V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[TO: Berlin]
[16 May 1930]
[Prague]
My tender beast, my love, my greenikins,
Every new letterless day makes me sadder and sadder, that’s why I didn’t write to you yesterday and now greatly regret it, after reading about the mother swan and the ducklings, my enchantress, my beauty. For me, you are always, always Tiergarten-like, chestnutty, rosy. I love you. There are bedbugs and cockroaches here. Yesterday, as soon as I’ve turned the lights off, I sense a fidgety presence on my cheek, a soft whiskery touch. Lights on. Mrs Cockroach. The other day, I went to an evening of ‘Skit Poetov’. Renewed friendly relations with Chirikov, Kadashev, Nemirovich-Danchenko. He, Nemirovich, is very old. I met a bald Jew (very carefully concealing his Jewishness), the ‘famous’ poet Rathaus. Eisner recited some poetry – in the style of Gumilyov, with ‘red-mugged sailors’, ‘rum’ and ‘geographic map’, full of the newest clichés, ringing out loudly; you’ll understand in a word how vile it was. And I had absolutely no idea what to say to Rathaus, it’s awkward to talk to a man whose name now stands for bad poets. He said to me by the way: ‘So they compare you to me …’ Touching and revolting. Many young poets and poetesses read, so I felt the same as during our ‘poetic’ gatherings: it’s all the same, nauseating. Kisses, my sweet, my darling. It occurred to me that Baudelaire never saw a ‘jeune elephant’ in real life, did he? Well, of course there were all those ‘present among us is … ’, ‘our dear guest …’ etc. Which would make Kirill turn crimson. But more interesting to me than all the poets and writers was Fyodorov, yet another entomologist, very passionate and knowledgeable, and he and I immediately began to sing like nightingales, in unison, to a certain bewilderment among those around us. Just think, his large collection has been sold recently to recover debts, he’s absolutely destitute. I don’t know whether I will read ‘The Aurelian’ on Tuesday. I will definitely read the first chapter of ‘The Eye’ (Mama has it). Olga has not yet deigned to appear. I’ll read a few poems. Kirill’s studying well. He has no technical inclinations. He wants to be a natural scientist, to fight, for example, malaria in Africa. The whole family went to the movies, we saw the picture Sherman talked about so amusingly (the ring sliding off her finger, keeping pace with the woman’s ‘fall’). Mother confirmed to me in detail what Raisa told us about a certain old man and a certain old woman. Apparently, Mother kept the secret for fifteen years, and there was one very serious scandal in Berlin. General Dolgov (who read his story) says, like my grandmother, ‘spleutni’. Elenochka came in just now and asked, with an innocent face, where is Flemlandia. Ah, my happiness, how unbearable it is for me without you. You are my life. It will be hard to bear the approach to the Anhalter station. Did you get the money? My sweet, how I’m kissing you …
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[17 May 1930]
TO: 27, Luitpoldstr., b/ Bardeleben, Berlin W.
[Prague]
Hello, my joy,
You can tell Gorlin that 1) I won’t be performing at their evening – let them row their own boat 2) whether they publish the almanac in ‘Slovo’ or ‘Petropolis’ I won’t participate anyway – I am not young and I’m not a poet. Tell Sherman that I loved his articles about Ivan Alekseevich very much. Greetings to our landlords. Buy, my love, Thursday’s Pos. Nov. (from what’s-his-name – but you know – I can’t recall it at the moment). Yesterday I was at the museum, they showed me beautiful collections – of course, not nearly as full as in Berlin, but I cannot say this to the Czechs (now I remember – Lyaskovsky), and they have misnamed a lot. Fyodorov, about whom I wrote you, was just here, my happiness. He strongly recommends going to Varna, it is extremely cheap there and lots of butts. From here the trip costs 20 marks, so 40 in all from Berlin, for two persons or beasts – 80, there and back – 160, and one can get a room for 20 (for two beasties) a month, while food for two costs 1 mark a day – so in all we’ll need about 250 marks (generously) for the trip and living expenses. We’ll leave, I think, early in June. There are no snakes there, and Nem.-Danchenko will arrange a visa in two shakes.
