Letters to Véra

by Vladimir Nabokov

  I was late to tea with the tsar, i.e. came back home at half past six, changed and went to the Lutyens’. First of all, she showed me a rather fat leather book (which I would have never recognized as my album from 1917) with a good hundred poems (completely forgotten by me!) joined together under the title ‘Transparency’ – apparently, I intended to publish it all. They are about her, and about the revolution, and about Vyra – some are not really so bad, but mainly it’s all very funny – that pervasive foreboding of certain unbelievable shocks, wanderings and achievements showing through everything. She’s offering to have it retyped. The entire family assembled – the mother who’s completely unchanged, the very sweet Hellers, Lutyens, with whom I recalled our Cambridge carouses and common friends – but he has lost them all, as I did. Everything there is very wealthy and problem-free. Eva explains that, ‘you understand, my house (of fashion) is the same here as Chanel in Paris’, and he is a flourishing architect. I talked in great detail to them about my situation and my dream of settling here (but without mentioning the university, or we will end up with a fatal set of nannies). I will visit the Hellers in a few days. Eva was saying ‘rodnen’kiy’ and ‘smeshno!’ Her boy is ten years old, very amiable and sweet-looking, but quiet and shy. She said: ‘You see, you finally married a Jewess and a timber-merchant’s daughter, while I finally married a Christian and a man six years younger than me.’ Enfin ... Yes, she wants to send you some frocks ... I don’t know. Anyway, it was quite amusing.

  I’ve rounded up, it seems, too many people for my English reading. Can you feel it, my sunshine, how I love you from here? You know, I think that even if Leeds doesn’t work out, we’ll move over here by autumn in any case – I know they will help me here. I kiss you, my dear thing. Today, it seems, I will be at home all day long, if nobody suddenly invites me.

  V.

  AS FOR YOU, MY LITTLE ONE, I AM TAKING YOU UP IN MY ARMS AND SAYING, LOOKING AT THE LAMP, ‘A, A, A ... .’

  DADDY

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [17 April 1939]

  TO: Hotel Royal Versailles, 31, rue Le Marois, Paris XVI

  47, Grove End Gardens N. W. 8

  [London]

  Tel. Mai(divale) 70.83

  16–IV–39

  12 p.m.

  My beloved darling, so, I have moved. A marvellous, elegant little apartment; a green view out the window (‘parterre’), sparrows, clouds, daffodils. I got your dear letter with the little drawing (about the 15th, about the Romanian, etc.). The money situation is not particularly great: the reading yielded only £42 and some shillings (of which 10 have been sent to Mother and 20 to you), and on top of that I got £20 from Flora. In other words, I now have £30 and a few shillings on me. I don’t know how much more the evening at the Harrises’ will yield – in the worst case (i.e. if no one pays more than the entry fee, 2/6 – although on the invitation there’s a hint to give more) – it will yield about 3 pounds. What the ‘appeal’ (to Baring, etc.) will bring in is also hard to say.

  Yesterday I spent around two hours at Flora’s, who had phoned me yesterday afternoon. I think she would never have invited me, had (as it later became clear from some of what she said) Eva (who does not know about my relationship with Fl.) not called her. I had tea at her place with a crowd of German émigrés – lucky ones – served by two – less fortunate – German émigré ladies. She decided to give up the past as a bad job and take me in hand all over again. She still advises me to move to London immediately, and when I explained to her that we had already taken an apartment in Paris (although if I could know for sure that I’d get a job here immediately – reader, cinema, anything – we could’ve sacrificed the apartment), her suggestions became more murky. She likes to see a person in front of her, under her arm, she has no inclination for forethought, but I think that if we really make up our minds and move over here in the autumn, then she will help. She also suggests that I should stick here on my own for three months, with the promise of finding me shelter, but (let alone that I am afraid and not even very happy to rely on her – her cold eyes and sugary little voice annoy me unbearably) this is nonsense, of course – I cannot live without you. This last week, beginning from today, is torture, I want to go home, to my own corner, my energy is running dry, I’m wildly tired, I can’t stand it any more. The only thing that would have really made everything right would have been getting Leeds (yesterday, while I was out, Pares came to the Sablins’ and definitely told him that if, contrary to expectations – the expectations of Pares, who is utterly sick of Gleb – this is exactly how he explained it – Gleb, and not I, got the place at Leeds, then I, of course, will get the London place (this does not square with Elizabeth Hill’s supposition about Morrison)). I will be at Pares’s the day after tomorrow. It is very unfortunate that he called in by chance at Evg. Vasil.’s and I was not there. In answer to your two little questions: 1) Yes, Hill is taking it on herself to organize the Cambridge lecture – and I will bring you along 2) Gubsky’s daughter is a large, corpulent, red-cheeked maiden with the rather empty eyes that maidens of her type usually have.

