I worked out with Mme Sablin about the evening and will write to her husband tonight. The persons I named have already received ‘Despair’, but I haven’t been sent a copy yet. Today, Denis Roch[e] is reading the final translation of ‘Spring’ to me – good man, he did it quickly. I will go to Candide in a day or two – since for some reason they’re dragging their heels. There are two things I want more than anything else in the world now: for you to be (with him, my warm little one) next to me, near, my sweet darling – and to be able to carry on peacefully with my ‘Gift’ (not a single misprint in the first chapter – and, overall, it’s presented very nicely). On Monday, I’ll be at the English consulate. What do you think, shall I ask Bourne to send out the copies (mine) of ‘Despair’ (to, say, Thompson, Solomon, Church, Harrison, and so on – ten to fifteen people altogether) or shall I do it myself from London? Answer all these questions right away, my precious. My happiness, I can’t stand being without you any longer. – I kiss you, I kiss you – and I kiss you again.
V.
____________________
[APCS]
[postmarked 19 April 1937]
TO: 21, Osnabrückerstr., b/ Prof. Geballe,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My love, is the little man all right?
Today I received 6 copies of ‘Despair’ in the familiar (abominable) binding, but with a charming jacket. Shall I send it to you? I’m going to the English consulate today for my visa, then to I. V. to listen to the next instalment of his memoirs ... The English evening, evidently, will be on May 3rd. Roche’s translation was simply magnificent, but we went over it and corrected for 4 hours – and haven’t completely finished; we’ll have to meet again on Wednesday. I went, with Ira and Saba, to a music-hall, where pitiable women dance naked. I wrote five letters to England today. There is a notice from the post office that a package has come. Rudnev is asking for the next chapter by July 1st. Can it really be that in twenty days I’ll see both you and him? There are days when I adore you just a little more than a human being can adore – and today is one of them. How are you feeling? My dear love ...
V.
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[postmarked 20 April 1937]
TO: 21, Osnabrückerstr.,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My only love, how nice, how charming’s everything you write about the little man (and about the attic!) is, and, all in all, this was an especially dear letter (except for the ‘vile rumours’). On Thursday morning I’ll see Maria Ivanovna who has come to Paris from the south. She writes: ‘I’ll rent my little house to you with pleasure, from May on, if that suits you. I’ll also give you detailed directions for installing yourselves in Favières, if you wish to settle down in a pension. It makes no sense to go to Bormes now, since it’s already nice in Favières in May.’ And how I am looking forward to his warmth, his new words, his sly little smile. My darlings! But I don’t know how to arrange a flight here from Berlin – Maria Ignatievna cannot help us with this. She was, you know, the mistress of Gorky, of Lockhart, now – of Wells – quite the mysterious adventuress type. All in all, I don’t know what would be better, whether you should go through Paris, which means a stopover, or through Strasbourg. The latter, I think. It’ll be the last of your trials, this journey, my tired little one. In Favière I’ll take him over from you completely. For the sake of the date (ours, as you know), I want to meet you in Toulon no later than May 8 (and out of coronation considerations too, one can’t have an evening in London later than then). I’ll send books to Mother from Paulhan’s. I am preparing an excerpt for P. N. There will be no operation. I’m in touch with Zina, and at her request have asked Nouv. Lit. to send her back the Pushkin material she sent them earlier. I asked her about Kirill in two letters, but she hasn’t responded yet.
The same rumours have reached me – and I didn’t doubt that they would slither over to Berlin, too. The slippery mugs of those who spread them ought to be smashed! I heard another version, from the old man: that I’m having an affair with Berberova. I am indeed at the Kokoshkins’ rather often – and both of them are very pleasant – I emphasize ‘both’. My every act, pronouncement, gesture, facial expression is commented on minutely and malevolently in local literary and semi-literary circles. Here’s an example, from among the most innocent. Once, between a meeting at the Revue de Paris and a dinner at the Kyandzh. or the Kokoshk., not knowing what to do with myself (a mighty spring rain was falling), I took a seat at a café on the Champs Elysée[s] and ordered a cup of hot chocolate. By chance Aldanov was there, we sat down together for a while and then went to the Place de la Concorde (I, under an umbrella, and he, in a bowler hat, the rain pouring down from the edges of the bowler), during which I asked him in detail about the historical associations of the square (about the place where they executed the king, about the buildings preserved from those times). The result: the next day a rumour reaches me: at night (!) Sirin out of snobbishness or perversion (!!) drinks chocolate in a café (i.e. not, say, Pernod or another aperitif, like an honest writer) and out of his haughty spite for everything ignores the sights of Paris. Ultimately I don’t give a damn about the nasty things they say with relish about me, and I think you shouldn’t give a damn either. I do and I will always care about you. In general, I pull people’s leg a good deal, and they don’t forgive me for that. My life, my love, you are part of me and you know it perfectly well. I kiss your hands, your sweet lips, your little blue temple.
V.
