It is very cosy and comfortable here. The three of us had b r e a k f a s t in dressing gowns, bacon and eggs, charming. Haskell graduated from Cambridge two years after me. He showed me very interesting shots of Australian animals and landscapes, se pique de zoologie. Today I’ll have to do a few more telephonades. I still cannot forget a little boy who retched violently every five minutes next to me (and what was happening in the passengers’ lounge is beyond description). I read last night Col. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, it’s very long, two would have been enough – but wonderfully written in places. The weather is grey, slanting. It was very strange to sink into and stretch out in a real bathtub, after our sabot. My darling, remember I adore you more than ever.
HELLO, MY ROLLY! HOW’S CAPTAIN BELOV BEHAVING? I ADORE YOU.
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[2 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris XVI
22, Hornton Str
[London]
2–VI
8.30
My dear love,
I had lunch at the Gubskys’ yesterday, then sat in their tiny garden in the sun – the grapevine, having wound around the wall with its own hands, went off across the fence to the neighbours and will never return. I tried Gubsky about translations, he promised ‘to do what he can’, but hopes and plans are also capable of going off like vines. After an overcast morning, everything became very bright, the sky swift-moving, Whites were fluttering. He gave me his book, ‘My double and I’, I read it on the tube, and to me it seems excellent – the beginning, at least. From there, having crossed an animated Thames, I went to Otto Thien: the little Budberg man I told you about, Dutch, looks like Silberman, and is, it seems, an American Jew. He couldn’t give me any special news. Thinks that a final answer will come in a week. Moura gets back soon, I’ll still have time to see her. Theis’s wife, a journalist, works for ‘N. Chronicle’. On Monday, they’re planning some kind of a party. From there, I went home – all this means enormous clattering distances – fetched Lyusya’s bottle and went to the Tsetlins’ (I left the bottle with the porter to be given to the Brombergs). It was very pleasant at the Tsetl[ins’]. We spent the whole evening talking about my situation – she promises to get all the activity she can going, to organize a conference consisting of herself, Solomon, Vera Heller, Vera Markovna, etc. – in short, to get enough so we have money for the first months of a life in England, starting in October. Judging by the Thursday issue of Posl. nov. which I saw at their place, Pio has finally licked his way up to Adamovich’s most delicious hole – this reciprocal shamelessness is enchanting.
I got home around twelve and read, till one, the very amusing ‘Diary’ of Arn. Bennett – all in all, there is an orgy of books here. I dreamed I clearly heard my boy’s little voice, and woke up. I’m writing in bed, the chambermaid will call me to breakfast in a moment. Yesterday I phoned Grinberg (will see him on Saturday) and Mme Sablin (who is equally overwhelmed by the quitting of her cook and the wedding of one of the gr. pr. She asked me to phone her again, when her head will be clearer for the important decision, when to have me round. Idiot). Another series of calls this morning – to the Hellers, Mme Solomon, Rodzyanko, Aunt Bebesha. My happiness, I miss you two already. My day has not yet been completely divided up, at any event I will see Gleb and Misha L. dans le courant of the day. And yesterday, suddenly, it resolved itself with perfect lucidity that what I conceived when I was ill can and must be written in English – everything came together and clicked into place in an instant, – and now I very much want to lock myself up and lie down to write. I kiss your eyes, my happiness, lots of kisses.
V.
WRITE, MY LIFE, AND TAKE BIG STEPS, SLIDING, ONE-TWO, ONE-TWO ... BANG!
MY JOY!
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[3 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris XVI
22, Hornton Str
[London]
3–VI–39
8 a.m.
