Veltman’s Lunatik.

Russian лунатик [lunátik] and English lunatic are the faux-est of faux amis: the English word means only ‘madman’ and the Russian one only ‘sleepwalker’; I should really have called the post Veltman’s Sleepwalker, but that would have sounded weird to me, since I think of it with the Russian word, so Lunatik it is. If the novel ever gets translated, I can use “Sleepwalker” for the resultant post. At any rate, this is one of those novels that wound up disappointing me, not because it is bad but because it started out looking like it was going to be much wilder and more intriguing than it turned out to be.

After Raina (see this post) I was really hoping for a return to Veltmanian form with his 1834 novel Лунатик, and I was thrilled when I saw the title of the first chapter: “1–∞ год” [Year 1–∞]. “That’s the stuff!” (I said to myself), and read the first couple of paragraphs:

Beneath the light-blue vault of the Universe, on the path to infinity, rolls the languid companion of the sun, the Earth’s good neighbor.

As she traces her orbit, as if in love, she never averts her gaze from the world inhabited by humans; her face is eternally turned toward it, and no one born of earth has ever beheld the back of her head—neither Galileo, nor Isaac Newton, nor Johannes Kepler, nor Edmond Halley, nor Giovanni Battista Riccioli…

Под голубым сводом Вселенной, по пути к бесконечности, катится томная сотрудница солнца, добрая соседка земного шара.

Совершая свой круг, она, как будто влюбленная, не отводит взоров от мира, населенного человеками; лик её вечно обращен к нему, и никто из земнородных не видал её затылка: ни Галилей, ни Исаак Невтон, ни Иоганн Кеплер, ни Эдмонд Галлей, ни Жак-Баптист Рикчиоли…

Very promising! The next few chapters were headed “1811 год” [The year 1811], “1812,” and “I. 1812 год” [I. The year 1812], which was pleasingly quirky. Alas, after a few flourishes he got into the plot itself, which turned out to be a standard-issue confusion-of-identity/loss-of-memory one that culminates in “Oh no, those two lovebirds can’t get married after all.” Veltman loved that shit, but I can’t really get into it. Still, it was a fun read and had some exciting descriptions of the French takeover of Moscow that must have influenced Tolstoy (the bemused adventures of the young hero, Avrely, kept reminding me of Pierre’s almost identical mishaps in War and Peace). I’ll quote a couple of nice bits; first an amusing description of a hearty officer who’s resigned his commission and moved back to his provincial estate to live with his wife and daughter:

In addition to these occupations, Lydia reads to her father newspapers from years gone by that he has not yet read; she reads them consecutively, from cover to cover, word for word, including all the news and advertisements—notices regarding the sale of goods, houses for rent, people seeking domestic service, and the arrivals and departures of persons of note…

It was already August 1812, yet the Major listened intently to the events of 1807; he marveled at the news regarding the reorganization of the Prussian army—specifically, that the King had dismissed more than thirty generals from service; that in the Prussian army all distinctions between nobles and commoners were abolished; that henceforth it was decreed that no one shall be beaten with sticks; that the guilty shall be kept under guard, and that anyone who offends for the fourth time shall be beaten with sword stripes…

Кроме сих занятий Лидия читает отцу, не прочитанные еще им, газеты за прошедшие годы; читает подряд, от доски до доски, от слова до слова, со всеми известиями, объявлениями, о продаже вещей, об отдаче домов в наймы, о желании идти в услужение, о приезде и об отъезде значительных особ…

Уже на дворе был Август месяц 1812-го года, а Г. Майор слушает внимательно события 1807 года; дивится известию о преобразовании Прусского войска, — что Король отставил от службы более тридцати Генералов; что в войске Прусском уничтожается всякое различие между дворянами и мещанами; что впредь постановляется не бить никого палками; что провинившиеся будут задерживаемы под караулом, а кто провинится в четвертый раз, того бить шпажными полосами…

And here’s a peroration to Veltman’s beloved Moscow:

Oh, Moscow, Moscow! Your goodness is acknowledged by the whole world; you know how to prize both talent and mediocrity; you know how to gawk at broadside comedies and fairground swings; you know how to stretch yourself out like a rattlesnake along Novinsky, at the Three Hills, in Sokolniki, and in Maryina Roshcha; you know how to crowd in the Kremlin, on Tverskoy Boulevard, at the Presnya Ponds, in the Palace Garden [not sure what that is], and in the Gostiny Dvor on Cheap Monday [not sure what that is either PlasticPaddy found a reference to the custom, beginning in 1808, of having sales in the “rows” of the Gostiny Dvor on the Monday after Easter]; you know how to shout “Encore!” to every violinist; you elevate to the ambon the bass, the tenor, the treble, and the foreign falsetto alike; you speak French like a Frenchwoman; for thirty rubles a year, you can read the entirety of French literature—and for five, the entirety of Russian literature; you hope that we will soon produce geniuses of our own, and you compete to advance enlightenment by purchasing up to five copies of every Russian literary work for your private libraries.

О, Москва, Москва! доброта твоя признана целым светом; ты умеешь ценить таланты и бесталанность, умеешь глазеть на лубочные комедии и качели; умеешь тянуться гремучею змеей под Новинским, на Трех горах, в Сокольниках и в Марьиной роще; умеешь тесниться в Кремле, на Тверском бульваре, на Пресненских прудах, в Дворцовом саду и в Гостином дворе в дешевый Понедельник; умеешь кричать фора! всякому скрипачу, возводишь на амвон и баса и тенора, и дисканта и заграничную фистулу; умеешь говорить по-Французски как Француженка, читать за 30 рублей в год всю Французскую, а за 5 всю Русскую литературу; ты надеешься, что у нас появятся скоро, свои гении, ты соревнуешь просвещению, покупая каждого Русского сочинения до пяти экземпляров для своих частных библиотек.

I might add that лунатик is from German Lunatiker ‘sleepwalker’ (apparently thoroughly obsolete), and the English word is, per the OED (entry revised 2023):

< (i) Anglo-Norman lunatic, lunatick, Anglo-Norman and Old French, Middle French, French lunatique (adjective) epileptic or having a serious mental illness (13th cent.), under the influence of the moon (15th cent.), eccentric, capricious (1611), (of a horse) moon-blind (1680), (noun) person with a serious mental illness (1292 in a legal context),

and its etymon (ii) classical Latin lūnāticus (adjective) epileptic or having a serious mental illness (2nd cent. ᴀ.ᴅ. in legal context), in post-classical Latin also moon-blind (4th cent.), (noun) person with a serious mental illness (Vetus Latina, Vulgate) < lūna luna n. + ‑āticus ‑atic suffix.

Compare earlier moonsick adj.