The Leonard Bernstein Letters (94 page)

Dearest F,

This letter has been a-borning for days, ever since arriving in Auckland, but there was always a reason to postpone – until we'd seen something to write about, until the first concert was over, until the first Mozart Trial by Fire
⁴²
was
over, etc. Well, they're all over now, and all is more than well – triumphant concerts, orchestra in top form, even the Mozart last night in Wellington was a joy, with only a moment here and there of Frozen Fingers, and no Heart Attacks to speak of. Mozart again tonight here, and
Steinways
all the way, which is 50% of the joy. (And I can't tell you the joy of having Axel
⁴³
along, he's a glorious companion.)

Interruption: the “Physiotherapist” has just arrived for massage purposes. Be back in a flash.

An hour later:

Terrific treatment – all those neck and shoulder pains gone. A genius; he brought along his 2-year-old daughter Katie, who “helped”. The aches aren't serious – just this sudden spate of thick schedule – much rehearsing in Auckland, then nightly concerts in a row, all in different cities. Tonight is Christchurch (where I was greeted at the airport this morning by, natch, the Christchurch Hebrew Youth Group or something, with flowers and planted trees in Israel) – and they have a gorgeous new concert hall where I've just been trying out the piano: I'm really looking forward to this concert.

Don't forget Dr. Clarke check-up
.
⁴⁴

Tomorrow is a free day, and Alexander and I are going skiing in the nearby Alps. Yesterday in Wellington we spent the afternoon sailing in the harbor: glorious it was, with buckets of beer and a jolly crew of real leathery mates. The city is a beauty – all great green hills around a huge harbor, and the cleanest air in the world. Architecture abysmal, however. Auckland even worse: it's all so new, just a century old, that everything is either the worst Victorian or plastic office buildings. The houses are sort of seaside shacks with a curiously familiar Oaf Gloves look.

But oh, the country around Auckland – that whole north tip! You would adore it: all rolling Scottish hills and Scandinavian fjords, massive firs, etc. – and anomalously, mitten drinnen,
palms
and other tropicalia. Rain forests. Monster fern-trees, vines. And around it all, the green hills with the millions of little sheep grazing peacefully. I don't know anything quite like it. Also, in that region, we discovered some thermal pools, hot mineral baths, and we became addicted: we went out there twice, and whiled away two mindless afternoons soaking in these pools while it rained on us, shone on us, and rainbows adorned the Hobbema skies.

Aside from a bit of a dust-up with the press on first arrival from Hawaii, we've found the people warm and simple and delightful – sort of provincial British midlands mixed with beautiful Maoris (Tahitians who came over in the 14th century) plus all kinds of other Islanders – Fijians, Samoans, etc., who keep
arriving owing to the population explosion back home. It's all a beautiful mixture.

And the milk! The best on earth.

Interruption: concert time – (to be continued).

It's now two days later; it's all one can do to find ten minutes to write a letter. So much activity! First the concert itself, Mozart & Mahler, in the great new concert hall here – and I mean
great
. I've never played the piano so well – really deep Mozart, and no nerves. You'd have been proud of the Town Hall.

And yesterday, a free day. Axel and Paul and I were taken skiing by some charming local ladies & small son – it was bliss. A perfect day, cool, brisk mountain air and a hot sun – dream Chilean weather. We came back last night in rapturous exhaustion, Axel and I both with banged-up knees & Paul with torn Pectorals. We're all limping around today, happy as clams.

Axel is actually doing a local crossword (in the authentic British style)
⁴⁵
while I finish this letter, and then we're off to mad gay Brisbane, & the Australian leg commences – probably all downhill from here on. New Zealand was climactic, and those who say it's a final refuge when the crunch comes are probably right.

We miss you terribly; it seems incredible that ten days ago I had a last glimpse of you standing in the airport being abandoned by your males. I hope you're not too lonely, that there are all kinds of cheery
visitors
and chums, and that Nina is also not lonely. I miss her so. And Jamie, of course, would have gone bonkers over all this; it's a pity for her to miss it, and that Axel doesn't have her to share so many things with. But he's having a great time: he even acquired a cute dimply girlfriend of 17 in Auckland.

Well, the siren blows for Australia, and we're off, as Shirley would say, across the straits of Magellan. Take care of yourself, rest, have fun, and I fervently hope to find a letter from you waiting in Brisbane, full of news about the Dakota and Dixie's love life and the great Sublime Kitchen of Life.

Hugs and kisses to all, and so much love to you, my angel.

Ben

P.S. Don't forget to see Dr. Clarke. Or have I already mentioned that?

xxx

Dearest Lenny,

Welcome back. I know you could not care less, but I do: ages ago a Mr. Buketof[f] sent me a form (the 111st of the year) to fill out: the 15 best
American orchestral pieces – for some European library. I sent him my choices. 2 Sundays ago I open the N.Y.
Times
, find an asinine list of 11 pieces, find myself listed, also among the jurors who “deliberated” to arrive at their idiotic choices.
⁴⁶
I called Buketof[f], asked him to fish out
my
list: sure enough, it has little in common with the published one. Mine starts with
Age of Anxiety
, proceeds to Aaron's
Variations
etc. No Harris, no Brown. So I wrote to the
Times
a small note of protest for publication, calling their list: “conspicuous for the absence of America's best composers.” (So far not publ. to my knowledge). You can laugh it off; but I can't write about my frustration to all the colleagues. In fact I won't write to any but you. Basta.

