The Leonard Bernstein Letters (67 page)

My darling,

I loved your letter (I guess we've established the usual pattern of crossing letters so that nothing ever gets properly answered) – but it's wonderful just to hear from you – except to hear that you're sick – what a bore. I was afraid that abrupt change in climate might do something like that. And of course it was also only natural that the usual reaction to Chita would set in – too much of a good thing. But you're used to that: don't let it get you down.

I can imagine what a trial it is to be in a place where everything is at a premium – like the old days in Israel – & where medicine is backwuhts and the
trunks don't arrive – very Israeli, all that. Don't you dare stop smoking – you're absolutely right!

A propos Israel: I sent a long nagging cable about
Jeanne
[
d'Arc au bûcher
] & just had a letter this morning saying that it's absolutely impossible to get a chorus to prepare it. I'm furious but helpless. There just isn't a chorus that operates in the summer, & they claim they'd need 8 months to learn it, etc. etc. Shit.

So that's out, my darling; but don't let it discourage you from coming to Is. anyway.

Still no word from Buenos Aires!

Milton Goldman has been calling about a part for you in a play version of
Diabolique
. Interested? And Tony Mines called for you today. Gave him your address.

The show – ah, yes. I am depressed with it. All the aspects of the score I like best – the “big”, poetic parts – get criticized as “operatic” – & there's a concerted move to chuck them. What's the use? The 24-hour schedule goes on – I am tired & nervous & apey. You wouldn't like me at all these days.
This is the last show I do
. The Philharmonic approved the contract yesterday & all is set. I'm going to be a conductor, after all!

No news on the Burtie–Ofra–Shirley front,

Weather: good – coolish, fair. I don't get to see it much; & my air-conditioned studio saves my life.

Darling I love you & miss you –

L

Dined with Marc last night – sends fondest love.

Darling,

Guess where I am – on a plane. Guess my destination – Miami. And as always with any flight involving Miami (as you know too well) there's shit to spare. I was to have left last night: arrived breathless at Idlewild to be told that the flight had been cancelled – only nobody had taken the trouble to inform me of same. No other flights available, except one that would have landed me in Miami at 5 a.m. or so. So back to the Osborne, heckle & peckle, & dinner with Burt, Ofrah, & back to Idlewild this monanküdü, & here I am. Now, to be consistent, there should be nobody to meet me at the airport, the convention is over, forced landing at Palm Beach, or something worthy of the tradition.

Oh, I didn't tell you why I'm going. Columbia Records is having its annual convention, imagine, & it will be fun & games at the Americana Hotel (this year's hotel). I dread it. Home tomorrow, in time (I hope, barring airport Miamisms) for a
run-thru
of Act One! Imagine – already! Where does the time
all go to? In a minute it will be August & off to Washington – & people will be looking at
West Side Story
in public, & hearing my poor little mashed-up score. All the things I love most in it are slowly being dropped – too operatic, too this & that. They're all so scared & commercial success means so much to them. To me too, I suppose – but I still insist it can be achieved with pride. I shall keep fighting.

I miss you all terribly – especially you who have come to mean something miraculous to me. You reside at the very core of my life, my darling. I hope your kepepelt [cold] is better, & that the fun goes on. Ofrah bets you won't stick out the two months. She's probably right. But if you come home, what would you find? I'd be no good to you – & you'd hang around the show & get sick of it, & my whining, etc. etc. And then, if I have to go to B[uenos] A[ires] after all – what's the fun without you there? Anyway, don't make any rash decisions yet.

There's Palm Beach down there, looking hot, damp and sunless. We'll be landing soon – & I'll probably drop you a line on Americana stationery, which I am sure is pure gold-leaf.

Bless you my love.

L

Abrazos to all.

Dere Jamie and Alejito:

I love you so mucho!

Dady

Darling,

Two big events:

1) I've gotten out of Buenos Aires! The agent, one Uhlfelder, was here in town, & came to see me, & it's settled, & wow, what a relief. So you can return in peace, & I can see my two angels before Israel – & we can leave from here, after seeing the opening on the 26th,
like a Mensch
. Look: we go to the opening, & then we wait up for the papers, & before you know it it's time for the plane, and Scheu, we're off.

2) I signed the Philharmonic contract. Big moment. Bruno [Zirato] arrived at 10:30 a.m., contract in one hand & a big chilled bottle of Brut in the other, & much emotion (he couldn't write his name for the shaking of his hands) & I'm in – like for life. I made a coup: the lawyers had fallen out so far that the contract was up to 20-odd pages, & growing: & the disputes were growing correspondingly. So I scotched it by tearing up the whole thing, & writing a one-page letter that said I was engaged for such a period for so much money, sincerely
yours. They loved it. Simple, & trusting. We'll settle the details as they come along.

Other events – nothing but the show. We ran through today for the first time, & the problems are many, varied, overwhelming, but we've got a show there, & just possibly a great one. Jerry is behaving (in his own way) & Arthur is doing well. But the work is endless: I never sleep. Everything gets rewritten every day: & that's my life at the moment. And imagine, we open two weeks from Monday.

Some beautiful shots of you & the kids arrived (taken by the hi-fi man at the vineyard – remember) – & they melted me. I miss you so!

I loved your last letter. Did you get mine from Miami?

I hope the trunks are there, & all is in order. My love, & have fun, dear lovely one.

L

My dearest Lennie,

First of all I want to tell you how delighted I am at the project of
Icare
.
⁴³
I have carefully looked at the dates, and if nothing unexpected happens until then, I will be able to come from Montreal two days before the concert
⁴⁴
in order to follow the last rehearsals, as you had asked me to do.