[APCS]
[postmarked 21 April 1937]
TO: b/ Prof. Geballe, 21, Osnabrückerstrasse,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My love, one cannot do anything from here, about the aeroplane, I mean; this should be done from Berlin; there is a comparatively cheaper aller-et-retour, but that won’t do! It is very complicated – not to mention that perhaps on the 27th or 28th I’ll be about to go to London, while today is already the 21st, so when will it all be and how can you live with the boy in Sofa’s abominable hotel, while I find something here ... no, this won’t work out! Your letter agitated me excruciatingly, for I know in advance nothing will come of this and I’ll have to wait another 17 days. But here’s something, perhaps: find out about the difference (monetary and hourly) between a trip to Toulon through Strasbourg and a trip to Toulon through Paris. If, in both cases, it’s minimal, then go through Paris – now, so I could see you at least entre deux gares – and then go straight to Toulon – since it’s better to expect me there from London, than in Paris. But it’s only tomorrow that I will know the pension in Favière (and then I’ll write you right away). My love, I am terribly worried about your plight, I can imagine what torture it must be staying at the scoundrels’. And yet I think you should not settle (without me) in Paris, but better go straight to Favière. I love you, life is meaningless without you, and well, if you are plucky enough, risk it, leave right away.
V.
Or maybe you can stay at Elena Lvovna’s? Or at Anna Natanovna’s? Shall I ask?
I replied to you about the aeroplane in my letter yesterday, so I am not sending this one by airmail.
____________________
[ALS, 2 PP.]
[postmarked 23 April 1937]
[Paris]
TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky,130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
Thank you, my adorable life, for your little birthday greetings and for ‘Mercury’ (by the way, did you read a charming little piece about Wagner in Lit. Digest?). This is how I’m spending my birthday: lunch at the Tatarinovs, then – sun, then I am going to see Sylvia Beach, then to Candide with Doussia, then to Léon,
and if there’s time, to Dobuzhinsky, who is painting my portrait, and in the evening I’ll have to go to a reading by Ladinsky. I’m waiting for news from London, but only a draught of cold silence comes from there – I am afraid my little book is anything but a best-seller. Maybe reviews are out already, but I’m not buying English newspapers.
My love, regarding Favière: the die is cast, the house is rented (on the condition that if we don’t like it there, the agreement will be annulled).
Voilà. It’s surrounded by a vineyard and stands apart from the other cottages; from the south, a path goes down to the beach (5 minutes); from the north, there are hills and a pine forest. She is giving us bed linen, a tub (she says it’s new), all the necessary dishes. The keys are with the farmer’s wife next door, who will do our laundry (besides, she will wash the sheets under Maria Ivanovna’s name; she charges her half-price). The mattresses are new, especially for us. A butcher delivers meat twice a week, leaving it at the farmer’s (Mme Angèle Montanard). We will probably be able to hire a girl from her as well to do the cleaning – although it will be very easy to clean there, a stone floor covered with straw mats. Everything is seaside-fresh from the sun and the sand. In general the house looks nice and clean. All groceries come from the Grudinsky’s épicerie, on the beach. So: we can move in immediately (on May 8), but maybe, so that we don’t have to worry about cooking for at least a week, in the first few days we can eat our meals at the pension of Elena Iv. Golde nearby, it’s nice and cheap there. There is no electricity, but it does not get dark there (in May already) earlier than half past nine, we will go to bed early and get up early, as everyone does there. There is a large kerosene lantern on the terrace and several kerosene lamps in the house. On the corner verandah (the dining-room), there’s a tap and as much water as we want. In the kitchen, we will have an oven, a primus and a spirit stove (in general, the absence of gas will be our only discomfort). For four months (i.e. from May 8 to September 15), she is charging one thousand six hundred francs (which we can pay when and how we please); on the condition, though, that in July, she will come for two months and settle in the room marked with an X (she is a very good soul, adores children – and, all in all, we will only be more comfortable with her there). So now: we need to set aside another seven hundred francs’ living expenses a month – according to her ample estimate, plus fifty more for wood and kerosene, so that tout compris, a month would cost us 1350–1400 fr. (at least half of which Victor will earn). A train leaves from here at half past nine in the evening and reaches Toulon at half past eight. An autocar takes us to Lavandou, and from there it’s a quarter of an hour by taxi (25 fr. with luggage).
(No, here’s how it’s arranged: we hire a stove and a tank of gas (‘Buta-Gaz’ –absolutely harmless, by the way, since even if it leaks, it spreads over the ground in a thin layer). This costs 25 fr. a month; they bring it up from the city and set it up – so there’ll be neither wood nor fuss.) My love, my dear – and already almost flesh-and-blood – love! Yes, on the 6th or the 7th I’ll be here already – and if you think that it’s less tiring for you to go through Paris, then let’s meet here – but I still think it would be better for you to go straight to Toulon. By the way, I’ll find out and write to you about the departure times of trains from Berlin, and the prices. Today’s letter is strictly business, and I’m in a rush to send it. Remember that I won’t tolerate any more changes, that the little house is rented, and that it’s nice and cheap. You can’t get cheaper anywhere, while the climate there is wonderful and the little one will paddle to his heart’s content. I will write to Anyuta tomorrow. Won’t she come with us? I kiss you without end, my happiness. I’ve bought you a wonderful lipstick.
V.
