24.09.15. Petrograd.
Plot
When you love me, remember me.
Will the sun rise, remember me!
Does the sun lie, remember me!
As you remember your father or mother.
As you remember your beloved home.
Whether by day or night, remember me.
If the thunder is thunderous, remember,
If the wind whistles, remember,
If the rooster sings out loud,
If you hear how time goes by,
If an hour runs out in an hour,
And runs and leads his own story,
If the sun goes beyond the moon
Be with me with all your memory!
This conspiracy was accompanied by a drawing made with a graphite pencil on thick yellowish paper. The two self-portraits turned their backs on each other with different expressions: the left one with a half smile, the right one with a frown, but also with a shiver in the lips and a laugh.
Lisa no longer looked like an institution in a white apron, with a necklace on her shoulders. Her face, with a little planned failure of the cheeks was full of women's charm. It listened. It was torn somewhere. "As you can see, I'm different from Van Gogh in that I haven't cut my ear off yet," it was written carelessly, obliquely, under the drawing.
15.10.15. Petrograd.
Do you know what I am fond of? In German, as well as you. And I, just like you, want to put German words and poems into speech. I'm translating Goethe's Werther now, then I'm going to go to Heine, and then to Schopenhauer. I'm working with a student of the conservatory, Berg, whom I wrote to you about. He is a Swede, but he has fallen down. His parents live in Simbirsk. He studied in Berlin for four years and, of course, knows the language perfectly well. Our people ridicule me all the time, proving that all this looks like "The suffering of young Berger", but we hold firm, although he does not do anything with me.
My dear, everything that happens to me belongs to you. Naturally, I would like to know a little more about you than you say in your short, gentle letters. If only we could improve the gramophone and make it cheaper and more accessible to transfer voice to the record! How wonderful the mail would be! I would listen to your voice without end, but how much does a human voice mean? Without end, I would force you to repeat that cherished word which - alas - so seldom I hear! I even had fun thinking that you would have said it unwittingly, not on your own, but on my own.
Meanwhile, it was not enough fun. I get bitter letters from mine. My brother, who left as a volunteer, writes: "Did I go to lay my head down in vain?
And I can't imagine that you won't come to the holidays.
24.09.1915. Petrograd.
The beast, the monster, the bloodsucker, the torturer, the executioner, etc. I do not find words! I am dying of longing, and he does not lead with his ear! One letter in 32 days is neat. The first one is September 11, the second one is October 12, and the third one is November 13.
Now we will pass your "if" through censorship. "Lessons" - you can pass on to your friend Lavrov. "Diploma Approval - Your presence is not necessary. "The attitude of the professor to your work" - I am not competent here. All "if" associated with Petrograd (room, etc.), I take over.
I received your letter with the first snow, and I immediately wanted to laugh and prank. Berg and I (aka Anselm from Hoffman's fairy tales) wandered the streets, I sang and laughed, and he wondered what I was so happy about. He didn't know I had a little hope for the future - your letter.
Yes, I understand how interesting it is to work with children. One of my lessons now is to bring up an adult girl (16 years old) who hasn't survived anything yet, but who reads a lot and is sensitive and clever. I am very fond of this lesson, I give it a lot of time and, I think, I learned a lot myself, at least psychologically.
I often visit Kaufmans. Remember, I told you about this family. I love him for his spiritual beauty and attention to each other. My father has a tin shop, four sons split up: two of them study at the university, in physics and mathematics, and two of them are typesetters, working in a printing house. Father and sons are huge, and Rosalia Lvovna is small. When she gets very angry, one of the men carefully puts her on the closet. They are always happy with everybody - it is necessary to collect warm things for the exiles, then to help the sick student. All this is done hotly, with delight, with despair, with indignation. She is fond of literature, recently - Brusov, whom she recites by the way and inappropriately. I like Bruce too. I appreciate the perfection of his style, but often his poems seem to me far-fetched, cold. By the way, this coldness is also proved by a cynical frankness, alien to poetry by its very nature. That's why I didn't like "Women's City" especially.
I had a dream - you are in the family circle. My elder sister cleans the samovar and sings diligently: "Ah, you're embarrassed! - No, I'm not disappointed! And the younger one holds the door so that I don't enter. And I am leaving. Behind my shoulders I have wings, I am above the sea, and someone orders me to sink to the biggest wave. I opened my eyes with a feeling of happiness - was it a dream?
However, "I was a winged man from childhood. But before it was a dream full of freedom and strength, and now it's a painful dream.
I'm afraid I have wings tied up, strangers' wings. I have to see them, but I can't do that, because if I look back, I'm going to sink.
Write, dear. Yours and yours.
I read how you scared me with exams and remembered the sharpness of "Satirikon".
- Did Serezha return from the exams?
- Yes.
- Where is he?
- There, in the children's room hangs.
To be continued...