I love you, – it is simply laughable how I miss you, my darling. Here there are bright-blue, round lanterns at the tram stops, a lot of slate-black houses, very narrow pavements, and one cannot smoke in the second carriage of the tram. In a day or two, we will be going to the Bobrovskys’. Kirill is educated, has a fine knowledge of literature, and is in love with a very sweet young lady. Mother remembers Massalsky from St Petersburg, no one here knows that he spent time in jail, so I am telling everyone about this, with details – tell Anyuta this. But indeed I keep silent as a fish or only say good things. Receptions continue at Kramář’s house, but they do not talk to the hosts, they only stuff their faces, and recently Kiesewetter had a fight over aspic with another old man. In one Soviet almanac there were the memoirs of some commissar, and he recounts quite incidentally how things from our house were handed out and how he took for himself an iron Chinaman with a nodding head. I remember it so well, that figurine. Have you been to the Mishas’, my beauty, what are you up to in general? The sea at Varna is marvellous for swimming. We’ll catch Papilio alexanor there. Mme Fyodorov loves kissing caterpillars on the head, it’s become downright normal for her. As soon as you get the money, send me something, let’s say, ten-fifteen marks besides 20 for the road. I am now negotiating with a Czech publisher about ‘Mary’, but I am not sure it will work out (this is through the Czech woman who boards with Mother). Kisses, my sweet. How is your dear health? Yes, I love you, I love you endlessly. Please write to me, otherwise I’ll have another fit of the spleen and stop writing. My love, my larentia, my teplovata.
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[postmarked 19 May 1930]
TO: 27, Luitpoldstr., b/ v. Bardeleben, Berlin W.
[Prague]
I have received, my Bussa beast, your short and undertufty letterlet. I wrote to Fondamin that I agree (although I would have preferred – thinking of money – Pilgram to die in the basement of ‘Poslednie novosti’). I also sent Fayard what I had to. Boxy keeps watching me with his dull eyes. Yesterday he produced 157 yelps in a row, we counted. The weather’s decent today, we’ll go for a walk. I am sad that you write so little, my endless happiness. Our finances here are sour, no money to buy stamps, I feel rather awkward.
I adore you.
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[20 May 1930]
TO: 27, Luitpoldstr., b/ v. Bardeleben, Berlin W.
[Prague]
My love,
I don’t know what kind of job you have, you write me very unclearly. How can we expose that nasty old woman? (Are you sure she was the thief – all kinds of tradesmen have been there recently – and where was the brooch?) Have you seen Adamovich’s review in ‘P. N.’? Shall I bring that issue? I’m reading today – prose and poems; I have to select enough for at least an hour and a half. I’ve already written you, my love, exactly what I’ll read out. I will sort through the archive, and you try to find the recent issue of ‘Za Svobodu’, where Nalyanch writes something about me. This chasing up of articles about me is getting rather complicated, shouldn’t we stop? After all, I am not an actress. My love, it feels more and more impossible for me without you. I get back on Sunday the 25th, at night – 11, I think – I’ll write again with more detail. I confirm receipt of your honourable with the money. Now I’ll write more often, my love.
