Much love
T.
P.S. Will be here until the end of Sept.
[Collection University of Texas at Austin]
TO CECIL BEATON
Portofino, Sept 4, 1953
Dearest Cecil—
Thank you for my shorts—such a compromising sort of package. By the way, there are a pair of yours here. Also, your shirt is finished and looks very handsome. I shall hold on to all for the time being.280 It was so sad leaving you in Venice. You must write me the juicier details of the party et al. Lili’s only comment was: ‘Well, you know my dear, I’m just too old for that sort of thing’!!281
My friends were here when I got back. And no sooner had I set foot in the door than who should come clambering up the stairs but—M. [Margaret] Case!282 She’d come back on a hideous yacht, large and dour and Victorian and reeking of creosote, with her Political Associate. Also here, Noel C. [Coward] and G. [Graham] Payn—raising Hell with the Harrison’s [sic] speed boat. Noel tried hard to charm Jack—went about it in the strangest manner: something I can’t write—will have to tell. One amazing thing. Madame Luce said to Noel: “why don’t you boys take Maggie swimming with you?”
Noel said: “I’m afraid we’d spend the whole time dunking her.”
“If you did,” said Mrs. Luce, “she’d only come up with three well-known fishes.”283
But they’ve all gone, and it is very quiet here—beautiful days, and I am working hard again. All I want to do is finish the play—beyond that I don’t know what my plans are, where we’re going or when.
Not a word from Saint. That episode, for all its frivolous side, has left me with a rather seriously odd feeling. It’s as though Saint, instead of being any kind of help, had become Another Burden, Another Problem. And my God, I have too many.
Darling, I hope you are happy and quiet in the Country, reading, working as you want. It was so wonderful being with you here. I’m sure you know how warm and real my respect and love for you is. Jack sends his best love. Write Soon.
Your own
T
[Collection St. John’s College, Cambridge University]
TO ANDREW LYNDON
Portofino,
Sept 12, 1953
Dearest One—
Forgive me, dearheart—I’m long overdue in writing you: one thing, I lost my address book—hence, am sending this to Lenox Hill, with the hope it will find you.284
Obviously, we still are in Portofino and will be until early October. We have passage on the Queen E. Oct 8, but I doubt that we will make it; if not, perhaps a boat shortly after. All my plans are more up in the air than ever. It depends somewhat on the play—I keep not quite finishing it. Saint, who came here to get it, and left in a rage, expects to do it this season. But I very much want Peter Brook to direct it—and it is very unlikely he will be available before next Autumn. For myself, I’m willing to wait; but really I don’t know what will happen—anyway, don’t mention all this to anyone.
I’ve liked it here and have done a lot of work, but in August everything became too social—and I do mean social—the Windsors (morons), the Luces (morons plus), Garbo (looking like death with a suntan) the Oliviers (they let her out)285 Daisy Fellowes286 (her face lifted for the fourth time—the Doctor’s [sic] say no more),—then Cecil and John Gielgud came to stay with us, and we went to Venice on Arturo Lopez’s yacht—whence I’ve just come back. Oh yes, I forgot Noel Coward—he fell in love with Jack. Jack hated it All. For a town with a population of less than a thousand, Portofino has been quite a place.
I’ve not heard from Newton since early summer, have you? I hope it does not mean more of the same.
Do you think Jack could get a flat in your bldg.? We have no idea where we would stay in N.Y. I don’t know what to do about 1060. I don’t know what to do about so many things. I wish you could tell me.
I miss you always, little angel. Write me here. Jack sends love. So does
Your own
T
P.S. Hope you had a good rest in Macon.
P.P.S. T’is [sic] Sept 14—will mail this today for sure. Jack wants to know did the city ever pay you for 232. He hasn’t heard from Marcia Van Meter. Love and Love. Oh, I found your address. Another thing: some time ago P. [Pearl] Kazin wrote that Harold [Halma] had had a nervous breakdown. Is this true? Why? Give him my love if you get a chance.
