by Sylvia Plath
your admiring
sylvia
un-kindness of orange juggler & tale-bearer
TO J. Mallory Wober
Thursday 24 November 1955*
ALS with envelope,
Cambridge University
Dear Mallory –
In medias res this is to tell you (while I wait to be called up to sing about cutpurses with the crowd of barnyard grotesques) that you are an absolute (no, not relative) dear and it was rather like having a blood transfusion (only much more magnificent) to receive your just-before-curtain-time note. I felt like a prima donna or something equivalent (at least a glorified & sublime tart) and hope someday you’ll be more justified in coming to see your own
Sylvia
Tomorrow & tomorrow & tomorrow –
Kindness of one Danish scholar
TO J. Mallory Wober
Thursday 24 November 1955*
ALS with envelope,*
Cambridge University
Time: eternity
Place: limbo
Dear Mallory . . .
I sit in the midst of squealing cubist pigs wallowing in the chaotic bedlam of sword fights, spilt oranges, musty gingerbread, hobby horses, cutpurses, revolving pink elephants, floating iridescent soapbubbles, shrill madmen with tousled red hair, ballad mongers and delicately askew orange & blue rooftops. Even my gross inability to carry a tune comes in handy as you will see (or, more regrettably, hear). friday seems as far off as the himalayas →
your
s.
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Saturday 26 November 1955
TLS (aerogramme),
Indiana University
Saturday afternoon
November 26th
Dearest mother . . .
I received your wonderful packed envelope of articles yesterday and enjoyed it no end. You have no idea how I love such juicy collections of items: I understand how important it was to send letters and news of art & incidental home affairs to the soldiers overseas: it keeps the image of home alive and vital, for it is by specific details that we re-create the atmosphere of family and love. the tooth article was excellent & appalling. I have heard gruesome rumors about teeth here, and am careful to brush mine several times a day and to eat much fruit (several apples a day, bananas, grapes, oranges, etc. which I buy regularly from the stalls at market hill to keep my fruit pyramid piled high). I think the english have notoriously bad teeth, partly because of their bad diet during the war and party because of the fantastic amounts of “sweets” they consume: I forget the exact figures, but millions of pounds of candy are eaten a year, and hence, also, the pasty complexions of many men.
remember the picture of sahl swarz,* american sculptor, doning a head of einstein which you so justly found to resemble the head of a camel? well, it is his “head of kafka” that I was so impressed by at the museum of modern art last year and which inspired my short poem of that name in the series of 3 on museum sculpture (dedalus and icarus and 3 caryatids were the others). seems I have rather good judgment. was also very admiring of the “waiting for godot” review, which, as I perhaps told you, stars an undergrad from cambridge as one of the old tramps! he signed a contract and so can’t come back (they thought it might fail, but no!)
this next, last week of term will be the most hectic yet. “bartholomew fair” began this last thursday night and will continue until saturday dec. 3, so all my evenings are taken up. our opening night was cold (many critics from london were there, and we got a long, if rather critical, review in the london times*) & I must admit that the play’s production is a herculean task, even for pro companies, what with staging of the crowd & the variations on the main theme of the many various and narrow kinds of warrants (spiritual, legal, etc.) men find for indulging essentially the same kind of frailties. however, even though I am generally part of the crowd, and have only one brief scene of dashing across the stage & shaking a creature and bellowing about the hardships of the common whores, it is good experience. our costumes come from the wardrobe at stratford-on-avon, and I have a long-sleeved gown of vivid yellow satin which is much fun. unless I get something like the part of cassandra in “troilus & cressida”, I shall let this stage & grease-paint part of my life go and become a more private person. I must say, though, that instead of frittering my time on small teas or avant garde movies, all very nice in themselves, I enjoy working with these boys and girls to create something, and not just sitting around to talk and gossip and be passive. the ADC is my extracurricular life, and I am too much a part of this world to become a passive beholder. I want to be out on the stage too, and create in any way, no matter how small.
