I realize now that I shall not be able to realize our project in the "near future". We must cancel it—or postpone it to a much later date.
With regret and gratitude,
yours
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: FREDERIC W. HILLS
CC, 1 p.
Palace Hotel, 1820 Montreux
Switzerland
December 13, 1975
Dear Fred,
I thank you for your cable of December 13th and for your readiness to represent me again at the Playboy award ceremony.1 I am sure you will do it much better than I could suggest. I would imagine you might include in your brief speech something on the lines of the following lines (as this wizard of words would put it):
I am delighted when Playboy's best readers appreciate the stories translated by my son Dmitri from Russian originals written by me half a century ago.
Véra and I wish you a merry Christmas.
It might be wise to find out when The New Yorker plans to publish the two stories that will remain after "Christmas" as this would enable you to advise me of the exact date on which your collection will be free to come out.
Cordially yours,
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: JOHN WAIN1
TL (XEROX), 1 p.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
January 16, 1976
Dear Mr. Wain,
We certainly remember you and your delightful visit to Montreux. VN regrets very much that he cannot possibly participate in your project. As you perhaps know, the warm friendship between EW and VN, which began in 1941, was later obliterated by minor and major clashes, echoes of which may be found in VN's STRONG OPINIONS. Psychologically it would be very difficult for VN to ignore in a biographic paper the Pushkin controversy which revealed not only ignorance of Russian on EW's part, but also a bizarre animosity that he appears to have been nursing since the late nineteen-fifties. Furthermore, VN is immersed in the writing of a new novel,2 and would not be able to fit any other work into his tight schedule.
With best regards from VN and me,
(Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov)
TO: SAMUEL ROSOFF
Palace Hotel
Montreux
31 January 1976
We are heartily enjoying your sunny grapefruit, which arrived safe and sound the other day. Many thanks!
Ever since my appendicitis in the spring of 1917, I had assumed for some reason that no one would ever again put me under (loss of consciousness represents for me the worst coalescence of the worst possible nightmares). None the less, three and a half months ago, I had to undergo a much more serious operation. My recovery was rather trying but now I am better, except for hopeless insomnia. I have gradually gotten back to my writing, and am working on the first third of a new novel.1
Véra is deluged with correspondence from a crowd of publishers and hordes of unknown well-wishers; in this, however, she is assisted by our secretary. Mityusha is currently singing with the Lyon Opera, and recently completed a superb Italian translation of my Transparent Things. I am still at war with Field, who turned out to be a rat, and am forcing him to delete or alter all sorts of tripe in his book about me.
I would like to know how things are with you, and if you are well. My wife and I send you our most cordial greetings, my dear friend.
V2
TO: JOAN C. DALY
TL (XEROX), 3 pp.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
February 2, 1976
Dear Miss Daly,
My husband managed to surface from the deep involvement with his new novel just long enough to consider the matter of Field's book and the alterations he accepts or does not accept. I am transcribing his notes:
to pp. 9–20 (as defined in your letter of Jan. 5, 1976): This has to stop after the words "...the blood of Peter the Great in me." The twenty words that follow will have to be struck out (including my "remark").
p. 29: VN insists on an absolute and unequivocal deletion of all allusion to his sister's "pinkishness"—there just is not a shade of truth in it.
pp. 54ȁ5: The passage on p. 54 in its present form may be permitted to remain + the first eleven lines on p. 55 [through "...the Russian aristocracy."] The rest of p. 55 and the first paragraph of p. 56 must go, including all that refers to the Wittgensteins' supposed return to their estates in the wake of the Nazi army. For one thing this is most probably just gossip; for another VN does not wish to be the source of such "information".
p. 5 (Will power—o.k.)
p. 59 All of it must be deleted, as also all dialogue between the Nabokovs—unbearably false both in tone and substance as presented by Field.
p. 0 (derivation of the name Rukavishnikov): This must be deleted absolutely. Quite apart from all other considerations, the derivation invented by Field—from "hand" (ruka) and "cherry" (vishnya)—is, unfortunately for Field, quite impossible etymologically. Russian grammar refuses to cooperate. And while Sergey N. does not have to be an expert on VN's mother's genealogy, he is positive that he never offered the derivation of the name adopted by Field.
