Letters to Véra

by Vladimir Nabokov

  As Fond says, ‘the campaign has started’. They tell me that Kuprin can’t be invited. He gets dead drunk just on one glass. There are too many literary men here. I’ve had my fill. Aldanov does not always understand when I joke and when I don’t. He looks at me with distrust, but Khodasevich understands right away. I said to Aldanov: ‘I would not have written a single novel without my wife.’ He responded: ‘Yes, we’ve already heard how she helps you.’ Weidle is very young. I have not seen him yet. He’s away. It’d be much, much nicer to live here. Oh, it’s so late.

  ____________________

  [VÉNAF]

  [25 October 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Everything’s going very, very well for me. I’ve already had time to become friends with Supervielle, who’s awfully nice and talented. I spent the entire morning at his place. I read Luzhin to him, and he read me his poems. Some of them – wonderful – I’ve offered to translate into Russian. We had a very good and warm discussion. He went into raptures about the excerpts from Luzhin: the beginning and the chess match. He says the translation is not bad, just a bit clumsy in places. I’ll be at his place again in a couple of days. Here’s who he also reminds me of – Sergey Rodzyanko. I’m sitting in a café now, and just had an excellent lunch for 6 francs at Procope. It’s a quarter past two. At 3, I must be at Henry Muller’s (Grasset), and on Thursday, at Jean Fayard’s. I arranged with both of them by phone yesterday. And tomorrow afternoon I’ll be at Paulhan’s, Nouvelle Revue Française. I’ll offer translations of my stories to them and so on. Maybe Luzhin’s chess match, as Supervielle advises. Yesterday afternoon I also called Lukash and Milyukov (I’ve arranged a meeting) and Mme Adamov, who has promised to sell tickets. And I’ve written letters to Denis Roche, Kovarsky, and Frumkin, and signed that one for Kreul; I will see Levinson on Thursday at Fayard’s.

  I saw Sergey yesterday morning and had dinner at the Thompsons’. We didn’t talk about my literature. He has some lessons here, Sergey does. That terrible glassy gaze and a certain aura of tragedy. And he says the obvious. But he said that he wanted to talk about the essential, to find out, apparently, my attitude to his life, and for that he’ll call on me tomorrow, on Wednesday, at 3 p.m., after which I will go to Nouvelle Revue Française. I must write to Grasset now. A break. L’addition, s’il vous plaît. One coffee.

  Now I’m home from Grasset. I had a lie-down, I must be at Fondaminsky’s at half past six. They gave me a charming welcome at Grasset. Muller is a very nice young man, and, I think, a Jew, and another man, also very nice, is Tissen, who’s specifically in charge of my novel. Muller and I had a very amusing and friendly conversation. He has promised to drop me a line in a day or two, to meet with me. Gabriel Marcel, the critic, strongly advised me to see Ergaz. He gave me addresses of some others as well. Tissen admitted to me that they bought Camera sight unseen or, to be more precise, they bought it thanks to the reports of Nemirovsky (!), Bryanchaninov (??) and Ergaz, who hasn’t yet handed in her translations. They advised me to give her a push. I didn’t say anything about the financial side there, if only because it would have been awkward without Kovarsky. I have a letter from Nika for Marcel, but the publisher’s offices have a terribly dusty unpresentable look, like the old Logos warehouse. It’s very agreeable and straightforward there, without all those German things, they sit on the tables, talk about cards, and so on. Some frayed, crumpled photos without frames on the wall. Among others, the bearded, thick-nosed Lawrence with some young maiden at his side. Charming. They had thought that Nabokov was Sirin’s representative. I think everything’s working out excellently. – Touch wood.

  Yesterday afternoon I wrote, letters that is, and telephoned, and then went to the Thompsons’, having planned to buy foie gras on the way. I went to a dozen shops, without finding it, so wanted to buy flowers. Could not find any, either, and arrived pleading guilty. Told them in detail all that had happened. They thanked you very much for your attention. Treated me to a wonderful dinner with champagne and, in general, heaps of wine. But that’s beside the point. They’re both so sweet. He’s so interesting. We had such a glorious conversation that I felt quite sorry to leave. He showed me wonderful old books. All the editions of 1001 Nights, a medieval anatomy textbook with skeletons striking nonchalant poses against the landscapes, wonderful English poets with authors’ corrections, and a great deal more. And I’m quite on form now, meaning en train. Lisbet played the part of Yu. Yu. and said very touching things about you. And on Thursday I’m going, with the Thompsons, to a dinner at the American Club, where the playwright Bernstein will be talking. He seems to be a philistine, but it’ll be interesting anyway. Tell Mme Tatarinov that I have called Romochka and that I’ll see her. I’ll slip her tickets. I’ll meet with Lukash on Thursday, after the American Club. Tomorrow, I’ll dash to the Shklyavers’. No matter who I call, everyone already knows I’m here. Outside, in the evening, whores strike up conversations with me in English. Yes, sir. Ah, Supervielle’s so charming, and I recommended Thompson get Nicolas’s music. He said he definitely would. I’m already less tired: getting used to it.

