Newton writes that he dropped in on you while in the city. Did he seem better to you?
I wrestled with a Thanksgiving dinner and it came out pretty well—except the turkey was too tough.
I grow increasingly alarmed about Phoebe—not only the incident with you, but several other odd stories have reached me. It seems so out of character. Of course she is in a terrible situation—living in one room in some hideous hotel with that crazy mother. Still, most of it is her own fault—she’s thrown away two very good jobs. It’s so maddening, because I think she has a wonderful talent—but it’s as though she’s suddenly lost all sense of self.
Mt. Etna erupted last week—a catastrophe that continues still; every day there is a new explosion.157 I can see Etna from where I’m sitting now—there are seven rivers of fire flowing down from the crater, an astonishing sight, quite beautiful, especially at night.
I miss you, Bob.
Always,
T
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO BENNETT CERF
Truman Capote
Fontana Vecchia
Taormina, Sicily
December 5, 1950
Dear Bennett—
I understand that in the new musical “Guys & Dolls” there is a song called “A Bushel and A Peck” (I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck).158 On page 84 of Other Voices, Other Rooms, you will find this: “I love you, Joel, I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” It is quite my own line. And though Oscar Wilde may have gone into the public domain, I’ve not. In other words, depending somewhat on your view, I intend to bring suit. To what extent would such an action involve Random House?
Several weeks ago a lawyer called Gilbert telephoned my agent, Marian Ives; he said he was the legal representative of G. Schirmer, Irving Berlin etcetera. He wanted to know: where did I get the jingle a bushel and a peck etc. My agent told him she thought I’d made it up: why? Oh just curious, he said.
Now of course I don’t think I should let them get away with this. It is so complete a case of plagiarism that I don’t even see why I should have to take it to court. But perhaps I am naive about such things. What do you think?
Please show this letter to Bob.
By this same mail I am writing to my lawyer; in the event the Random House lawyer would like to speak with him, he is: Nathan Rogers, 511 Fifth Avenue.159
My love to Phyllis; with much affection
Truman
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO WILLIAM GOYEN
Fontana Vecchia
Taormina, Sicily
December 16, 1950
Bill dear—
I was so happy to know where you were—though I don’t approve at all: no wonder you have pleurisy, sitting in a cold Chicago basement. Did romance take you there? There could be no other acceptable reason. But if you are working well, then perhaps it is a good thing.
Andrew’s address is: 232 East 76th Street. Do write him, I know he wonders about you. And I have given your address to Kinch [Robert] Horan. He is a charming person, I like him very much indeed. He seems quite happy here (came for a week, and has been here nearly two months), and is writing with a vengeance. Unfortunately, he got a terrible leg infection and that has been a great nuisance. I expect you will hear from him in the next few days.
As for my own work: what with war at the window, and a river of lava at the door (Etna, you know, has had the worst eruption in its history) I haven’t been able to really concentrate. All the same, I seem to be getting somewhere. I’ve no idea what to do about coming home; I should hate to, at just this point—Lord, precious, what a generation we were born into.
In addition to all this, I am involved in a lawsuit with the producers of a show called “Guys & Dolls”. There is a song in it made completely out of a jingle that I wrote and included in Other Voices. And, though Oscar Wilde may have gone into the public domain, I’ve not.
Pearl is still here; she says she had a letter from you.160 I think she is unhappy over her bust-up with Dylan T [Thomas]. But the magic of Fontana seems to be working on her, too.
I was pleased that Faulkner got the Nobel Prize—but am far from pleased with his Collected Stories. With three exceptions they seem to me unwritten, unreadable, absolute frauds. Dr Martino!! An Artist at Home!! Honor!! Oh oh oh. Did you read that, when he arrived in Sweden, he listed his profession as farmer? I’m not so sure he was wrong. And did you see the letter he sent Time defending Hemingway?161 Ye Gods.
I hear Elizabeth Bowen is taking a tour with Eudora [Welty] through the South. I would give a lot to be a member of that party.
