noticed that Véra took an interest in their music, he sang her what sounded like a balladseveral times over. Véra Nabokov had the words in her head all her life.She could sing the ballad still in her eighties, in Ukrainian. *
Evsei Slonim rejoined his family in Odessa, a city in which chaos reigned well before the arrival of the Bolsheviks. âNo one knew who would be arrested tomorrow, whose portrait it was best to hang on the wall and whose to hide, which currency to accept and which to try to pass on to some simpletonâ was one appraisal of the situation. At the end of 1919 the family managed to move on toward the Crimea, where they spent more than six months in a villa in Yalta, the last piece of Russian soil to be held by the Whites. Probably in November, at the bitter end of the civil war, the Slonims fled, on a Canadian boat whose captain agreed to ferry passengers across the Black Sea. (He accepted passengers when he discovered there were no valuables to be acquired cheaply in Yalta, the warâs victims having lost virtually everything by the time they reached the southern port.) One photo survives from the journey; in it Véra looks like a character from
Oliver Twist
âa stylish one, but a Dickensian waif all the same. Her eyes are enormous and meet the photographerâs with great weariness; the rest of the face is as much that of an eight-year-old as of an eighteen-year-old. The reality of Véraâs departure from Russia is embedded in Martinâs departure in
Glory
, a turbulent crossing to Istanbul. Certainly the description of the bewildered passengers âsailing as if by chanceâ fit the actual picture; the ârashly charteredâ Canadian freighter proved more salubrious than thefilthy vessel on which the Nabokovs had crossed the same sea a year earlier. On board ship the captain befriended Véra and Lena, allowing the girls the use of his cabin while he was on deck, a great luxury in the overcrowded vessel. (For a woman who was to be remembered for being unapproachable and fiercely independent, this first escape was one unremitting proof of the kindness of strangers.) In a novelized version of the life, the unsteady trip across the Black Sea would creak like a heavy-handed piece of foreshadowing. To Véra it could have felt like nothing of the kind. The fictional Martin could not grasp the danger of his situation. Véra Slonimâwho since 1918 would have been accustomed to danger on all sidesâcould not have grasped the finality of hers.
The family was delayed by rail strikes, first in Istanbul and again in Sofia, where Véra learned the Bulgarian she put to use in her Rainov translations. After four weeks in Sofia, Evsei Lazarevich arranged with some French soldiers for a private carriage for his family and for a special rail permit.On beds of hay they traveled to ViennaâVéra found the city architecturally glorious and greatly reminiscent of Petersburgâwhere they checked into a good hotel, and normal life resumed. Other émigrés traveling the same route were struck in particular by thesight of white bread and well-fed horses, something they had not seen in Russia for three years; the first weeks abroad must have felt dreamlike. Early in 1921 the family settled in Berlin. Historically Germany had been tolerant of political refugees. Furthermore, life there was cheap; it seemed the perfect place to wait out the storm. With the assistance of Peltenburg, his Dutch associate, Evsei Slonim managed to sell his Russian properties to a speculator willing to gamble that a Bolshevik regime could not last. Soon after his arrival, and having made some contacts in Bulgaria, he set up an import-export business, specializing in farm machinery.
Despite the plain facts of the dislocationâthe Russian language has no word that rings with the joyous, elective sound of âexpatriateââthe first years of exile were comfortable. They were
Evsei Slonim rejoined his family in Odessa, a city in which chaos reigned well before the arrival of the Bolsheviks. âNo one knew who would be arrested tomorrow, whose portrait it was best to hang on the wall and whose to hide, which currency to accept and which to try to pass on to some simpletonâ was one appraisal of the situation. At the end of 1919 the family managed to move on toward the Crimea, where they spent more than six months in a villa in Yalta, the last piece of Russian soil to be held by the Whites. Probably in November, at the bitter end of the civil war, the Slonims fled, on a Canadian boat whose captain agreed to ferry passengers across the Black Sea. (He accepted passengers when he discovered there were no valuables to be acquired cheaply in Yalta, the warâs victims having lost virtually everything by the time they reached the southern port.) One photo survives from the journey; in it Véra looks like a character from
Oliver Twist
âa stylish one, but a Dickensian waif all the same. Her eyes are enormous and meet the photographerâs with great weariness; the rest of the face is as much that of an eight-year-old as of an eighteen-year-old. The reality of Véraâs departure from Russia is embedded in Martinâs departure in
Glory
, a turbulent crossing to Istanbul. Certainly the description of the bewildered passengers âsailing as if by chanceâ fit the actual picture; the ârashly charteredâ Canadian freighter proved more salubrious than thefilthy vessel on which the Nabokovs had crossed the same sea a year earlier. On board ship the captain befriended Véra and Lena, allowing the girls the use of his cabin while he was on deck, a great luxury in the overcrowded vessel. (For a woman who was to be remembered for being unapproachable and fiercely independent, this first escape was one unremitting proof of the kindness of strangers.) In a novelized version of the life, the unsteady trip across the Black Sea would creak like a heavy-handed piece of foreshadowing. To Véra it could have felt like nothing of the kind. The fictional Martin could not grasp the danger of his situation. Véra Slonimâwho since 1918 would have been accustomed to danger on all sidesâcould not have grasped the finality of hers.
The family was delayed by rail strikes, first in Istanbul and again in Sofia, where Véra learned the Bulgarian she put to use in her Rainov translations. After four weeks in Sofia, Evsei Lazarevich arranged with some French soldiers for a private carriage for his family and for a special rail permit.On beds of hay they traveled to ViennaâVéra found the city architecturally glorious and greatly reminiscent of Petersburgâwhere they checked into a good hotel, and normal life resumed. Other émigrés traveling the same route were struck in particular by thesight of white bread and well-fed horses, something they had not seen in Russia for three years; the first weeks abroad must have felt dreamlike. Early in 1921 the family settled in Berlin. Historically Germany had been tolerant of political refugees. Furthermore, life there was cheap; it seemed the perfect place to wait out the storm. With the assistance of Peltenburg, his Dutch associate, Evsei Slonim managed to sell his Russian properties to a speculator willing to gamble that a Bolshevik regime could not last. Soon after his arrival, and having made some contacts in Bulgaria, he set up an import-export business, specializing in farm machinery.
Despite the plain facts of the dislocationâthe Russian language has no word that rings with the joyous, elective sound of âexpatriateââthe first years of exile were comfortable. They were
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