  I spent the evening with the Sablins yesterday. She told me imperturbably how much I should leave for the servants: 10 sh. to Jeeves, 5 to the chamber-maid, and 5 to the cook, and since the only way to move with a suitcase and a large box (Bubka’s automobile) from their place to here was to take a taxi, this morning (plus lunch, which I’m eating now) has cost me 25 shillings, after which, as I’ve already written, I’ll have 30 poun. and several shill. left.

  After lunch, I will do some work on Priel (I still can’t finish it – I get so tired by the evening that I can’t even read the newspaper), at 5.30 I will be at the baroness’s, and at 8, at the Hellers’. No, – emphatically, I’m not a man about town. In June we’ll go to the mountains. There.

  I kiss you, my happiness, and I KISS YOU, TOO, MY MITEN’KA. THANK YOU FOR THE VERY SWEET DRAWING!

  V.

  Don’t forget to give up the apartment when you move in, will you?

  [APCS]

  [18 April 1939]

  TO: Hotel Royal Versailles, 31, r. Le Marois, Paris XVI

  [London]

  6 p.m. 18–IV

  My darling, I am writing to you on my way home, from the post office, since I’m in such a sweat that if I put it off till home, I won’t go out again. Yesterday afternoon I was at the baroness’s – nothing new there, they are reading. I had dinner at the Hellers’, met there with Misha Lubrz., all of them have very energetically taken my fate in hand, they have ‘enormous connections’, and so on. Tomorrow Heller has to call me about a specific move undertaken for Leeds. What a pen ... Today, I had lunch with Serg. Rodz. – there, too, they are ‘reading’. From there I went to the City, passed on 25 pounds for you to Osya and called in to Spurrier (Long), who turned out to be an affected waxen young beau. It seems I will be able to sell ‘The Defence’, i.e. we have already talked about an advance – £60 (the translation, mine, is included). They promise to resolve this soon. My advances are not covered. Now I am going home, will have dinner with Osya who lives in the same building as me, he was very surprised by this. I will go to bed early, exhausted. I kiss you, my adorable thing; I think I have never missed you so much. Tomorrow too will be a difficult day.

  I HUG MY MITEN’KA.

  V.

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [19 April 1939]

  TO: Hotel Royal Versailles, 31, rue Le Marois, Paris XVI

  Grove End Gardens

  [London]

  19–IV

  5 p.m.

  My love, I’ve got both of your letters, addressed here directly and c/o the Sablins. Everything is all right, write me directly here, without c/o Zetlin. 47 is the number of my apartment, and the doorman already knows me well.

  Here’s my news: I have a feeling that I won’t manage to settle my affairs this week. I am sorry I arranged with the Louries to go by car – it is awfully embarrassing to say
no (he has already booked a place on the steamboat, and, in any case, he wouldn’t have undertaken this journey with his wife and me, had he not wished to make ‘a treat’ out of this for me, his wife, and himself – he would have travelled on his own by train). On the other hand, they are coming back, again by car, a week from now and are offering again to take me along with them. In other words, being away from here won’t cost me anything (except for the new visa). But let me tell you about my affairs today first, so it’s clearer:

