The Leonard Bernstein Letters (57 page)

Darling,

Your wire was waiting when we got back from several movies last night – I had spent the whole day having visions of you crashing in the jungle somewhere and the whole
Handful of Dust
bit. Helene, la Belle, has been advised though by now I'm sure you've received everything – by carrier pigeon if necessary.

Had dinner with Bob and then went to the Anna Russell opening. She didn't use any of the material you described and was, I'm afraid, not very funny or professional (two fs?) We then met Harold C. [Clurman] at Sardi's – the usual were there. Just took Henry out and he shicked it up.

After seeing you off I came home and spent the day in bed. I felt really sick from tiredness and I suppose prospective loneliness. I'm going to miss you mine ape.

Yesterday I had Jamie to myself and it was delicious. We went to the park where she carries on like a soap-box orator and stops traffic with her beauty. I was proud, Lennuhtt.

Exactly a year ago this minute I started having labor pains – the best thing we ever did was to get married – you bet – and me laü dü too.

As you can gather by now there is no news
at all
. This is just so you won't “hacer el ridículo” at Amer. Express.

I kiss you wildly and passionately.

F

My darling,

First of all thank you for the sweetest telegram you ever sent, and which I received with rather mixed emotions – it's awful to think you'll be away for that long, it's wonderful you are finally having such a well deserved vacation, it's terrible that I'm not there (we've never had a joyful relaxed holiday together), it's good that you'll be on your own and away from me for a while – and that's how it goes and will always go, I guess, being the ape that I am.

I couldn't write before this – at first, just after you left, I was feeling so numb I would not have been able to coordinate my thoughts – and then I started working and had to dedicate
all my time
to it, but I will go into that later.

What I have to say is hard – before I start I want you to accept the possibility that most of what I say is true. I know that I tend to dwell on things till they get way out of proportion, but not now.

I was happier in Italy than I have ever been with you – we had fun, we shared everything, we were truly relaxed for once (I am sorry I ever suggested we come home – I needed to see Jamie but I should have waited). Here in New York all the old problems and tensions seemed to be lying in wait – plus the whole Bernstein clan. I love Burt and I love Shirley but they are
your
brother and
your
sister. There is no wall keeping me out, but there is blood and a shared past between you – they are, with Sam & Jennie, your family. I have no family really apart from you and Jamie – and this is all I need. This place is our home – yours and mine – it is beautiful because we have made it so and both our personalities are blended in it – but all of a sudden it becomes so “Bernstein” that I have a hard time keeping in touch with myself, but mostly keeping in touch with you. I can not change this, it is the way things are, but put yourself in my place and admit that it can be a little wearing. You will probably say that all this is a sign of possessiveness – it isn't. My objecting to Jamie being called “Jamela” comes from the same source – it isn't our way of calling her, it is the Bernstein way – something quite foreign to me, something I cannot share in which perhaps does smack a bit of the ghetto to me – it's possible.

Please don't brood about all this – it will explain a little my strange behavior before you left. I was also, may I say, terrified about your flying that day and kept cursing Waldner all through the day and sleepless night!

I have never worked so hard on a show before. I've given it all my time and concentration. We've managed to rewrite the whole thing – it is less obvious and trivial but still dreadfully mediocre. I do have the satisfaction of having created a real character and that has been fun – the director is exciting and between us we've done really good work.

Jamie manages to keep her
joie de vivre
in spite of constant falls, bumps and cracks – however she cannot seem to live without music specially “Sandy the Sandman” and it is driving us all crazy.

Rosalia has arrived and all is well – everything is clean and in its place, the books are right side up, Miss M. likes her. What could be better?

How wonderful that
Medea
triumphed again – it would have been so anti-climactic otherwise.

Dearest, dearest Lennhutt I love you so.

Felicia

Please give me news of Nancy.