Well, honey, that’s about it. Have a good Christmas, dear Bill—we will be thinking of you. I wish I could send you a present: will all my love do?
T
[Collection Unknown]
TO ANDREW LYNDON
Fontana Vecchia
Taormina, Sicily
New Year’s eve 1950
Precious One—
So happy to have your long and oh so newsy letter. What did Santa Claus bring you? I got a beautiful black and red sweater from Jack, a pair of gloves from Pearl, a book from Newton, a book from Linscott, $25 from Nina & Joe, a gold cigarette case from the Cerfs, et c’est tout. But our Christmas was marred (understatement) by Robert Horan, who decided to kill himself: very nearly did, too: sleeping pills. As a result of all this, I had to take him to Milan (900 miles) where Gian-Carlo Menotti took over the burden, poor guy. It’s a sad and sordid story, and please do not mention it to anyone. On the way home I stopped in Rome for 2 days, and that was rather fun. Saw lots of people, including Donny—who has run out of money, but completely, and is on his way home—sailing from England Jan. 30. Got back to Taormina yesterday, and am very happy to be here. I don’t know how I shall ever be able to leave for good and all. Is my piece about the house in the Jan. Bazaar? Was supposed to be.
As for Phoebe: I’ve known her to go through periods somewhat similar, though never quite like this—and I guess during those times what happened was we just called a halt, understood to be temporary, on our friendship. The business of Marguerite and the check is really incredible. You ask what I think you should say or do. Nothing. Because there is nothing. Aside from the hallucinatory part, I wonder if she really is counting on magazine sales: if the book is coming out in April, as I understand it is, they haven’t time to sell anything anywhere, for all those monthlys [sic] work at least 4 months in advance.
Thank you, honey, for your “review” of Bless You All.162 Cecil also wrote me about it—he too said it was dreary.
Yes, I saw what Time said about Newton. I hope he gets the Pulitzer Prize—it would be a disgrace if he didn’t.163 The occasional letters he sends are rather cryptic. How does he seem to you—really? Whatever happened about Morton? Darling, when he was in N.Y. I hope you did have some little fling with him: tell mother the truth.164 Mother so seldom gets the truth these days.
Pearl is still here. She is not, alas, the most stimulating girl alive, but I guess it is all right—and Jack seems to like her. She is down at the telephone office today, because Victor Kraft165 is calling her long distance from Rio De Janeiro.
I miss you always, precious; Jack sends love, and to Harold, too. Many kisses,
much love
T
P.S. BUON CAPO ANNO [sic]
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO LEO LERMAN AND GRAY FOY
Fontana Vecchia
Taormina, Sicily
January [4] 1951
Dear Gray, dear Myrt,
Who is Leo Gray? Some actor friend of yours? Anyway, he sent us such a lovely Christmas cable, and I want you to thank him very much indeed. And Gray dear, thank you for the beautiful Christmas card; it had the place of honor on our mantel.
I hope old Claus did well by you both. I got a wonderful sweater, won derful gloves, a check for 25 dollars, and the collected stories of Farmer [William] Faulkner, which weren’t worth collecting [if you] ask me. Our tree was a giant bouquet of poinsettas [sic]; we had turkey with chestnut stuffing and Soave wine and orange-almond layer cake: not bad for the wilds of Sicily. Right afterwards, unfortunately, I had to make an emergency trip to Milan and Rome, which was tiresome because I hate leaving here at all. Alas, alas, I’m afraid I’ve turned into a real country boy. You wouldn’t believe the quietness of our lives; or that we could stand it. Nowadays the weather is very curious, summer in the morning and winter in the afternoon. But spring has already started: fields of daisies, breaking almond blossoms. All that is sad is knowing that we will have to leave here, though I did so want to stay until I finished my book, but—and, too, I had looked forward to the thought you might come here this spring.
I suppose New York is exciting now in a rather grisly way. Having a good time with a