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO JOHN MALCOLM BRINNIN
Portofino
Sept 22, 1953
Malcolm dear—
Was delighted, and startled, to have your letter this morning: it seems as though you were here only a week-end ago—now you are back in Boston or Conn. or New York: wherever it is you do live. Perhaps it’s only that time is so peculiar here—it’s beautiful now, the piazza deserted and the sea like ‘shook foil.’ [unclear] I have been working very well (for a change); and Jack is doing an amazing thing with his book—it is, in fact, a different book.
I believe I talked Noel [Coward] into appearing at Poetry Center. The magic word is ‘serious’. So when you write him, little phrases like ‘emphasize the serious nature of your contribution’ should be freely sprinkled. Speaking on this subject—or, rather, speaking of my own proposed Appearance, I’ve decided I really must have a more ‘generous’ honorarium (not for naught was I once a faculty-wife) than 250. In fact, Poetry Center must pay me 400—which seems to me only reasonable and correct, all things considered. I suppose I should have said so at the time, but I did not think about it until afterwards; and if P.C. is not willing to pay this, then certainly it is not too late to cancel out.
The dogs are full of fleas—we’ve spent all morning bathing them in some odd South African ointment. We still have no carnet287 for the car—heaven knows how we’ll leave here, or when. Not until the middle of October, in any event.
I hope you had a good time at Chateau [unclear]; you do go to the damdest places—I wonder if anyone has ever had, over a prolonged period, a more extraordinary love-life: possibly Marilyn Monroe.
Had a fine offer last week from Carol Reed to do the film script for ‘A High Wind In Jamaica.’288 Does it make you happy to learn that I turned it down?
Darling, it was wonderful seeing you, having you here—I always love you very much. Jack sends his love. Write me—
T
[Collection University of Delaware Library]
TO ANDREW LYNDON
Portofino,
Oct 14, 1953
Darling—
Bless you for your birthday letter—no one else remembered, not even Jack (who, rather late in the day, I truculently reminded); so I was touched.289
I’ve finished ‘House of Flowers’—or as much, as you can testify, [as] a play is ever ‘finished’. I don’t expect I will come to New York until a composer is chosen and ready to work—I’ve written all the lyrics (9 songs) but I suppose they will need ‘adjusting’. I long for you to read it—
We are fairly weary of Portofino—the skies are dark and the water is cold. So we are leaving here Monday—going to the mountains, St. Moritz etc. for a spell; I want to finish a story. But you can write me c/o American Express, Paris—they will forward.
You are an angel to offer to find an apt. in your place; under the circumstances, with plans so grotesquely uncertain as ours, I don’t feel it is right to put you to the bother. There is a delightful apartment, very cheap, that we can have on East 63rd Street—but not until the 1st of April!
Did you hear about R. Lowry?290 Trying to murder (really) his wife and being put in an institution? There was an article about Doris Lilly in a London paper the other day—I meant to send it: she is cutting a wide swath, and ‘her’ book is being serialized in the Daily Express—a detail I’m sure that would interest Phoebe. Whatever has become of Phoebe? I’m glad it was all hogwash about Harold—that Pearl!
‘Tea and Sympathy’ sounds most unsympathetic.291 Or what? Have you seen ‘The Little Hut’?292 Hear it got poor reviews. I thought it was amusing, especialy [sic] the decor.
Tenn. & Frankie & P. Bowles were all here the other day—on their collective way to Tangier. Tenn. wanted to know if you have a lover. I said I didn’t know. I don’t. Do you? Well, darling, you always have your own
T
P.S. Love from Jack!
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO NEWTON ARVIN
Portofino,
October 16, 1953
Darling Sige—
Was so relieved and happy to have your letter—I’ve meant to write you every other day, though actually you did owe me a letter; except all this dreariness about ‘owing’ letters is such a bore. The truth is, I’ve been working with zombie-like concentration the last 2 months (after having squandered most of the summer) and have put everything else out of my mind. I finished my ‘House of Flowers’ play (if indeed a play is ever ‘finished’) and am working on some new stories—what a pleasure to return to the sanity and ‘space’ of straight prose! I’ve not heard yet about ‘House of Flowers’—whether it’s going to be done this spring or next fall; I prefer the latter—it’s enough of a risk without rushing.
I’m sorry, darling, really sad that you had such a wretched summer; it seems to me almost
