Letters to Véra
Page 16
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[10 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St-Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
10–VII–26
For the month of June
Received Spent
288 Sack 55×5= 305 apartment
98 Kapl[an] 25+25=50 to Mother
27 my Life 25 Tegel
8 ‘Rul’’ 25 cigarettes
10 laundry
20 little things
___ ___
421 435
30 tennis
___
465
10 librairie
___
475
They still owe me something at Rul’ (not much).
On Tuesday, 13th I get 150. From that,
50 to Anyuta, 55 advance payment for the room (till 20th)
and 25 to Mother. (I don’t have to pay
anything else for tennis).
Lovey,
In the morning, Sh. called off the lesson, so I took my time washing, shaving, dressing, then sat down to write. It was raining hard. Some oil got spilled in the courtyard puddle: at first, a huge steel-coloured oval formed, and in the middle, the most wonderful blot slowly bloomed, then slowly began to change colours. Imagine a continent on a map, where, let’s say, mountains are of a glorious purple colour that turns tender-lilac at the edges, where wooded areas are marked by a malachite tint, plains are pink and plateaus orangey. Then, my Lovey, these colours slowly began to fade, the whole blot took on sandy and brownish tints, as if the vegetation had dried out and the continent had turned into a desert. But green and pink knots continued to linger here and there for a long time, so that the puddle looked like a huge dullish opal.
At first I wrote my ‘review’ (seems to be turning out entertaining), then got started on ‘Pozdnyshev’s speech’ (I don’t know how it’ll turn out). They brought me the laundry – 4 marks (incidentally, I have to change my shirts almost every day – I’m sweating awfully). Then there was lunch: thick-skinned sausage and apple purée. The cigarette lady arrived. My aunt Wittgenstein was her husband’s godmother. I sat down to write again. Received a letter from Véra Nabokov (she is quietly surprised at her husband’s financial genius). Meanwhile, the weather cleared up, the acacia put on its shadowy peignoir. Yes. I also received a telegram from S. Kaplan from Biarritz, saying the following: 90 Pension Lefevre cheaper possible too. Ninety francs seems to be about nine marks. I carried on writing, then went to the library to get a new book. Ah, I must write out for you an enchanting bit from ‘Le Martyre de l’Obèse’, – the love adventure of a fat man (a very talented book by Henri Béraud). Looking at his obesity: ‘… mon tailleur ébahi en avalait ses épingles. Sans compter que mon cas épuisait ses euphémismes.
– Monsieur est un peu fort, disait-il tout d’abord.
Puis il changea:
– Monsieur est fort … Monsieur est très fort … Monsieur est puissant …
Puissant, il s’en tint là. Après cela, il prit mes mesures en silence, comprenant, soudain, que d’un adjectif à l’autre, il en viendrait bientôt à me dire: “Monsieur est formidable … Monsieur est phénoménal … Monsieur est répugnant …”
Funny, don’t you think? You can read it when you come back.
Cold-cuts for dinner. Now I am going to the Tatar., where Aykhenvald’s talking on ‘vulgarity’. You know all the ladies. Ah, do you know what just happened? I found Mr Darling (the editor of our ‘puzzle’ department), so tiny, in a wrinkled little frock-coat, sobbing in a wastebasket. I ask him: ‘What’s wrong, Mr Darling?’ He sobs. I don’t understand who could offend him so … Maybe you know? … I am mailing the letter now, so you’ll get it sooner. Lots and lots of kisses and hugs, my Lovey.
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[11 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium St Blasien Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
11–VII–26
Tigercubkin,
I’m out of letter-paper – I have to write on lined sheets and I can’t range free.
