I composed a new poem overnight, my Poundlets, and mailed it to you this morning. But I got up late: slept very little. Lunch: meatballs and chocolate jelly. I was half an hour late to Sack’s (I had to be there at three o’clock) for the following reason: a husky Russian song rang out in the courtyard. I looked out. A short, stocky man was standing in the neighbours’ courtyard – separated from mine by a fence – and was roaring ‘Kalina’ at the top of his lungs. Then he jerked his cap off and addressed the empty windows: ‘And now you, brethren.’ I put half a mark in a matchbox and tossed it. I hit the fence – the box, a little yellow square, still lay on my side of the fence. The man shouted that he would run around. I waited and waited, he didn’t appear (later, when I returned, the little yellow square had disappeared. I hope he was the one who found it). Sh. and I went to play tennis. Around five, the sky turned black (I’ve never seen such a sheer black vista. Against that background, everything – houses, trees – seemed electrically pale) and such a downpour burst that in a few minutes the grounds turned into swimming-pools, where leaves, cigarette-butts, and even half a sandwich floated. We waited for ages in the pavilion, then ran across to a little pub (all this was happening near Kaiserdamm) and had a beer there. I got home looking quite wet – with ‘The Observer’ and ‘Zveno’ in hand (which I mailed to you. A comma there has ruined the first line of my poem). I had dinner (cold-cuts, fried eggs, a cold meatball) and then sailed off (after changing) to the Lit. Art. Circ., where they discussed the question of the ‘Trial’. Apparently, they have no ‘defence’. But they still hope to find him. My Pointlets, in ‘Sovremennye zapiski’ (Arbatov showed me this) there is an excellent large review of ‘Mary’ (by Osorgin) – one of the nicest reviews (I’ll get a copy from ‘Slovo’). And in the Warsaw newspaper ‘Za svobodu’ there is an exceptionally laudatory response to my reading at the Evening of Culture (I’ll try to get this too). I got home at half past eleven and am now writing to you, my Kilogramling. You will soon be able to pack up for the trip back. Out of principle we do not write whether we miss you or not … My Poundlets, my life … Such a nice bee above the Arab’s head! …
V.
[ALS, 4 PP.]
[6 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
6–VII–26
My dear life,
This morning (it was mother-of-pearly-overcast) I went to Sack’s, read with him a story by Wells (about how a man, after an electric shock, had a very strange thing happen to his eyes: he saw an island in the antipodes – the seashore, the cliffs fouled by penguins – but only his eyes lived there – he soon realized that he himself was present where he had been before, in London, he could hear his friends’ words, could palpate objects – but he saw only that shore and the penguins and seals, who, waddling, slid through him – and when he would climb, with his friends’ help, up stairs in London, it seemed to him he was rising through the air, hanging over the sandy shore, over the cliffs). After reading, we ate gooseberries (like tiny soccer balls) for ages in the garden and then went for a stroll. I came home, had lunch (something like ‘beef Stroganoff’ and very delicious, sweet, fried eggs) and seeing the sun had come out, set off (with the ‘Kreutzer Sonata’) for the Grunewald. It was amazingly pleasant there, albeit crowded – and the water was awash with litter after the recent rains. A vendor walked by, carrying on his outstretched hand something like strings of colourful beads and shouting: ‘a metre for a grosch’. This turned out to be – paper ribbons of hard candy! After about three hours in the sun I headed home, taking my time, on foot. In one place on the Hohenzollerndamm a house was being built. Through it, through the gaps in the brickwork, you could see foliage, the sun washed over the clean pine-smelling beams – and I don’t know why, but there was some kind of antiquity, the divine and peaceful antiquity of ruins in the house’s brick passages, in the unexpected pool of sunlight in a corner: a house, where life has not yet settled, looked like a house it had left a long time ago. And further on, in the depth of one of the side streets, an Oriental view – a real mosque, a factory pipe looking like a minaret, a dome (crematorium), cypress-like trees against a white wall and two goats lying on the yellow grass, among poppies. The enchantment was momentary– a truck dispelled it – and I couldn’t reinstate it again. I walked further along, through Fehrbelliner Platz, where once upon a time, the big and beautiful one, along with the little ugly one, sat together on a bench – and through Hohenzollernplatz, where by chance I parted from such a dear, dear mask – in even more distant times. About distant times: in the Berlin ‘Illustrated Newspaper’ there’s a reproduction of a drawing from a fashion magazine from 1880: the attire for lawn tennis. A lady is depicted standing somewhat sideways to the net (which looks like a fishing net), with the tiniest of rackets raised with such an affected movement – while a gentleman with the same affected racket stands behind the net, wearing a tall collar and a striped shirt. The lady is dressed thus: a very dark dress, a huge bustle, a belt strip around the lower part of her laced-up abdomen, a tight bosom and a row of countless buttons in the middle, from her chin down to her belly-button. A little foot on a high heel flashed modestly from beneath her fancy skirt, and, as I already said, the racket is raised – over a large wavy hat. In such a dress, probably, Anna Karenin (see the novel of the same title) played tennis. Shura and I saw this picture yesterday, when we were waiting out the rain at the pub – and we had a great laugh.
