There will always be exceptions. But, alas, I’ve come across precious few. In fact, there weren’t real exceptions, only exceptional deeds. Sometimes I scrutinize them and wonder—who will remain in my memory in the new life that’s about to begin for me? There are no exceptions, and the exceptional deeds are easily forgotten, and all that remains is a monotonous gray background. Without people, without souls, without bright spots. Gray, colorless—like butcher paper.
I even start feeling indignant. Where is Platon Karataev? Where are the people who inspired characters in The Snow Maiden, or in Boris Godunov, people who built the Kremlin, people who told such remarkable tales, sang such memorable songs? Where is the tiniest fragment of Mikula Selyaninovich, the folk hero, or someone who bears even the slightest resemblance to Ivan Tsarevich? Where are the turbulent, impassioned figures from Malyavin’s paintings?
Is it only because we’re in the Orenburg province? True, it’s impoverished, dreary. But is it really that different in Penza, or in Riga? The only thing they know how to do well is go to war and die without thinking. Without a murmur—they’ll do whatever you ask them to. Sorrowful thoughts. CHELYABINSK–KIEV JACOB TO HIS PARENTS
NOVEMBER 5, 1913
I received everything—the money and the letter. But I’m still waiting for discharge orders. I’m also tired of writing letters. I’m glad it will all be over soon. This year has seemed like ten. I still can’t believe everything that has happened. Until I see you at the station, I won’t believe it. This year has had a bad influence on me—I’ve been cut off from people, theater, music. I wasn’t able to study properly. I’ve grown wild … And I’ve never wanted to study as much as I do now. I am aware of the difficulties that await me. I’ve completely forgotten how to focus. It will be a long time before I can really catch up in my classes. I’m especially concerned about finance law. I don’t have the books I need, but it’s not easy to find them in Kiev, either. On the other hand, I’m well versed in political economy. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take an exam in statistics again. This irks me, because I already passed it in the second year; but now the volume of required information has increased, and I’ll have to take it again.
Oh, if you can, get me a subscription to the symphony concerts for the month of December. I desperately need music. Now my only comfort and amusement are motion pictures. I go often. And my favorite reading matter now is the book of train schedules. CHELYABINSK–MOSCOW JACOB TO MARUSYA
NOVEMBER 6, 1913
Still no discharge orders! This is my plan: as soon as they discharge me, I’ll go directly to the station, take the train to Moscow, where I’ll stop for a day or two, and then on to Kiev. I’ll take my exams (some, at least) and in two or three weeks I’ll travel to you in Moscow and stay for a long time. I won’t tell anyone at home about Moscow. They are tired of waiting. But I am even more tired—I’ve dreamed about you several nights in a row. Oh my, how hard it is without a wife … It hits me from time to time. You know what it’s like, too. I kiss you deeply, dear one!
Never mind. I’ll be patient. “But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” The end will come soon. And what a brilliant ending it will be! Just released from prison to Bogoslovsky Lane, fourth floor, just below the heavens—is heavenly bliss not in store? I will arrive in paradise soon. And you will be my wife! KIEV–MOSCOW JACOB TO MARUSYA
NOVEMBER 21, 1913
Well, Marusya, I have something to tell you that I think will interest you. Prick up your little ears (which I kiss in passing). Yesterday Papa was taking his usual postprandial walk through the living room. The twilight was approaching, Mama was sitting in the rocking chair, her sewing in hand. I enter, take Papa by the arm, and start walking in step with him.
“I need to speak with you, Papa.”
“Proceed.”
I launched into a long conversation about you, about me, about our future. By the way, he said, “With a wife like that, life is not a daunting prospect. If you are in straitened circumstances, she will bear up under them and help you do the same.” You see? I was surprised and glad that he didn’t insist we live in Kiev. He said, “In May, you will pass the qualifying exams, and in August, you can finish the state examinations. Then you can move to Moscow permanently. I have some connections there who may be able to help you find a position. At the same time, I am willing to send you money for living expenses for the first year, which should help you out. You don’t need to live in luxury at first—a single room is probably sufficient.”
I’m hurrying now, because Papa made an appointment for us at the tailor’s. We’re ordering two new suits (one for him and one for me) and two overcoats.
DECEMBER 31, 1913. EVENING.
The year is ending, my very best year—the happiest, most promising year. 1913. This will set the standard for the rest of my life. I have learned to understand myself. And I have understood you, and decided how to live my life. I can’t put it into words, but there seems to be a solid grounding under me now, something to take root in.
I’m not a seeker of truth, not a fighter, a poet, a scientist. But I will try to be more sincere, to live justly, always to study and learn, and to respond if someone near me is crying out in pain. And I will also always be strong and love my wife and companion.
It’s almost midnight. Are you in a noisy crowd, having fun? May all the gods conspire to send you heaps of joy and mountains of flowers today.
It doesn’t matter that I’m alone. As soon as I shut the door, there are already two of us, until morning.
I’m going out for a walk now. Have fun there, my Marusya! MOSCOW–KIEV MARUSYA TO JACOB
JANUARY 5, 1914
As I write you, I’m surrounded by deep silence. Everyone is asleep. I am very tired, and want to sleep, too. There are constant matinees and evening performances. The holiday season is the busiest time for an actor. But I don’t mind it. Work is not a burden for me. Except that today I injured my leg during a performance. It’s painful and swollen.
I want to be strong and healthy, to be beautiful. I want fine clothes. And to be free of the studio and the theater for a few days. Free from all obligations. I think when you come I’ll feign illness for three days or so. Yesterday I was at a party with Beata. Today someone called me on the telephone and told me, “Yesterday you were not only interesting, you were beautiful. Your eyes were sparkling, your cheeks were rosy, etc.”
I have a new hat that truly becomes me. New shoes. One new blouse, and new pantalettes made of tricot. Very warm and pretty, with elegant black ribbons that lace up the sides. But they won’t be new anymore by the time you arrive! It’s too bad.
You must come. Leave on either the 25th or the 27th. No, I don’t want you to arrive on the 27th. Let it be the 28th! It’s silly, but I’m terribly superstitious. I can’t help it. Seven has always been an unlucky number for me. And if you come a bit later, it might turn out better: from the 20th to the 22nd, I’ll probably be ill, but by the 26th–28th, I’ll be right as rain.
Jacob! My love of loves, best beloved … mine! I’m getting ready for your arrival. A bride should be dressed in all new things on her wedding day. Everything I wear will be brand-new. And there will be flowers.
I have become so silly. It’ll be just us. No friends or parental advice (a mother always has something to say to her daughter), just me and you. Only the two of us at our own wedding. It’s frightening, and it’s good, and my head is spinning and spinning. I’m already thinking like you, exactly like you … that we should have many children, and the first one will be Genrikh, as you suggested, or Elga, as I would want her to be called, if it’s a girl. Does that make you happy? You’ll have a silly, completely silly, wife. That won’t stop you, will it?