This morning it poured. Oh yes: I haven’t yet written about last night’s meeting. So: Aykhenvald spoke delightfully but not convincingly on metaphysical vulgarity (proving that since man is ‘divinity’s original trait’ and matter’s supreme achievement, he falls rather between two stools – this is now my image – between the stool of matter and the stool of spirit, i.e. he is the golden mean, i.e. mediocrity, i.e. vulgarity. Man is doomed to vulgarity. There were also comparisons to Tyutchev’s ‘water-jet’ and Derzhavin’s ‘god-worm’.) Raisa and I composed questions for the ‘questionnaire’, which I am sending you with a request to fill it in. By the way, before I forget: I have changed the last three lines of ‘Aeroplane’s’ second stanza. It should read: ‘And by the park grille, in his usual place, a meek listener, blind.’ The ‘bank’ was doing nothing. So this morning, my Tigercubkin, it was pouring, and I decided to stay at home all day and write. By six o’clock, I finished the Pozdnyshev speech. Around two (lunch was as follows: veal and Claudia Regina compote), the little man stopped by – I took a hundred. The leaves on my acacia are already turning yellow and falling down, covering the ground with their golden tongues. But after the rain, a huge puddle gathered them up; some huddled together by the gutter grating, forming a brownish-yellow spot that looked like the slightly browned edge of an omelette. I read for a while, then had dinner: fried eggs and cold-cuts. Now it is ten to nine. Wonderful pink feathers of parallel clouds have just died out in the matt-blue sky – the ethereal ribs of heaven. The Pozdnyshev speech is my idea throughout. I will send it to you as soon as I read it out (my sweet, this will take place on Tuesday – I cannot tell you – and I should not tell you – how much I’d like you to be at that ‘trial’ … My sweet, only when you come back will I tell you how endlessly I longed for you – but now you should not know this – ‘I am having a lot of fun without you’ – and you must get a little better still. My sweet, the ginger little briefcase of mine gets fatter along with you – a poundlet for you, a letterlet for it. But the roses have disappeared off my table: they lasted there more than a month. For some reason I have been thinking now that life is the same kind of circle as a rainbow – but we can see only part of it, the colourful bow. My sweet …)
V.
A questionnaire for the immodest and curious (not obligatory for anyone)
Name, patronymic, last name
Pen-name, or a preferred pen-name
Age and preferred age
Attitude to marriage
Attitude to children
Profession and preferred profession
What century would you like to live in?
What city would you like to live in?
From what age do you remember yourself; your first memory
Which of the existing religions is closest to your world-view
What kind of literature do you like the most? What literary genre
Your favourite books
Your favourite art
Your favourite artwork
Your attitude to technology
Do you appreciate philosophy? As a form of scholarship, as a pastime
Do you believe in progress
Your favourite aphorism
Your favourite language
On what foundations does the world stand?
What miracle would you perform if you had a chance
What would you do if you suddenly got a lot of money
Your attitude to modern woman
Your attitude to modern man
What virtue and vice do you prefer and disapprove of in a woman?
What virtue and vice do you prefer and disapprove of in a man?
What gives you the keenest pleasure?
What gives you the keenest suffering?
Are you a jealous person?
Your attitude to lies
Do you believe in love?
&nb
sp; Your attitude to drugs
Your most memorable dream
Do you believe in fate and predestination?
Your next reincarnation?
Are you afraid of death?
Would you like man to become immortal?
Your attitude to suicide
Are you an anti-Semite? Yes. No. Why?
‘Do you like cheese’?
