Darling it is getting late and I do want to get this off to you. Love to Harold, and 57 varieties of love and kisses for my sweet sister
T
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO CECIL BEATON
Pensione Di Lustro
Forio D’ischia
Prov. Di Napoli
Italy
May 1st 1949
Cecil, love—
Or Beaton, baby
What a joy your letter was; though that was stupid about your cold; but you are all well now, I’m sure, and up to great things, while here still am I languishing on this primitive outpost. I want to stay another month, however, then go to Paris for at least the better part of June: maybe somehow we will see you around that time.
Personally, I prefer imagining you among your roses and cows26 than in either the Plaza or amid the plumbing facilities of Mr Maughm [W. Somerset Maugham]: also, it is a better place to complete your second-act surgery:27 as for the absence of loved ones, that, dear-heart, can sometimes be a blessing. Especially if you are trying to work.
It looks as if I am going to be evicted by long-distance from my New York apartment. The owners want it for themselves. Nothing could be more trying.
Dear Juliet Duff is quite right: what did Theatre Arts do to me?28 Little [Richard] Avedon has proved himself quite untrustworthy.29 But do give the ogod boy my fondest.
Has Peter Watson arrived back in London? With or without Waldemar?30 That poor tyke.
Wystan Auden has arrived here in Forio accompanied by an entourage of rather dismal youngsters—some of them not so young. And, except for Wystan, they are not very matey, but remain grandly aloof. I understand, too, that the horror’s horror, and I do mean Brian Howard, is on his way here.31
So I daresay that by the end of May we shall leave without regret.
I am attending to my work with a fair degree of concentration; that makes me content; and so does Jack, who has proved to be a really astonishing person—of a perceptivity too rarely encountered and a strength almost never. He says you have beautiful eyes—and they are, Cecil dear: tender, blue
lovely as you
much, much love
T
[Collection St. John’s College, Cambridge University]
TO ANDREW LYNDON
Forio D’Ischia
[2] May 1949
Andrew darling—
I’ve had a premonition you were in Macon; well, at least I was right in one particular: someone was away: Harold, according to our beautiful PP [Phoebe Pierce], has been in California: why? Give him a kiss for me, and tell him I’m glad he’s home again—I don’t like to think of him out there in the land of strawberry-flavored coffee.
Elinor M’s party sounds as though it were at least a little amusing: that precious Lee Wiley. And Phoebe says Jordan [Massee] has been in town: how did he seem and why was he there?32 I had two accounts of MLA’s soiree; Phoebe’s, and another from Malcolm—he was full of praise for you both—says you are charming and intelligent—calls Phoebe “wonderfully keen and wildly attractive.” Poor Malcolm. His romance has busted, and he is very unhappy.
I think the title of Phoebe’s new story lovely: A Fall of Rain. And you, sweet magnolia, what are you working on? If you have done a new story, please send it to me.
My book has changed somewhat since I outlined it slightly to you.33 I feel very much that my writing has grown (though this may be a delusion), and the time has come when I must shoulder some real responsibility; that is, I want for once to pose a problem and provide an answer, too. I do after all profess to some sort of style, and that is something I can hope only to improve upon; but the material and my own view toward it are different from anything I’ve attempted before. God, what a revolting mess it could be. And may.
I had a letter from Newton yesterday: midway in the text, and with his usual cunning, there were inserted a few lines to the effect that he was dedicating his book to David Lillienthal [Lilienthal].34 Pretty extraordinary, when you think how often he has inferred the honor was to be mine. Our present circumstances have nothing to do with it; I realize now that he never intended to dedicate the book to me: honestly, I don’t care about that, but somehow the symbol is so profound I can’t dismiss it. Poor man, he is a true coward; and what is worse, a moderate coward. Moderation is the key to his character. I should be a fool to despise him: so I don’t: but I would be a greater fool if I did not despise myself: how pitiful it was of me to have put that vast love into such feeble hands—hands that never closed over it but let it dribble through the fingers like water.
