, at a darkishly burning bar under the sign of the Tigermoth, where she was amiably drunk: she insisted we had gone to school together, and she placed her trembling little hand on my ape paw. My senses were very slightly stirred but I decided to give her a try; I did - and adopted her as a constant companion. She was so kind, was Rita, such a good sport, that I daresay she would have given herself to any pathetic creature or fallacy, an old broken tree or a bereaved porcupine, out of sheer chumminess and compassion.
When I first met her she had but recently divorced her third husband - and a little more recently had been abandoned by her seventh cavalier servant - the others, the mutables, were too numerous and mobile to tabulate. Her brother was - and no doubt still is - a prominent, pasty-faced, suspenders-and-painted-tie-wearing politician, mayor and boaster of his ball-playing, Bible-reading, grain-handling home town. For the last eight years he had been paying his great little sister several hundred dollars per month under the stringent condition that she would never never enter great little Grainball City. She told me, with wails of wonder, that for some God-damn reason every new boy friend of hers would first of all take her Grainball-ward: it was a fatal attraction; and before she knew what was what, she would find herself sucked into the lunar orbit of the town, and would be following the flood-lit drive that encircled it “going round and round,” as she phrased it, “like a God-damn mulberry moth.” (2.26)
Grainball = grain + ball = brain + Gall. The cerebellum (Latin for "little brain") is a major feature of the hindbrain of all vertebrates. The founder of phrenology, Franz Joseph Gall (1758-1828) was a German neuroanatomist, physiologist, and pioneer in the study of the localization of mental functions in the brain. In the drafts of his poem Graf Nulin (“Count Null,” 1825), “a tale in the genre of Beppo,” Pushkin mentions mestnoy pamyati organ (an organ of local memory) that the Count had, according to Gall’s system:
Граф местной памяти орган
Имел по Галевой примете,
Он в темноте, как и при свете,
Нашёл бы дверь, окно, диван.
In Beppo: A Venetian Story (1817) Byron mentions a "cavalier servente" (when Humbert first met Rita she had but recently divorced her third husband - and a little more recently had been abandoned by her seventh cavalier servant):
Shakspeare described the sex in Desdemona
As very fair, but yet suspect in fame,
And to this day from Venice to Verona
Such matters may be probably the same,
Except that since those times was never known a
Husband whom mere suspicion could inflame
To suffocate a wife no more than twenty.
Because she had a "cavalier servente." (XVII)
Byron's poem is written in octaves. In Domik v Kolomne ("A Small Cottage in Kolomna," 1830), a mock epic in octaves, Pushkin mentions the paintings of Rembrandt:
Старушка (я стократ видал точь-в-точь
В картинах Рембрандта такие лица)
Носила чепчик и очки. Но дочь
Была, ей-ей, прекрасная девица:
Глаза и брови — темные как ночь,
Сама бела, нежна, как голубица;
В ней вкус был образованный. Она
Читала сочиненья Эмина,
Играть умела также на гитаре
И пела: Стонет сизый голубок,
И Выду ль я, и то, что уж постаре,
Всё, что у печки в зимний вечерок
Иль скучной осенью при самоваре,
Или весною, обходя лесок,
Поет уныло русская девица,
Как музы наши грустная певица. (XIII-XIV)
The last line, Kak muzy nashi grustnaya pevitsa (Like our muses, a sad singer), brings to mind "Oh Mnemosyne, sweetest and most mischievous of muses!" (The Greek goddess of memory, Mnemosyne is the mother, by Zeus, of the nine Muses.) Mnemosyne, also titled Lamp of Memory and Ricordanza, is an oil painting (1881) by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Stonet sizyi golubok ("The Grey Dove Moans"), a song (based on a poem by Ivan Dmitriev) that Parasha (the girl in Pushkin's Domik v Kolomne) sings, reminds one of Rita's slow languorous columbine kisses (medlennye, tomnye, golubinye potselui in the Russian Lolita).