The Resemblance

Nabokov Studies, 2 (1995), 233-76. REWRITING NABOKOV A Story and an Article Nabokov Studies, 2 (1995), 235-50. JEAN LAHOUGUE (Montourtier, France) THE RESEMBLANCE* translated by Jeff Edmunds'* What will you feel, reader-writer, when you tackle my tale? Delight? Envy? Or even ... who knows?... you may use my termless removal to give out my stuff for your own.... Vladimir Nabokov (Despair) My name is Vladimir N. I am an American citizen of Russian descent It is said that I play chess rather well. I have also achieved a certain notoriety by writing novels. This happened somewhat by chance and I am not overly proud of it. On the contrary. It is a laborious and monastic activity, and one that quickly becomes routine. My true calling, my ambition as a young man I should say—one of those ambitions that remain pure fiction for lack of opportunity—would have been to become a sales representative in Swiss chocolate. This for several reasons. First, not everyone likes my novels, whereas the talent of Swiss chocolate is universally recognized. Next, I construct my plots myself, not without effort, doubts, and regrets, whereas the representative limits himself, as his title indicates, to representation only, resembling in this respect actors who grab the lion's share of credit when the work is a triumph and shift the responsibility for a failure to the mediocrity of the author. "I'm only a simple salesman, a modest employee whose opinion counts for nothing in the choice of product..." the representative in Swiss chocolate will always be able to object to some bilious grouch and cocoa-phobe who threatens—admittedly a very unlikely possibilty—to revolverize him. Finally, the traveling salesman, as this other title bears witness, travels. And travels professionally, with an eye to lively and fruitful exchanges. Whereas the writer is able to leave his cell only by invoking to his publisher a thousand trivial pretexts, the invention of which is in itself a new source of exhaustion. *© Copyright Les Impressions nouvelles pour le texte original. English text © 1995 by Jeff Edmunds. "The translator would like to thank Michel Sirvent for his invaluable assistance. 236 Nabokov Studies In that respect I admit I can no longer clearly recall what imperative documentary research, what hypothetical consultation of first editions I pled before Havelost, assuredly the most stingy among his profession, in order to extort from him a train ticket that allowed me to reach distant B., as renowned for its main library as for its tourist attractions. (It was in the dead of winter. B certainly turned out to be admirable, but in the grip of snow and ice, deprived of its outlines by fog, cheapened, made commonplace ....) The fact remains that there, in a deserted palace, I lived three days of complete idleness, as unseemly as they were sweet. On the last of them, however, I deemed it preferable to pass an hour in the lofty place that was serving as my alibi so as to leave there a few credible traces of my good faith. I borrowed the rarest volume my title or sundry references would allow and which could be seen to have some, even slight, relation to my present serial preoccupations. (I remember that it was the famous Anima Amans of Van Book in the unexpurgated edition of 1639.) Upon which I took the first free seat, resolved to suffer there patiently. One is familiar with these gloomy reading rooms where haggard silhouettes identically hunched over the lengths of tables identically aligned irresistibly evoke those mirrors of old cafés that repercuss to infinity the reflection of some sorry solitary derelict. My eyes drifted above the pages I was supposedly reading in the hope of some spectacle capable of distracting them for a moment. It was then that the unbelievable occurred. Even as the image of the mirror thrust itself upon me, its parodie embodiment offered itself to my gaze. Eyes also floating above a similar pretexted book, my faithful reflection was exactly facing me. Same spacious forehead with its twin swells, same long vertical crease from the upper lip, same sunken cheeks on either side of the mouth... A mirade...