Have you glanced at the new John Horne Burns book?35 Seen South Pacific, Detective Story or a movie called The Fallen Idol? Did Diable Au Corps ever open?36 Did you get Christopher’s letter from Leo? What did he have to say? Tell me about these things. Life is so circumscribed here. On top of which I’ve broken my glasses and so am staggering around absolutely blind.
Jack is fine and sweet as pie. He sends you his best, and Harold, too. I’ve already sent Harold a kiss, but here are several million more (for which I will have to pay extra postage). I love you, precious baby, darling child, and in my dreams frame your mad adorable face with a wreath of roses
T
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO ROBERT LINSCOTT
Pensione di Lustro
Forio D’ischia
Prov. Di Napoli
Italia
May 6 1949
Dear Bob—
Your letter was too brief a treat, but a treat all the same: there is only one excitement to my day, and that is when the postman comes. Ah, what a joy it is when he has a little something for me: so, even if you don’t have time to write, just send me a lot of old circulars.
Except for the customary anxietys [sic], and a stomach that has finally revolted against Italian food, I guess I’m fine. When I finish the chapter I’m working on now I will have done ⅓ of the book—which is making very good time, don’t you think? If I can finish a draft of it here before going home, then I probably will have it all polished by the first of the year, which means you could publish it the following June—that is, if you have a mind to. But we will see what happens—it is by so far the most difficult thing I ever tried to do.
Other Voices has appeared here in Italy and has had very good reviews. Did you know it has been banned in Ireland? Marion tells me Tree has sold 6300: neither good nor bad; maybe it will sell more.37 I rather liked the review Leslie Fiedler wrote of it in The Nation.
I hope you are well Bob, enjoying your elegant phonograph and having good weekends on the farm. I shall probably be leaving Ischia around June 6. Write me before then, and give my best to the Messrs Haas, Cerf and Cummins.38
Always,
Truman
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO DONALD WINDHAM
Pensione di Lustro
Forio D’Ischia
May 7 1949
D dear—
A joy forever is a letter: thank you, baby, and for the clipping, too—though that good old standby, the Rome Daily American, had given us a few of the facts. Had a note from 10 [Tennessee Williams] saying he was London-bound: it never occured [sic] to me that Britaneva [Maria Britneva] bitch might be the cause. Maybe they’ll be married yet. Ugh.
Auden’s [W. H. Auden] arrival has thrown something of a gloom over Ischia. He is furious because anyone other than himself is here—seems to feel the place belongs to him; and is, in fact, downright rude about it. Such a tiresome old Aunty. I’m glad I don’t have to see him. But there are quite a few people here now, most of them very nice—though I suppose it is beginning to look like a Meditternean [sic] version of Fire Island. I gave Jimmy [Schuyler] your love and he sends you his and says he is going to write you when he gets a grip on himself. I think he feels rather sad. I like him, too. But Jack so dislikes the Santa Lucia set (Chester’s word)39 and is so disagreeable to them that we don’t get together often. Oh dear, I suppose this is what happens on an island. They, the Santa Lucia set, were dreadfully and overtly rude to 10 when he was here: that is what brought Jack against them.
I’m bored with R. H [Random House]; and the news of your book bores me more: who turned it down? Pat Covici at Viking is an affabble [sic] guy, but a little stupid; however, you might be able to come to some kind of understanding with him.
I have a whole new collection of Buffie J. [Johnson] stories—mostly about her Hindu lover: the ugliest man you ever put eye to.40
I’m so hungry: go out to Hicks and have a nice ice cream parfait in my honor.
Why did Irene [Selznick] let Sandy go?41 Is she bringing the whole Chicago Co. intact? Personally, I think Sandy should be relieved: he’ll get a lot more out of going to the Cape than staying in a show all summer. Give him my love. And my love to you, honey
T
!!!
[Collection Beinecke Library, Yale University]
TO ANDREW LYNDON
[Forio D’Ischia, Italy]
May 8 1949
Darling, darling, darling—
I feel full of love for you