My darling, well, of course, yesterday morning (after abundant telephone exercises – I called Mme Solomon, where I will have dinner on Tuesday, Vera H., Mme Tyrkov, Mme Tsetlin – I will visit Mme Tyrkov on Thursday) I went to my museum. First I called on Capt. Riley (editor of the ‘Entomologist’). He looked at my meladon and said 1) it is something quite new 2) the only person who may know something about the question is Stempfer, who lives in Paris (and with whom Riley, in 1929, had a famous run-in over carswelli-arcilani, – you remember) 3) that I certainly must publish it in the ‘Entom.’ and supply photographs of the beauty – normally it would cost me 2 pounds, but it seems I might be able to arrange it for free. Then I went to Brigadier Evans and for two hours straight he and I sorted out my Hesperidae, among which, again, there is one unknown, but for many reasons the question is so complicated (Evans himself suspected that yet another species flies with alveus, as well as armoricanus and foulquieri) that I’ll have to work there some more. I had lunch with Vera Mark., tête-à-tête. It turned out that Politzer couldn’t come to lunch on Saturday, but instead I’m invited to him, i.e. to Collins, on Monday morning. Lubrzhynsky, whom I phoned, maintains that they’re eager for ‘Sebastian’. I went to the School of Slavonic Lang. for 3.30 to see Struve and Sir Bernard. I had a rather platonic conversation with Gleb about arranging my reading, which he proposes arranging for the 3rd – but where, how and at whose place, who knows. The gossip about his getting a ‘salary increase’ is nonsense. Then I saw Yakobs. (at whose place I’ll have dinner on Wednesday) and, with some difficulty, got through to Pares. He (perhaps feeling that he had been giving me false hopes and displaying – sincerely, it seems – indignation about the rejection from Leeds, which apparently did not even find it necessary to inform him about it) was extremely nice to me and immediately dictated two letters – one of them, putting pressure on Harper, the other ... In a word, there is a very interesting new possibility at the Intelligence Service, which had applied to him for specialists. From the university Gleb and I went to the Harrises’, who live nearby, and had tea there. I was at home at seven, had dinner, chatted, and went to bed early. I am dying to get down to the new book. My darling, write me a few words, I adore, I adore you. Today I am phoning Nadya, writing to Vinaver, Mme Chernavin, Mrs Hill, and someone else I have noted down, I will have tea at Mme Shklovsky’s, and tonight I’m going, I think, with Arnold, to an open air Shakespeare performance. And here’s the money situation for the moment. So far, I’ve got only 5 pounds (from Pares – a gift), but in any case, my trip has paid for itself. A funny joke: a private detective reports that he has climbed a tree to look through the window at a couple: ‘first she played with him, then he played with her, then I played with myself and fell off the tree’. My joy, I think that we shouldn’t put off our trip till July first. I kiss you, lots of kisses, ten more days.
HOW ARE YOU, MY DOGGY-WOGGIES? ARRANGE THE BUTTERFLIES BY MY RETURN. I KISS YOU TWO.
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[4 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris 16e
[London]
4–VI–39
8 a.m.
My love, yesterday morning, of course, I was at the museum, where Hesperids suck me in (the fascination of butterflies, in general, is like some blessed velvet abyss), had lunch at home and after lunch wrote three – no, four letters – no, five even – to Vinaver, to Elizabeth Hill (with a plea for translating work), an answer to Colonel Garsia (who had invited me to tea tomorrow), a few words to Flora (who had asked me to inform her when Garsia responded), to the Lees, and to Mme Chernavin – from whom, ten minutes after my letter went, I received an invitation (and an offer of a small job, a translation) – I will visit her tomorrow. I set out around four to Mme Shklovsky’s; while I was there she wrote a letter to a Mme Levitsky (a former flame of Milyukov’s), who, Zin. Dav. assures me, will gladly provide an apartment for an English reading – a paying one, of course. From there I went to the Sablins’, �
�� she with a bad head cold, in blue glasses and a brown scarf; Vladimir Kirill. is staying with them in my place. At seven I had dinner and went with Haskell to the theatre – a Shakespeare open-air performance, Much Ado about Nothing – in every sense of the word. Imagine a little corner of a park (Regent[’s] Park), files of green garden chairs (usually rented by black-clad old ladies) in the back rows and green deckchairs in front. They hand out plaids – but I wore two sweaters, an overcoat of my host’s, and a beret. The stage was a freshly mown lawn surrounded by trees and blooming bushes, and by the ‘footlights’, a row of mounds of mowed grass wittily hiding microphones. A ‘dazzling’ although somewhat overbundled audience – and great actors. The weather was ideal, the day hung on for ages, and all that time the trees were settling down to sleep, along with the wind and the birds, one could hear thrushes, then pigeons, and the progression of that evening performance didn’t correspond at all to the progress of the play – so that the sky and the park acted one thing and the people another – and later when night came the sky became completely purple, the lit-up trees became acid-green and exactly like some flat conventionally cut-out scenery. Lots of moths fluttered by, while next to us sat the amiable but supremely ungifted author of ‘Magnolia Street’. I found your little letter, my happiness, upon my return home. 1) yes – le grand-duc et le duc moyen 2) crottin 3) ‘the rain charged up’– any of them 4) translate literally, about the hard sign, and provide a footnote. There. This morning I’m going with Haskell to the Zoo, will have lunch at Vera Heller’s, take tea at Eva’s, have dinner at Grinberg’s. They’ll call me in a moment to b r e a k f a s t – all in dressing gowns, luckily. My darling, I love you, I kiss you, I’ll be back soon, please get ready for our trip to the mountains.