I carried on along Regensburg and stopped at Anyuta’s. But no Anyutas happened to be there, and I sat down to wait for them in the not unknown café on the corner, where my last coins went on a glass of beer. Soon Anyuta sailed by (with packages) and I followed her. I sat with her for a while, had a little plate of raspberries, and arranged to stop by at the office tomorrow for some money. (Today I borrowed one mark from her.) Got home around eight, had dinner (cold-cuts and tomato salad). Mme Tatarinov phoned, told me that the funeral of Mme Usoltsev’s mother will take place at Tegel tomorrow morning (it was a real tragedy: Usoltsev gave injections to his wife and his mother-in-law, and both developed blood poisoning. N. Ya. survived, but her mother died two days ago, after suffering for six weeks). Now half past nine. The sky is clear. It’s warm. And I am writing to you, my dear life. My dear life, why don’t you write me anything about your new acquaintance ‘from Moscow’? Well? I am very curious … Is he young and handsome? Well?
Stumpling, my sweet, I think, you’ll come back in ten days or so. (But still, try to last till the twentieth … It’s very hard for me to tell you this, but truly, the longer you stay there, the better off you will be, my life.)
Isn’t this a nice butterfly? I have struggled with it for two hours straight – but, after all, it’s turned out nicely. My life, if you only knew how the cats are screeching in the courtyard! One of them screeches in a heartrending bass, another has a tormenting howl. If I had a revolver in hand at the moment, I’d’ve started shooting at them, I give you my word! This butterfly has really worn me out. My life, I love you. I read ‘The Kreutzer Sonata’ today: a rather vulgar little pamphlet – although once it seemed very ‘powerful’ to me. You will find a number of interesting things in the side compartments, too, my dear life.
V.
Acr. 1 part of a rose 2 exclamation 3 Grandfather 4 if not – then [he is] dimwit 5 can be seen in a sack 6 An ancient author 7 Accord
Down 1 In capital cities … 8 An evil person 9 Good only when it opens 10 a tree 11 said of grapes 12 a philosopher and economist 13 a river
Acr. 1 A supernatural trickster 2 woman’s name 3 a fish 4 something brown 5 ruffian 6 a game 7 a man, a choice, and an experience
Down 8 a river 4 an artist 3 pay … 9 a fish 1 a rock 10 farewell 11 … All sings in cheerful tune with thunderclaps!
Crestos lovitza Sirin
A DITTY
Kit’s so fit, Kitty, Kitty,
Kitty, Kitty, my splenditty.
A DITTY
Folk
float up the town hall tower
flabbergasting folk:
Ah, my shaggies, how’re
you, saggy-baggy sweet blokes?
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[7 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
7/VI[I]–26
On Wednesdays, Mr Darling, the editor, has the day off, so there is no little puzzle today.
