According to Kinbote (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla), even a peasant's room in his native land presents a solid of uniform warmth - not a reticulation of deadly drafts:
February and March in Zembla (the two last of the four "white-nosed months," as we call them) used to be pretty rough too, but even a peasant's room there presented a solid of uniform warmth - not a reticulation of deadly drafts. It is true that, as usually happens to newcomers, I was told I had chosen the worst winter in years - and this at the latitude of Palermo. On one of my first mornings there, as I was preparing to leave for college in the powerful red car I had just acquired, I noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Shade, neither of whom I had yet met socially (I was to learn later that they assumed I wished to be left alone), were having trouble with their old Packard in the slippery driveway where it emitted whines of agony but could not extricate one tortured rear wheel out of a concave inferno of ice. John Shade busied himself clumsily with a bucket from which, with the gestures of a sower, he distributed handfuls of brown sand over the blue glaze. He wore snowboots, his vicuña collar was up, his abundant gray hair looked berimed in the sun. I knew he had been ill a few months before, and thinking to offer my neighbors a ride to the campus in my powerful machine, I hurried out toward them. A lane curving around the slight eminence on which my rented castle stood separated it from my neighbors' driveway, and I was about to cross that lane when I lost my footing and sat down on the surprisingly hard snow. My fall acted as a chemical reagent on the Shades' sedan, which forthwith budged and almost ran over me as it swung into the lane with John at the wheel strenuously grimacing and Sybil fiercely talking to him. I am not sure either saw me. (Foreword)
The Russian word for draft is skvoznyak. Skvoznik-Dmukhanovski is the surname of gorodnichiy (the Mayor) in Gogol's play Revizor ("The Inspector," 1836). The characters in Gogol's play include Judge Lyapkin-Tyapkin ("Mr Slapdash"). Just as in draft there is raft, in oplot (stronghold), a word that occurs in the refrain of the Soviet national anthem, there is plot (raft). Plot Meduzy is the Russian name of Géricault's painting The Raft of the Medusa. Describing his rented house, Kinbote compares his landlord, Judge Goldsworth, to a Medusa-locked hag and mentions Malenkov (a Soviet politician who briefly succeeded Stalin as leader of the Soviet Union after his death in March 1953):
In the Foreword to this work I have had occasion to say something about the amenities of my habitation. The charming, charmingly vague lady (see note to line 691), who secured it for me, sight unseen, meant well, no doubt, especially since it was widely admired in the neighborhood for its "old-world spaciousness and graciousness." Actually, it was an old, dismal, white-and-black, half-timbered house, of the type termed wodnaggen in my country, with carved gables, drafty bow windows and a so-called "semi-noble" porch, surmounted by a hideous veranda. Judge Goldsworth had a wife, and four daughters. Family photographs met me in the hallway and pursued me from room to room, and although I am sure that Alphina (9), Betty (10), Candida (12), and Dee (14) will soon change from horribly cute little schoolgirls to smart young ladies and superior mothers, I must confess that their pert pictures irritated me to such an extent that finally I gathered them one by one and dumped them all in a closet under the gallows row of their cellophane-shrouded winter clothes. In the study I found a large picture of their parents, with sexes reversed, Mrs. G. resembling Malenkov, and Mr. G. a Medusa-locked hag, and this I replaced by the reproduction of a beloved early Picasso: earth boy leading raincloud horse. (note to Lines 48-49)
At the 19th Communist Party Congress (October 1952) Malenkov said: "We need Soviet Gogols and Shchedrins." This provoked an epigram (by Yuri Blagov) that appeared in the Soviet satirical magazine Krokodil ("The Crocodile," 1953, #12):
Мы за смех! Но нам нужны
подобрее Щедрины
и такие Гоголи,
чтобы нас не трогали.
We are for laughter! But we need
kindlier Shchedrins
and such Gogols
as not to touch us.