MY MITEN’KA, MY LITTLE EARS, MY JOY!
V.
____________________
[AL, 2 PP.]
[5 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris XVI
22, Hornton Str., W. 8
[London]
8.45 a.m.
5–VI–39
My multi-coloured love, my Hesperid, mihi,
Yesterday morning I went with the very sweet Arnold (his face is very like a kangaroo’s, which is remarkable – since he’s crazy about Australia) and his youngest son (who looks like Mus disneyi) to the Zoo. An amazing green place – and the only zoo where the animals look, if not exactly gleeful, then at least not depressed. Of course we spent ages admiring the Giant Baby Panda (discovered by the missionary David in 1867 in the mountains of China). It’s smoky-grey, with white patches and a large black spot around each eye, big-headed, soft as a toy animal the size of a bear – and generally looking like a bear. There was also a very interesting gentleman, an old man of the artist-naturalist type, with a small beard and tanned bald head, who amuses himself every morning with the wolves, i.e. he walks into their cage – rolls them around, lies down on them, under them, across them, kisses them on their teeth, pulls their tails, while they think about something else. Also good was a little island in the pond, as if completely unprotected, overgrown with flowers and swarming with various poisonous snakes. I had lunch with Vera Heller, from her went to Eva. Her son is very funny (he engaged me in an adult conversation). At both places, we discussed the question of my situation. I went off at five, leaving Eva another copy of the letter (I’ve got new signatures these last few days) which she wants to forward to someone she didn’t name. Since it was still too early to sail off to Savely, I sat in Hyde Park for a while: hot sun, the glitter of radiators in the greenery. Savely was very touching. His parents were there – and his father discovered that we both were colleagues in terms of our visa and passport adventures. I was home by twelve. A little gap here: I didn’t have time to finish the letter before b r e a k f a s t, and before lunch I must get to the bank and to Collins. After that I will have lunch at Mme Chernavin’s, drink tea with the Colonel, at six, I will be at Otto’s (a party in my honour), and tonight, a movie with the Haskells. The money situation is still poor. Besides the £5 from Pares, I received another £10 through Eva. It is true that Grinberg also offered me (not personally, but through his wealthy firm) to cover our costs here at first, from the beginning of October. He still doesn’t know for how long – a month or longer, he has to call me. In any case I think you should definitely go to Tatishchev for your passport (phone Rodzyanko first, though, to make sure); and as soon as I come back, I will submit an application to the Eng. cons. for a month-long visa for us in October. To finish this letter, I took a seat at the edge of some monument (Kensington Regiment something), and it is not very comfortable writing, although the pen’s behaving ideally. I think, my life, we can now calmly set out for Savoy on the 17th. For Heaven’s sake, settle that. It is very hot and I adore you very, very, very much.
V.
MY MITEN’KA, WHY DON’T YOU WRITE? LOVE YOU.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[6 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris 16e
22, Hornton str.
[London]
6–VI–39
8.30 a.m.