  [VÉNAF]

  [28 or 29 October 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Yesterday, with the Tatarinov girls and women – Roma, Danya, Roma’s sister Mme Adamov – and Roma’s brother, who, actually, had invited everybody, I went to the gypsies, to a very pleasant Russian establishment, Au Papillon bleu. There we drank white wine and listened to the truly beautiful singing. Real gypsies plus Polyakova. This was my first carouse here, but not much of one. Then Klyachkin drove us all home (he’s in Berlin this morning, by the way), I was at home by 1 a.m., very decent and sweet of me, but the running about and lack of sleep the last few days have taken their toll. I woke up at half past two. Luckily I had nothing on in the morning. And now it’s near five. Soon I have to go to Denis Roche’s. I’ve prepared a postcard for him with Bac berepom so that he can finally understand what it’s all about. Paris is full of conversations about me already, and already they’re coming back to me. They find me ‘an Englishman’, ‘quality goods’. They say I always travel with a tub, in line with Martin, perhaps. And already my bons mots are coming back to me, too. So there you have me.

  Have you read Osorgin’s article and Adamovich’s verbiage? They show, [in general, how pleasant… .]. I can’t conceal from you that I’m sitting in Rotunda again. It’s very comfortable writing here. I am drinking coffee. Tomorrow and some of Sunday, I’ll write. I feel great here. First of all, because I’m writing so comfortably, secondly, because my head’s had a rest, and I sleep well, although not long. Don’t forget to send me ‘Music’. And if you can’t find it, then I’ll have to get it from Poslednie novosti. But then remind me when it was, approximately. I phoned the Shklyavers, but I didn’t get them. Shall I call on Sonya? Ask the old man where Zyoka is. I phoned him, but they told me he was away or had moved.

  There are so few dogs in the streets here! Yesterday, though, in some side-street, I petted the sweetest milky-eyed puppy. Tomorrow I will definitely write to Anyutochka. Tell her how fondly I think of her. I love her very much. I’ve caught two fleas already. Danya and Roma have barely changed. It seems they’ll manage to sell lots of tickets. ‘Once again a butterfly alights on the aster with its four coloured wings spread flat’. This is a poem about Kolbsheim. I’ve sent it to Nika and Natasha. I wrote twice to them, but they stay silent. I don’t even know when they’ll arrive, but I’m guaranteed a room at Rausch’s, he’s very nice.

  ____________________

  [VÉNAF]

  [29 October 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Today, I was at Denis Roche’s and at Danya’s. Both live in the same building, in a very gloomy district, near the Boulevard Arago, where executions take place. Danya retells me her affair with a Frenchman. And Roche turns out to be a grey-haired gentleman with a long face, slightly old-fashioned. He says t
hat he has yet to clean up and correct a lot in his translation. I’ll call on him again on Tuesday night to look over a few places together. Znossko will be there, but today he had an old man over, who turned out to be the son of the artist Ge. Strictly speaking, I’ve already written you today, when I stopped at the café. But now, when I’m back home, I’ve found your double letter and feel like writing to you for the second time.

  By the way, about the café. I stopped at the point when a five-year-old Russian girl walked in. Here’s how it was. Across the little table from me (the table is located in front of a long settee), a heavy old gentleman in a black hat was sitting with a little Russian girl. […]

  ____________________

  [VÉNAF]

  [31 October 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Sunday evening.

  It’s around 11 now. I’ve just got home. Awfully tired by my day. So, yesterday, I had tea one-on-one with Fondik. He’s really an angel, and everyone calls him an angel. One doesn’t need a residence permit. In a couple of days, at Aldanov’s, I’ll meet an American professor who has become ‘interested’ in me. And if the Americans buy even one novel … Well, you understand. Gallimard still hasn’t answered me about Glory. Maybe he’ll take it. Besides, others too are also rosily doubtful. From there, I went to Poslednie novosti. There, in Demidov’s office, sat Aleksandr Nikolaevich Benois; we greeted each other with a kiss. He has changed very little, only shaved off his little beard. But he’s still as dark in the face, with a broad nose and a charming voice; he wears pince-nez and glasses over them. I’ll call on him on Thursday night. I gave Demidov some biblio-biographic information. Talked with Aldanov and Tsvibakh, he’ll interview me tomorrow morning and treat me to lunch. I had dinner at a restaurant and, around 8, I was already at home. I undressed, lay down, and was scribbling something till midnight. And then the wind wouldn’t let me sleep. This morning I barely managed to get to the Thompsons’ on time. Drank two cocktails straight on an empty stomach. They had quail for lunch. We had a very good and cosy conversation till 3 p.m. I’ll go there again on Friday. At three, I went by electric train to Meudon, and, from the station climbed up the hill. A very peculiar little town. At last I found Lukash. […] Then Borman came, and I left after a while, barely making it to Khodasevich’s place, where Berberova, Dovid Knut, Mandelstam, Smolensky, Weidle’s wife, and some others whose names I didn’t catch were sitting. Everyone read their poems. Me, too. Then they read epigrams from their notebooks. One was very sweet, on me, that I seduce old Social Revolutionaries with Magda’s charms. Then everyone left around eight. I stayed with the very sweet Khodasevich, just the two of us. He cooked up a supper in his kitchen.