Two days ago, we went for a walk, a wonderful pale-sunny day, we climbed the hill not far from us and could see a whole canvas town below – a wandering circus – and from there could hear the thick roar of tigers and lions, the merry-go-rounds sparkled (and there were ads on all fences: green tigers with bared teeth and, between them, a moustachioed braveheart with Brandenburgers). I was at the entomological museum again, a
nd Obenberger – a very talkative beetle man – reviled Germany and said that Germans sont pires que les juifs. The Russian colony here, so they say, is also blackish. Olga hasn’t yet appeared, but Shakhovskoy, who has married again, has. My darling, do you miss me? Kisses. Regards to Anyuta, please, and to the Mishas. Mama will write to you tomorrow. They are washing Boxy now. Mama looks younger, energetic, cheerful – when we were out walking, I kept admiring how well she walks and how elegant her legs are in their grey stockings. She insists it’s all due to Christian Science. Yes, my happiness, I’ll see you soon. Why don’t you write me anything about Varna? I thought you would jump at it (seize it). Yesterday, I read ‘Les Caves du Vatican’ by A. Gide, terrible nonsense, but well-written in places. I can’t wait to sit down to a little novel again. I’m sending you an article, Mother copied it out. I’m very happy you exist, my beauty – but if your job is tiresome – watch out! I’m very happy; without you, my world has become a little pinched, but I still know you exist and therefore I’m happy anyway. How I’m kissing you!
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[postmarked 22 May 1930]
TO: 27, Luitpoldstr., b/ v. Bardeleben, Berlin W.
[Prague]
My darling,
Very cheerfully, I’m writing to you again, although there is neither rumour nor smell of you. By the way, I’m copying the following from Kipling for you: Do you know the pile-built village where the sago-dealers trade. – Do you know the reek of fish and wet bamboo? – Do you know the steaming stillness of the orchid-scented glade when the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap through? – It is there that I am going with my camphor, net, and boxes, – to a gentle, yellow pirate that I know – To my little wailing lemurs, to my palms and flying-foxes, For the Red Gods call me out and I must go! The ‘flap’ is especially good. If tomorrow – and today is Thursday – there’s nothing from you, I too will follow the Red Gods’ call. And here about us: ‘She was Queen of Sabaea – And he was Asia’s Lord – But they both of ’em talked to butterflies When they took their walks abroad!’ We had lots of guests for dinner with us yesterday: [Countess] Panin and Astrov, the Gorns, the Kovalevskys, I read ‘A University Poem’, 13 of us in all. I’m leaving, my darling, on the 25th at 2.47 and will be at Anhalter at 10.15. I ask you to meet me – solo, of course.
I have not found the article about Volkovyssky in my father’s papers. Wasn’t it Sherman who promised to get that issue of ‘Vozrozhdenie’? The workers opposite are filling the roof in with tiles very appetizingly. I love you very much, my darling.
Its little face hasn’t turned out very well. It’s sunny today. Yesterday, I fell asleep at half past five, when the sparrows were already singing. We thought we’d go to visit the Bobrovskys in the country today, but we’re not going. I’ve given three poems – old ones – to the local newspaper ‘Nedelya’ to feature in the article about my reading. Of people from Berlin, only Trotsky was there. I love you – unbearably and very, very tenderly.
V.
____________________
[AL, 2 PP.]
[postmarked 23 May 1930]
TO: 27, Luitpoldstr, b/ v. Bardeleben, Berlin W.
[Prague]
Hello, my darling. I love you. Neither when I was in Prague without you, nor when you were in St Blasien, has it been so unbearable without you as this time. This is probably explained by my loving you more and more. My reading was yesterday, a big crowd, I read 10 poems (all of them hits, of course), one chapter from ‘The Eye’ – the first one – and ‘The Aurelian’. Meanwhile I drained two mugs of beer. Astrov spoke first about me, at length; later, he gave me an issue of ‘Rossiya i Slav.’ with Gleb’s review, and there I recognized his phrases, since he’d marked them with pencil in the article – he’d drawn straight from it and then, evidently, forgot to erase. I met heaps of people, inscribed in albums, smiled, etc. Olga showed up at the reading with her husband, who, apparently, is one of the best chess-players in Prague. Overall, it was rather fun – but you weren’t there, my darling. I met Avksentiev, who, unaware that Vishnyak had written me about discontinuing ‘The Third Rome’, said that Ivanov gave them just an ‘excerpt’. He invited me insistently to Paris. Adamovich’s article in ‘P. N.’ holds back as usual. But kind Sherman wrote charmingly. Thank him very much de ma part.