This revival is going to be a great event for us. To help you prepare it, I am sending you by the same mail a record which was made during one of my executions. Unfortunately there are whole passages where certain instruments are completely lost, but as one says elegantly: “It is better than a spit in the eye.”

Here is a letter that Bartók wrote concerning
Icare
which I am sending you in French:

The letter is from the autumn 1933, and had neither date nor address, reason for which I didn't answer it. I add, as I already told you, that I didn't know yet the name of Bartók. I would be very pleased if you would send me a word to let me know when you receive the record.

I wish you every possible luck for your new show, my dear Lennie, and I also remind you to keep the promise you made me, to kiss the whole of Israel for me. In the meantime it is Topazia and me who do it with you sending you our most affectionate thoughts.

Yours,

Igor

Darling,

I had a real scare with the news of Asian flu – & when your letter came about how you were all down with it I got scareder. But your cable made me feel better – please be careful! I can't bear the thought of you all sick.

I missed you terribly yesterday. We wrote a new song for Tony that's a killer, & it just wasn't the same not playing it first for you. It's really going to save his character – a driving 2/4 in the great tradition (but of course fucked up by me with 3/4s and what not) – but it gives Tony balls – so that he doesn't emerge as just a euphoric dreamer.

These days have flown so – I don't sleep much; I work every – literally every – second (since I'm doing four jobs on this show – composing, lyric writing, orchestrating, & rehearsing the cast). It's murder, but I'm excited. It may be something extraordinary. We're having our first run thru for
people
on Friday. Please may they dig it! And fíjate, I leave for Washington on Tues. the 13th – so soon, so soon. It's all rushed by like a cyclone.

Of course we're way behind on orchestration etc. – but that's the usual hassle.

How are you? You don't say. Are you fatter from eating? (Me: I'm a bit skinnier.) Do you smoke? (I do, lots.) Have you skied? (I haven't). Do you love me?

Bless you &
be well
.

Love,

L

I adored Jamie's letter, especially the lentils.

My own blessed wonderful darling,

I refuse to write about “latas”
⁴⁵
so I'll skip the whole miserable bit and only tell you that we're on the mend. Jamie has been up for two days and is fine again and Rosalia got up today.

Too incredible
! Just got your cable this minute. I suppose there must have been something in the papers about this monstrous epidemic – thank God it wasn't anything worse, just la grippe but in spades. I now read in the paper that it has spread all over the world and that even you may get it – if there is a vaccine handy take it!

I bless the day you couldn't come – I went to Klecky's [i.e. Paul Kletzki's] concert last week and oh Lennuhtt! What a shampepuhls … Granted a lot of the musicians were sick, but still! Klecky made “Un grand scandal” – stopped the orchestra in the middle of Beethoven's Fourth and screamed, ranted and then apologized to the audience and started again. We later had dinner at the house of a Canta Maya
⁴⁶
type lady with the upper echelons of Chilean music, Vincente Salas Via, Juan Orrego etc. and he let them have it! I wanted to crawl under the groaning böwewehd – it was ghastly and embarrassing, said he didn't want to finish out his contract etc, etc. But he's right – like everything else in this insane place it is a hit or miss affair (mostly miss), no musicianship or love of music, no discipline (since they can't be fired) and a devil take it attitude which is hardly conducive to good music. So, with a heavy heart I must say don't did it!

That Catholic priest you made friends with in Washington called Father Woolen is here – we met this afternoon and a charming fellow he is. He adores you and talks about you with enormous respect and enthusiasm. He's been all over South America giving concerts of all sorts – organ recitals, chamber music, piano concertos with different orchestras. Madeleine is in charge of him here (part of her job) and is giving him a small dinner party tomorrow.

Last night I had dinner at an old friend's very old rich family – ancient Milan type mausoleum house – much marble, Aubussons, great food, old retainers and in the midst of all this, a passion for jazz! He's an authority, has a fabulous collection of old and recent records among them your
Omnibus
which he says is
the greatest thing to come into his life since the birth of his son – we listened to it in religious silence, eight of us, and it is really so
wonderful
. You can't imagine what hearing your voice did to me – so much of your personality and warmth comes through it and then the clarity of your mind and your articulateness. I was so proud of mine Lennuhtt!

Alexander woke up in the middle of the night and carried on a long telephone conversation with you – he's managed to avoid the flu but has a cold and a cough and can't go out. Jamie is up and about and looks beautiful but is also coughing as is everybody else. Honestly what shit luck. We haven't been able to do a thing or go anywhere – oh well!

I adore your letters and literally live from one to the next – please don't stop or I perish.

Mï laü dü

Tia

Fely

Dearest Fely,

It's 4:00 a.m. & I've just finished another of those incredible nights (which begin in the early morning) – work & work & work. I'm so sleepless by now I'm punchy. And I'm beginning to miss you
seriously
. And I feel a little bit uncomfortable about you all in that place with no milk and the economy of post-war Germany, & medieval plagues rampant. And then – you POÖAH – the Valparaiso episode, which I just heard about, an accident, yet, and no trunks, & – God, what are you clothing yourselves with? What are you eating? What a ghastly way to have a restful summer! Why not just chuck it all, as soon as you're all well again, and come home? I'm sure the trunks will be here by Xmas. Why feel you
must
stick it out just by way of meeting a challenge, a whatever? You've had a good sound month of what sounds like sheer penance. Basta!

Burtie and Ofra are weeking it up in Stony Point, & Shirley weekends with them and
still knows nothing
! Incredible. We had our run-through for People yesterday, & it was a smash. But I'm worried: there is so much that doesn't work – for me – & I'm sure for [Walter] Kerr & others. But there's a great show there. Darling, think seriously about coming home. I love you & miss you.

L