Letters to Véra

by Vladimir Nabokov

  I won’t bother about any other French resorts.

  [APCS]

  [postmarked 29 April 1937]

  TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,

  Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My love, my English trip has fallen through completely. Instead of an answer, Struve prattles limply about the English evening, while (after his definite invitation) Sablin changed his mind and informs me through his wife that it is risky to go: Easter and the coronation. I can’t tell you what a state of irritation all these negotiations have driven me to. Damn. After all, this idiot has been giving me – and himself – the run-around for a month and a half. I’d never have thought about this second trip to London, had he not organized the first one so well. In fact then he did it for nothing, while now I offered him a share in the profits. Damn. I am curious what will happen next, that is, how long you will take to decide where to go and, in the case of your final and irrevocable (otherwise it would be criminal to agitate Mother again) decision to go to Czechoslovakia, how long I’ll have to wait here for the Czech visa.

  Tomorrow I will write you at more length – I am too worked up today and I’ll calm down only when you (tonight, I hope) write that you are getting ready to go.

  Still, I adore you, my sweet darling. I hug my little one.

  V.

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [postmarked 1 May 1937]

  TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,

  Berlin – Wilmersdorf

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My love and joy, I presume this at last is your final decision and that you really will be on your way the day after tomorrow. I am waiting for the visa and ready to take off. Will see Rodzyanko and Maklakov again about the passport, – but I assure you your worries are completely unnecessary. Before I forget: shall I take with me such things as the dinner jacket or the winter things (Aunt Nina’s) for the boy? How about the crowd of books? Five copies of ‘Despair’, two of ‘Course du Fou’, three of ‘Otchayanie’? And how many copies shall I take from Lyusya? Answer all of this.

  I am wildly happy at the thought of seeing you – and him – (and Mother) so soon. Remember our dates: the 8th and the 10th. Will I get the visa by then?

  The evening in Zamyatin’s memory was high-style, crowded, and a little ‘off’ – as, by the way, Zamyatin himself was ‘off’. I read ‘The Cave’ in French (a perfectly decent translation), while Bunin read in Russian the nastily cheap short story about a Red Army man (you know, he shoots old women, but feels sorry for the little – ‘itsy-bitsy’ – sparrow: such orthodogged vulgarity). What a truly unpleasant gentleman Bunin is. He can more or less tolerate my muse, but he cannot forgive me my ‘lady admirers’.

  I paid a visit to Mme Ridel: the view from her window is on the Exhibition’s grandiosely materializing, clownishly plaster (but illuminated by the disinterested spring sunshine) tastelessness. The Eiffel tower looms, watching over these mercenary and ephemeral constructions, like an old ‘procuress over the romps of young whores’. And I, my happiness, have lately had a poem wandering in my head, but I cannot finish anything:

  The blackness of the seductive Seine,

  precious tears of lights;

  leaves of lindens and green veins

  in the theatrical silence of the streetlamps.

  At the cinema, I saw the terrible, piercing fall of the ‘bird-man’ – and another reverberation for a long time gave me no peace.

  Clem Sohn, Clem Sohn, how was the night before?

  What did you dream in your hotel?

  … London tomorrow, and Amsterdam in June ...

  Did you not count on this, Clem Sohn?

  Besides this, a short story is revolving. Generally, I’ve been coming alive in this respect lately. The second chapter of ‘The Gift’ is thought through, down to the commas.

  Ilyusha goes to church fervently (and for 57 days already – Vladimir Mikhaylovich marks every day on the calendar – has not taken a bath). He is offended (and horrified) at me, as at an atheist. I said I wouldn’t go to the morning service if only because when I enter a church all the candles go out. Vera Nikolaevna doesn’t call me anything else but ‘the infidel’. Tout ça est très rigolo.

  I continue to get letters from England, dissuading me from going there. Bourne sent me the form for the American copyright. I’ll fill it out and send it back; you have to include 2 dollars. He has also sent me excerpts from seven reviews. ‘Outstanding quality.’ ‘Undoubted distinction.’ But one journal wrote that this novel ranks me among ‘the small number of world humorists!’ This may be the truest thing ever written about me.

  I am going to listen solo to the reading of the old man’s memoirs, part two. He has already read one chapter from this second part to me once. All this time I have been haunting the thresholds of editors (Candide, Revue de Paris, Nouv. Lit.) – I’d like something at least to become clear before my departure. Shall I buy a butterfly net?

  I love you. Yes of course, let’s go to France after Czechoslovakia. Oh, my joy, I am afraid that your resort will be costly, rainy, and that we will regret the demise of Favière ... My darling, my darling! How much longer – a week? 10 days?

  V.

  ____________________

  [APCS]

  [postmarked 3 May 1937]

  TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,

  Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My darling, I have not received anything from you for days. Where are you? What’s going on? According to my count, you’ve already left. In my next letter, I’ll tell you in detail about the passport. It’s very painful not to know even approximately when I’ll get my visa. I love you, my dearest. You know, my excerpt (the journey through China) has had an absolutely ‘exceptional success’. But then the vulgar cretin Pilsky has taken offence at my ‘Gift’ in a long-winded article, saying that ‘he understood nothing in it’ and ‘cannot imagine who might understand’. The article in general is a pearl of stupidity. I am preparing a new masked little excerpt – the story featuring Pushkin. I have been eating an endless number of various paskhas – at Ilyusha’s, the Tatarinovs’, the Kokoshkins’, the Rudnevs’, the Vishnyaks’, and so on. Once again the idea of the tub resurfaces. We should buy one, shouldn’t we? Chestnuts are blooming – a whole illumination of flowers, – the lilacs are in bloom, too, a warm spell, mosquitoes, I’ve been going around coatless for ages. I would like to bring little pyjamas for you – I beg you, tell me your size! I have an insane longing to write and am insanely sick of living without you, without him. Write sooner! Do you know that people lose a lot of weight from mud baths and that after them one needs to ‘regain weight’ ailleurs? I kiss you, my darling ...

  V.

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [postmarked 5 May 1937]

  TO: 21, Osnabrücker Str., b/ Prof Geballe,

  Berlin – Wilmersdorf, Allemagne

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My love, my sweet love, I note that in your last (otherwise, delightful) letter there is not a word about your departure.

  About the passport: of course I am applying for the permis for both you and me (Rodzyanko, by the way, remembers Evsey Laz. well. He is a heavy man with broad shoulders, a beard, and black eyes, – he’s Mar. Pavlovna’s nephew). I am very worried that I haven’t yet received the permit (which entitles me straight away to a ‘French’ passport), since I submitted the application back in February, and in March, I learned that the matter was in hand and proceeding well. Today, Rodzyanko went to the Sûreté over this, and tomorrow I’ll have to talk to him about it again. Had we gone to Favière, as we were supposed to, i.e. had we resided in France, everything would have been very simple in general �
�� we would have quietly waited for the permis. But if I don’t get it before my departure, I’ll need to send the passports back here from Czechoslovakia. On Friday, I will proceed to the Czech consulate (they tell me it’s no big deal if the visa is two or three days past the deadline). I am insanely worried at not knowing where you are going, nor when, nor where nor when I should go (as you see, the ‘nors’ here are carrying a double load). Is it really possible we won’t be together, not on the 8th, nor on the 10th? Please hurry up, my love! I’ve had quite, quite enough of this separation. Not a word from Mother – which also worries me greatly. I can see your meeting with Lena very clearly.

  Tonight, I will dictate to Raisa at the typewriter ‘Printemps à F.’ which Denis Roche has copied very diligently and illegibly, like an old Frenchman, by hand. To Gleb I wrote this, by the way: ‘I am sincerely grateful to you for your energetic and far-sighted help.’ The fool, I am afraid, won’t be offended. My ‘Gift’ is reverberating. Rudnev created a little scene because I’d placed an excerpt without his permission. Will I manage to submit the second chapter to him by July 1? It all depends on when I can get out of here (since here I am absolutely unable to work, although I have heaps of ideas – and today too I will try to at least start a story I’ve thought up). Tomorrow I am meeting with Lyusya – who, as is his custom, will ask me questions whose answers he knows better than I do. Once he called me, asking if I couldn’t meet him immediately, to lend him a hundred francs, which an acquaintance was asking him for, and then, a quarter of an hour later, he called again, to cancel – I did not really get what it was all about. Some subtle move, I presume. Fine, I won’t buy the net, but the tub – definitely, right? I get breathless with happiness when I think I’ll see you and my little one. I kiss my little one. I take my little one in my arms. My little one! My little darling! Three and a half centuries have gone by since I took him for a walk – down streets which I’ll never in my life see again.

  Demidov, that bearded maggot, is coldly polite with me, – but P. N. has somewhat ‘got over’ my last contribution – he had considered my Chernysh a personal insult, since he himself is working on that era now. (The telephone rang just now. Ivan. ‘Although you, my dear man, have copied it all from somewhere – great work!’) I see Zyoka very seldom. He is sour and somewhat lost. I took the little silver vase from Raisa. Handed the yellow shoes in to be repaired – they were gaping. I love you, my life.

  V.

  [APC]

  [7 May 1937]

  TO: 8, Koulova, Dejvici-Praha, Tchékoslovaquie

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My darling, there is torture by water, but there’s also torture by public office: after horrendous wanderings through one I have finally received a carte d’identité, by means of which I’ve also immediately acquired the French aller et retour visa (so that they will definitely give me the Czech visa now). However, as I should have expected, the Russian office made a mistake: the card is valid only for me [i.e. for you it is ready as well, but you must come in person to claim it] (and with it, I can immediately obtain a French Nansen passport). You will have either to – anyway, I’ll write about this again – in any case, there is nothing for you to worry about (on Monday, I’ll talk about this again to one special little man). If, however, we intend in general to move to France before July 7, then it’s all utterly simple: a few days before expiration, they’ll stamp yours with a French visa. We can also easily obtain Czech residence, as a springboard. I am insanely worried about how your trip went. My God, my happiness, how glad I am that you’ve got out! I received a very sweet letter from Anyuta and have sent you 500 cr. today.

  For three days I have had an awful (awful) toothache. I had to go to the dentist to kill the nerve. I plan to leave for Prague on Wednesday or on Thursday. I’m waiting for a letter from you! Tomorrow is the eighth – and we’re apart. Quick – I can’t wait any longer! Will try the Czech consulate on Monday. How was the trip for my little one? I am tremendously happy you are in Prague. How do you find Mother? I kiss her. Till very soon, my own darling ...

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [postmarked 10 May 1937]

  TO: 8, Koulova, Dejvici-Praha, Tchékoslovaquie

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]

  My dear happiness, I was so worried, your little card arrived only today. I want details, how was the trip for my little three-year-old, how was his meeting with Mother, did he recognize her from the portrait ... I don’t even know where you are staying. How long, really, will it take to send me the visa? I would like to leave on Thursday. I am afraid that you’ll get agitated about your passport, but I hope that through the bonhomme I’ll see tomorrow, we will be able to sort that out somehow. In any event it’s good that I have managed to obtain my permis. And in any case you should find out about Czech residency. Or are we coming back here before 7-VII?

  I have simultaneously received news from Gallimard that they are reading ‘Despair’ and very gratifying news from Albin Michel (through Doussia): their readers have given brilliant reports, so the chances are that Albin will take the book. Perhaps by writing that I have bumped luck’s elbow and everything’s already spilled. We’ll see.

  Endless fuss with ‘Fialta’: not only has Roche copied it out again very unclearly but he’s also made new mistakes. I will hand the thing over only on Tuesday. This re-copying plus the prefecture plus a very nasty toothache, which even today (the nerve’s battle with the arsenic) wakes up every now and then, stretching and shaking itself – have somewhat exhausted me. But most important I want to come to you as soon as I can, my love ... I’m so pleased that we have finally done with Germany. Never, never, never will I return there. Damn them, those foul scum. Never.

  I am ‘paying’ farewell visits. Had dinner with the Bunins. What a boor he is! (‘How can one not love you,’ – Ilyusha says to me, – ‘if you spread it around everywhere that you are the best Russian writer.’ I: ‘What do you mean, how do I spread it around?!’ ‘How? – You write!’) On the other hand Vera Nikolaevna, although a bit doltish and still craving for young love (‘He is sometimes so rough with me – Lyonya,’ she said to me with some foul wombish pleasure about Zurov), is always very kindly and has done me lots of the sweetest favours. But Ivan speaks with her like some boorish tyrant in a poddyovka, bellowing and nastily mocking her intonations – horrid, pathetic, bags under his eyes, tortoise neck, always a bit tiddly. But Ilyusha is mistaken: it’s not my writing he’s jealous of, but rather the ‘success with women’ that the gutter gossip attributes to me.

  I’ve just been to Rashel’s. Now it’s after midnight. I’m utterly tired. My sweet love, how I love your handwriting, that running shadow of your voice ... Tomorrow I’m expecting a long letter. I cuddle other people’s children, – Ira B.’s very sweet baby, Mme Roshchin’s lovely girl (he, Roshchin, is very nice – walked me to the dentist yesterday).

  I saw Lyusya who totally wore me out with his talk about the carte d’identité. As far as I understand, in two months from now the furniture can head for Paris. Is that right?

  If you only knew how much I want to write ‘The Gift’. Lots and lots of kisses, my love. I’m tired, my pen is going blind and stumbling. Yesterday I looked in vain for a postcard with a train for the boy. In one of the shops the clerk said to me: ‘I don’t have any with trains, mais si vous en voulez avec de jolies filles …’ . There are such red chestnut trees in bloom here!

  V.

  ____________________

  TELEGRAM

  [10 May 1937]

  [Paris]

  NABOKOFF 8 KOULOVA DEJVICE PRAHA

  MY LOVE TO THE LITTLE MAN +++++

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [postmarked 12 May 1937]

  TO: 8, Koulova, Dejvici-Praha, Tchécoslovakei

  c/o Fondaminsky, 130, av. de Versailles

  [Paris]


  My love, my visa has turned into a monstrous nightmare. I did not write that it was being issued – quite the opposite, I begged and am begging you to press them more energetically in Prague. No matter how much I pleaded with the Czech consul – I was there three times in all – they are not giving me the visa 1) without the request, which takes about two weeks 2) without permission, again from Prague, for the visa to be issued, in spite of the fact that my passport is valid for less than another two months. Just in case, I have put in an application to Prague (to the Min. of Int. Affairs), but it is definitely necessary to put pressure on them there – and, most importantly, explain about the expiration. I am attaching a note here, explaining where exactly to go and under which number. All of this is absolutely horrible. The main thing that worries me now is Franzen[s]bad. Darling, my love, I cannot stick around here any longer, this is becoming a torture chamber – this separation – and I want you to rest instead of becoming so upset. You can’t really go to Fran-bad without me, on your own with the boy, that won’t be a rest, but for you to continue living in Prague will probably be exhausting, too, as well as expensive. I have set my heart on going to Prague and Fran-bad – and now cannot and do not want to give it up. Please, do everything that you can in terms of putting pressure on in Prague, while I, for my part, will try all the same to get a Fren. Nans. pass., which cannot be issued before this vile one expires. I cannot tell [you] how utterly miserable I am and how I long to see you, my life. Only don’t do anything silly and do not leave for France till there’s absolute assurance that no power in the world can get me a Czech visa. I am sending you 500 more fr. – I adore you, all of this is so senseless and so painful as if fate prend plaisir in torturing us. My dear darling, my priceless, my sunshine, I beg you try to arrange for my visit!

  Add to my condition my daily trips to the dentist. Well, well, this hell must end soon, I suppose. Write me sooner, my love.