by Sylvia Plath
We “played” tennis from 5-7 (me being atrocious – just rallying & he being terribly patient at my awful shots.) Dinner at an atmosphere-laden “clam bar” on a wharf overlooking the sea – I splurged & had lobster – a walk, a drive, conversation & home. I hated to go back to the isolated house on Bay Lane.
All of which served as a therapeutic escape for me & challenged me to think again.
Oh, I don’t know, Marty. I’ve spread myself so thin in so many places I’ll have to wait until I gather my selves into myself again; vegetate in one place peacefully a while, and start making value judgments. I am terribly impressed – after listening to Art talk so intelligently & wisely – at my own dense narrow stupidity. God, will I ever learn & be aware as fully as possible? How much time I’ve wasted! In functional summer jobs. Your Harvard sum. school plans sound idyllic. Wish I could join you.
Excuse the length & volubility of this flood – but there’s no one around I can really spill over to – & do I miss our periodic purge-talks!
Love, to you angel
Syl
P.S. Just told Bill I had a tummy-ache. Whereupon he piously replied “Error gave you it.” (So that’s what it is!)
TO Warren Plath
Thursday 24 July 1952*
ALS (photocopy),
Indiana University
Thursday 1:30 p.m.
Warren, old boy . . .
Seems the world is full of Beaver girls.* Joan (13) and a very cute friend, Carol Jocelyn, who is visiting her, both go there. Also Kathy Cantor (17!) who is at present in Holland on the Experiment in International Living.
Dishes being done, Billy in at his nap, I am relaxing in the sun in the Cantor’s front yard, a delicious cool sea breeze evaporating the perspiration off as quickly as it forms, and writing to my favorite Kid Kolossus.
This morning Mrs. Cantor let me drive Billy and Susan down to the Oyster Pond where Sue has her swimming lesson. It’s the first time she let me take the chevvy station-wagon Power-Glide alone. (I have just about gotten over reaching for the clutch, and now brake with my left foot – much easier to stop & start on hills that way!) Did I feel proud as I drove through Chatham in the shiny green & woodpaneled wagon with my two charges!
We stayed at the beach for an hour, then drove to an egg farm & home in time for lunch – which we always eat casually on paper plates out in the yard – usually sandwiches, or salad & sherbet! Mrs. Cantor is an inspired cook – uses a lot of sour cream, buttermilk & garlic. We had “buttermilk soup” today – try it some time: dice up cucumber; scallions & a little onion & mix with cold buttermilk & dash salt on. Very cool and prettily green & white.
Yesterday, my first day off, turned out much better than I thought it would. I got up as usual, made breakfast, did dishes, and was through about 10 a.m. Then I borrowed Joan’s bike & explored the shops of Chatham (where the traffic, believe it or not, is twice as bad as Boston, and the streets very narrow.) Then I biked to Chatham Light & spent an hour sunning after a dip in the cold water. I ate lunch at the house, and Arthur called for me about 1:30. It was really good to drive away for a change.
I wonder what you would think of Art. I think he is one of the kindest, wisest people I know. He is barely as tall as I am, very dark, swarthy and Simian. Quite wonderfully ugly. But there is a quiet intelligence about him which I find most attractive. He is about 25, and went to West Point a year, joined the naval air core for a year after that, went to Yale, got his master’s degree (in engineering, I think,) and now has one more year at Yale Law School.) He is extremely well-versed in politics (loaned me a speech by Adlai Stevenson to read – he favors Adlai as a man of capable integrity for Pres. – Ike next, but has very lucid arguments against him) – literature & poetry, philosophy, psychology, and life in general.