In the main, SN is specializing in the Nabokov genealogy. And he is in no way related to the Rukavishnikovs.
p. 22 It is hard to convey to you the complete absurdity of the statement involved, i) This was before the workmen's unions and syndicates came into being, and VDN would have sent all those unsubordinate—nay, rebellious—servants packing on the spot. 2) Any peasant would have been only too happy to carry his bags for him: he had done very much for them, and also he was very generous. The "confidential" information Field imparted to Mr. Grossman and Mrs. Sifton will not do, says VN. Unless Field names his source, and that source is other than the absurd Vonlar-Larsky book, but proves to be serious and trustworthy, Field absolutely cannot use that information. One of Field's snide purposes that runs in a more or less concealed shape throughout his book is to undermine VN's credibility and the accuracy of his recollections. As VN was present when his father returned, and Field's legendary witness was not, Field cannot be permitted to use his anonymous "witness"'s testimony.
p. 247 All reference to the student who is the subject of this passage shall have to be deleted. It would take too long to explain all the circumstances that demand such drastic treatment.
pp. 272ȓ275 The entire passage (all reference) to Piotrovsky must be deleted. No subtle changes can make it palatable.
p. 274 We never saw or heard of a memoir by Cannae. He was a rather pleasant young Frenchman who appeared in Berlin a short time before we left. The conflict VN had was not with the poet Piotrovsky but with the painter...(please do not mention this name to Grossman, Mrs. Sifton, or Field), and Cannae was not present. I was there and recall every word.
p. 29 The emendation of this passage is satisfactory.
p. 299 Please have Field delete the entire sentence from "I know of' (or "There have been instances") to "...his artistic stature."—or specify the "instances."
pp. 305- O.k. after deletion of from "standing on this little islet" to "...that is all."
p. 342 O.k. after revision.
p. 35 VN says he does not accept Mrs. Fondaminsky's version asking "why should I sanction somebody else's error?"
p. 373 Not acceptable. Our whole attitude toward money precluded viewing the Bobbs-Merrill advance as "tangible recognition" or a "memorable experience." This is another gaffe (or goof) of Field's.
p. 374 The last version ("They saw to it that this made no difference where he was concerned.") is o.k.
p. 38 VN accepts the last variant you propose "Nabokov answered shortly. It was, of course, a silly question.... on Paris."
p. 389 I would not mind proclaiming from the top of the Empire State building that I consider serving the FBI or the CIA both honorable and patriotic but I refuse to see what this has to do in a book about my husband. Please have the passage deleted.
p. 39 She was neither
tall nor strapping, nor, actually, eccentric, and it was she who had sold CAMERA OBSCURA to Bobbs-Merrill.
p. 39 letter to whom? from whom? what date? Without this information Field may not publish his "statistical" summation.
p. 42 O.k. except for the 4 lines near the end ("Afterwards, the company......long conversation with N-").
p. 44 Yes, must be cut after "awkward moments" through "but that visit was also not a success."
pp. 44–447 Insert somewhere in line 5 or 6 "on Wilson's recommendation". Line 17 leave "the payments" out! Too much is quoted (though indirectly) from a genuine letter of E.W. to Katharine White?
pp. 45–48 All allusions to the tenant, named or unnamed, have to be dropped completely and unconditionally, from "In the house they had on Seneca Street..." (p. 465) to and including "...Had a bad headache, enjoyed your course." (p. 468)
p. 49 Delete passage from line 4 to line 21 (beginning "Even before it was finished" and ending "...more than twenty years later.")
p. 472–473 VN says "Absolute rot. Never sent any student out for such a silly trifle. Let Field cite his 'good authority'."
I am afraid all the above-mentioned deletions are VN's minimum demands. He takes for granted that all his other deletions and altera tions will also be settled to his satisfaction but it would be a pity for him to borrow more time from his novel-in-progress to attend to those matters until he has the assurance that his demands stated in this letter have been fully accepted by Field.
He also asks me to tell you how much he appreciates your patient and careful handling of all these often boring matters and to confirm that your guess was correct: the other lecturer at Dartmouth was Stefansson of the Wolves.1
Cordial greetings from VN and me,
(Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov)
TO: PHILIP OAKES
TL (XEROX), 1 p.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
March 3, 1976
Dear Mr. Oakes,
I thank you for your kind letter. Yes, the Alpine choughs still walk at dawn on my window-sill, making kissing sounds.
The pictures by Ovenden1 of that young sea-cow posing as my Lolita are, of course, preposterous, and the Academy Editions' plan to publish them has not received my blessing. Yet there is nothing much I can do about it. Recently I was shown an advert in an American rag offering a life-size Lolita doll with "French and Greek apertures".
We should be delighted to see you again. I always read your articles and the memory of your levitating novel still produces a nice tingle.
Cordially,
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: DEREK C. BOK1
TL (XEROX), 1 p.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
March 22, 1976
Dear Mr. Bok,
I thank you for your kind letter of February 11 (it arrived only to-day), informing me of the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters that the Governing Boards of Harvard have voted to confer on me.
It is with great regret that I must decline this honor. During the last twenty five years or more my firm principle has been to refuse all formal honors, fellowships, memberships and the like. It would be morally impossible for me to alter my conduct at this late date.
Sincerely,
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: PROF. ALFRED APPEL, JR.
