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alexpgpI can think of no better tonic for the nerves than to spend an afternoon rummaging through other people's mail. That said, you'll probably be surprised to learn that I'm not engaged in some criminal enterprise, but rather, I'm a stamp collector—more precisely, a collector of “covers,” or envelopes with their stamps still stuck to them—and call me crazy, but I enjoy picking my way through large boxes of envelopes that had passed through the post, especially those that did so long before I was born.
The most interesting thing I had found during one memorable visit to a stamp dealer's shop last year was an envelope addressed to John D. Rockefeller and sent to him from Paris around 1885. While certainly not as valuable as would be an envelope addressed in Rockefeller's own hand, it had a certain “curiosity” value, so I had set it aside as I continued to go through the box at the dealer's shop. Envelopes, you see, always have a story to tell, even if most of the time, you have to make one up yourself. Who had written Rockefeller a letter, and about what? Was it to ask for money? to propose some kind of investment? Did Rockefeller actually read the letter, or was it handled by his secretary? Who knows?
A few minutes later, though, I caught sight of an unusual-looking cover, with a handful of Imperial Russian stamps—compact, bearing the two-headed eagle—whose appearance (new values printed in black on the front) strongly suggested they had been used during the bloody Civil War that had broken out after the Bolshevik Revolution and the end of The Great War. Besides the stamps—carrying a January 1919 postmark from Vladivostok—there was also a censor's mark and what appeared to be a “postage due” notation on the envelope, which had been addressed to a town in Czechoslovakia, in what is today Slovakia.
So I got to wondering, “What was someone from Slovakia doing at the east end of Siberia in 1919?” And so that cover was set aside, too.
Upon returning home with my purchases, I discovered the envelope still contained a letter, written in a precise and legible hand, for the most part. And though I'm not very conversant in Slovak, and the language has changed somewhat since the time the letter was written, between visits to several translation sites to make sense of the text, and a little research to find out more about the role of Slovakian forces in the Russian Civil War, I managed to squeeze some snippets of information out of the letter, and make a few educated guesses as to its writer.
And think a little about life... and love.
As far as I can tell, the author was a young lieutenant serving with the Slovak Legion in Siberia. He began his letter on a light note, not really talking about anything at all, and not complaining much about how things are going. According to the history books, however, the part of Siberia he was in at that time was suffering a horrendously severe winter, with week-long blizzards, short rations for the entire army, and temperatures cold enough to freeze locomotives to the tracks they stood on. It was too cold to engage with the enemy, most days, but not cold enough to keep the influenza at bay, and the bodies of the flu's victims were stacked in piles because the ground was frozen solid. At first, I had a little trouble reconciling that reality with what this young officer was writing to his wife at home far away, telling her that things were fine (though not exactly his situation as a picnic in the park), and that she should not worry, and so on and so forth along those lines. I could only conclude this was written so as not cause undue distress back home.
But then, one third of the way down the second gossamer-thin page, both the penmanship and tone of the letter changed abruptly. Here's my translation, warts and all:
As it turns out, that cover—with its stamps issued by Kolchak's White Army—is not worth much from a collector's point of view. The letter, on the other hand, makes this cover a very precious thing!
Week 1. Intersection!
I am "intersecting" this week with that inimitable world-traveler and apiarist extraordinaire,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emo_snal!
The most interesting thing I had found during one memorable visit to a stamp dealer's shop last year was an envelope addressed to John D. Rockefeller and sent to him from Paris around 1885. While certainly not as valuable as would be an envelope addressed in Rockefeller's own hand, it had a certain “curiosity” value, so I had set it aside as I continued to go through the box at the dealer's shop. Envelopes, you see, always have a story to tell, even if most of the time, you have to make one up yourself. Who had written Rockefeller a letter, and about what? Was it to ask for money? to propose some kind of investment? Did Rockefeller actually read the letter, or was it handled by his secretary? Who knows?
A few minutes later, though, I caught sight of an unusual-looking cover, with a handful of Imperial Russian stamps—compact, bearing the two-headed eagle—whose appearance (new values printed in black on the front) strongly suggested they had been used during the bloody Civil War that had broken out after the Bolshevik Revolution and the end of The Great War. Besides the stamps—carrying a January 1919 postmark from Vladivostok—there was also a censor's mark and what appeared to be a “postage due” notation on the envelope, which had been addressed to a town in Czechoslovakia, in what is today Slovakia.
So I got to wondering, “What was someone from Slovakia doing at the east end of Siberia in 1919?” And so that cover was set aside, too.
Upon returning home with my purchases, I discovered the envelope still contained a letter, written in a precise and legible hand, for the most part. And though I'm not very conversant in Slovak, and the language has changed somewhat since the time the letter was written, between visits to several translation sites to make sense of the text, and a little research to find out more about the role of Slovakian forces in the Russian Civil War, I managed to squeeze some snippets of information out of the letter, and make a few educated guesses as to its writer.
And think a little about life... and love.
As far as I can tell, the author was a young lieutenant serving with the Slovak Legion in Siberia. He began his letter on a light note, not really talking about anything at all, and not complaining much about how things are going. According to the history books, however, the part of Siberia he was in at that time was suffering a horrendously severe winter, with week-long blizzards, short rations for the entire army, and temperatures cold enough to freeze locomotives to the tracks they stood on. It was too cold to engage with the enemy, most days, but not cold enough to keep the influenza at bay, and the bodies of the flu's victims were stacked in piles because the ground was frozen solid. At first, I had a little trouble reconciling that reality with what this young officer was writing to his wife at home far away, telling her that things were fine (though not exactly his situation as a picnic in the park), and that she should not worry, and so on and so forth along those lines. I could only conclude this was written so as not cause undue distress back home.
But then, one third of the way down the second gossamer-thin page, both the penmanship and tone of the letter changed abruptly. Here's my translation, warts and all:
“The cause in which we are now engaged is just. I pray hostilities will end soon. I will do my duty as I see it, and if it be God's will that I die—that I give everything of myself I possibly can—then so be it. And should that come to pass, know only that my love for you is true and full and eternal, and that only my love of God and country is greater.It was past midnight when I finally rose from my desk, and as I picked up the letter to put it away I wondered, "I wonder if this fellow made it home okay?" And then, as I looked closer at the paper the letter was written on, I could see the many, many little mottled spots that attested to the teardrops shed by whoever read the letter—shed, and quickly blotted, lest they wash away those precious words. Since then, I find myself sometimes wondering what happened to cause the tone of the lieutenant's letter to change from chatty and carefree to serious and foreboding. I guess I'll never know.
My love for you is like... the universe—without end—and my recollection of our happy moments together are and will always be the source of my greatest happiness. And should it be fated for me to die here, far from my homeland and my own true love, surely I will whisper your name with my last breath.
Forgive my faults, and the many pains I have caused you. It stings me now to think of how thoughtless and foolish I have often been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and staunchly stand between you and all the misfortune of this world.
Ana, my darling! If the dead can come back and stand unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in winter and in summer—amid your happiest and saddest hours—always, always... Anichka! If there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or if a cool stream of air caresses your shoulder, know that it shall be my spirit passing by.”
As it turns out, that cover—with its stamps issued by Kolchak's White Army—is not worth much from a collector's point of view. The letter, on the other hand, makes this cover a very precious thing!
I am "intersecting" this week with that inimitable world-traveler and apiarist extraordinaire,
emo_snal!
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no subject
Date: 2013-05-21 11:12 pm (UTC)Cheers...
no subject
Date: 2013-05-23 12:03 am (UTC)And I would be totally okay with that.