I must tell you how lovely a day yesterday was. mallory, by the way, sent me a letter on our opening night, and has thought up countless small ways to surprise me with his originality in daily notes and messages. one letter was written in my own handwriting, which gave me rather a shock. another on a roll of christmas holly ribbon, which I had to unwind. the latest surprise occurred yesterday. I had invited mallory here for tea (and got a lovely orange iced sponge cake, malt bread, cookies, etc.) and said rather sadly that I had no music in my room and regretted this (as we always have such a lovely time at his place listening to records and having him play the piano). well, I opened the door to find my hercules standing outside, not only with his gramophone and a stack of records and a church of england hymn book, but a small hammond organ! I was really speechless. the dear boy had rented an organ for the rest of the week! so we moved it in my room, and spent the afternoon singing our favorite hymns (he introduced me to a wonderful one with words by john bunyan beginning: “he who would true valor see”*) and christmas carols he also played bach and scarlatti, and as we ate tea on the floor by the fire, we heard tchaikovsky’s magnificent 1st piano concerto & beethoven’s “emperor concerto” on the vic. I can’t tell you how dear mallory is; he is so strong and unspoiled and magnificent to be with. I am very happy to have such a lovely boy to be creative about. I can give him a good deal of confidence and read aloud and make teas for him and enjoy sharing all kind of experience. I wish you could picture him: I think I will get a snapshot of him later, & might even sacrifice it to send it you if you could send it right back just so you could see what a magnificent fellow he is. he looks like I always imagined dmitri karamazov to be: coal-black hair, elegant strong bone structure, scarlet cheeks, blazing black eyes, with a wonderful feeling of leashed strength. I find an aesthetic delight in just looking at him: his blend of russian, syrian and spanish jew gives him a subtle strange other-world aura. well, enough. I am just very happy to find a strong, original soul, we bike a good deal together, and walk, and eat apples and are most healthy and strong and individual. now, to work on my ibsen reading and paper!*
love to all, you own,
sivvy
TO J. Mallory Wober
Saturday 26 November 1955*
ALS with envelope,*
Cambridge University
saturday night
8:37 p.m.
dear mallory . . .
purple eyes and scarlet cheeks being duly painted, I allow myself the minor luxury of talking to you via notepaper, which is already smeared with greasepaint. footsteps thunder on the stairs overhead and I feel a martyr to the cause of common (very common) humanity. 7 more nights to freedom.* lord, how I look forward already to a leisurely private life!
today, at least, was a pleasant change of tempo. I slept until I woke naturally to find a tall dark coffin-shape at my bedside. a second look made the events of yesterday leap into focus. I felt at once very warm & joyous and the organ took on its more amiable & creative proportions. The room was still full of music & your presence lingered in my mind like the smile of the cheshire cat which comforted my favorite alice-in-w. I stayed in my pajamas in scandalous laziness, ate apples, bananas & malt bread & hot coffee for breakfast which lasted 2 hou
rs while I played very badly & gaily on the lovely organ. all day I have been humming “he who would true valor see . . . ” you must come to play it again tomorrow – do come at least by 11:45! I find myself having to fight valiantly to concentrate on ibsen – somehow you are altogether too tempting to ponder over. The moon tonight was magnificent, wasn’t it? – all distant, pale & frozen in an india-ink sky. I walked alone in the frosty moonlit gardens at newnham, musing on life, and paid a visit to my favorite statue: a dimpled & most mischievous cherub balancing a curly dolphin. you must meet him. I look so enormously forward to vacation here; peace at last. I miss you very much –
your own,
sylvia
Kindness of an enormous black raven
TO J. Mallory Wober
Monday 28 November 1955*
ALS (picture postcard) with
envelope,* Cambridge University
The Little Horse Engraving by Dürer German (1471–1528) Rosenwald Collection National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C.
dear mallory
the original troll who lives under the stairs is getting phenomenally clever: he knows how typewriters work! for this, and his multitude of other admirable qualities, I quite love him. if I live through Thursday morning without coming down with pulmonary pneumonia the world may turn out to be a lovely place. all I want to do is sleep like the enchanted princess for 100 years. tonight I must give birth to my paper which has cost me labor pangs all day. tomorrow I type it. – 5 nights of this “foul” (as Robin Chapman* says) & then Liberté! Egalité, Fraternité! Bear with me. this pony is very proud because he lives completely on apple cores from King JMW. one day we’ll analyze a few difficult words.
your own,
Sylvia
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 5 December 1955
TLS (aerogramme),
Indiana University
Monday, December 5
Dearest mother . . .
It is a pleasant morning, with that brilliant silver-gray light which seems to be characteristic of the English landscape. I am sitting comfortably in my pajamas after a lazy breakfast of fishcakes, toast and marmalade and coffee and typing a few letters before biking down town to do a multitude of errands which includes arranging my plane ticket to Paris, buying nylons by the dozen (I’m on my last pair – they run so fast here, what with cycling all the time and splintery furniture!) and getting tea things (a perpetual process). It has been a really rugged week, and it will be pleasant to unwind peacefully these next few days and then begin to build up positively for Paris.