The four "white-nosed months" (December, January, February and March) mentioned by Kinbote in his foreword to Shade's poem bring to mind Gogol's story Nos ("The Nose," 1835). In his story Shinel’ (“The Overcoat,” 1842) Gogol calls the Northern frost "a powerful foe that bestows such powerful and piercing nips on all noses impartially that the poor officials really do not know what to do with them:"
Есть в Петербурге сильный враг всех, получающих четыреста рублей в год жалованья или около того. Враг этот не кто другой, как наш северный мороз, хотя, впрочем, и говорят, что он очень здоров. В девятом часу утра, именно в тот час, когда улицы покрываются идущими в департамент, начинает он давать такие сильные и колючие щелчки без разбору по всем носам, что бедные чиновники решительно не знают, куда девать их. В это время, когда даже у занимающих высшие должности болит от морозу лоб и слезы выступают в глазах, бедные титулярные советники иногда бывают беззащитны. Все спасение состоит в том, чтобы в тощенькой шинелишке перебежать как можно скорее пять-шесть улиц и потом натопаться хорошенько ногами в швейцарской, пока не оттают таким образом все замерзнувшие на дороге способности и дарованья к должностным отправлениям. Акакий Акакиевич с некоторого времени начал чувствовать, что его как-то особенно сильно стало пропекать в спину и плечо, несмотря на то что он старался перебежать как можно скорее законное пространство. Он подумал наконец, не заключается ли каких грехов в его шинели. Рассмотрев ее хорошенько у себя дома, он открыл, что в двух-трех местах, именно на спине и на плечах, она сделалась точная серпянка; сукно до того истерлось, что сквозило, и подкладка расползлась. Надобно знать, что шинель Акакия Акакиевича служила тоже предметом насмешек чиновникам; от нее отнимали даже благородное имя шинели и называли ее капотом. В самом деле, она имела какое-то странное устройство: воротник ее уменьшался с каждым годом более и более, ибо служил на подтачиванье других частей ее. Подтачиванье не показывало искусства портного и выходило, точно, мешковато и некрасиво. Увидевши, в чем дело, Акакий Акакиевич решил, что шинель нужно будет снести к Петровичу, портному, жившему где-то в четвертом этаже по черной лестнице, который, несмотря на свой кривой глаз и рябизну по всему лицу, занимался довольно удачно починкой чиновничьих и всяких других панталон и фраков, — разумеется, когда бывал в трезвом состоянии и не питал в голове какого-нибудь другого предприятия. Об этом портном, конечно, не следовало бы много говорить, но так как уже заведено, чтобы в повести характер всякого лица был совершенно означен, то, нечего делать, подавайте нам и Петровича сюда. Сначала он назывался просто Григорий и был крепостным человеком у какого-то барина; Петровичем он начал называться с тех пор, как получил отпускную и стал попивать довольно сильно по всяким праздникам, сначала по большим, а потом, без разбору, по всем церковным, где только стоял в календаре крестик. С этой стороны он был верен дедовским обычаям, и, споря с женой, называл ее мирскою женщиной и немкой. Так как мы уже заикнулись про жену, то нужно будет и о ней сказать слова два; но, к сожалению, о ней не много было известно, разве только то, что у Петровича есть жена, носит даже чепчик, а не платок; но красотою, как кажется, она не могла похвастаться; по крайней мере, при встрече с нею одни только гвардейские солдаты заглядывали ей под чепчик, моргнувши усом и испустивши какой-то особый голос.
There exists in St. Petersburg a powerful foe of all who receive a salary of four hundred rubles a year, or thereabouts. This foe is no other than the Northern cold, although it is said to be very healthy. At nine o'clock in the morning, at the very hour when the streets are filled with men bound for the various official departments, it begins to bestow such powerful and piercing nips on all noses impartially that the poor officials really do not know what to do with them. At an hour when the foreheads of even those who occupy exalted positions ache with the cold, and tears start to their eyes, the poor titular councillors are sometimes quite unprotected. Their only salvation lies in traversing as quickly as possible, in their thin little cloaks, five or six streets, and then warming their feet in the porter's room, and so thawing all their talents and qualifications for official service, which had become frozen on the way. Akakiy Akakievich had felt for some time that his back and shoulders suffered with peculiar poignancy, in spite of the fact that he tried to traverse the distance with all possible speed. He began finally to wonder whether the fault did not lie in his cloak. He examined it thoroughly at home, and discovered that in two places, namely, on the back and shoulders, it had become thin as gauze: the cloth was worn to such a degree that he could see through it, and the lining had fallen into pieces. You must know that Akakiy Akakievich's cloak served as an object of ridicule to the officials: they even refused it the noble name of cloak, and called it a cape. In fact, it was of singular make: its collar diminishing year by year, but serving to patch its other parts. The patching did not exhibit great skill on the part of the tailor, and was, in fact, baggy and ugly. Seeing how the matter stood, Akakiy Akakievich decided that it would be necessary to take the cloak to Petrovich, the tailor, who lived somewhere on the fourth floor up a dark stair-case, and who, in spite of his having but one eye, and pock-marks all over his face, busied himself with considerable success in repairing the trousers and coats of officials and others; that is to say, when he was sober and not nursing some other scheme in his head. It is not necessary to say much about this tailor; but, as it is the custom to have the character of each personage in a novel clearly defined, there is no help for it, so here is Petrovich the tailor. At first he was called only Grigoriy, and was some gentleman's serf; he commenced calling himself Petrovich from the time when he received his free papers, and further began to drink heavily on all holidays, at first on the great ones, and then on all church festivities without discrimination, wherever a cross stood in the calendar. On this point he was faithful to ancestral custom; and when quarrelling with his wife, he called her a low female and a German. As we have mentioned his wife, it will be necessary to say a word or two about her. Unfortunately, little is known of her beyond the fact that Petrovich has a wife, who wears a cap and a dress; but cannot lay claim to beauty, at least, no one but the soldiers of the guard even looked under her cap when they met her.
