Prose (76 page)

I'll give you an address in England as soon as I know one—and perhaps you'll do the same? If you write me here again before I leave, it might be a good idea to register the letter—or maybe that's just a Brazilian superstition I've acquired.—With kindest regards—

Affectionately yours,

        
Elizabeth

 

Petrópolis
, Sunday, April 12th? I received your letter of April 4th when I got here yesterday for the week-end—Thank you so much for your kind invitations in England and I'm sure I'll take you up on one of them, at least—But I'll wait until I get back to Rio tomorrow to answer you because I have no typewriter here and my writing, I know, is awful—Lota & I are going to Italy —so I probably won't get to London until about June 20—not a good time, I know. I'll be visiting friends at Bexley Hill (near Petworth Sussex) for a while. - // The “revolution” now has a military junta—a middle-class revolution—Castelo Branco (the president until next year's election) has a good reputation—moderate, “liberal” (for here), honest,—&
ironical
—not rhetorical, at least—the new vice p. an old crook, alas.—But desperate measures had to be taken—

 

I wonder if you ever saw Randall J's
second
review of my book? He said some very acute things, I think—about painting, etc.

 

Rio, May 5th, 1964

Dear Anne:

In the midst of travel preparations I can't remember whether I answered your letter of April 4th or not—I
think
I did. And thanked you for your kind invitations? My addresses will be simply:

May 13th to June 13th—C/O American Express, Milan.

June 13th, August 1st—   "      "      ", London.
(Haymarket)

In Italy I'll be in Florence a week, Venice a bit longer, and start and wind up in Milan—so that's the best general address. I am not sure exactly when I'll be staying in London, it depends on the friends I'm visiting, etc. But you could drop me a note there with telephone numbers, perhaps, and I'll get in touch with you? I hope you have a nice sea voyage—I'm returning by boat but wish I were going by boat, too.

Yesterday I received a letter from my aunt Grace (Mrs. William Bowers)—enclosing the letter you wrote to the Great Village “Chamber of Commerce.” I'm awfully sorry it turned out that way. I know you were just doing your job and naturally tried to “check up” on the informations I've been writing you. But Great Village is so small there isn't any such thing as a Chamber of Commerce there, and everyone knows everyone else, of course. Whoever got your letter just handed it over to my aunt. She is almost eighty years old now (although the rest of her letter was all about her first trout fishing of the season) and apparently she was baffled and a bit put out—She has never wanted to discuss the past with me at all, although she was more concerned with my mother than anyone else, and I think now, almost fifty years later, she has almost succeeded in burying it completely. She was the only daughter of that family who “went back home;”
*
she married a farmer, a widower with eight children, produced three more of her own, and for many years has lived on the largest farm in N.S. (They used to raise trotting horses, among other things.) By now she has many grandchildren and dozens of step-grandchildren—and so has a great deal of “life” to have buried the past under.

I know you should be able to confirm my statements somehow but I honestly can't think how.

I'll answer your questions myself—but again, it's just my word for it! Long ago I used to try to get details from Aunt Grace but I never succeeded.—She is an active, strong, humorous woman, my favorite relative as I've already said—and she believes in living in the present. I think, too, like most families, mine has no idea that I could possibly have done anything that the rest of the world would be interested in—at least they apparently haven't thought much of my life and works since I went away to school! Aunt Grace has given me some information about the Bulmer family, what little I do know—she and the aunt I lived with—

Well—I'll answer for the “Chamber of Commerce” (if you could see the “Village” I think you'd be amused.)—and I wish I could think of an outside source for you …

My great-grandfather's (One of them) name was Robert Hutchinson. He was part-owner and captain of a brig or barque (I'm not sure which) that sailed out of G V when it was a ship-building place—hasn't been since the beginning of the century, probably.

Aunt Grace is the only real “Bulmer” left, there.—There is a sister-in-law, and some distant cousins live around there—There were five children, in this order: Maud, Arthur, Gertrude, Grace, and Mary. Aunt Mary lives in Montreal (Mrs. J.K. Ross),—the others you know about.