  ____________________

  [VÉNAF]

  [1 November 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Tuesday morning

  Yesterday I had an interview for Poslednie novosti and Segodnya with Tsvibakh. He asked idiotic questions and my replies weren’t too sharp; it will come out terrible nonsense, I think. He is smallish, plumpish and philistine. I’ve finally got hold of Marcel. I’ll call on him on Thursday afternoon. He has a thin little voice. I tried to write in the afternoon, it didn’t work. Then I slept for an hour. In the evening I went to Roche’s. He is now busy checking every phrase of his translation minutely, conscientiously and rather talentedly. He has already corrected many of the things you and I found there. And our proofs have gone to Levinson. He (Roche) has got hold of a thick volume – chess and other games – and is drawing his information from there. To me, he’s an ideal translator, in that sense. Luzhin should come out not at all badly. As for ‘lies’ and ‘lodges’, he translated them as ‘loge’ and ‘l’auge’. I had to give him my own copy of Luzhin with an inscription. Then the Znossko-Borovsky family came over: he, his wife and son. We drank some wonderful sweet wine and talked endlessly about Luzhin (they all remember it better than I do). Roche, after consulting with Znossko, corrected a few chess spots. All in all, I had an exceptionally pleasant evening. Now, Roche and I are trying to arrange for Luzhin to be published in a newspaper; we’ll split the honorarium. I’ll talk with Levinson about this, and with Evreinov about the chess film. I got home around 1 a.m., wrote a letter to Brussels, agreed to arrive on the 20th. I’m rather tired from all this running about. I simply have to write a story for the 15th and before then get a translation ready for N. R. F. But I don’t get any peace. And Natasha is coming soon with the baby, and I don’t know whether I should move to Rausch’s or stay here. I’ve just got a postcard from Kyandzhuntsev, I’ll call him. Buy a ticket and come here, why don’t you? I will see Fond in the afternoon, then go back home, do some writing, and in the evening I’m at Berberova’s.

  It’s twelve now, I must get up, I’m very hungry. Today, I think, is the first morning I’ve been able to have a long lie-in. I’ll phone Levinson, Kaminka and others today. Oh yes, I phoned my brother, but he wasn’t there.

  ____________________

  [VÉNAF]

  [2 November 1932]

  [TO: Berlin]

  [Paris]

  Wednesday

  I’ve just had lunch and returned home. Sergey will arrive at three, by five I must be at N. R. F. to see Paulhan, then at Kovarsky’s, from whom I’ve received a polite, courtly letter. What place in my life did I stop at yesterday? Oh, yes, I remember: before the evening trip to Fondaminsky. So then, at seven o’clock I rolled over to Fondaminsky’s, where I caught the tea era still, and as part of it – thank God, already getting ready to leave – the Merezhkovsky couple. She is red-haired and deaf, he is small, looks like Bem, with the same kind of beard. We said hello, and a chill swept through (as Aldanov later said). I didn’t talk to them at all, not even half a word. They soon left. After tea and still there for dinner (our supper) were Aldanov, Vishnyak (he is very likeable, funny and round), the invariable Kerensky, who also keeps cracking jokes with a remarkable Jewish intonation, and in general, has mannerisms a little like the old man Kaplan’s. Zenzinov is very quiet, invisible (it was he who let Azef escape), and Mother Maria – a nun, fat, pink, very likeable, the former wife of Kuzmin-Karavaev. And when I, not knowing this, told how Hitlerites had beaten him up, she said with feeling: ‘Serves him right!’ After supper, Aldanov, Fondaminsky and Zenzinov discussed the organization of my reading – tickets, hall, etc. On Thursday the first announcement will appear in Poslednie novosti (Aldanov’s doing this). They also want to bring in Osorgin, ‘your great admirer’. All in all, it’s going smoothly. Around nine, we all went together to a religious-political meeting, like this: into a small taxi-cab squeezed the plump Mother Maria, Ilya Isidorovich, Aldanov, Kerensky, who kept on teasing Aldanov saying that Gruzenberg, just like Kremenetsky, had diabetes. Aldanov felt really hurt. And me. And the jolly Vishnyak sat in front near the driver, who, of course, turned out to be Russian, and what’s more with the name of Kremenetsky, and when we got out of the car, Vishnyak, with the air of a conférencier, introduced us one by one to the driver: just look whom you’ve given a ride to, and we all shook his hand, and he was embarrassed and beaming. It was all extraordinarily silly.