We drove over to the Blossoms home in Harwich where he gets $100 (!) a week for being night attendant – and I made myself really at home. First, I went into Mrs. Blossom’s bedroom to meet her (she’s been quite ill.) I was really enchanted. She is a spry, humorous, intelligent little woman of 81 (!) who presided from her bed like a white-haired Victorian queen & regaled Art & me with tales of her girlhood – how she wanted to be a concert pianist – & played for MacDowell unexpectedly once – one of his own difficult sonatas – how she got a pass to the best seats in “South Pacific” by writing Mr. Rodgers himself – also showed me her beautiful gigantic emerald ring & told me how she met her husband. After this spiel, Art & I went out on the lawn, reclined on the chaise lounge & sipped ice water, ate sherbert, got acquainted. At 5 we “played” tennis. That was awful. He was a pro, & I was so rusty & uncoordinated. We just rallied, & I hit a lot of wild shots, & was quite ashamed of myself. But he nobly put up with me till 7. I went back to Blossoms, bathed, changed to my aqua dress & we went out to dinner at a lobster place loaded with atmosphere – on the wharf by the Snow Inn* where we got a great view of the ocean. By the time we finished our icecream and coffee it was after 10. We then went for a long scenic drive through Brewster and Orleans and back to Chatham All in all, I had a very restful time – and he left me a New Yorker & Atlantic with articles marked out to read.
I was grateful no end for my 12 hour reprieve. Monday I have scheduled to go to the Cape Playhouse* to see a ballet with Dick.
All in all, I am quite happy here, and the new experience and personality adjustments are probably very good for me.
Weekends are busiest of course, with Mr. Cantor and guests, & dishes are heavy but I am getting wonderful food & a lot of sun.
Do keep the letters coming. They mean a lot.
Love to you & Mother . . .
your traveling sister
sivvy
P.S. Don’t forget Judy Humphry & going up to reconnoiter and Morses. Remember, with female society as everything else, Practice makes perfect!
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Saturday 26 July 1952*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Saturday – 2:45 p.m.
Dear Mother . . .
I am sunning in the Cantor’s back yard while everybody else takes a siesta preparatory to going for a picnic at Nauset Beach. Really, I don’t know when I’ve been so happy. I love everybody in the family dearly, and am already feeling like a sister to the 13 year old girl. The days are so rich and full that I hardly know how to begin telling you all that has happened. Although I am often quite busy, the work is all very pleasant because of Mrs. Cantor’s lovely sunshiney friendly attitude. Also, now that I can drive both the stationwagon & Mr. Cantor’s car (both Chevrolet power-glide) I am having much fun doing things with the children.
For example, last night the Cantor’s had four guests for a lobster dinner plus a lovely attractive 13 yr. old friend of Joan’s (Warren would like these girls – at least 5'8" or 9"!) who is staying for a week. So in order to have the two littlest ones out from underfoot, I was commissioned to take them on a supper swim & picnic in the stationwagon at Crystal Lake in Orleans. We had a lovely time, and I do enjoy the 2 little ones. After that, we had an hour to spare, so I got inspired. They wanted to go for a drive, so I drove to Brewster, expecting to find the cabin empty & to leave a note for Dick. Who should be there but Uncle Bill & Mrs. N. So we chatted, & I picked up my bike & brought it back.
They were still eating supper when we returned at 7:30 – & who should the guests be but the Nichols* from Wellesley who are in Falmouth for the summer. Sargent,* a fine 15 year old of 6'2" who could pass for 20, recalled that you had him in Sunday school, while Mrs. N. sweetly asked to be remembered to you.
I then took the children to the weekly Friday band concert – the most delightful spectacle. Hundreds & hundreds of people from all the towns around come to the park with blankets and sit on the grassy hills circling the bandstand where the jaunty red & blue uniformed players perform jolly marches, children’s numbers where all the little ones dance, waltzes where the teenagers & grownups twirl around the lawn, and also
everybody joins in singing. A most festive occasion from 8-10, with colored balloons everywhere, children playing, stars coming out over the trees, etc.
I took the children home early & put them to bed.
Dick, Rit and Bev came over about 10:30 last night, and Joan & her friend and I did dishes & talked to them. They stayed and chatted companionably with me after the rest had gone to bed. Mrs. C. seemed quite pleased with Rit (thought him very goodlooking.)