My love, yesterday’s conversation with Collins was very pleasant. D z e book is as good as s o l d. Milton Waldman received me first, and then Collins himself joined us. They asked me all kinds of questions that reminded me of the interview at Leeds that never took place. It was important for them to know whether I had more books dans le ventre, whether I would write in England, etc. This morning I will take ‘La Course du Fou’ there, it greatly interested them as well: Waldman has already baptized it ‘The Fool’s Mate’ (the fool’s mate is in three moves, but also a punning ‘translation’ of the word ‘fou’ – very funny). Specifically, our conversation about Sebastian ended on this, that in a few days they will make up their minds – and I mine. There was a small change in the programme, i.e. Mme Chernavin has been moved to another day – so that my other visit was to the Army and Navy Club, to Col. Garsia. We sat in the billiard room, he drank tea and I whisky. He cannot do anything about the Staff College, if only because, in his words, there is no official teaching of Russian in any of the three military colleges. But he is a nice man. Thereupon, my darling, I went to Otto’s – lots of people there – for example, Lovat Dickson, and I tried to sparkle. The book is at Macmillan’s. Budberg, a while ago, asked me not to tell Otto that I had given another copy to Politzer (the representative of Collins), but Otto knows. If in the course of two weeks Collins makes a firm offer as suggested, and if Macmillan (which is generally worse than Collins) says no, then I’ll withdraw the book from Otto. The situation now, however, because of the ‘double game’ (although I am my own agent in the negotiations with Collins – so I’m not really sinning against Otto) is slightly soapy.
I heard outstanding ‘compliments’ from Collins. Let me repeat, it was all very pleasant – and, for some reason, I keep thinking about my Ullstein-Meriks period. I had dinner at home (and lunch, at a Milk Bar, – it was too far to go back between the publisher and the colonel) and then the Haskells (with whom I have become very friendly – they are very sweet in every way) and I went to the cinema – an excellent French film ‘Le Carrefour’. This afternoon I am at Misha L.’s, but I’ll have dinner at Mme Solomon’s. My joy, do not forget to do what I asked you yesterday about the passport and Savoy. There is no need to be stuck in Paris till the first of July. We can stay in Savoy till September 1 – I will bring at least 45 pounds, and besides that we can count on the sale of ‘Sebastian’. And yet another monetary combination will become clear in a day or two. I adore you, my dear happiness, write to me.
MY DARLING, DO YOU LIKE THIS PICTURE? LOLOLOLOLOLOVELOVE YOU. WILL BE BACK IN A WEEK.
V.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[7 June 1939]
TO: 59, rue Boileau, Paris 16e
22, Hornton str.
[London]
7.VI.39
11 a.m.
Yesterday morning I took ‘Course du Fou’ to Waldman and for the last, fourth, time, visited the museum. Brigadier Evans (Hesperids), with whom I’ve become very friendly since I’ve been here, gave me an important commission to Le Cerf in Paris – to bring certain types, which he will need in October, from the Paris museum – since to obtain something from a Frenchman by mail is almost impossible, as we all know. Besides he told me that we are very understaffed here, several collections need to be sorted out – and one should not rule out the possibility that they will give me work there when we move. I returned for lunch (it’s hot, everything’s hazy, the parks are full of sun-worshippers) and in the afternoon went to see Misha. He intends to champion my play seriously, he has his ways. From there I went to have dinner at Mme Solomon’s. She had talked to two people, one in the Admiralty and another in the Foreign Office, and this morning I wrote both of them a letter each with my papers enclosed – curric., testimonials. By the way, I will soon need to send a copy to that – Harper, Samuel Harper. Today I will have lunch with the Haskells at Maria Solomoylovna’s, then at 3.30 I’m meeting Molly at Victoria, then at six I must be at a party at Lovat Dickson’s (a well-known publisher), then at the Slavonic School, and dinner at Yakobson’s. What a day. Tomorrow evening I will be at Mme Tyrkov’s. My darling, I’m wildly missing you and him. And most of all I’m worried that we won’t get out of Paris on June 17th – this is necessary, I need (besides catching butterflies) to write – but a new fallow furlough in Paris will drag the business out. We should now have enough money for everything – not to mention one more source of help starting to take shape. Has there been anything from E. K.?; I will be writing to her on Friday after my meeting with Ariadna. This time I’m spending almost nothing here – the 45 pounds are intact. For God’s sake write to St Thorax, if this has not been done yet. I told some people here that ‘people we know are inviting my wife to the country, but she cannot go alone with the child, because this way it won’t be a rest for her’. I called Sergey R., but he wasn’t home. On Sunday, I’m playing tennis with Lourie. I feel well, but I’m dreaming of you and of peace (and of butterflies, ça va sans dire). It seems to me I’m managing all my affairs rather well, but I don’t hear any praise from you. I kiss you, my beloved.
Letters to Véra Page 42