My warm one, you rarely write to me. On the whole I am offended by this, although I don’t show it. Three and a bit days to go.
____________________
[AL, 2 PP.]
[c. 23 May 1930]
[TO: Berlin]
[Prague]
My little one,
This is the last little letter, I invite you to a date at 10.15 at the station on Sunday.
My little one,
I don’t like your job, I’m cross, I don’t like it at all. What I dislike most is that you have to get up so early, this must be awfully exhausting for you. As for your working from 9 to 5, you simply won’t, I’ll put my foot down (Anglicism), it’s absurd. As soon as I arrive, I’ll place an ad in ‘Rul’’ – with my name and nickname – for lessons. My little one, my tender one, my weak one, working assiduously from 9 to 5, that’s an impossible prospect. I will talk to Anyuta (by the way, big kiss for her little hand).
Izgoev was here yesterday – he’d come from Paris – and said the same as Nika. Ivanov is living with Zinaida. Today, Kadashev and Varshavsky will be here, and tonight, Olga and her husband – I’ll play chess with him. Sergey Hessen and wife were here a few days ago, he asked a lot about his father’s current relationship with Obstein. I told him all I knew and invented still more, to give it more shape. Kirill dreams poetry, has an excellent knowledge of literature, wrote a beautiful essay on Lermontov. He composes day in, day out – and has already been working on one poem for five days or so – and reads to me, while I rebuke him roundly. His English pronunciation is excellent and he knows English poetry well. Skulyari is honeyed as before and keeps cracking unfunny jokes, – but he’s an excellent husband, and Elena an excellent wife. My relationship with Boxy is coolish, I keep waiting for him to recognize me. We eat well and plenty, they all have much better appetites than I do. See you soon, my love.
Bussa
____________________
[ALS, 1 P.]
[1930S ?]
[TO: Berlin?]
[Berlin?]
My darling,
Misha dropped by, invited us tonight, I said that I’d l let you know, but I couldn’t reach you. You go to them. And I’ll pick you up (from the Kaminkas’) later (on my way from the Hessens).
I kiss your little hands.
V. Nabokov
1932
The originals of VN’s letters to VéN from 1932 cannot now be located. In December 1984 and January 1985 VéN, willing to help BB’s research for his biography of VN, but not prepared to let him read the parts of the letters she considered private, read as much of her letters from VN as she saw fit into BB’s tape-recorder. These tapes now provide the only available evidence for the texts of the 1932 letters. The translations that follow present all that VéN chose to read out from that year’s correspondence.
____________________
[VÉNAF]
[4 April 1932]
[TO: Berlin]
[Prague]
The first part of the trip was very pleasant. I read on and off and looked out the window at the childish spring sky […]. Elena and Mother met me at the station. Mother is in excellent spirits. Very cheery, looks good, but thinner. Elena is dreamily disposed and very sweet. It turns out that Skulyari was not right for her […]. So far, I like Kirill better than last time. His juvenility is superficial, slightly mischievous, to annoy Evgenia Konstantinovna. But he’s a terrible idler. Olga’s husband is as gloomy as always, but Olga herself has grown much prettier. Rostislav is extremely attractive and is already walking around the rooms. Evgenia Konstantinovna has gone grey, but our poor Boxy has gone even greyer and half
-blind. In a couple of days, Seryozha may come, and then all of us together will have our picture taken in exactly the same poses as one of our Yalta photographs. Boxy, too. My cold’s still lingering. I sleep in Mother’s room on a short narrow couch with a back. I won’t go to any Paris. Send me, please, please, first of all, ‘Lips to Lips’ (I’ll read it just to Mother, without a commentary), and secondly, my article on butterflies. You know, in spite of everything, you and I have a very comfortable life. Boxy is allowed to go to the loo and lift his leg by the porcelain pedestal (it’s a pedestal for him).
Letters to Véra Page 18