[APCS]
[postmarked 26 April 1937]
TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My dear love, the pictures are wonderful! Thanks, my dear love. I am sitting in our corner café, in the sun, and it drives me crazy and tortures me that you’re not seeing with me that smiling linden tree, the shining of hobnails on passers-by, the ruby of my Dubonnet. Instead of a final decision, I received from Gleb today a foolish limp postcard informing me that he does not have two spare pounds to rent a hall; and Victor is simply afraid to send them to him, since he’ll squander them. Alluding to the fact that not a single review of Despair has appeared yet, Struve hedges, ponders and proposes that I concentrate on Sablin, as a consequence of which I flew into such a rage that I almost sent him a letter to match. On the other hand, I have still not received an answer from Sablin – he must be fasting. My project of going there earlier, on the 28th, to reach a deal with the Liberal Club, has apparently fallen through utterly. I’ll wait three more days and if there’s nothing new, I will ask you to leave immediately, my happiness, so that by the first we could be in Favière. I’ll write you about the trains. I am writing to Gleb today, to try seriously to organize at least the Russian evening, after getting in touch with Sabl., and on top of that an English evening in a private house, without renting any halls. I feel quite miserable. Most importantly, if England doesn’t work out now, there’d be no need to postpone your visit so. I will talk to Mme Sablin again tomorrow. It seems to me that I can still make every effort so this trip to London happens.
I spent a very pleasant evening with Jules Superv. I was at Fayard, collected copies of ‘Course’ and offered them ‘Despair’ to translate. Jean was charming and promised me a quick reply. I have finished ‘Fialta’ with Roche – it’s turned out magnificently. Dobuzhinsky has done my portrait – a good likeness, I think. I saw Lyusya, Sylvia, Ridel, Ergaz. My excerpt is in the Easter issue, and I have the right to give them three in May, since this month there was only one. My heart simply pounds when I think about our meeting. You. To you. With you. And I kiss my little boy, – and greetings to Anyuta.
My pen’s gone on strike.
V.
____________________
[APCS]
[postmarked 26 April 1937]
TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My love, I had no need to send you that panicky postcard yesterday. Everything’s sorting itself out. I have just received a very nice letter from Sablin, with the evening fixed on May 5, so that I could return as early as the 6th. Even if Gleb does not organize the English evening (on May 3), it’s worth going anyway. I have sent them a list of addresses and written to all my friends in London. I will leave on the 30th or the 2nd. At Haskell’s, I will have to live in the sitting room. All’s well. I’m happy today, because I’ll see you in less than two weeks, my love. And him. I wrote about Anna Nat. only because she suggested this to me herself, some time ago. If you still want to go through Paris, then by the 6th or 7th I’ll try to find a room for you. I want to get sea-and-sun things for you, but I don’t know your size etc. – that tortures me! Tonight there’s an evening in memory of Zamyatin (I will read his ‘Cave’ in French there) at a private house – at the lady’s to whom Gumilyov’s ‘Blue Star’ is dedicated. What Lyusya has, remains untouched. I love you. Miracles of economizing. Only on correspondence do I spend a lot. They say I’ve grown fatter and tanned. How I dream of you getting some rest. Everyone praises it a lot – our little cottage. I kiss you.
Poor, poor Clem Sohn – Zyoka saw how he fell. Ses ailes, ses pauvres ailes …
V.
My dear Anyutochka,
I’m sad that you are not feeling well (even Anna Maks. wrote about this) and that there’s so much fuss and discomfort. I am also upset that I don’t know (and no one knows) your plans. I discussed in detail the question of the little cottage with Lyusya and then rented it. Will you come to France with Véra? How many stories I have for you! I hug you, be well, I’ve missed y
ou a lot.
V.
____________________
[APCS]
[postmarked 27 April 1937]
TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,
Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne
c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles
[Paris]
My love, fine, I agree. I don’t have the strength to continue this long-distance chess game – I give up. Your health, the meeting with Mother, and – why not admit it – the possibility of calmly composing ‘The Gift’ – that’s what I’m transferring to the forefront of my consciousness. But I feel madly sorry about Favière (I agreed with Mme Chorny to give her a final answer in writing, so it’s not a problem). So now: fearing new re-decisions de ta part, I won’t risk writing Mother today about the visa for me (I was at the Czech Consulate, and there they won’t give me a visa without this, i.e. this takes 3 weeks). Therefore – if going to Czechoslovakia is decided on – immediately, right now (otherwise I won’t get it before the 7th), write to tell her to go to the Ministry and to get them to send me the visa here. (Since we will soon have the permis permanent here, there’s no need to worry about the passport – although, actually, it will probably have to be sent to Maklakov from Czechoslovakia). And you should leave without delay. I am furious with you, but I love you very dearly.
V.
I don’t understand why we cannot live at Mme Chorny’s, taking our meals at the pension nearby. I continue to think that this is the only sensible thing. This way there’s no need for any special housekeeping. It’s absurd to leave France when everything’s going along so smoothly; this way I’ll be forgotten here again and it’ll all have to start afresh. For God’s sake, think again. We will work out the housekeeping, I promise you. But do as you wish.
Letters to Véra Page 36
