We have a little bulldog puppy; I got him in London, his name is Charley and he’s a relative of dearest Bunky.
The nicest thing about the Costa Brava is that it is so unfashionable. No one comes here, or wants to come here—except a lot of Limey milkmen and German trolley-car conductors. Will be here until September, but plan to sit-out the Berlin Crisis in VERBIER.78 The book is half-done, and I think I might stay abroad until it is finished; but perhaps not.
I’ve not read anything by James Purdy, except, several years ago, a book of short stories, which I thought (to quote his opinion of G. Brenan’s79 novel) “interesting but unsucessful [sic].” He (Purdy) was once a friend of D. Windham, and I remember D. telling me that Purdy was “a real little bitch.” Is he? No, I guess he couldn’t be or you wouldn’t like him.
I’ve not heard from Newton since last December. I must try and find out what is happening to the poor guy.
So glad you have a place of your own up there, not only because it may induce you to work but—isn’t there some sort of naval installation nearby? Seriously, my sweet, I do hope you get a lot of writing done.
Jack is fine. Looks great. Trim, brown, and golden haired. I’ve put on weight. Am, in fact, fifteen pounds heavier than when last seen by you.
Oh—I forgot. Herr Issyvoo [Christopher Isherwood] came to see me in London. Gave me the mss. of his new novel.80 Liked it very much. Sort of “Goodbye to Berlin” brought up to date. It’s almost too frank.
I miss you. I love you. Write soon.
Hugs—
T
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO BENNETT CERF
11 July 1961
Palamos
Costa Brava
Spain
Dear B—,
I should have thought my last letter, written perhaps two months ago, would have required a reply: but no, nothing, mere gloom and silence. Ah, well—I’m still fond of you, and fonder still of dearest Phyllis; and I hope you are having a fine summer, Chris and Jonathan, too.81
I have a friend who wants to buy a complete set of the Modern Library. Could you please have this sent to him, along with the bill—
PATRICK Guinness
10 Avenue de la Gare
Lausanne,
Switzerland
Some idiot, real idiot, has been forwarding my mail from Random House addressed as follows: c/o Millar, Calle Catife, Palamos, Spain, without my name, any name: just c/o Millar. As I no longer live at the Millar house, the postman has simply been tossing these letters into the courtyard, where I found them the other day rain-soaked and illegible. Perhaps this is why I’ve not recvd. a June royalty statement. Please, dear Bennett, put a stop to this stupidity.
My book is bit by bit becoming a book. If it had not been for my illness, I would be further along than I am; still I am not dissatisfied; but oh dear, the amount of correspondence the whole thing entails—I’m in closest daily communication with some seven or eight Kansans.
Hugs for Phyllis and love to you both. I miss you very much—
T
P.S. Will be here until end Sept. Then returning to that lonely Swiss mountain: God, how you would hate it. So do I really. But—art!
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
[Palamós, Spain]
[July 12, 1961]
Dearhearts—
Was very glad to have Alvin’s cable, and eagerly await the details etc. Well—now we shall see. Oh I hope (hope? I pray on bended knees) that it doesn’t go on to the Federal Court. But I daresay dear Dick is already busily filing a petition. Did you read the brief he presented to the Kansas Supreme Court? I got a copy of it—really, it is too absurd. I especially liked his complaining that the sentence was unconstitutional because it meant “deprivation of life.”
Am sure you enjoyed the visit of Marie’s Ma and Pa. How nice that they could come so soon after you’d moved into the new house.
Did I tell you—I have a new little puppy. I got him in London. A bulldog. I adore him—but my cat doesn’t; and, of course, he is chewing the house down. I did move to another house, it is right on the beach, very nice. The address is just: Palamos, Costa Brava, Spain.
By the way, please send me your new telephone number.
I suppose the boys are spending a good deal of time at the swimming pool. I miss you, my best love always
T
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO MARY LOUISE ASWELL
[Palamós, Spain]
18 July 1961
Darling Marylou—
Since haste is the order, I hurry to obey: but, as you can see, it is really written without thought or form.82 Jack is fine, and I am okay. I hope you will get a rest after the book is turned in; also, hope you make some money. By the way, Carson [McCullers] was a friend of Carmel’s: why don’t you get hold of her? And Cartier-Bresson: he is writing his memoirs, so—
Love to Agi [Aggie]. Hugs and kisses—
T
Let me know if you receive this. The mail here has been very erratic.