I am just finishing with the dregs of a very undermining sinus cold and fever which kept me confined to quarters for the last three days and cut out the last 3 performances of “Bartholomew Fair”; since I’d already been in 6, it didn’t matter much at all to me. I must tell you what an absolute rock of gibraltar Mallory has been to me! To begin with, I had an Ibsen paper to write, French to do, and classes, and the nightly appearances seemed endless. Well, Mallory called for me every night at the stage door of the theater and biked home with me, always bringing a ritual apple which we ate by the garden gate at Whitstead. Just looking forward to his strong, comforting presence helped me live through those hectic, demanding days. Then, when I got really sick on Thursday, he delivered all my notes telling people about my not being able to come see them, etc., and spent the afternoon playing Bach to me on the organ (still in my room!) while I drifted off into a kind of delirious fevered sleep. In order that I wouldn’t have to go out in the damp and devastating night air, he brought some steak and accessories, and I managed to cook a steak dinner on my one gas jet! We started off with sherry and crackers with peanut-butter-and-bacon, then had a delicious rump steak sauteed with onions and butter, plus canned spaghetti, plus a kind of scrambled-egg-omlette I made with eggs, milk, cheese and bacon. For dessert we had dates and yogurt. All this before my hearthrug. I am so happy and at peace with Mallory, and it has been heavenly to have him take care of me while I was sick: I just felt I could rest completely and everything would be all right.
Last Sunday, before the deluge of this week, I shared the most magnificent experience with him: Advent service at the King’s Chapel. Since Mallory belongs to King’s College he got two tickets. Honestly, mother, I never have been so moved in my life. It was evening, and the tall chapel, with its cobweb lace of fan-vaulting, was lit with myriads of flickering candles which made fantastic shadows play on the walls, carved with crowns and roses. The King’s choir boys processed down through the chapel singing in that clear bell-like way children have: utterly pure and crystal notes. I remembered all the lovely Christmas times we’ve had as a family, caroling with our dear friends, and the tears just streamed down my face in a kind of poignant joy. The organ pealed out and the hymn was that magnificent one “Wachet Auf” (“Now Let Every Tongue Adore Thee”) which was so beautifully familiar. The choir alternated with Bible readings and sang several exquisite, lyrical 15th century carols about Mary, enchantingly naive pieces. I enjoyed standing and singing with the packed throngs of congregation: O Come o Come Emmanuel and, finally, the triumphant Adeste Fidelels. After this powerful experience, Mallory and I had supper at our favorite Indian restaurant, the “Taj Mahal”. I also forgot to mention that in the morning, we had a stimulating sherry party with one of Mallory’s friends, a Israel boy named Iko* and his girl. Excellent talk.
I do hope grampy had a lovely birthday and that my card came in time for the Day at least, if not for the party. I am planning to write about 20 Christmas letters this week, so you may rest assured that people will at last be hearing from me. Yesterday, I had a visit from Richard Sassoon, who had flown to London from Paris to visit his relatives. We had lunch in town and in the afternoon I had a tea for him and Dick Wertz (Nancy Hunter’s ancient flame from Yale who is now studying theology here & was Sassoon’s roommate). My appreciation of the situation was dulled with the remainder of my cold, but I managed a nice tea with maltbread & butter, maccaroons & chocolate cookies and a good orange sponge cake. I have also got a speckled pottery bowl and copper nutcrackers for my table, and always have it full of mixed nuts, which look rugged & well-textured in their shells. I only wish you could see my room, now: I have put candles in two wine bottles, the two bookcases form walls of gay color; I love my Braque still life, which is low-keyed browns blacks and grays with lovely avocado-greens and a bright yellow; chrysanthemums (gift of David Buck from “Bartholomew Fair” for my illness) blaze in Van Gogh yellow from two earthenware vases; fruit is piled high in a large dish and there is always plenty for tea. I enjoy so much creating a homey atmosphere, and my room is the favorite of all the places I’ve lived. The other two girls who live up here have gone home, so I have our whole little top floor all to myself and it is utter heaven. I am having several people to tea and sherry this week to catch up on my social obligations, plus continuing my French lessons & having a talk with my Director of Studies, Miss Burton. Mallory went on a walking trip to London (!) yesterday with a friend, but should be back tomorrow. So we will spend the days working & enjoy each other in the evening. He is an absolute joy. You would love him; he takes such good care of me! His mother has invited me home,* too, but unfortunately I accepted John Lythgoe’s mother long ago!
Give my love to all,
your own sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Saturday 10 December 1955
TLS (aerogramme),
Indiana University
Saturday, December 10
Dearest mother!
My wonderful Christmas box came yesterday, and I can’t tell you how lovely it was! I must admit I opened everything except the stocking (which is now hanging over my gas-fire mantel) right then and there, as my baggage will be very limited when I fly to Paris, and I had to sacrifice to expediency. I am saving the stocking till just before I go, because I love looking at it. Perhaps
the most magnificent gift was the silver-wrapped cookies! I immediately devoured a large number of the fresh, delicious hazelnuss cookies and that unique flavor, which I have never encountered anywhere except at home around Christmas, brought back a flood of memories, much the way a certain song or scent can evoke whole portions of the past. I made up a plate of cookies for Mallory when he came to tea later, and he said to tell grammy especially that they were the best cookies he ever tasted. I put the silver paper around my wine-bottle candles and hung a few balls of it from my green plant. I must admit I indulged in a very complex wave of homesickness, too!