И не успел мелькнуть в кулисе край плаща Отелло, как публика устроила ему бешеную овацию. Сверкая белками, весь чёрный, Сальвини стремительно вышел и остановился посреди сцены, положив руки на эфес сабли... Апплодисменты как срезало! И сразу: топот! крики! мяуканье! Пронзительный свист в дверные ключи! Всё повскакало с мест! Всё ревёт!!!

The anecdote about Salvini triumphantly taking off the white gloves that he has put on in the interval was told to Andronikov by Ostuzhev (another famous Othello) in the Botkin [!] hospital in Moscow.** Ostuzhev's real name was Pozharov. Because pozhar means "fire; conflagration," the actor changed his inflammable name to fire-proof Ostuzhev (from ostuzhat', "to cool"). As he tells Andronikov about Salvini in the part of Othello, Ostuzhev mentions pozhar:

И тем не менее даже рентгеновский глаз Константина Сергеича (Станиславского!) принял это великое изображение страсти за самую страсть! Нарисованный огонь — за настоящее пламя! Он обжёгся, прикоснувшись к пожару, бушующему на полотне!..

Under the unshakable but quite erroneous belief that the crown jewels were concealed somewhere in the Palace, the new administration had engaged a couple of foreign experts (see note to line 681) to locate them. The good work had been going on for a month. The two Russians, after practically dismantling the Council Chamber and several other rooms of state, had transferred their activities to that part of the gallery where the huge oils of Eystein had fascinated several generations of Zemblan princes and princesses. While unable to catch a likeness, and therefore wisely limiting himself to a conventional style of complimentary portraiture, Eystein showed himself to be a prodigious master of the trompe l'oeil in the depiction of various objects surrounding his dignified dead models and making them look even deader by contrast to the fallen petal or the polished panel that he rendered with such love and skill. But in some of those portraits Eystein had also resorted to a weird form of trickery: among his decorations of wood or wool, gold or velvet, he would insert one which was really made of the material elsewhere imitated by paint. This device which was apparently meant to enhance the effect of his tactile and tonal values had, however, something ignoble about it and disclosed not only an essential flaw in Eystein's talent, but the basic fact that "reality" is neither the subject nor the object of true art which creates its own special reality having nothing to do with the average "reality" perceived by the communal eye. But to return to our technicians whose tapping is approaching along the gallery toward the bend where the King and Odon stand ready to part. At this spot hung a portrait representing a former Keeper of the Treasure, Count Kernel, who was painted with fingers resting lightly on an embossed and emblazoned box whose side facing the spectator consisted of an inset oblong made of real bronze, while upon the shaded top of the box, drawn in perspective, the artist had pictured a plate with the beautifully executed, twin-loved, brainlike, halved kernel of a walnut.

"They are in for a surprise," murmured Odon in his mother tongue, while in a corner the fat guard was going through some dutiful, rather lonesome, rifle-butt-banging formalities.

The two Soviet professionals could be excused for assuming they would find a real receptacle behind the real metal. At the present moment they were about to decide whether to pry out the plaque or take down the picture; but we can anticipate a little and assure the reader that the receptacle, an oblong hole in the wall, was there all right; it contained nothing, however, except the broken bit of a nutshell.

Somewhere an iron curtain had gone up, baring a painted one, with nymphs and nenuphars. "I shall bring you your flute tomorrow," cried Odon meaningfully in the vernacular, and smiled, and waved, already bemisted, already receding into the remoteness of his Thespian world.

From Kinbote's (or Shade's?) Index to Pale Fire:

Odon, pseudonym of Donald O'Donnell, b. 1915, world-famous actor and Zemblan patriot...

At the beginning of VN's play Sobytie (The Event, 1938) the portrait painter Troshcheykin points out that there is some connection between precious stones and Negro blood and that Shakespeare has perceived it in his Othello:

Нет, мальчик мне нравится! Волосы хороши: чуть-чуть с чёрной курчавинкой. Есть какая-то связь между драгоценными камнями и негритянской кровью. Шекспир это почувствовал в своём "Отелло". (Act One)

Like the boy (a jeweler's son) portrayed by Troshcheykin, Pushkin had Negro blood and dark curly hair. Pushkin is mentioned by Andronikov in Salvini's Mistake:

А вот наш Пушкин — он не был театральным режиссером, а в нескольких строчках сумел объяснить весь шекспировский замысел: «Отелло — не ревнив. Он — доверчив...»
Какая это правда! Какая тонкая и умная правда! Какой молодец наш Пушкин! Какой это талантливый человек. В любой области, даже в той, которая не являлась его специальностью, он сумел сказать новое и оставить глубокий след.
Конечно, доверчив! Как все сразу становится ясным!.. Человек по своей человеческой сути должен быть доверчив. Но как часто от излишней доверчивости погибали — не отдельные люди, а целые народы и государства! Вот это трагедия! Человек должен быть доверчив — и не может быть доверчив до конца, пока в мире существуют зло и обман, желание одних людей попрать и уничтожить других. Вот это настоящая трагедия!..

According to Pushkin [see his Table-Talk, 1830-37], Othello is not jealous but credulous. Not only individuals but whole nations and countries often perished because of their gullibility! That's a tragedy! Man should be credulous - and can not be trustful to the end, while there is evil and deceit in the world, while there are people who want to violate and destroy other people. This is the real tragedy!

As I pointed out before, Pushkin is the author of Podrazhanie arabskomu (Imitation of the Arabic, 1835):

Отрок милый, отрок нежный,
Не стыдись, навек ты мой;
Тот же в нас огонь мятежный,
Жизнью мы живем одной.

Не боюся я насмешек:
Мы сдвоились меж собой,
Мы точь в точь двойной орешек
Под единой скорлупой.

Sweet lad, tender lad,

Have no shame, you’re mine for good;

We share a sole insurgent fire,

We live in boundless brotherhood.

I do not fear the gibes of men;

One being split in two we dwell,

The kernel of a double nut

**Andronikov's story Gorlo Shalyapina (Shalyapin's Throat, 1949-59) begins: В Боткинской больнице в Москве мне пришлось как-то лежать в одной палате с замечательнейшим актером и замечательным человеком - народным артистом СССР Александром Алексеевичем Остужевым. (I once happenned to lie in one ward of the Botkin hospital in Moscow with a brilliant actor and wonderful person, Aleksandr Alekseevich Ostuzhev.)