Tonight I’ll go to bed early. By the way, who should drive up yesterday with a friend but Polly! Her news of the Belmont crowd was good to hear, and made me want to see them all again. I plan to go back for a day in two weeks to visit. One sidehall girl has already gone into Main, & Polly probably will too. So I would have, after all. But then, I am really very happy & cool here – sleep often under blankets, & there is always a fresh breeze. Also, food is continuously grand.
I am worried about writing Mary.* I had gotten quite used to the idea of rooming with her & don’t want to hurt her. I actually think I’d look forward to a roommate. Should I write Smith & ask for a switchback. Or what? I had forgotten about asking to be changed! Do say what you think I should do.
I miss you and Warren, but am glad to be in this lovely environment away from the conspicuous silence of Phil Brawner which I found so noticeable around the vicinity of our telephone!
This family is so different from Mayos – so appreciative. It makes work like play.
I love your dear letters . . . you & Warren must come down to pick me up at the end of the summer to meet these lovely people
XXX
Sivvy
Saturday night 9:45
P.S. All the Cantor’s (Mr. & Mrs., Joan & Friend) have gone to the Chatham Bars Inn to a dance while I babysit. Comfortably ensconced in bed after a hot bath, I feel myself nodding drowsily.
Art called just after I put the children in bed, and we had the most lovely intellectual conversation for over half an hour. It was exhilarating to use big words again, & I reviewed my opinions of the articles he had given me to read in The New Yorker, The Atlantic (Thornton Wilder’s)* and the Times (Stevenson’s speech.)* He told me about Witness by Whittaker Chambers* which he’d just finished reading, and we discussed Thomas Mann, recent incidental news, and our talk was most satisfying. (He said Mrs. Blossom really approved of me highly! And would be most happy to have me come again.) Art got his Master’s Degree in English (esp. Shelley et. al.) and so you can imagine what a versatile stimulating conversationalist he is. He is, (I just now thought of it!) the perfect illustration of my theory of the short, dark, ugly brilliant man. If only he were a few inches taller. So I wouldn’t feel I had to slouch. Always a gimmick. But he is a dear. For our next reunion (in about two weeks, I guess) we plan to buy lobsters & cook them in the Blossom’s kitchen! I shall get some french bread & make garlic butter, I think, as I’ve seen Mrs. C. do, & maybe make a salad – if we ever get all the food necessary. So at least there are things always to look forward to. I parcel out my days off with the nigardliness of a miser, crowding everything possible into them!
You have no idea how I appreciate Art’s stirring up my lethargic intellect. I always admire that quality most.
Tomorrow I’m going to Xian Science Church with the Cantor’s. Should be interesting.
XX again
Siv
TO Marion Freeman
Friday 1 August 1952
ALS with envelope, Smith College
August 1, 1952
Dear Aunt Marion . . .
First, I want especially to thank you for your lovely letter of a while back – and then for your wonderful legacy of these books on writing markets and best sellers which mother has told me about. They will be invaluable to me, and I hope I can make good use of them! You, of all people, know how very deeply I appreciate your gift.
Tomorrow will commemorate my two-week anniversary as “mother’s helper” at the Cantor’s. I am really very happy here, much more so than I expected, and I feel just like an older sister – really part of the family. Compared to the cool indifference of my employers last summer, the Cantor’s are warm, friendly, and delightful. The two children, Billy (3½) and Susan (5½) are both dear and well-mannered. Tantrums are rare. Joan (13) is a plain, but intelligent girl – very mature for her age. Kathy (17) is in Holland on the Experiment in International Living.
My day is a full and busy one – from seven in the morning till after 8 at night, but I enjoy the work – from waxing and scrubbing the floor in the kitchen, weekly housecleaning, to driving the children to their swimming lesson. I have a great deal more responsibility than I did last year, and enjoy every bit of it, especially taking the children for trips and picnics in the shiny new station wagon.
Days off and some evenings are spent with friends in nearby towns – the Norton boys in Brewster, a Yale law student (getting $100 a week being night attendant for an old millionaire in Harwich –) named Arthur Kramer. I’ve played tennis, swum, biked, gone to a ballet & “The Glass Menagerie” – all very much fun.
Hope to see you, Dave & Ruth before school this fall.
