85 - Konstantin Dmitrievich BALMONT, also known as Don (1867–1942)

Konstantin Dmitrievich BALMONT, also known as Don (1867–1942) Set of 3 autograph letters, 11 postcards, and one envelope addressed to Jurgis Kasimirovich BALTRUCHAITIS (1873–1944), in Russian, written between 1909 and 1910: -February 9, 1909 “Jurgis, why are you keeping such a cruel silence? Is it because I don’t like Italy, which is so dear to your heart—and which, incidentally, I’ve never liked? Or is it for some other reason?” "Jurgis, why have you fallen so stubbornly silent? Is it because I didn’t like Italy, so dear to your heart—which, by the way, I’ve never liked? Or is it for some other reason? / I’ve missed your letters, and I’m sorry that I don’t feel you’re thinking of me." -December 15, 1910, Passy "It was with great joy that I savored the verses you wrote about me. Your words are those of an upright spirit. Aside from you and Elena, no one in the world speaks such words to me, nor comes so close to my soul. (...) If the vicissitudes of time and space are favorable to me, after spending the winter, spring, and summer here, I will set out very far away—further than ever before. There, in the very South, where it grows cold once more—the Southern continent. Will I succeed in my albatross flight? I think so. Most certainly. If I am granted enough time to breathe here on earth. (...) You ask me about Briussov. I don’t know what to say. I now have many doubts about him. In the end, he fabricated his own glory. And he put a lot of effort into it. That’s not forbidden. But in doing so—whether he was beyond reproach and honest toward his friends or just in general—I very much doubt it.” "Dear Jurgis, it was a great joy for me to read your lines, your insights about me. Your words are those of a sincere spirit. Apart from you and Elena, no one in the world speaks such words to me, nor comes so close, so intimately, to my soul. I embrace you like a brother. I wanted to write you a long letter, but there is little I can say about myself. It’s all the same. Lonely hours of intellectual fervor, and many thoughts, and much reading and contemplation. I am in Egypt more than anywhere else, and it will remain so for a long time to come. (...) If the pains of Time and Space are kind to me, I, having spent another winter, spring, and summer here, will travel very far away—further than I have ever gone before. There, to the very south, where the southern embrace is growing cold once more. Will I make my albatross flight a reality? I think so. Certainly, yes. If I am still granted enough time to breathe here. And it seems to me that I’ll be here longer than any of my loved ones, except for two or three of them. I have a feeling that I’ll still have to be on Earth for nearly half a century. (...) It was so good to see you. How many years have we been apart? However, keep in mind that it rains here all the time. And if that’s a problem for you, we’ll see each other later. You ask me about Bryusov. I don’t know what to say. I’ve come to have serious doubts about him. After all, he’s a merchant of his own fame. And a very diligent one at that. We don’t forbid anyone from doing that. But as for him being irreproachable and honest in the sense of camaraderie and simple fairness—I very much doubt it. No, that’s not the case. As for his attitude toward you, in particular, I don’t think he treated you very well. Failing to understand that kindred spirits, in similar moments, express themselves in a familiar way, he has a malicious tendency to interpret many traits of your poetic personality as imitation, linking them to me. You certainly know