A powerful foe and powerful nips bring to mind Kinbote’s powerful Kramler:
Despite a wobbly heart (see line 735), a slight limp, and a certain curious contortion in his method of progress, Shade had an inordinate liking for long walks, but the snow bothered him, and he preferred, in winter, to have his wife call for him after classes with the car. A few days later, as I was about to leave Parthenocissus Hall - or Main Hall (or now Shade Hall, alas), I saw him waiting outside for Mrs. Shade to fetch him. I stood beside him for a minute, on the steps of the pillared porch, while pulling my gloves on, finger by finger, and looking away, as if waiting to review a regiment: "That was a thorough job," commented the poet. He consulted his wrist watch. A snowflake settled upon it. "Crystal to crystal," said Shade. I offered to take him home in my powerful Kramler. "Wives, Mr. Shade, are forgetful." He cocked his shaggy head to look at the library clock. Across the bleak expanse of snow-covered turf two radiant lads in colorful winter clothes passed, laughing and sliding. Shade glanced at his watch again and, with a shrug, accepted my offer. (Foreword)
Moaning and shifting from one foot to the other, Gradus started leafing through the college directory but when he found the address, he was faced with the problem of getting there.
"Dulwich Road," he cried to the girl. "Near? Far? Very far, probably?"
"Are you by any chance Professor Pnin's new assistant?" asked Emerald.
"No," said the girl. "This man is looking for Dr. Kinbote, I think. You are looking for Dr. Kinbote, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I can't any more," said Gradus.
"I thought so," said the girl. "Doesn't he live somewhere near Mr. Shade, Gerry?"
"Oh, definitely," said Gerry, and turned to the killer: "I can drive you there if you like. It is on my way."
Did they talk in the car, these two characters, the man in green and the man in brown? Who can say? They did not. After all, the drive took only a few minutes (it took me, at the wheel of my powerful Kramler, four and a half).
"I think I'll drop you here," said Mr. Emerald. "It's that house up there." (note to Line 949)
The last word of Kinbote’s Commentary is Gradus:
"And you, what will you be doing with yourself, poor King, poor Kinbote?" a gentle young voice may inquire.
God will help me, I trust, to rid myself of any desire to follow the example of the other two characters in this work. I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist. I may turn up yet, on another campus, as an old, happy, healthy heterosexual Russian, a writer in exile, sans fame, sans future, sans audience, sans anything but his art. I may join forces with Odon in a new motion picture: Escape from Zembla (ball in the palace, bomb in the palace square). I may pander to the simple tastes of theatrical critics and cook up a stage play, an old-fashioned melodrama with three principles: a lunatic who intends to kill an imaginary king, another lunatic who imagines himself to be that king, and a distinguished old poet who stumbles by chance into the line of fire, and perishes in the clash between the two figments. Oh, I may do many things! History permitting, I may sail back to my recovered kingdom, and with a great sob greet the gray coastline and the gleam of a roof in the rain. I may huddle and groan in a madhouse. But whatever happens, wherever the scene is laid, somebody, somewhere, will quietly set out--somebody has already set out, somebody still rather far away is buying a ticket, is boarding a bus, a ship, a plane, has landed, is walking toward a million photographers, and presently he will ring at my door--a bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus. (note to Line 1000)
"A bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus" brings to mind the real Inspector whose arrival is announced at the end of Gogol's play Revizor:
Жандарм. Приехавший по именному повелению из Петербурга чиновник требует вас сей же час к себе. Он остановился в гостинице.
Произнесённые слова поражают как громом всех. Звук изумления единодушно взлетает из дамских уст; вся группа, вдруг переменивши положение, остаётся в окаменении.
GENDARME. The Inspector-General sent by Imperial command has arrived, and requests your attendance at once. He awaits you in the inn.
(They are thunderstruck at this announcement. The ladies utter simultaneous ejaculations of amazement; the whole group suddenly shift their positions and remain as if petrified.)