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Nabokov's Invitation to Plato's Beheading

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NOJ / НОЖ: Nabokov Online Journal, Vol. I / 2007<br />

execution and completes it moments before what would be her execution which she<br />

narrowly avoids by breaking the spell. At the end of the s<strong>to</strong>ry, we see twelve swans turn<br />

in<strong>to</strong> young man and the princess, who grew ugly in her labors, regains her beauty.<br />

Nabokov’s reference <strong>to</strong> this fairy-tale, which culminates in a triumphant transformation<br />

of an innocent criminal who is reunited with her brothers, encourages us <strong>to</strong> think that<br />

Cincinnatus also survived his execution.<br />

Even more suggestive of Cincinnatus’ immortality is the optimistic epigraph by a<br />

certain Delalande which opens the novel: “Comme un fou se croit Dieu, nous nous<br />

croyons mortels” (“As madman believes himself <strong>to</strong> be a God, we believe ourselves <strong>to</strong> be<br />

immortal”). In The Gift, where we encounter Delalande for the first time, he echoes<br />

Socrates when he declares that death is “the liberation of the soul from the eye-sockets of<br />

flesh and our transformation in<strong>to</strong> one complete and free eye, which can simultaneously<br />

see in all directions, or <strong>to</strong> put it differently: a supersensory insight in<strong>to</strong> the world<br />

accompanied by our inner participation” (310). Delalande’s statement clearly echoes<br />

Socrates’ argument that “when we are dead, [we] attain that which we desire and of<br />

which we claim <strong>to</strong> be lovers, namely, wisdom [. . .]; for it is impossible <strong>to</strong> attain any pure<br />

knowledge with the body [. . .]: either we can never attain knowledge or we can do so<br />

after death. [. . .] In this way we shall escape the contamination of the body’s folly; we<br />

shall be likely <strong>to</strong> be in the company of people of the same kind” (66e-67a).<br />

But <strong>to</strong> trust Delalande, whom Nabokov invented, is as misleading as accepting<br />

fictitious John Ray Jr. as an authority on Lolita. No matter how attractive and captivating<br />

Delalande’s epigraph may seem <strong>to</strong> us, Cincinnatus, for his part, cannot shake off the<br />

suspicion that we might be mad <strong>to</strong> think that we are immortal. In spite of all these

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