It has always been said that what set off my mother's insanity was the shock of my father's death at such an early age, and when they'd only been married three years. (He was 39
she was 29
). It is the only case of insanity in the family, as far as we know. She had undoubtedly (
I
think) shown symptoms of trouble before—perhaps traits that in our enlightened, etc. days might have been noticed and treated earlier. As it was, she did receive the very best treatment available at that time, I feel sure. She was in McLean's Sanitarium outside of Boston
*
(you must have heard of that)—once or maybe twice. Aunt Grace herself went with her, and also, I think, though I'm not positive, took her to doctors in N.Y.—At any rate, the Bishop family “spared no expense.” Since Aunt Grace was so involved with it all she naturally does not like to remember it, I suppose. That generation took insanity very differently than we do now, you know.
My father did not beat her
or anything like that—really! I am telling you the facts as I have always been given to understand them, and a lot I remember pretty well. (Of course I may have distorted it, but as I'm sure you know, children do have a way of overhearing
everything.
) The tragic thing was that she returned to N S when she did, before the final breakdown. At that time, women became U S citizens when they married U S citizens,—so when she became a widow she lost her citizenship. Afterwards, the U S would not let her back in, sick, and that is why she had to be put in the hospital at Dartmouth, Nova Scotia (across the harbor from Halifax). My Bishop grandfather tried for a long time to get her back in the US. One always thinks that things might be better now, she might have been cured, etc.—Aunt Grace suffered most of all because of it, and being the kind of woman she is, her technique is to bury it, not speak of it, etc.

Well—there we are. Times have changed. I have several friends who are, have been, will be, etc. insane;
(I visited Pound many times)
they discuss it all very freely and I've visited asylums many times since. But in 1916 things were different. After a couple of years, unless you cured yourself, all hope was abandoned—

I think that greatgrandfather was the only real “sea-farer”—the only one I know of. As I said, my mother's father ran the tannery for many years. His people were farmers from “River Philip” (wherever that is!—I just remember hearing that). One of his cousins, very rustic, used to appear once or twice a year when I was small, with gifts of bear meat and venison, in sacks in the back of the buggy.

If I can think of anyone I know now in G V who might help you I'll let you know—but it's a long time ago. And they really wouldn't understand your reasons, you know—

Well—
adiozinho,
as we say here—

        Affectionately yrs,
Elizabeth Bishop

 

P S. I don't know much about my father except that his remaining sister, my last “Bishop” relative, who died last year, was devoted to him, and so had been all my mother's side of the family, too. He was apparently quiet and gentle; I have a letter or two he wrote to my Bulmer grandmother, very funny and affectionate. He was tall and good-looking (neither of which characteristics he handed on to me). He liked to stay at home and read. Most of his books unfortunately were sold before I grew up, but I have a half-dozen or so. This week I have been reading his very elegant edition of “Stones of Venice”, with his bookplate, given him by two of his sisters for Christmas, 1898. What a madman! (Ruskin, I mean, not my pa—)

I don't think I thanked you enough, really, for your invitations in England. I'll get there around June 14th, I think, although my dates are a bit vague. I am hoping Lota can come with me but I'm afraid she'll be flying back from Milan then—she can't leave her park; no one does any work when she's not on hand. I have a sailing back for August 1st, my comings and goings in England depend somewhat on some old friends I'm visiting, and I also want to get to Scotland for ten days, possibly.