TL (XEROX), 1 p.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
April 26, 1976
Dear Alfred,
Your big gift and its satellites arrived safely, many, many thanks for your kind thoughts and congs. I am deep in The New Golden Land1 and thrilled by those first American butterflies, some of which are quite recognizable. I answered 10 of your 15 exam questions: 2, 4, the lovely 5 (Bloom bit on the beach), 6, 8, 9, 10 (Joyce), 12 (Joyce), 13, 15 (Joyce) and give myself a plump B.
Now about the story-collection. I am not sure I like the idea. A collection is only then valuable when it is complete—and I hope to write a few more stories (after getting rid of my present novel, The Original of Laura, which will take most of the summer to finish) so anyway the thing is apt to be patchy no matter how brilliant the comments might be. Personally, I would never buy a selection of stories. The Germans and the Dutch are planning to bring out complete collections, and Proffer wants to gather all my stories in Russian—which has also its messy aspects but at least I'm quite sure I'll never write in Russian again.
Our summer plans are still rather shadowy. An ideal combination would be if you two visited us on our mountain, and I trust the mountain, at least, will be provided soon and would be somewhere in Switzerland.
Most cordial greetings from both of us to both of you.
P.S. Nice news in your PS about the RFHF,2 nice!
TO: PROF. CARL R. PROFFER
CC, 1 p.
Palace Hotel, 1820 Montreux
Switzerland
May 17, 1976
Dear Pioffer,
Ill health prevented me from replying earlier, and still prevents me from writing you in detail. I have now read Sokolov's1 SHKOLA DLYA DURAKOV, an enchanting, tragic, and touching book (I translate this comment in case you might like to transmit it to the author: obayatel'naya, tragicheskaya i trogatel'neyshaya kniga). It is by far the best thing you have published in the way of modern Soviet prose.
Cordially yours,
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: VICTOR LUSINCHI1
TL (XEROX), 2 pp.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
October 30, 1976
Dear Mr. Lusinchi,
Here are the notes on books recently read, which I promised to contribute to the New York Times Book Review.
I understand that (as in the case of my interviews etc.) these notes will be published verbatim, without any additions or omissions in the text. Please confirm this.
Yours sincerely,
Vladimir Nabokov
Three Booths2
Here are the three books I read during the three summer months of 1976 while hospitalized in Lausanne:
Dante's Inferno in Singleton's splendid translation (Princeton, 1970) with the Italian en regard and a detailed commentary. What triumphant joy it is to see the honest light of literality take over again, after ages of meretricious paraphrase!
The Butterflies of North America by Howe, coordinating editor and illustrator (1975, 633 pages). It describes and pictures in marvelous color all the nearctic species and many subspecies. Nothing like it has ever appeared here. The indifference of our philistine public to it is scandalous especially as all kinds of non-scientific coffee books—opalescent morphos and so on—are paraded yearly and presumably sell.
The Original of Laura, the not quite finished manuscript of a novel which I had begun writing and reworking before my illness and which was completed in my mind: I must have gone through it some fifty times and in my diurnel delirium kept reading it aloud to a small dream audience in a walled garden. My audience consisted of peacocks, pigeons, my long dead parents, two cypresses, several young nurses crouching around, and a family doctor so old as to be almost invisible. Perhaps because of my stumblings and fits of coughing the story of my poor Laura had less success with my listeners than it will have, I hope, with intelligent reviewers when properly published.
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: PROF. SIMON KARLINSKY
TL (XEROX), 1 p.
Montreux-Palace Hotel
1820 Montreux, Switzerland
January 3, 1977
Dear Semyon Arkadievich,
After several months of sickness, I spent a pleasant Christmas reading your book on Gogol.1 I think you over-symbolize the sexual meaning of certain marginal objects, and I am sure you overpraise certain writers: how can one rank the great Griboedov with such a mediocrity as Hmelnitsky? Otherwise your book is a first-rate achievement.
I limit myself to these few lines as I am still gro
ggy after my illness. Wishing you a joyful new year, I remain
yours cordially,
Vladimir Nabokov
TO: TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
TYPED STATEMENT REVISED
BY VN, 1 p. TLS letterhead.
Montreux, Switzerland1
The Passionate Friends by H. G. Wells is my most prized example of the unjustly ignored masterpiece. I must have been fourteen or fifteen when I went through its author's fiction after some five winters of tacit access to my father's library. Today at 77 I clearly remember how affected I was by the style, the charm, the dream of the book, while not bothering about its "message" or "symbols" if any. I have never reread it and now I fear that the coloured haze leaves only some final details—growing a little closer to me in time—still coming through.
The last meeting of the lovers takes place under legal supervision on a summer's day in a stranger's drawing room where the furniture is swathed in white covers. As Stephen, after parting with his mistress, walks out of the house in company with another person, he says to the latter: (simply to say something and finding only a poor little statement concerning those draped chairs.)
Vladimir Nabokov: Selected Letters 1940-1977 Page 48