The Leonard Bernstein Letters (24 page)

Dear A,

I haven't heard from you yet, and by all precedents you don't deserve a letter. But I have some confessing to do; and after all, I can't betray you without letting you know!

First, I betrayed you by playing the Clarinet Sonata today at the League Concert (Library)
⁸⁰
instead of the Six Pieces, as you had wished. I felt the need to present my first League composition as a piece with a slightly larger form than just six germs for large pieces, and the Sonata does approach, at least, a big form. Besides, it was more fun than playing alone, and – biggest point – it provided a lovely excuse for having D[avid] O[ppenheim] come down. So you will forgive me, won't you? Amusing part, of course, is the great secret twixt Marion Bauer & me, since neither she nor any “committee” ever saw the Sonata first; but she trusted me, &, as it turned out, liked it, & didn't think the 1st movement was Hindy
⁸¹
at all!

The reviews aren't out yet. Paul [Bowles] covered it for the
Tribune
; & Virgil's article today on the French approach to music is something of a masterpiece.

I've betrayed you further by deciding to urge Victor to go to Hollywood. It's so hard for him to get his mind on a goal & set about reaching it. And here he piles up hate on resentment for analysis. In L.A. he might lose that, & under your aegis, even try it. He'd be so much happier there than torturing himself here (and getting drunk, & forgetting the simplest obligations & duties). And especially
you
would be so much happier. So why not? We've played squash together somewhat, & I know him better, & thus decided on betrayal. As for my feelings, I can be awful controlled sometimes. I'm a good disciple, no, my love?

Saw
Lady in the Dark
tonight,
⁸²
& loved it, especially seeing it with D[avid] O[ppenheim] who is consulting the Frau madly these days. It is, as you say, slick – over-slick – but I'm no critic, being an analysand (!).

Thanks so much for the Lincoln piece:
⁸³
it looks marvelous, & I wish the Kostelanetz ban was off it. I love you. And, oh, I resented Lukas [Foss] telling me that he'd got one too. Crazy frankness, but that's the sort of irrational habit analysis gets me into. Out with the resentments, Bernstein!

I finished a fifth
Kid
song, completing the cycle,
⁸⁴
& it's beautiful, if a little on the Copland side. I have to make a change to the “Indian” one, & it will be done: everyone loves them.

Have I told you how things have been popping? Like Herman Starr placed
our
Brahms song in a Warner Bros picture? (Don't worry, you'll get the 10%!) And how there's a possibility for me to be ass't conductor of the Goldman Band this summer? And that I've had a
nibble
in Hollywood, but I don't like it so good, so I'm waiting still. And how I've been offered a teaching job for next season at the Little Red Schoolhouse? And that Rodzinski wrote me, asking me what my plans were for next year; and I hear from the Judson office that he wants me to conduct a Philharmonic concert? Have I told you? Cause I'd hate to repeat myself.

Write me of the progress & the Hollywood life, & Jesse & June [Ehrlich] (give them my love) and I hear you have a Hauserish
⁸⁵
cook, and I hope V[ictor] comes out soon to cheer you up, & I only wish it could be me.

All my love,

L

P.S. Just got the
Tribune
– have a review! Hindy not mentioned!
⁸⁶
I love you.

Queridissimo L–P,

I think of you every day, particularly when I don't write to you. It seems a long time since I last did – tho for no special reason. Life goes on placidly enough out here. With my little songs and choruses written there's nothing much to do but leisurely visit the shooting on the back lot – see the daily rushes the next day – and generally keep Mr. Goldwyn happy.

Best news of the week was a wire from Kouss telling me he had managed to get Kostie
⁸⁷
to unban the Lincoln piece. He's doing 7 performances – isn't that wonderful? I'll be listening to the broadcast from Boston on the 10th. Maybe
you'll write me the impression in a concert hall, and what Kouss does to it. (Why, oh why, am I in Hollywood??)