CAPOTE’S RECOLLECTIONS OF CARMEL SNOW:
My memories of Carmel, my visions of her, seem all rather fugitive, I suppose because our meetings were far apart, and in different unconnected places: lunch in New York, a year later dinner in Rome. It was during one of the latter that I suggested she pay a visit to Ravello, a mountain village south of Naples where a film was being made, or at any rate improvised. I was working on the script, John Huston was directing it, Humphrey Bogart, Jennifer Jones, Gina Lollobrigida, Robert Morley, Peter Lorre were all in the cast, and the title of our small comedy was “Beat the Devil.”
So Carmel came, and greatly increased what was already rather a houseparty atmosphere: Huston danced attendance, Bogart whispered dreadful things in her ear, oh she was having a “perfectly divine time, darling”; not only that, but she had taken charge of the picture—“aspects” of it. She said Miss Jones’ costumes were wretched; Miss Lolloetc’s worse. Her young new discovery was sent for: a pale boy seven feet tall—Hubert Givenchy, who arrived from Paris with his own small entourage. Ever gayer grew the gathering; ever grayer the producer’s face. And Carmel, who had come for a weekend, stayed a week.
Then one morning she left. Just like that. No one knew she was leaving. We were quite surprised when she appeared white-gloved, and with a bonnet pinned to her lavender coif, and behind her a boy carrying her luggage. Bogart said, “Why, honey, what’s wrong? Ain’t we chic enough for you?”
She said, “My dear man, compared to you my life is lived in a salt-mine. No, it’s just that now I must straighten my face and stop having fun.” She got in her car; Bogart leaned in, and said: “Well, remember, I like you, honey. You’re a very ballsy-type type.” Mrs. Snow, the Mrs. Snow, regarded him coolly for a moment, then said: “Am I? Well, so are you. Bye-bye, tough boy.” He said: “Bye-bye, tough gal.” That was April, the Spring of 1953.
I must have seen Carmel two-dozen times over the next half-dozen years; but she remains clearest to me departing into the shine of that far-gone April day. Somehow those two automatically associated themselves in my mind, Bogart and Carmel. Is that odd?
Not really. If you think about it.
[Collection Aswell Family]
TO DONALD WINDHAM
[Palamós, Spain]
[August 1961]
Dearheart—
I was in London quite a long time (the enclosed photo is of my main acquisition there, Charlie J. Fatburger, aged now 4 months; he’s a lighter-color than Bunky, and will be rather larger), but I wish I’d known you meant to stay so long in Rome—because maybe I could have got you here after all.
Anyway—there you are. The new apartment sounds pleasant and convenient. So glad you’re not moving to the West side. Though really I don’t see why you didn’t just stay in Rome. Forever.
As for us, we will be here until 23rd September, then returning to Switzerland and, I suppose, will spend most of the winter there. I’m afraid I have at least another year’s work on the book; with great industry, and nothing but solid luck, I might be able to finish it a year this September.
I hope, by this time, you have assembled a lot of material for [William] Maxwell, and sold every page of it. (Did you read his new book “The Chateau”? Talented, but tedious. However, after reading Mrs. McCuller’s [sic] latest birthing “Clock without Hands” everything seems brilliant.83 Now I understand the phrase “shockingly bad.” For I was shocked—it is unbelievably awful—the real disintegration of a mind. Truly depressing.)
Give love to Sandy. I miss you, my good and angel friend. Many hugs
T
[Collection Beinecke Library, Yale University]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
Palamos
16 August 1961
Dearhearts—
Thanks for the “Ruth Reynolds” story, but yes, I had already recvd. it and, as a matter of fact, was about to send it to you. This is a syndicated column that appears each Sunday in several newspapers; the subtitle is always “Was Justice Done?”—that, in fact, is the name of the series. It is just hack-work journalism. However, the writer does produce one piece [of] information new to me. Which is that Floyd Wells84 did recieve [sic] the reward. True?
While we are on this subject—Marie, do you remember telling me that the first time you ever heard of Hickock and Smith was when Alvin came home one night and showed you their “mug-shots,” the ones with the vital statistics on the back? Well, I want to do this as a “scene” between you and Alvin. Can