My sweet,
Today I’ve had a very pleasant day. In the morning, around ten, I rolled over to the Grunewald. It was overcast at first, then a marvellous shower fell, golden through and through (pierced with the sun), and after that the sun scorched to its utmost and I swam, did gymnastics, ran, lay about in the heat – till 4 o’clock! On the way back, I stopped in at the office and found your father there (he’d returned from Amsterdam this morning and is going, the day after tomorrow, to Bordeaux – and then back to Amsterdam via Paris), sitting in his office, looking very important in horn-rimmed glasses. Anyuta gave me (till the 13th) sixty marks and promised to send you something too. Awfully hungry, I returned home: they were all terribly agitated – believed I’d disappeared – they wanted to call the police. But they gave me lunch anyway: cold cherry soup (very delicious), meat swaddled in cabbage, and something that looked like sugar-frosted pineapple – this turned out to be turnip compote. And on the table, your dear letterlet was smiling its little white smile. My sweet, not ‘ray mne’, but simply ‘op’yani’, and, accordingly, not ‘sukhari’, but ‘sukhar”. You want to know why ‘arab’ is Longfellow’s ‘concern’? But just remember this stanza from his poem: ‘… and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the arabs and as silently steal away.’ There you go! I will arrange everything – about the furs and ‘Rul’’. I solved your cipherlet without a key (I swear – es, double-u, ee, ay, er). Same here, my sweet love …
After I’d eaten I lay down and hit the hay for a whole hour. Woke up at six o’clock and went to tennis. At one corner, I saw two thick backs: Anyuta and Veryovkin, buying gooseberries from a tray. I played till eight. Had a magnificent shower, put on decent clothes, and around ten (after having dinner: sausages with potato salad, plus cold-cuts) set out for the Tatarinovs’, for a meeting of the eight taking part in the ‘trial’, namely: Aykhenvald (‘prosecutor’), Gogel (expert), Volkovyssky (second prosecutor), Tatarinov (representative of the press), Falkovsky (defence counsel), Kadish (chairman), Arbatov (secretary) – and little me (Pozdnyshev). Someone noted with amusement that there were the same number of Jews and of Russian Orthodox present. The ‘trial’ will take place no earlier than the middle of next week.
It’s half past midnight now, my sweet, and I love you utterly. I am awfully glad at the thought that your weather is no doubt nice. My sweet, joy, love, my heart, my sweet heart, put on more pounds … My elbow has completely healed from the sun – but this is temporary, of course. Kisses, my sweet, I kiss all possible and impossible little things – and then, very carefully – my Life!
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[8 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St-Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
8–VII–26
Here’s a new puzzle for you. But first an example, thus:
In the first couplet I explain the whole – which is composed of the first and last letters of the given words (for ex. like here ‘Kuda gryadesh’). Then, in a couplet, I explain the first word (‘Kair’), then the second, and so on for all the words. Anyway, here’s a puzzle like this for you.
THE WHOLE
A glade, a little hut among roses … Bliss!
Here, my friend, we could have lived and thrived …
1
A fruit wonderfully tasty, but no melon;
inside it, a Parisian goddess!
2
Great Tsar! Here’s a denunciation concealed!
O, Tsar, look! here’s an ear, and a nose.
3
I do not like to go there much.
I prefer my little hut.
4
Entrance one kopeck! Look, six-fingered,
Shaggy, but overall a good sort.
5
Touch this: it’s sharp. I see, aquiver:
Toledo, night, and the gleam under a cape.
6
More than once the queen enlivened supper
by destroying a dozen pearls.
Try to solve this!