Your favourite mode of transportation
Your attitude to solitude
Your attitude to our circle
Think of a name for it
Ideal menu.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[12 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
12–VII–26
My unending love,
Today I don’t feel like telling you how I rode to the Grunewald, how I had lunch, how I played tennis, how I read my ‘speech’ at the committee meeting (praise and more praise … I am beginning to get sick of it: it even went as far as them saying I was ‘subtler’ than Tolstoy. Terrible nonsense, really) – I don’t feel like telling you about all of this today, because I only want to say how I love you, how I wait for you. There won’t even be a little puzzle today: Mr Darling has asked me to let him go to the Zoological garden, on business (little Show’s aunt was delivered there; he doesn’t know this yet. A terribly complicated and sad story. I will tell you the details some time). I don’t want anything, anything in this letter, except my love for you, my happiness and my life. When I think how I will soon see you, hold you, I feel such excitement, such wonderful excitement, that I stop living for a few moments. During all this time I dreamt about you only once, and even then, very fleetingly. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember the whole dream, but I felt there was something very lovely in it; like when you sometimes feel, without opening your eyes, that it is sunny outside – and then unexpectedly later, near evening, thinking again about the dream, I suddenly understood that the lovely, exciting thing that was hiding in it was you, your face, your very movement – flashing through my dream and making of it something sunny, precious, immortal. I want to tell you that every minute of my day is like a coin with you on the other side, and that if I hadn’t remembered you every minute, my very features would have changed: another nose, different hair, another me, so that simply no one would have recognized me. My life, my happiness, my sweet marvellous creature, I implore you for only one thing. Arrange it so that only I am there to meet you at the railroad station – and more than that, that nobody knows that day that you’ve arrived – and announce yourself only the next day. Otherwise everything would be spoilt for me. And I want you to arrive very plump, and perfectly healthy, and perfectly untroubled by all sorts of silly, practical thoughts. Everything will be all right. My life, it is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants. Good night, my joy, my unending love. I’m thinking now how you suddenly shudder when you fall asleep – and about much more, about the one thing that cannot be expressed by words.
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[13 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
13–VII–26
Mousie,
This morning, I Grunewalded with Sh., then on the way back had to make a few purchases: postage stamps, tennis shoes, ‘Sovremennye zapiski’ (which I will send you tomorrow morning – or maybe I shouldn’t? Since you’re coming soon, my Mousie, my sweet love …) I stopped by at the office – paid my debt to Anyuta (I still owe her 27 marks (the oldest), but I will pay ten more on Saturday (I’ll get it from ‘Rul’’)). For lunch: magnificent blueberry soup, cold, and a veal cutlet. Then I went off to play tennis – and played rather poorly. I returned, sponged myself down, read till dinner (cold-cuts) and around nine sailed off to the Gutmann Saal. I wasn’t wearing a tuxedo (it seems somehow inappropriate for a defendant to be in a tuxedo), but I had on my dark-blue suit, cream shirt, and greyish tie. Quite a crowd (Anyuta should have been there, but didn’t show up for some reason), they played the presto from the Kreutzer Sonata (by the way, Mrs Shor and her husband besieged me – they very much want us to visit them; I had to give them our telephone number), then we sat down in this order:
I was at a separate table, to the right of the main table. Arbatov read the indictment – rather poorly, Gogel – the expert – talked about crimes that can be forgiven – then the chairman asked me a few questions, I got up, and without looking at my notes, by heart, delivered my entire speech (which I am sending you). I spoke fluently and felt I was really on form. After that the case for the prosecution was given by Volkovyssky (who said: all of us, when we visited prostitutes …) and Aykhenvald (who said that Pozdnyshev committed a crime against both love and music). Falkovsky defended me – very well. Since I gave them a Pozdnyshev completely different from Tolstoy’s it all turned out rather amusingly. Then the audience voted – and now I am already writing from jail. My Mousekin, when will you arrive? A roundish, very sweet purrypuss is waiting for you. I was afraid to mail it – they could have broken off his little feet. My Mousie, why don’t you write to me? It’s late now, I am terribly thirsty, I’m drinking all the time. Tatarinov and Aykhenvald are going to Wannsee tomorrow, they have invited me – but I don’t know yet whether I’ll go. My sweet, my joy, my life …
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[14 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium St Blasien Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
14–VII–26
Puss, Pussycat,
My adorable love … Today about eleven we went to Wannsee. The Tatarinovs, Aykhenvald, Gurevich (a remarkably well-educated gentleman, my classmate at Tenishev), Danechka, Mlle Ioffe, and Tatarinov’s former pupil – a plump, freckled, giggly girl. In general it was rather boring, but I sweetened the boredom by spending half of the time swimming – alone – and the other, talking to Aykhenvald. He is such a charming, gentle person … By the way, the Prague Slonim is his nephew, so I am distantly related to him! The weather was delightful. Gurevich brought along two bottles of Sauternes; I’ve got even more of a tan. I was home around nine, had dinner (cold-cuts), and am now writing to you, my adorable love. How are you, do you love me, are you coming back soon? – after all, I don’t know anything … It is a mystery for me why you do not write, mais je ne t’en veux pas – if you don’t feel like it – don’t write: I love you in any case. My darling, the Tatarinovs’ idea of an ‘Ausflug’ is sitting in a café. That’s what they all did, but I went swimming, and Gurevich brought me, into the water, one glass of white wine after another. We rode the steamboat a few times and came back on the top of the bus, getting off at Zoo. I forgot my keys (i.e. I simply did not take them with me, because I left without a jacket, in white, I’d only brought along your speckled jumper, which I put on towards evening), and Mme Tatarinov called my place so they’d open the door for me. All this pleasure cost me around three marks. Was it fun? No.