  Lubrzynsky called in the morning, and then Vera Heller, to say that 1) they will put pressure on Leeds through their connections 2) Eva through the numerous relatives of her husband is trying to organize for me in the meantime teaching Russian studies at a military or navy establishment 3) they are putting pressure on Dennison Ross, with whose nephew, it turns out, I was great friends at Trinity – I’d completely forgotten! And, finally, 4) M. Lubrzynsky is offering me financial help, if I stay here. In general, everyone tells me it’s impossible to do anything in two or three weeks, I need to establish myself here. I went to fetch your little letter from the Sablins, and then had lunch with Konovalov. He told me nothing new, and he can’t do anything about the papers. From there I went to Sir Bernard. In my presence, he dictated a letter to Leeds (in which among other things he said that ‘If G. Struve leaves his post here, it shall be offered to Nabokoff’) about sending them my papers. The papers were enclosed, and the letter went off. He was extremely welcoming, I stayed with him for more than an hour. Besides, just in case, he also gave me a magnificent letter of recommendation to one of the ‘big shots’ at the University of Chicago, Professor Samuel N. Harper, who’s here at the moment. On the way to Gubsky, with whom I am having dinner (with some lady writer Beausobre), I will drop this letter off at his hotel.

  I am awfully anxious that I will have to return to Paris without resolving things, i.e. without waiting till the Leeds question is settled, but then again I cannot live any longer without the two of you.

  Yes, we definitely need to move to London: give up the apartment and take back the deposit. I will now do the rounds for the visas – not through Budberg, but through the same old Lutyens (Eva, in one day, arranged for her brother a job with Sir Alfred Mond), but I will also talk to the Sablins and to Gubsky.

  The charwoman was here. The day after tomorrow, I will call on Vinaver. They have moved Mother to the IIIrd class of the hospital, her condition’s the same ... Send the money sooner – they owe 5,000 there ... I have written to the Romanian, and to the old man. Osorgin is right: there are too few moves for the queen to have nowhere to retreat ... I need to go, it’s six o’clock. I adore you beyond measure and words.

  V.

  [APCS]

  [postmarked 20 April 1939]

  TO: Hotel Royal Versailles, 31, rue Le Marois, Paris XVI

  [London]

  12.30 p.m.

  My dear love, I had dinner at the Gubskys’ (they are very nice) with a woman recently escaped from Russia after having been through many jails (Beausobre). This morning at 10.30 I visited Sir Dennison Ross, who wrote about me to Leeds to his cousin, a professor of Orient. Lang. Everything’s now going along swimmingly. Tomorrow or the day after tomorrow I will be seeing Gams about the visas. I am going out to lunch now (I am writing to you from the post office on the way) at Miss Curran’s (Secretary of Hist. Soc.) who also pulls strings. Then I’ll have tea at Piccadilly with Grinberg and have dinner at Halpern’s. Tomorrow, at the Harrises’, I will read chunks from Sebastian. Delightful sunny weather, everything shines and gets reflected. Blue taxi-cabs, passing by the red buses, turn purple for a moment. Ross was charming. I’m leaving on Sunday morning, at 6.30, so I think I’ll be in Paris by eight. I love you. Overall, although there’s still nothing concrete, the outlook in every respect looks hopeful – and Leeds or no Leeds we will move over here by autumn. But I will probably have to come back here in a week, with Lourie. I kiss you, my darling.

  AND I KISS YOU, TOO, MY SPELLTACALL.

  V.

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [21 April 1939]

  TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris XVI

  Grove End Gardens, London N. W. 8

  21–IV–39

  4.30 p.m.

  My love, today an absolutely tragic letter from Prague, Mother has an abscess on her lung, she has been transferred to the critically ill ward, where she’s sharing a room with a dying woman. They are penniless, the Sablins’ money can’t have reached them yet, and what about your transfer from Paris? It’s torture, torture that we can’t speed it up. I absolutely do not know what to do! Solomon proposed one combination, I’ll talk to her again. E. K.’s letter is utterly desperate. It’s terrible ...

