So does
T
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO MARY LOUISE ASWELL
Portofino
July 11, 1953
Darling Marylou—
So there you are in dear old Folly Cove: I wish we could change places—I love the fast life, but honest to God Portofino is too fast for me. Jack gets up at dawn (literally) in order to have a quiet swim before the Rest of the World (in its entirety) appears à la plage. Still, I manage to go on working, though am getting a little desperate now—as time is getting very short and the play isn’t finished. It just must be before we leave here.
While I think of it—no, that story of Jack’s ‘The Comedian’ is not ‘Light on the Square’. Heaven forbid. ‘Light on the Square’ is a really good story—by far the best he’s done. That’s why I seriously wanted you to read it.
Darling, it would be wicked of me to have you postpone your collection of novellas with the idea of my ‘coming-through’ by December. There is a novella I want to write, and have wanted to for over a year now, and I think it would be fine in the context you outline—because it is ‘funny’ in a rather grim way. It’s called ‘The Wrong Mrs. Rockefeller’—about an American woman who rents a villa in Italy and tries to get people to come and live with her. Perhaps that doesn’t sound too promising—but what I have in mind is rather more diabolical than this. It’s something I really have to do—but with all the various pressures I don’t think it would be fair of me to promise it for any specific date. How much do Ballantine plan to pay for the novellas? Will you do a second collection? Why not one of short stories?
You are an Angel to say that Jack could stay with you—it would not be for long: just so he has some place to go to when we get off the boat. He is so pleased and grateful and will be writing you soon (he’s finishing his book—I’m going to read it tomorrow—I liked the first draft so much).
As for Huston! You know the Bea Lillie song: ‘Maud [unclear], You’re Rotten to the Core.’ Well. But I do have an admiration and a real fondness for him—Except he and his whole family have come to spend the summer here (so that we can all be so near each other!) and oh dear—that is the main reason I’m so desperate about my work. Poor Jack. He’s been sweet, so far, but keeps threatening mutiny. Darling, am I to spend my whole life in that kind of situation? Is it really all my fault? Yes, I suppose it is.
As I think I wrote you, we are sailing Oct 8 (Queen Elizabeth). I’m looking forward to New York, mainly because of seeing you and Jane and well—practically no one else. But am more than usual dreading it, too—not for the customary reasons but because of the insolvable Nina and Joe problem. How can I keep all that up and be a writer, too? Obviously I can’t. I loathe writing for films—the fact that it is undermining is no mere myth. I think the bit I’ve done so far has done me a certain kind of good (though neither of the pictures is any good at all—but that isn’t what I mean)—but that is as far as it should go. However, no point talking about this—I just must hope, and do the best I can.
Kelly is the same old Kelly—always fighting with other dogs. You will love Bunker—my little (but growing) English bull. So Sweet, so ugly!
Darling, give my love to Pidgy and Dunny (or Duncan, now that he’s a working man)—I love and miss you so much. Jack sends his dearest love.
Many kisses, precious one from your own
T.
[Collection Aswell Family]
TO JOHN MALCOLM BRINNIN
Portofino (Ligure)
August 1, 1953
Malcolm dear—
I was touched, relieved, and worried by your sweet note today. Worried because of what you say about your health. I hope (so much) that you are feeling better now, and that there will be no delay in your trip. Because by all means you must come to stay with us in Portofino. It is very charming; the swimming is wonderful—we will be here until Sept 3rd. Please let us know, with some degree of accuracy, when to expect you.
I do regret this Goyen business, particularly as it affected you, and consequently me; but on the whole regret it more for his sake—not mine (which may sound a little saintly, or even pompous, still it is what I mean). I’m afraid he’s set fire to too many bridges—Linscott, for instance, to whom he owes nothing but gratitude. Linscott sent me a letter G. had written him about me. Really astonishing; really insane. But actually, you know, I don’t think I was an especial obsession of his; or if so, in what sense? I think it’s just my turn had come for his customary, paranoid, sudden blitz-style vilifycation [sic]. It happens finally to anyone who shows him sympathy: Sam Barber, [Gian Carlo] Menotti, Eleanor Clark, [Stephen] Spender, Stephen Green ad infinitum. But we can talk about this later.
Jack sends his best love. I love you too, dearest M.—always—
T
[Collection University of Delaware Library]
TO ROBERT LINSCOTT
Fermo Posta
Portofino [Ligure]
Italy
August 3, 1953
Dear Bob—
It seems so long since I last wrote you—this is just to find out how you are; and to let you know that really I am quite well. I hope you had a good holiday in the ‘hills’—I always remember the day we went to pick blackberrys [sic].
I wish so much that I could talk to you right now, Bob—about my work. I have so many plans, ideas—maybe you could help me sort them out. I do need counsel—no two ways about it. I could write it all, I suppose—but it would take 50 pages. However, I am coming to New York the middle of October—then you really must devote some time to me. I’m looking forward to seeing you far, far more than anyone else! Would you like me to bring you something—any European records that are difficult, or more expensive, than there? Please send me a list—I’d like so much to bring you a present.
Drop me a note; tell me some news—
always
T
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO DAVID O. SELZNICK
Portofino
Sept. 2, 1953
Dear David—
Bless you for your letters and the photographs etc. I can’t tell you what Portofino’s been like the past August—really rather fun, if you just abandoned yourself to it. More of that later.
Firstly, Binkie [Beaumont] and John Perry were here for about 3 weeks and I saw a great lot of them.275 I like Binkie very much, and John Perry too (the real power behind that particular throne). I talked to him (Binkie) about you and Jennifer many times; he seems to be very fond of you both, and enthusiastic about Jennifer’s quality as an actress. He read ‘House of Flowers’—which is nearly finished now—and assuming he meant the things he said, was most flattering about it. But he did not think J would be suitable in the part. In any event, it is unlikely the play will be done before next fall, so I am determined Peter Brook should direct it, and it may be impossible for him to do so before then. I don’t know anything definite yet.
Our own little household has been amusing the last month. Cecil and John Gielgud came to stay most of August; now Noel C. [Coward] and Graham P. [Payn] are here—in other words, the Lavender Hill mob in force. At any rate, we’ve managed to jazz up the joint considerably.
Went to Venice last week on Arturo Lopez’s yacht (shades of Gentlemen P. Blondes276) and was no sooner down the gangplank than who should rear his head but Friend Huston—there, I gather, for the Film Festival. Which reminds me; I’ve met a lot of people who, for one reason or another, seem to have seen ‘Beat the Devil’—apparently it is rather good. But who knows? Anyway, they all say Jennifer is excellent and ‘speaks’ so well—whatever that means! Her accent, I suppose—277
I don’t know why Mr. Arthur Jacobs sending me the telegram upsets you.278 It struck me as a perfectly reasonable suggestion. I should be delighted to write such a piece—if I had some particular point of view; but the main thing is at the moment I don’t have much energy to divert—because I must have my play in order before I go to New York. Am dreading the ordeal of that—and the complications that are going to fall in my lap when I get there.
I read somewhere that you are going to do ‘Bell, Book and Candle.’279 It seems to me a good idea—at least a charming part for Jennifer.
I hope you both