I'm off for 7 long weeks, 3 to Jerusalem, 4 with the Jerusalem Symphony all over Europe. Also trying to write a string quartet. There must be a saner way of life. What is it? How was Kyoto without me and my Buddhist nuns? Congrats!!!

Write the flute piece.

Arigato.

Love to Felicia, Nina, Jamie, Alexander [and] you.

Lukas

Dear Maestro,

You are so famous, but in N.Y. the telegram office doesn't know your address! When your wishes for New Year arrived I learned that you have a new home. So I am really very sorry that when I came back from holidays and I saw your cable, my answer couldn't reach you. But I do hope that things will go better for Israel, but: oil! It is a terrible world. But we can hide ourselves a little bit in the music. I am glad that you come back to Salzburg. Why don't we make music together any more?!

The best to you and your family.

Love,

Christa

I think it is wonderful that our
Lied
[
von der Erde
] and Brahms Lieder are now on records!

Dear Leonard Bernstein,

As I told you on the phone:

I did not want an opera to be made of
The Skin of our Teeth.

But I admired and trusted you, and was persuaded. I trusted you and the fellow-worker you would select.
⁴⁷

When your fellow-work fell apart – who was left to write the book? – I felt relieved of my commitment to you.

Hereafter, while I'm alive no one will write or compose an opera based on that play.

Torn from its context, Sabina's opening aria “Oh! Oh! Oh!” sounds awful, unmotivated, synthetic vivacity.

The nearest thing to it would be Zerbinetta's aria (or rondo). Who cares what her words are, except as are implied somewhat in Ariadne's abandonment?
These
words bear the weight of a crowded historical story of many facets.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my mistake was to have said “yes” in the first place; yours, to have not followed through with the original plan offered me.

Always with much regard.

Ever,

Thornton

Dear Lenny,

I encountered the enclosed when I was organizing my files (well, it's better than working). I thought you might like to have them for future archivists, as your corrections are on them in your inimitable handwriting.

Love from Kanagawa,
⁴⁸

Steve

Dear Lennie,

Thanks for the good wishes. We got one terrible review (from Kevin Kelly, very bitchy) and one mixed (Eliot Norton, heavy on the good side), the rest raves.
⁴⁹
The show needs an enormous amount of work on details: clarity, making the numbers land (the “button” problem again,
⁵⁰
God save us), timing, etc. But the structure is sound and the production startling and terrific. Keep your fingers crossed.

Hope things have taken an upturn on your show and your spirits.

Back to rewriting the opening number.

Love to Felicia,

Steve

Dear Lenny and Felicia,

Just a note to thank you for the tree – I've discovered that it thrives if you keep yelling ‘Bonsai!’ triumphantly at it. It's easily fooled.

Love,

Steve

Dear Lenny,

I've responded to the Societi Musiki Shiki as per your request. I sent them my collection of Bernstein birthday and Christmas compositions and advised them to make their own choice. I also offered to conduct for them, since I figure that the placement of downbeats is irrelevant in Japan.

Love,

Steve

P.S. Your letter arrived with no postage and came from the Dead Letter Office. Should I read anything into this? S.S.

Dear Lenny,

Good Morning!

I wanted to talk to you last night just for a moment. I understood your black moment of despair – but for God's sake, you are a big, capable, enormously talented man – with tons of energy – and so is Allan [
recte
Alan Jay Lerner] and
don't
sink (like that down moment). It's understandable; but now is the time to muster up all your wonderful optimism and get it still moving, come to the aid etc., and above all – as in the show,
keep it going!
You
are
rehearsing in public, you are in
some
chaos, but as in our democracy, you must believe your system will work, which I
know
you do, in order to move it. Your show now is exactly like the one you are writing about.
⁵¹
Now you
can
make it work much
much much
better. Take care of your house. You can do it. Come on kid, get the spirit up again. No limp cocks!

Ole Coach Jer[ry]

See you about 1.

LOVE

The point is it's over and you're still the only artist writing musicals with one exception that is.

Love

Steve

Dear Lenny,

Just a note to thank you again for your marvelous gift. Not only is it lavish but the inscription on the inside of the beautiful Gucci leather case is something I will always remember and treasure.

As you may know, Lenny, I'm always on cloud nine when I'm in the same room with you. The show made it possible for us to spend some time together and I savoured every minute.

From our pre-orchestration meetings to our post-orchestration meetings to our Fine and Schapiro
⁵³
festivities, I look back at the last three months with great affection.
⁵⁴
Especially, one very long and late meeting (in [Apartment] 92 [in the Dakota]) when we talked into the dawn. I'll never forget it.

I'm sorry the show didn't work out for you (for us!) but I will be eternally grateful for the wonderful moments I've had (including that great night at the Variety Club) in just being with you.

Gloria joins me in sending you much love.

Always,

Sid

Dear Lenny,

I know it isn't what you dreamt it would be,
⁵⁶
but you can
not
be responsible for anything but your music which is
superb!
I wept during “Take Care of This House” as I haven't since “ … and make our garden grow!”

And:

Rehearse

Seena

The dirge during the second act funeral –

The Red, White, and Blues

and much more. It's just beautiful, Lenny, and everyone near me was moved, and happy, and so was I, and it was because of your music.

You stand alone. Terrifying, but true.

Love always,

Dick

Dearest Helen,

At this very crucial turning-point
⁵⁷
in both our lives my annual wishes for a happy new year carry very special weight. So: a very Happy '77, with all my love.

As always,

Lenny