  I am having a record day today in the sense of all sorts of tasks. Yesterday I had lunch at the Historical Society with its very obliging secretary, in a hall from some fabled century; I invited her to my reading today. From there I went to Piccadilly, where I had tea with Grinberg. He’s very touching, offered me, embarrassed, ‘ten pounds or so’, I replied that I will borrow from him on occasion, long-term. Then I went home and chose what to read, the first three chapters from Sebastian. I love you. The day after tomorrow! Then I went to have dinner at Halpern’s, who’s not very pleasant and moves carefully, to avoid spilling himself, of whom he is full. All this means huge distances on huge buses. Today at ten a.m. I was at Prof. S. N. Harper’s (who has at Chicago the same position as Pares here – but still more powerful). He turned out to be a large springy darling and said that from July first (remember the date) there’ll be a chance of placing me in Chicago; he wants me to send him my papers by then. The day after tomorrow he is going to Russia. Parry works for him. In a word, there is hope here too. From him I dashed – had to take a cab – to Vinaver, who hasn’t changed a bit in 20 years! We had a very friendly talk, he approved all I’m doing and promised to talk to Trofimov (a Russian lecturer in Manchester) so he could give ‘a push of the shoulder’ in Leeds. Besides at my request he wrote a letter to me (it will come to rue Boileau) ‘with an offer to come to read in Manchester’. I asked for this to get the visa for here, since I can see I’ll definitely have to come back with Lourie. The committee (that chooses candidates, etc.) will get together only at the end of next week and after that, I hope, there’ll be an invitation to Leeds for the interview, at which they can ask you all kinds of unexpected questions (what are your hobbies, for ex.). Then I went to have lunch with the Sablins. If I get a place anywhere in England (by the way, there are other vacancies in the offing too), we will have no difficulties with the visa. In any case (i.e. just to move here by autumn, on the off-chance), I will see Gams again – whom yesterday and today I phoned in vain, he’s hard to catch. Now I am going to the baroness, from there, to dinner with Haskell, and then, with her, to my reading at Harris’s. It’s wonderfully warm today, everything is green, and I’ve washed my hair with Silvikrin. Valya Tsetlin arrived this morning and is leaving tonight for the weekend. Till Sunday night, my love. Remember, it may happen that we don’t get there by eight, but by ten or later (I don’t think so). Will I have a place to sleep? I do not get nearly enough sleep here, although I go to bed relatively early. So: this is my last letter from here. I don’t remember what our floor is at Boileau, pin up a card, since the concierge will be asleep if I arrive in the middle of the night. I adore you both.

  MY JOY, MITEN’KA, I AM COMING!

  V.

  Vinaver asked to have ‘Invit. to a Beheading’ sent to him (for Trofimov). If we have one, send it! Prof. E. Vinaver, The University, Manchester.

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [1 June 1939]

  TO: 59, r. Boileau, Paris 16e

  22, Hornton Str, London W. 8

  Tel: Western 49-21

  1–VI–39

  11.30

  My love, those three and a bit hours on the sea were terrible. Although the sun shone full strength, the sea was completely riven and upended by the wind, so the tossing was monstrous. I staye
d on deck, roasting myself in the sun and washed every minute by the edge of a wave that would drench the less protected Englishmen. I have never seen so many people retching at the same time. A group of female sightseers made an especially pretty show – judging by the results, they had stuffed themselves full of oranges. The deck was all covered with streams of puke.

  This is still a trace of Paris candy.

  Here it’s much nicer and cosier than it was at the Sablins’. Haskell is very sweet and interesting. They have already invited Politzer (Collins) to lunch on Saturday, and we’ll have a focused talk on my book. You were so pretty, my happiness, at the station. Haskell, in general, is very helpful. I phoned the Tsetlins after dinner – will have dinner with them tonight – and I also phoned Lubrzynsky, whom I didn’t get hold of, and Mme Solomon (I’ll see her on Friday, and meanwhile she dictated me a letter which I should write to Colonel Clive Garsia about the possibility of getting a job of teaching Russ. lang. at Staff College), and the Gubskys (with whom I’ll have lunch today), and Budberg’s agent (Otto Thien, with whom I’ll have tea today), and Gleb (who is dreamily talking about a reading evening and whom I will see tomorrow), and Eva, whom I dropped in on last night. She has been in bed for two weeks, heart weakness, her husband is sitting at her bedside, I’ll visit them again on Sunday. In any event, I have again tuned up and set in motion the machine of visits and conversations and plans. Wait till tomorrow or the day after before sending your letter to Pneumothorax – I forgot the name! My God, how sickly and madly I crave butterflies. If I have nothing on tomorrow morning, I will drift to the museum (it’s around the corner again).