One of the most famous writers of the XX century had not only talent. Fate has prepared another gift for him - true love. Vladimir Nabokov and his wife Vera lived together in '52.
Nabokov has repeatedly said that he is without his faith would not have written a single novel. She was the muse, whom he first met with poignant verses devoted all their creativity. In most books is the dedication: "To my wife Faith»
The couple were inseparable as Siamese twins. Even thought they were common - they were a diary for two
Vera was engaged in negotiations with publishers agree on the fees, wrote a letter from her husband's face and was his first reader. Nabokov did not learn to use the telephone, for he always talked his wife.
Nabokov drew for its butterflies Vera, who was another of his passion. And even parted briefly, wrote her long letters. Preserved 300 mail items for a half-century of life together
< Website shares excerpts from the correspondence of Vladimir and Vera Nabokov.
From Berlin to Berlin, 8 November 1923 91,531,675
"How do I explain it to you, my happiness, my golden, amazing fortune , as I'm all yours - with all my memories, poems, impulses, inner vortex? Explain - that slóva can not write without ne hear how to pronounce it you - and little things I can not remember his past without regret - this island! - That here we have not lived together for it - whether it is the most private, non-transferable - and not just any sunset at the turn of the road - you know, my happiness
... I swear by all that is dear to me, everyone, what I believe, - I swear as I love you, I never had to love , - with such tenderness - to tears - and with a sense of radiance. And I most want you to be happy, and it seems to me that I could give you happiness is - happiness sunny, simple - and not quite ordinary
How do I want to lead you to something with them - know how to do a sort of antique robbers: a broad hat, a black mask and a musket with a socket. I love you, I want you, I need unbearable ... your eyes - so that shine in amazement when, leaning back, you tell something funny - your eyes, your voice, lips, shoulders yours - so light, solar .. .
You came into my life - not as come to visit (you know, "without removing the hat"), and they come into the kingdom, where all the river waiting for your reflection, all roads - your steps. Fate wanted to correct his mistake - she'd asked me for forgiveness for all his previous deceptions
All this I write in bed, relying on a huge piece of the book ... My love, good night ... I do not know if you make out is an illiterate ... but still ... I love you. I'll wait for you tomorrow at 11 pm -. And not call me after 9:00
From Berlin to the Black Forest, 8 June 1926 56,454,229
«< Joy ,
sooner than you describe today's extraordinary, resounding success (which will probably be a hint in the newspapers), you should, as expected, to tell my day. In the morning I drove to Zack, the rain played with him in the ball. By lunchtime, it was white, tasteless fish and cherries (No, you just can not imagine what a success!) Then - all the rain - bore your coat to Anyuta (carefully wrapped her - not Annie, and coat). I rushed to Kaplan (this is, you know, the first time such a success. I passionately wished that you were not there, my joy) and five have been at home ...
... Dressed in a tuxedo, I went to eight o'clock at Bellevue lp. 3, where a celebration was going to happen. From behind the curtain I heard in silence Jasinski called me. Immediately struck applause. I parted the curtain and walked to the front of the scene. And when I finished reading the whole ... a huge hall full of jam, as clapped so noisily that was even pleasant. I went three times ... all I congratulated me, and I'm terribly sorry, joy, you were not.
< Oh, my joy, my lyubovenka, how are you, what you're doing, do you remember me? I love you very much today. And last night, when he went on Potsdamer lp, -. Suddenly I felt so warm that you exist, - and what do you joy. Cute mine, my happiness, cute, cute ... You do not think I'll write in the evening today. Well, my darling (what my dear ...), I have to go, and the second piece of paper handy ended.
From Berlin to the Black Forest, 12 July, 1926
«< My infinite love , today I do not want to tell you about how driving in Grunewald as dined like playing tennis, both reading my" speech "at a board meeting (again, praise, praise ... I it disgusts begins: it went so far as to say that I was "thinner" Tolstoy. horrible general rubbish) - all this even now does not want to tell you, and I want to just say, as I love, I I am waiting for you.
I would like to see nothing, nothing would have been in this letter, but my love for you, happiness and my life. When I think that I'll soon see, hug - I have done this excitement, this wonderful excitement that stop for a few moments to live
During all this time, I just saw you once in a dream, and that is very fleeting. I could not when I woke up, remember the entire dream, but I felt that there was something very good in it; sometimes I feel, without opening his eyes, that the court of the sun - and then suddenly, by the evening, thinking back on that bed, I suddenly realized that something good, exquisite, that was hidden in it, was you, your face, a single move you make -. flashed through a dream and made it something sunny, precious, immortal
I want to tell you that every minute of my day, like a coin on which the underside - you - and that if I did not remember you every minute of the best features of my would change: a different nose, the other hair, the other - I was so I simply no one would recognize.
My life, my happiness, my dear wonderful beast, I beg you about one. Grant that I'm the one you met at the train station - and more so that nobody would know this day that you came ... My life, it's late, I'm a little tired; Sky irritated stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you - and that's what can be created entirely a huge shining world - five vowels and five consonants. Good night, my love, my endless love. I'm thinking about how you shudder when you fall asleep - and still many other things, about the only thing that words can not express
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