Darling Goody,

When I finally got your letter today it seemed that I had waited for it so long I have already composed it myself. Did you think that I was unaware of all that
“bad trouble” you were going through? That arrival home must have been one of the worst, with all things conspiring to exaggerate your feeling of left-outness: first Miss Marx vying with you for the role of mater-familias; then your feeling that Jamie was being presented to me rather than to you; and then all the “clan” business. All at once. Each one of these is soluble and understandable enough by itself, I suppose, but all three at once must have been too much. I don't think it will ever again be like that. This was our first time away and first time returning; it was a crisis (Waldner must have got his dates mixed) and I hope the hard work on the show provided the necessary means of getting through it. I hope you were great in the show, and that all New York is clamoring for you again. I hope Miss Marx has quieted down in her enthusiasm for showing you what she has done for us while we were away (which again is understandable, however irritating it must have been for you). I hope you have been sleeping and having fun and success, and that you have changed the whole dining room into magenta and beaten gold. I hope Jamie can say mama as well as nana now, and that you really understand that you mustn't take it so hard. And I hope you and Shirley and Burtie can exist again on a relaxed level. There is so little I can do to prevent that particular tension: I had missed them both a lot on my long trip (and had not seen Burt for six months), and I was conscious every second we were together that I must not display too much affection or invoke the past overmuch. That was as hard for me as it was for you, and it seems silly to deprive us all of a warm, easy relationship. You wouldn't want that, I know, especially since all tensions between S[hirley] and B[urton] and myself only provoke more tensions between you and me, as well as between you and them. I don't really think it will ever again be so hard as it was this last time, with everything hitting you in the face at once. At least let's hope so, lovely Goody; and please be happy. We have so much to be happy and grateful for: let's both try not to injure it.

Everyone misses you tremendously in Italy, and they all speak of you in tones of hushed wonder. I received some photos of us at the Scala, and people all said: “Molto più bella nella natura.” I miss you mightily here: it is a lovely place, though I've had only two days of it (after the last
Medea
), then had to return to Milan yesterday for a fifth
Medea
matinee, which was a glorious farewell, and only late this afternoon have returned here after a long snowy tortuous drive with Maria Ricordi; so, to put it in the old terms, I'm still dead tired. Now I have again two days, and then back to Milan and on to Genoa to catch the boat. Not very much rest in all, but even the slight amount is a boon, and it's glorious to be on skis again, no matter how awkwardly. Tomorrow I shall really make a try at getting better: up to now I've had to be monstrously careful because of the Scala performances; now I can relax and spend more time at it. Nancy is here, looking much better, and skating her head off. I wrote you from Milan about her operation (did you get all those letters with other letters enclosed, a check from
your mother, etc.?), and we have run into the whole smart international set, wild mad playboys and playgirls (mostly lonely, once-beautiful women, unhappily married or getting divorced or already divorced, accompanied by huge dogs, and wild queers who are amusing and repulsive, and I seem to be the toast of the bar. That is, for one night, the first, which was bar night – molto dancing and club fun – and no more. It's all too easy not to rest up here, and I'm resting. There also appeared Hakim (Rafael) who went up and down screaming how beautiful you were, and where were you, and why did you ever pick me instead of him. And a pretty blonde named Jenny who will probably turn up in New York. I returned today to find that Ruggiero had broken his arm skiing yesterday. And I became real good friends with von Karajan, whom you would (and will) adore. My first Nazi. Had dinner last night at Fosca Crespi's with Wally, who sends you his dearest love, as does Nancy and Maria Ricordi and Ruggiero (he really does) and Isabel who finally did appear for
Medea
with Letizia Boncompagni and husband, but without Laurence, and all the servitù of the Duomo and all the folks of the Scala. And that's my social news for the night, Marvin.