Love to you all –
Sylvia
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Saturday 2 August 1952
TLS with envelope,
Indiana University
August 2,
Dear mother . . .
I can hardly believe it’s August already! And that my magazine is reposing in my closet, well-read. The whole Cantor family has been through it, as have Dick, Art, and the Blossoms (Art’s millionaire employers.) On Wednesday, my day off, Grammy and Grampy called for me, proudly bearing the First Copy I had seen. I drove them to Brewster, where Dick met us at the cabin at 11, spent half and hour talking before he left for work, and gave me a beautiful tuna fish, tomato, and egg salad he had made artistically for me, plus a menu, for lunch. I left grammy and grampy at the cabin because they were comfortable reading, and had enough of the beach, and took the car alone for a blissful two hours at the Brewster beach with a bag of cherries and peaches and the Magazine. I felt the happiest I ever have in my life. I read both stories, and already feel that I have outgrown mine, as I saw a great many errors, artistically, and am already beginning to think out about the tremendous job I’ll do on the next one. I read it, smoothed the page, chortled happily to myself, ran out onto the sand flats and dog-trotted for a mile far out alone in the sun, through the warm tidal water, with the foam trickling pale brown in fingers along the wet sand ridges where the tide was coming it, talking to myself about how wonderful it was to be alive and brown and full of vitality and potentialities, and knowing all sorts of wonderful people. I never have felt so utterly blissful and free. Those two hours alone were just what I needed. When I got back, Dick and Rit and Bev were there, so Grammy and Grampy started back to Falmouth, while the four of us played doubles. Dick and I whipped them neatly. The boys left for work, and I sat till the sun went down reading. Then I went into the cabin and cooked a small steak that Dick (the dear boy) had bought for my dinner, listened to Franck, and took an hour’s nap. Dick woke me up when he came in, and Rit and Bev drove us home shortly later after a perfect day.
The weather has been pretty cloudy the last few days, so I took the three kids shopping yesterday morning. I had lots of fun browsing around all the gift shops, and saw some divine pottery, linen Country Prints, belts, and so forth. Went to the Sail Loft* where I was amazed to meet Pam Kent, the girl we went down to visit last year* when I went down with the boys and P. K. We had a nice chat, and she said she’d seen my story in Mlle. I guess when I get back to school I’ll spend about a month saying “Yes, I’m glad you liked it. Yes, I really got $500 for it”.
Last night Art came over to the Band Concert, and we wheeled the children up together. The Cantor’s kindly took the kids home, so we sat in a garden behind a gift shop amidst leaves and moonlight and talked. He is going to red pencil my story for me in the magazine he got . . . and offered s
ome very good criticism about word textures and adverbs and restraint and so on. All of which he suggests kindly to keep in mind for the next one. He has also advised me some short stories to read . . . . by Joyce The Dubliners and The Sun Also Rises, which he thinks are primers for any young writer. We had a beer apiece at the Sou’wester,* a place I’d been before while at the Belmont, and drove home. He offered to drive me home on one of my days off as he has to go to Boston to have his teeth worked on, but I said no, thinking the trip wouldn’t be worth the time, and I’d much rather spend my days here on the Cape which I love so. I really think the boy must like me . . . he said he hopes we can share alot of things together . . . and I got him talking a little about his childhood. Seems he was the only Jew in his part of grammar school in Bridgeport Conn., and was always coming home with bloody noses till he learned how to fight and box. Also, his father and uncle lost a million or so in the law investments, and they were quite poor for a while. So in spite of the fact that the Cantor’s don’t seem to like him anywhere near as much as Dick, I find him quite wise and brilliant and understanding and gentle and don’t give a darn about his being short and ugly. I wish some time you could really talk to him to see how much there is inside him. He is reticent until one brings him out, but I love to hear him expound on politics and literature. His lawyer’s mind catches me up on every word, and I am going to try to work on expressing myself verbally more clearly and logically. I really think in a cotton fog, I guess . . Can’t wait till next Wednesday when we will go to the play by Kramm* in Coonamesset together.