I made a long automobile trip in Ireland long ago and had such a nice time I don't think I want to go back unless I can drive around again that way. It seems to be much more popular for tourists than it was when I went. I saw just about all the coastline except for Wicklow, I think—spent a couple of weeks in Dublin, etc.—

About Brazilian politics—I see I've ignored your remarks without meaning to, and I shouldn't have because people rarely take that much real interest in Brazil … There seems to be a tendency in the U S to take Brazilian leaders at their word—and their word, or words, for the last thirty years or so, haven't been worth a penny. ENCOUNTER sent me a pamphlet by John Strachey about “Democracy”—platitudinous and simple as it is (meant for broadcasting, perhaps) he does make intelligent distinctions about “democracy”—how there is really so very little of it, and that little pretty much confined to the U S, Britain, and France (he says). The U S—from the press—seems to feel that the last two presidents here were really, underneath, democrats and liberals trying to help the poor masses, etc.—and
were
held back by greedy Senators and an entrenched rich greedy aristocracy. Well, they couldn't be more wrong—but I've rarely been able to tell any American this, and have almost given up trying. One was a psychotic who had a breakdown—& this last was a crook.—I said several years ago he was closer to Jimmy Hoffa than anyone else—and my American friends thought I had turned “reactionary”. He has now, thank heavens, been kicked out—and has taken a huge fortune with him, and left the biggest property in
land
ever acquired in South America (
this
acquired by crooked deals, while he preached “land reforms”)—probably to join Peron and Franco in Spain. This is the 1st time anything
quite
so corrupt has happened in this now thoroughly corrupt country; the Brazilians feel ashamed, and are, in general, determined to clean things up, I think. WE (US) urge “democracy” and “anti-communism” on them for years; the minute they act on this we again turn on them and accuse them of “witch hunting”! What do we want, I wonder. April 2nd (the Day After) an important man at the US Embassy met Lota on the street and said
“We don't like your revolution!”
(She had been in the Governor's palace for 48 hours, in some real danger—while the maid and I stuck it out here at the apartment, worrying about her—)

I'm glad I wasn't along because I really think I would have slapped him. Now the Americans are all talking in a superior way about “McCarthyism”—which is absurd, no matter what injustices—and there are some, undoubtedly—are being committed. In the 1st place this is
real
—(I actually met several of those Chinese spies, years ago now—& wrote my friends, who thought I was being
funny
) and in the 2nd, there's no McCarthy at all. The new government is honest, at least—Castelo Branco pretty bright, one gathers—for a general, amazingly bright—his new cabinet good, on the whole, too. But the mess is too great, the financial situation too hopeless, for any one government to clean it up. And though the entrenched aristocracy is pretty much a legend by now—there
are
“conservatives” who won't give up anything at all. The worst weakness of the so-called “right” (the terms we use make no sense here) is, even when well-meaning, the gap between classes here—and the horrifying lack of
feeling.

Brazilians are not civic-minded, that's all.—Rich, religious, well-educated old families, living blameless, charitable lives by their lights, commit hideous cruelties without realizing it—sometimes just a matter of intonation. They don't like animals, don't understand “pets.” They'll have three gardeners—a Picasso on the wall—a library in four languages—and throw the garbage out in the street. (As Picasso might, too!—It's something to do with being Latin, I'm afraid—and so many of the things I like them for have the same roots, it's hard to disentangle) They are mixtures of 17th century Portugal, “Victorian”-style 19th century family-life and sentiment, and contemporary industrialized man—this last a very small admixture that doesn't affect the “masses” much at all—To expect them to act—overnight—or react, like the U S A, or an American of the same social or financial standing, is plain silly.—I never in my previous life dreamed for a minute that I'd be
glad
to have an army take over—but I have been, here,—twice now—

You see, unfortunately (I often think) I am very much involved in politics here because of Lota.—It is such a small society and her family has been prominent in diplomacy etc for generations. Carlos Lacerda (you must have read of him, by now) is an old old friend of hers, and quite a good friend of mine, too—old neighbors in the country—She is working here at his request, and I suppose we are
for
him (he's running for President, and I hope wins)—in spite of many reservations, and his obvious faults.—This is a part of life I never would have had much of an idea of if I had stayed in the U S and just paid my taxes and voted, and never had come within miles of any of the real leaders.