Pussycat, I am sending you a clipping, an article from ‘Observer’ about the discovery of Christ’s appearance: ‘A man of middle size, with a stooping back and a long face, a prominent nose, and with brows which grew together, with thinnish hair, but parted in the middle …’ All of this is rather convincing, I think – and very interesting.
I must tell you one thing … Hear me out attentively, try to consider it carefully, to understand it to the end. Maybe I have already told you this, but, just in case, I will tell you again. Pussycat, this is very important – please – pay attention. There are many important things in life, for ex.: tennis, the sun, literature – but this thing is simply incomparable with all of them – it’s so much more important, deeper, broader, and more divine. This thing – Besides, there is no need for such a l
ong foreword; I’ll tell you directly what the matter is. Here: I love you.
Pussycat, Puss, yes, I love you, I’m waiting for you unbearably. And there is still another thing that I want to tell you – and this thing, please, you should also listen to carefully and remember well. I want to tell you … No, please, consider it well – I want to tell you that I: love you without end.
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[15 July 1926]
TO: Sanatorium, St Blasien, Schwarzwald
[Berlin]
15–VII–26
MAGIC WORDS
Tolpa, stoyka, chekharda, ovchina, gora, shchogol’, podagra, biryuza, zanoza, Kain, gonchaya, gosudar‘, rama, mayak, sila, Minsk.
You musht täk zees zekshtain Wödz und tön zem into fortain azers, ze Meanink off witch ees: 1) russisch Rayter 2) ze saym 3) ze saym 4) a Paat off ze Sfinks 5) ze saym 6) a Trea 7) a Böd 8) a Paat off Veemin’s Kloseez 9) Moofemint10) Immobeelitee 11) Holeedai 12) a Kliff gloreefaid bai Puschkeen 13) Nekrazoff’s Heeroeen 14) a schmoll Houl. Rezpektfulee, DARLINK
Fire-Beastie,
This morning, Sh. and I went to the Grunewald, the sun was wonderful, we sunbathed and swam for three hours. I came home (Mr Darling has got completely carried away – he wants to write this letter himself instead of me, he’s jerking the pen out …), had lunch: schnitzel and apple compote. Imagine, Fire-Beastie, the whole façade of the house is covered with scaffolding, and today the workers have got into the courtyard too. I looked out the window – a ladder had serenely grown up there. There is chatter and clatter down below, they have piled up bricks, plaster is falling down, boards are clacking. Very jolly. Despite the noise, I had a lovely nap for an hour, and at four went to play tennis. It was unbelievably hot playing. I KAMM HOMM (I got up for a drink of water, and Mr Darling immediately seized the opportunity – quite intolerable!) I came back home and found your precious letterlet. Mr Darling is asking me to SAIEE (no, don’t grab, – I won’t let you anyway!) that the artist is KORRO (Corot) which means that the ‘exclamation’ should be ‘koo-koo’. In the ‘myself’ box there should be ‘Sirin’. The butterfly wings are correct. Only one box is correct (ruka, udod and so on). And here is the acrostic: