Letters to Véra

by Vladimir Nabokov

  V.

  MY DARLING, HERE RED FAT DOUBLE-DECKER BUSES ARE REFLECTED UPSIDE DOWN IN THE WET ASPHALT. LOVE YOU

  DADDY

  ____________________

  [APCS]

  [5 April 1939]

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

  5, Brechin Place

  [London]

  5–IV–39

  My love, it’s time I got something from you. What shall I do about sending to Mother – there was another desperate letter from E. K. I have received an excellent testimonial from Berdyaev. Yesterday I had lunch at the Polyakovs’ – he’s the spitting image of Mussolini, there were lots of guests, I struck up a conversation with Lord Tyrrel about Nicholson, with no great success, since they are at fishknives drawn. Later I had tea with Mollie and her very charming husband. She brought me the play, well retyped, but in only one copy ... Now I’ll phone Rodzyanko. Then I had dinner at the very sweet old Braykeviches’; they have a wonderful collection of paintings, especially a whole seam of Somov, which I could not get my fill of. All of this means huge distances and rain, rain. In the evening, at the Sablins’, I ran into Kasim-Bek, Billig and Shuvalov. K. B., a jaunty brunet with almond-shaped eyes, invited me emphatically to their teas in Paris. Now I am going to Budberg, then to Struve, then to Allen Harris, then my reading. I adore, adore you!

  V.

  MY MITEN’KA, SEND ME A LITTLE DRAWING. I KISS YOU

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [6 April 1939]

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

  5, Brechin Place

  [London]

  6–IV–39

  My love, the evening went very well, I earned more than 20 pounds (there’s still more expected to come in), Sablin gave an introductory speech, which ended that ‘the crown on his (my) brow is not so much laurels as thorns’. I read ‘Lik’ and ‘Museum’. During the intermission, a tiny shrill woman in a pince-nez approached me and asked: ‘I want to know only one thing – did you receive my letter back then?. .’ (Remember – we received it in Menton), and when I confirmed this (with all sorts of additional cordial sounds), she added: ‘I do not need anything else’ – and stepped away with dignity. A photographer from ‘Post (something)’ (a little magazine like ‘Match’) took pictures of me, the audience, the paintings on the walls. Eva Lutyens was there, ugly, old, but a shadow of her ‘chien’ remained. Bromberg was not there, although I had invited him.

  Yesterday morning I visited Budberg – she treated all of my undertakings very crossly and shrewdly, outlined several plans and demanded ‘Seb. Knight’, – I gave her my second copy – she has an excellent publisher who likes exactly this kind of thing. At four I met Gleb. He explained frankly that if in Leeds they pay him more than in London (i.e. more than 450 pounds), then he will move there. Pares suggested two candidates to them – him and me. If this is so, then the London candidacy, mine, is supported by Pares as well. If the third candidate (the Englishman teaching at Sheffield) gets Leeds, then Sheffield will be free. In other words, it seems to work out that in any combination some position will be mine. I will see Pares in a couple of days. Struve isn’t trying to fool me – more likely, Konovalov is. I have learned everything about applications, teaching, the course, and so on. Pares will get in touch with Leeds to set up an interview for me there (a procedure required for every candidate), since I am in London now, otherwise I would have had to come over from Paris just for that. At six, I was at the Harrises’ party, gave him my ‘Sebastian’, shined as well as I could – it was very nice and lively.

  This morning, I spent two hours in the entomological section of the museum, where the people (whose every line I know from the ‘Entomologist’) greeted me as one of them, invited me to work there when and as much as I wish, placed at my disposal all the collections, the whole library (all this is three times bigger and better than at Herring’s), and I first of all sorted my Lycaenids out – finding out that my thing (the ‘hybrid’ race) is completely unknown, although everything is represented there, the ‘Coridon’ races alone occupy four boxes. Just now I had an elegant lunch at the Sablins’ with the Polyakovs and a Chilean lady, Mrs Marshall. Now (it’s near four) I must go to S. Rodzyanko’s, with my play, and then I dine with Vilenkin.

  I have just received your dear, blue letter, my enchantment, my tenderness! I’m writing separately to Miten’ka. I feel excellent. Thank you, darling, for the pyjamas and drawers – that would be wonderful. All testimonials, plus applications and the curriculum will be copied here as a separate brochure. I love you, love you, love you very much.

  I will write to Anyuta tomorrow.

  V.

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [7 April 1939]

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

  [London]

  7–IV–39

  2 p.m.

  My dear love, I got another 10 guineas on top of those 21 pounds, but they’re for Mother. Shall I send them to her from here (if possible)? And what is the situation with the transfer from Paris? It seems they expect more profits. There will be an English evening if Gleb does not get demoralized at the last moment. Yesterday I took my play to Rodzyanko, sat with him for a long time (in an enormous studio full of his – absolutely talentless and dead – paintings), we spoke warmly (and it became clear by chance – so typical – that he didn’t have the slightest idea about the death of my father). He promised to do what he could, named five or six individuals he could turn to; in a day or two I’ll meet his belle-sœur. I had dinner at Vilenkin’s club, – he is a pathological chatterbox – it took him a solid hour to tell me, from various sides and ends, one and the same story (how in 1926, he got run over by a car), interrupting himself with the phrase ‘to cut a long story short’, but since the phrase itself would remind him of this or that ‘peculiarity of English life’, it would lead him away down a new verbal side street, from where, via a roundabout route, he would return to the centre of the story. After dinner with him and an exceptionally amiable Major Crawford (who had known my father and has read ‘Despair’) we went to a Music-Hall, where, by the way, there was a very good sketch involving Guitry. Today is Good Friday, everything’s empty and quiet. Lee invited me to a soccer game this afternoon, and I’ll have dinner at the Grinbergs’. This morning I went for a walk through Kensington Gardens (the museum – i.e. my department – is closed, alas, till Tuesday – it’s as near me as Ilyusha is to us); it’s strange, but on this trip I recall my past life here better than last time – maybe because I’m now living in the same district, a couple of steps from our former street – I went to look at the house, was looking round and stuck my heel in a greasy dog pile that I couldn’t get rid of for a long time. In the park it was damp, an astringent lawny smell, bad-tempered swans were floating between toy sailing boats, and yellow pansies were blooming (more than anywhere else, they looked like little Hitler faces). I had to lunch in a restaurant, because the Sablins had been invited out. My little sunshine, how are you sleeping with my little one? Write me again, soon. I haven’t had time to look Priel through to the end, I would have done it this morning, if it weren’t for the strict ritual of cleaning the room each morning. Should I call Osya, who not only did not show up, but didn’t get around to calling me, either? Lourie has made all the arrangements about the dinner – and, judging by the Sablins’ hints, they will collect something for me there as well, i.e. I will probably have to read something there too. I am also reading at Mme Tyrkov’s on Wednesday. There should be replies from Budberg and Harris by the middle of next week. I think I’ll leave on the 15th – but only if I don’t have to travel to Leeds. Not a word, not a whisper from Zina. My darling, I kiss you tenderly, I adore you, don’t worry about anything, love you.

  MY JOY, I SAW HERE ON THE POND BOYS LAUNCHING A TOY STEAM DREADNOUGHT.

  I LOVE YOU. DADDY

  ______________
______

  [APCS]

  [8 April 1939]

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

  5, Brechin Place

  [London]

  8–IV

  My love, thank you for the lovely little letter – and the underpants. I write to you every day, but on Thursday (after the reading) morning I didn’t have time, and at 11 a.m. I have to leave already – to let them clean up (I think I – yes, I did – went to the museum), so the letter went off in the afternoon. Today’s a quiet day – I had lunch at Haskell’s, came back just now (4.30) – she has lovely children – especially the little girl who answers as ours does, ‘four and a quarter’. Yesterday I went to a soccer game with Lee, he picked me up in his car (a wonderfully nice man!) and later he drove me to the Grinbergs’. Savely wants very much to help me somehow – he asks me endlessly about my situation and so on. I phoned Struve, wrote to Pares, will be at Struve’s on Monday to compose a circular letter (to Baring). I won’t go out again today, will work on Priel. I can’t forgive myself for not bringing my butterflies with me – the wooden box. If anyone is coming here – send it to me! If you packed it very softly and wrote: Très fragile! Very brittle! Papillons! Butterflies! you could easily mail it, too. J’essaye de faire mon petit Kardakoff. It would be a pity to miss out. My cough’s gone. My tenderness, my dear happiness, I kiss you.

  V.

  Denis Roche is right.

  ____________________

  [APCS]

  [9 April 1939]

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

  5, Brechin Place

  [London]

  A light grey-blue Sunday

  9–IV

  10 a.m.

  My love, the last three days have been emptyish because of the holiday, but starting tomorrow, the barrel of the week will be loaded again. Today, there will be a fancy lunch for 10 persons at the Sablins’; at 4 p.m., I will be at Mrs Whale’s; and at 6.30 p.m. Lourie will call to take me to the ‘banquet’. I telephoned Flora in vain, and finally learned that her father has just died. Tell me quickly – shall I write her a few words? I think on Tuesday I’ll get answers about Sebastian and then will immediately show up at Long’s. Vera Markovna offers to introduce me to the publ. Heineman[n] (which is even better than Duckworth), whose reader her husband was, so if Harris and Budberg misfire, one of my copies would go to Heineman[n] and the other to Long. That’s good – about Holland. According to yesterday’s card from E. K., Mother is a tiny bit better – and very comfortable at the hospital – what a pity she didn’t move there sooner ... I love you dearly, my precious. I’ve written to Bunin and will write to Pares.

  I KISS MY MITEN’KA

  A THOUSAND KISSES.

  V.

  ____________________

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [10 April 1939]

  TO: Hotel Royal Versailles, 31, r. Le Marois, Paris 16

  [London]

  10–IV Mon.

  10 a.m.

  My love and happiness (one more little card – the last one, I think – found in a tuxedo – which I put on for the first time yesterday – I didn’t really have to wear it). Now someone’s picking me up to go play tennis, with M. Sumarokov, whose legendary left hand I palpated with reverence yesterday at the club. Just think – he played with the immortals: Wilding, McLaughlin, Gobert, not to mention all his contemporaries. He is awfully nice, only 44, the secretary of the English-Russian Club. After the game they will take me to Mme Chernavin, where I’ll have lunch, and from there, by 5, to Gleb’s house, where I will probably spend the whole evening.

  Yesterday we had a very pleasant Easter lunch here. For some reason I got along with the very nice C[ount] Shuvalov (who brought his little boy along – black-eyed and well-built – he is exactly the same age as ours!). Shuvalov (who serves as a decorator at Paramount) promised me a good theatrical agent, with whom I’ll leave the play if nothing works out with Rodzyanko. I love you. There was a priest in an ultramarine cassock there, too, and Mme Tyrkov (wicked and whiskered), with whom I had a clear conversation about the possibility of subsidies and so on. I will see her on Wednesday. In the afternoon I visited Mrs Whale, who had already talked about me with Lady McDougall, to whom, we have agreed, I will write today, so I can meet her. She is an ultra-wealthy lady. I returned, found an interminable tea party at the Sablins’, and at 7 p.m., Lourie called to pick up Nad. Iv. and me, and we drove to the club. It is a charming villa, with 4 tennis courts and a Russian barman like the Cap d’Antibes cook. Heaps of people were there, several speeches, a drinking song, and so on. Someone recited the poem: ‘In the past, Mikhaylo Sumarokov beat everyone on the tennis courts, and now Nabokov beats everyone in prose, plays and poems.’ With horror, I saw how I was being approached by a joyful-looking ... Nef, who adopted such a tone that everyone couldn’t help thinking we were old friends from Berlin. But he was at the club for the first time (in other words specifically to see me) – while I, for my part, was at first sure that he was a regular there if not a board member, i.e. he pulled it off very well. When, after dinner, we (N. I. and I) went to drink tea at Lourie’s, I told him what Nef’s ‘atmosphere’ was; he was extremely shaken up and swore he’d find out how he had actually reached the club, i.e. who had brought him and who knew him. I love you, my tenderness. I have just received a postcard from Regina saying that, in view of ‘the mood of the people’, the evening in Brussels cannot go on. Shall I stay here longer, say, till the 18th? There are still a thousand things I need to bring to a close. So, my happiness. I must go. I adore you.

  V.

  I LOVE YOU, MY MITEN’KA

  WRITE ME

  [ALS, 2 PP.]

  [11 April 1939]

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

  [London]

  11–IV–39

  3.30

  My darling, my love, I will answer your little questions first: I had a long intimate conversation with Pares about what I wanted in 1937; besides, Mme Chernavin constantly reminded him about me (moreover, I had a correspondence with him about S. F. Protection), so he keeps me in mind; I cannot, however, take a testimonial from him, because he has already sent it to Leeds himself and it would be impossibly awkward to ask him for a ‘proof’. In other words no matter whom he would like to advance on the sly, he has officially cast his vote for me – and I cannot demand anything else from him. Yesterday I tried just to drop in on him – he is a neighbour of the Chernavins, and she advised me to do so, being great friends with him; but it turned out that he had not yet returned from the country (the whole of London leaves for the country over Easter, which explains a certain pause in my activities – then again, the pause is imaginary, for I’m always bothering people, and if I go to the museum, it’s only when I can’t think up any other business at those times). The university opens tomorrow, so I will in any case see him. He has not yet replied to Gleb’s letters (about how it would be good for me to use my presence in England to set up now the notorious interview at Leeds), i.e. they have probably not forwarded them to him. This morning I had great fun playing two sets with different couples at the club (I got everything there – white pants, shoes, etc.). Then I had a double whisky and was driven by Lourie to Mme Chernavin. She’s so charming! She told me, by the way, that she especially responded to certain pages of ‘The Gift’ because her father was a (famous) botanist-explorer and she twice accompanied him (in the 20s) to the Altai, and so on, and then he disappeared, like mine, she was told in Tomsk that he had perished, but then it turned out he had been taken prisoner by some local rebels. Her husband works at the museum, several corridors away from me. Then I went to Struve’s. Three of the children take after their father, very unpretty with thick freckled noses (the eldest girl is very attractive, though), but the fourth child, a boy of about ten years, also takes after his father, but a different one: he is absolutely charming, a very sweet appearance, with a haze, Botticellian, – quite lo
vely! Yulen’ka, chatty and dirty as in the old days, is carried away with Scouts, wears a brown jacket and a wide-brimmed hat with elastic. There was no tea when there should have been, while their ‘dinner’ consisted of Easter cake and a paskha (both dreadful) – that’s all the children got, and not because of poverty, but because of lack of discipline. I secluded myself with Gleb and made him compose there and then the letter about which I told you (to Baring), then looked through all the textbooks he had. According to him my English evening will be on Friday, at Mme Shklovsky’s, and, as far as I understood, people will pay. I don’t know. I will call in at Rami’s and give him 20 pounds for you. Sablin still has Mother’s 10. I wrote to McDougall. Will visit Long in a day or two. Budberg has promised to talk to Wells, and I will see her tomorrow if not today. This morning I went to see Evans (a specialist on Hesperidae), a charming old man who knew Uncle Kostya well from India. We talked about everything, starting with the genitalia of Hesperidae and ending with Hitler. I will see him again the day after tomorrow. How I regret not bringing the (wooden) box with me. I had lunch at home, I’m waiting for the telephone number of Gubsky, whom I’m phoning and writing an application to. At 6 p.m., I will go to the Lees’. My darling, I do all I can, but I don’t have talent or even a knack for such things. But how happy, how really happy Bubka would have been in the amazing parks here ... I love you endlessly. Have written to Pares. I kiss you, my darling.