So
– you played the Clar[inet] Sonata! It's still full of Hindemith, because I say so. (And don't forget who sat next to D[avid] O[ppenheim] at the Lenox Town Hall and practically arranged the original performance.) I want to hear about your writing a song that has no Copland, no Hindemith, no Strauss, no Bloch, no Milhaud and no Bartók. Then I'll talk to you.

The mysterious check enclosed is for ½ the royalties I collected for the 1 piano
Salón
. They sold 250 copies (a suspiciously round number) and I get 8¾¢ on each copy. So you get 4 ⅜¢ on each copy. Of course, the point is to prick your conscience so that I collect 10% on the Brahms song, which should amount to 20,000,000,000,000,000.00. In the meantime spend the 10.94 in good health!

Tickled to hear about the Rodzinski letter you got. He also wrote me – but I'm not saying nothin’ – mostly because you repeat everything you hear (you also leave letters lying about.) Also tickled that you “resented” my sending Lukas a score. That's fine – shows you really care about me. Also tickled with your Goldman possibility. Hollywood nibble, and Red school house “job”. However, don't forget you're a conductor waiting for an orchestra.

Did I tell you about the hero of our picture? Just 17 and doing his first film – Farley Granger by name. Sensitive as a flower. It would be very easy for somebody to do a
Death in Venice
on him.

Stravinsky invited me to dinner! Cordial as could be. Made me big compliments about
Rodeo
, of all things. [George] Antheil
⁸⁸
was there and we played the
Symphony in C
in the Stokowski version, with Strav. singing all the tempi as they should have been. He's coming to N.Y. so you'll probably meet him.

You're a good disciple – but an angelic love –

Me

Dear Renée,

Desolé that I didn't get a chance to see you after all. I had to catch such an early train the next morning that it seemed really silly to go all the way out to Rosl[indale] that night, especially after I'd been invited to start at the
Copley-Plaza with Bill Schuman (just around the corner from your fabrique – you should have dropped in for a rye). Anyway, I'm desolé.

These days are all full of the Museum of Modern Art & the Bowles opera (which goes on tomorrow night, & is really a mess) and the Marquis[e] de la Casafuerte, & much talking in French & pidgin Spanish. I'm also conducting Revueltas’
Homage a Garcia Lorca
– my first conducting in NYC
⁸⁹
– & my orchestra is wretched – really dumb trombone & oboe & harp – and no amount of shrieking helps – and there's no time for rehearsal, & they hammer up scenery during the rehearsal – and it's a mess. It will probably end up either a
fiasco
or a
succès fou
– & the Marquise Yvonne is probably going “in jail”, as she says, because she put an ad in the
Times
, and it's forbidden by the Museum Charter. Shades of a former opera and a former Museum. Rather the same caliber of people – rather more neurotic – the same bungling and disorganization. Virgil is largely the bungler (destroy this letter!) and the director is wacky. Anyway, it's an orchestra.

Rumors float around like crazy. That Rodzinsky plans for me to do 2 weeks with the Philharmonic next year! That I may get the Goldman Band this summer (assistant, of course). Etcetera. Nothing
real
to report. Finished the “Kid Songs” & they're universally loved. I want you to hear them. They may be published; & I've had an offer to publish the Clarinet Sonata.

Well, now you tell me. And soon.

Much love.

L

Dave,

Whwhwhwhwheeeeere have you been? Pas un mot. Have you had a post-NYC reaction? That would seem rather silly. Let's have a sign of life.

Days and nights are full of the Bowles opera: rehearsals – and rehearsals – and a really wretched orch – stupid & unmusical people – some of them Philharmonic, too, and
not
fired by Rodzinski – and we do need you! I'm exhausted.

I've had an offer to publish the Clarinet Sonata. Something called the Hargail Press or something. They publish recorder music & heard your performance, & want to print it. Do I have your consent?

What happens in Rochester? When is the army?

Love, as usual,

Lenny

Some hours later, I still have the feeling for writing to you. Things that were left unsaid:

Like: Indolence in correspondence will not be tolerated. I, no. 1 indolent in correspondence, expect prompt remission.

Item: Had a glorious long talk with Shirley last night – I'm sure it bore lovely fruit – she is growing up like crazy. And sends you her warmest, no doubt.