Roosterkin,
Ludwiga called me from ‘Rul’’ around nine in the morning: ‘Come over, you have to do a translation into English for Hessen – a few lines. This is urgent.’ Of course, I did not even think of going, since I had to meet Sh. around half past ten at Charlottenburg. And we met, and we went, my Roosterkin, to the Grunewald, where we had fun in the sun till one. Indeed, why not: the weather was wonderful, the sky – that blueness gone mad from the heat, and the sand, hot like cream of wheat. Still another shade of tan deeper, I came home and had lunch: veal cutlet and pudding with syrup. Then I napped for an hour and a half and went to play tennis. On the way back, I checked out a new book, came back and enjoyed a shower. I got a letter from S. B., very sweet. Thanks and regards. What did the doctor say on Wednesday? Then I had dinner – early, at seven – my Roosterkin, I ate fried eggs and the cold-cuts you know so well. After dinner, I flowed over to the Regensburgers and there had dinner all over again: salad with sour cream, an egg, tea with raspberry jam. Your father is leaving tomorrow. Anyuta, buying fabric with Sofa today, wanted to explain to Sofa why a fabric was no good, and for some reason, began to speak in dialect – so that the shopkeeper would not understand her. Lyusya sweated and coughed carelessly – spitting straight in my tea. Sofa demonstrated how tanned her arms were. Meanwhile, a sumptuous shower opened up, and I came home – at half past nine – under a borrowed umbrella and with a new, i.e. clean, Cambridge jersey under my arm (I am now wearing the grey pair and my new crêpe-georgette necktie). Overall, it was a very anyutish dinner – and I am mighty full now (besides, I am always full, don’t you worry, my Roosterkin). The chambermaid here is very nice, but awfully familiar (‘I’ll tell Madame that you’ve gone out every evening’ and so on) and nosey. It’s now raining full tilt. With exactly the force of this downpour, with the same wet and sonorous force – I love you, my Roosterkin … I forgot to tell you that there is a letter for you from ‘Lazarus’, but there seems to be no need for me to forward it to you. I got a letter from Mother today: Olga was sick, she vomited, but everything’s OK now. Sergey’s friend has typhus. My sweet and multicoloured Roosterkin, don’t rush your return too much, put on some more weight, Roosterkin … I suppose we’ll never again in our life have such separations – but we do have to bear this one out to the end. My lovely, my warm little one, I can’t tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you.
Good night, my Roosterkin …
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[9 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St-Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
9–VII–26
Romans, satin, bufet, rama, lopukh
moshennik, zasov, tina, tishina
odinokiy, tura.
This is what you have to do: out of these eleven words (i.e. their syllables) make nine new ones: 5 – Russian poets, 2 – verse forms, a flower, a bird.
Kidlet,
This morning was overcast, I went to Sack’s (by the way, he is going to take an extra ‘class’ – on Saturday. Shall I take money?), we ate gooseberries, read, then I went to ‘Rul’’. I cancelled the second copy. ‘The Room’ will come out tomorrow. Everyone congratulated me on the review in ‘Sovr. Zap.’ I came home on the top of the bus. Had lunch: liver and plum compote. I dozed for an hour, during which the sky cleared up. I looked out of the window and saw: a red-haired house-painter caught a mouse in his wheelbarrow and killed it with the stroke of a brush, then he tossed it in a puddle. The puddle reflected the dark-blue sky, quick black upsilons
(reflections of swallows flying high) and the knees of a squatting child, who was attentively studying the little grey round corpse. I yelled at the painter – he didn’t get what the matter was, took offence, began to swear ferociously. I changed and went to tennis. Played well: they all complimented me. Unfortunately my left shoe began to gape: I will have to take it in for repairs tomorrow. And that’s how things are, my Kidlet.
I came back, washed, put on my black pyjamas, had dinner: fried eggs with meat and potatoes, the usual ham and sausage. Then I composed new ‘magic words’ for you and am now writing to you, my Kidlet. Twenty past nine. My adorable, your letterlets have stopped coming again … I thought there would be one today, but no. I love you. I have lost count of my letters.
My Kidlet, soon the Apollo, Parnassius apollo L., – a large white butterfly with black and red specks – must appear where you are. It flies above alpine meadows, its flight sluggish; early in the morning, it can be found sleeping on clover. If you see it – write.
My Kidlet, did you get my card with the new poem and drawing? I love you. I did not shave today – so my face crackles beneath my palm. I love you. Yesterday (as I walked to tennis), I bought a razor, matches and stamps at the new post office on Geisbergstr. (the Winterfeldt one has now shut down). I keep forgetting to stop by at the watchmakers’ – and also – to call B. G. I love you. It is time to trim my nails again. I love you very much. My Kidlet, can you hear, I love you … I need to buy a new writing pad. Love you. Good night, my Kidlet.
Letters to Véra Page 15