I've decided to go along with Lillian on
Candide
, imagine, after having written her a letter saying no and tearing it up, I think it will be more feasible than the David piece this spring, and will allow me to do other things as well, like the violin piece, and maybe refurbishing
Peter Pan
for Edwin Lester, who is thinking of doing it with Mary Martin. I'm dying to do David, but for next year. I got lots of ideas, or at least a clearer idea, about the libretto coming over on the plane, and it now looks much more like a big three-act opera with chorus and ballet, which nixes it for this season. I've also decided to give Finzi my general representation in Europe, which was a good decision I think, even if she is always rushing about, because she is young and energetic and will work hard for me, and her assistant Paola is clear-headed for the menial tasks. There is also a lot of talk about London in the winter, and Karajan has asked me to Vienna, etc. So we should have fun next year too. The way it looks now, if you agree, is Europe in May, lit and kiboodle; then Rome (Academy) till Xmas, say; then some real European conducting for two months or so, then home. Almost a year abroad! What do you think? Do you think this plan has any beneficial bearing on paragraph #1 of this letter?

I love you so much, and want you not to worry, ever, or be unhappy, when we must be very happy always. Be good to yourself, and make Liz Arden take away your eye-circles, and help her do it from inside.

All my love,

L

Dear Cheryl Crawford,

I received your roundabout request for a short overture to
Tahiti
and have given it some thought. I would love to oblige you, but I can't for several reasons. One, that the opening trio number is itself a prelude and its function in the opera should be just that. Two, that the only material suitable for an overture (outside of writing a whole new special piece) would be the prelude itself, which would cause repetitiousness. Three, I am so rushed in the writing of
Candide
that I couldn't begin to think of writing a special new piece to precede the opera. I am sure you know how it is, when a piece is two years behind you, to attempt to make any sizeable change. I hope the production is going well and I would love to be kept informed of your progress. Can you send me your itinerary? Please give my love to Alice
⁷⁷
and David
⁷⁸
and all the cast.

Very sincerely,

Leonard Bernstein

Illustrious Maestro,

I have sent the letter to Bob Anderson who will send it to his agent who will no doubt despatch the necessary information to the Dearest Maestro at La Scala.

I am almost through here. And I ought to leave in three weeks. Don't ask me how the picture is. You never know. Everybody always likes the rushes. They don't mean anything. If my basic story is good I guess I'll have a good picture. Certainly my actors are fresh and real. In fact I don't think anybody has ever seen any of them except their mothers and that's the way I like it.
⁸⁰

I'm still kind of punchy from my Hoboken episode,
⁸¹
but in a punchy way I'm having a lot of fun. I lack some of my usual doggedness and tenacity but I guess it will all come back if I live long enough. In a word, I'm tired.

When I get through with this, I'll come back east and sit out front and enjoy your work. How's it coming? I hope it will be wonderful. When you get all done with it I want to talk with you about a project for us both. My idea, in a sense, is to take a novel and dramatize it entirely as a series of musical numbers with hardly anything in between. You might call it an opera except for the fact that it's not one at all and derives from a much more native source, musical comedy. I'll be starting to think about it.

Betty [Lauren] Bacall misses you. This I know for a fact. What other emotional havoc you brought on out here there is no record of, but she misses you.

Swim a lot. The Pacific is a dirty, cold ocean. You've got the good one there.

Love and kisses,

Gadg

Dear Aa,

I miss you. That's the long and short of it. I don't miss Berlioz or the crowds or the pewpils or the scenery or the meetings on the green furniture of Seranak,
⁸²
or even the hot crowded Monday forums, I miss you, ecco. And Lukas.

I want to hear about things like how the Piano Concerto (yours) went, and the immortal problem of Farrand–Roth, and dirty gossip, and what of next year, and how is
Tender Land
going.

Me, I stay put on this heavenly island, intending never to leave except to Venice for a week in Sept. to conduct my new piece with Isaac [Stern].
⁸³
It's finished, imagine, & all orchestrated except for the finale. Man, I need you
around for some solid criticism. I could use it.
Candide
crawls along: it's the hardest thing I ever tried, and – you won't believe this – it's very hard trying to be eclectic. I am raising the unwilling ghosts of Hérold and Auber. A new wrinkle.

Love, & write. A big hug to Lukas, & give my best to [Charles] Munch & [Jean] Morel & Olga [Koussevitzky] & all that sort of thing.

As I said, I miss you.

L

P.S. [John La] Touche sends all the best, as does Lillian.