Like: What is Jack's address, so we can send him a reward of some sort?

Or: How was Detroit and mother? Did you have enough money? Was the meeting bleak or short enough to be gay. How are your post-New York, post-neurotic neuroses?

Item: What has happened to your resolution to study? And investigate scores? What goes with Mad. (to whom my best).

(Seizing on anything for paper)

The other unsaid things are almost unsayable things. Be good, unconfused, hardworking, and write me everything you feel.

Again,

L

Dear Dave,

Given any situation at all that I happen to fall into, it inevitably becomes involved. I told you of this here Hargail Music Co. that wants very much to publish the Sonata (the owner heard us do it at the Library). He makes me an excellent offer, and moreover wants to issue a commercial recording simultaneously! (Of course, with you & me as soloists.) All that is quite wonderful, provides a lovely pretext for another visit to NYC, and would once and for all finish this Clarinet Sonata business.

The thing gets involved, tho. I had to report this as a matter of course and courtesy, to Warner Bros., and now they're all excited about it (stupid competitive instincts). They say they can do so much more with it – that a small outfit like Hargail could never sell what they could, etc. And at that moment, Frank [Campbell-] Watson, who works as editor in the “standard” dep't, as they call their
classical
dep't, came in, said he had just been up to Eastman, and had heard
great things about the Sonata from Fennell!
⁹⁰
Now I'm up a tree; and have to show them the score, & play the records. I personally trust the Hargail man more, and am especially attracted by the idea of an authentic recording, with you on the clarinet. At any rate, send me the score
immediately
, really immediately, insured, etc, since this must all be done fast. (You do have it, don't you?)

It is also important to know exactly when you may be called by the army, so that we can make this recording, if we do, before you go (that dreaded moment).

Let me know all this very soon.

The Bowles, etc. concert was a knockout, with a real whopperoo of a rave review from Virgil (picture and all) and other lovely ones. I'm exhausted now, and trying to recover.

A pupil is zooming up the stairs – so addio – and be very good & send the manuscript presto.

I love you, as usual –

L

Aaron, my love,

The Third Serenade
⁹¹
reached actuality and by some miracle or other, was a success. Paul's music is, I think, universally loved, tho what it has to do with that fantastic slop of words I shall never know. Paul's OK. He should be in Hollywood – can't you get him there? – doing scores for things like the
Human Comedy
. Stothart, indeed!
⁹²

Poisonally, I came off very well. The
Times
was lovely, & the enclosed whopperoo from Voigil is about the best yet.
⁹³
I feel good – and tired. Those last few days of trying to get an opera & concertstück together in no time at all were
terrific. I was exhausted
before
the concert, and ready for the Bellevue
after
it, but after that Askew party – ay! All night affair, and I very drunk, and Constance
⁹⁴
lovingly making me play all night, which I did – she's fun – and Diamond being an uninvited unwelcome guest, & really
getting
it from Constance, and being dramatic, and V[ictor] very drunk, and everyone missing you, and I found a new boyfriend […] (married, Goddam) […] the one who sang Paul's opera. Looks a bit serious, but not to worry. My French has picked up enormously, what with the Marquise [de Casa Fuerte], & Mme Alphand, and my new friendy-wendy, Prince George Chavchavadze.
⁹⁵
All very confusing, & I still love D[avid] O[ppenheim]. What to do? I know, marry my new girlfriend – she's lovely – my dentist's daughter.
⁹⁶

A thing called Hargail Music Co., run by a Harold Newman, which publishes recorder music (!) wants to publish my Clarinet Sonata!
And
make a record of it – commercially. Sounds good. And Schirmer's may bite at the Kid Songs
⁹⁷
[
I Hate Music!
]. Life is full and empty by turns – the latter mostly cause you're away.

Bless you for the pretty
Saloon
check. It's lovely.

I'm going to the
Lincoln Portrait
this weekend. Kouss says it's your masterpiece. He's swimming in ecstasy. My love to Farley Granger. Can you fix us up? Write soon. I love you.

L