The Richard Burton Diaries

by Richard Burton

  Received a long telegram from Josh Logan asking me to do Camelot for Warners.62 Don't see how I can. And don't want to much anyway. He (Logan) says the new script is magnificent etc. and all that tripe. I'll read it anyway.

  Maria very upset when I told her not to be rude to E. She remained silent and hang-dog for the rest of the evening.

  Monday 11th [...] This is the first time in the writing of this diary that I have done so on the day indicated in the title. Usually it is the next morning or afternoon. Tonight however – it is a quarter to midnight – I am unable to sleep. This is by no means an un-regular occurrence. I frequently wake in the small hours and lie awake sometimes for two or three hrs, sometimes all night. But tonight is caused by a chemical product called ‘FINALGON.’ It is German. It was given me when I was in Garmish(?) by Oskar Werner.63 It is supposed to burn away aching muscles and fibrositic complaints etc. It is applied on externally and is a pale yellow or ivory white cream. It burns like hell. I applied some tonight about 9.00pm, very little, and it is burning still. I pulled, wrenched or bruised a thigh muscle this afternoon trying to kick a small ball over the garage from the sunken garden. I lost the ball and gained some pain.

  So tonight instead of lying there in the near-darkness and sweat from the burning ‘Finalgon’ I thought I'd kill the burn and the diary with one fell descent. [...]

  E was visited by the Dr from Rome who says she should have shots for two more days, that the curetage will not be necessary, that she can work on Thursday or Friday. That she may come to the Studio tomorrow for lunch if she limits it to 11/2 hours. Hip Hip.

  Today we had a letter from Mia Farrow. It is written in a huge childlike hand and is so goody as to invite suspicion of affection. I remember her at lunch forever apologizing, with eyes as round as her fist, for her silly little ability not to know anybody in theatre or films before her time – which she inferred was last week. Or last year. She and M. Nichols appear to be in love and register in hotels as Mr and Mrs N.

  I think, now, that, as the tiny Macaulay is reputed to have said to an enquiring lady, the agony is abated. He was four or something.64 So I'll try to sleep again.

  Maria is invested with every conceivable kind of fear, or as her very competent nurse Karen says, ‘she scares easy.’ She saw a lizard today and cried with fright. What's to do. Leave it to love, I suppose, and time. The other day, with me on a walk, she refused to walk over a line of tiny ants, out of terror. I had to get her over by totally ignoring her and walking on. She was as animated and talkative about this experience as if she'd just crossed the Atlantic single handed in a rubber dinghy.

  Work tomorrow. Mickey Rudin arrived today.65 Nevill Coghill arrives tomorrow.66 My anti-social tendencies, even with people I know well, are going to be very strained – unless I get drunk. And I don't feel like it.

  Tuesday 12th First call and work. [...] Am late this morning so be brief. Telegrammese. E to go into hospital tomorrow for curetage. Came to lunch with me and felt sick and faint. On arrive home bled. [...] Poor little thing. I shouted and bawled at her for being ‘unfit’ for lack of discipline, for taking too much booze. I think I was talking about myself – out of fear for her. God get tomorrow over rapidly.

  Bach gan, I love you.67 [Elizabeth Taylor's hand.]

  Wednesday 13th What a day. I went to work at 7.30 and was made up and learned lines. We shot quite early about 9.30. All the time I waited for the ‘phone to ring. E. finally called from the hospital about 11.30 to say that nobody there could speak Italian. I suggested she get Dick's secretary who is bilingual.

  I took E'en So for a long walk around the studio. It is a pleasant place. I thought a lot about our lives and shades of mortality grew round me like a mist.

  I lunched alone in my room, did some Italian, and waited for the phone to ring. And waited. And waited. I read a whole book, rather precious, by Arthur Machen called The London Adventure.68 Then the blower blew and joy of joys it was herself on the other end and the operation was over and she was in pain but alive and will live to be shouted at another day.

  I finished work at 4.00. Showered. Had my vodka and tonic. Sped to the hospital. [...] Read papers with E. Got gruff and bawled a lot about supper's slowness and went home in a typical huff. Before arriving home I stopped (Mario drove) in St Peter's and stared at the whole huge thing and muttered under my breath.69

  Talked to E on telephone and we went to sleep reasonably happy.

  Thursday 14th Elizabeth was expected home at 9.45am. I wasn't called to work and we all [...] waited by the potting shed for her to arrive. Then a message came to say at 10.15 that she had left 10 minutes before. [...] Eventually she did come and sat downstairs for a time and had a drink. She looked pale and wan fond lover and eventually went upstairs to bed.70 The kids were all embarrassed and awed and sat around like wilting lettuces. E sent them out to show the nurse – Alex – the grounds. I am to sleep with the boys tonight. They are delighted.

  I [...] had lunch with Nevill Coghill. We watched some shooting and had lunch with some of the cast – Alan Webb, Hordern, Spinetti, Michael York.71 M. York was up at Oxford too I discovered his real name is Johnson. Nevill didn't remember him. Afterwards we watched the rushes which appear to be at least very good.

  Then home with Nevill to see E, by this time I was somewhat sloshed, and talked around her bed. She tells me that I was nasty again. Obviously I shouldn't drink more than a glass or two of wine, and weak wine at that.

  I slept with the boys. At one time we all went downstairs and I made soup for us all. Tinned soup of course. E was furious that we didn't include her but we didn't know she was awake.

  I work tomorrow. First call.

  Friday 15th, Saturday 16th and Sunday 17th Did two shots only after which, Liza, Mike, Chris, Nevill – Ron Berkeley and I went down to Ron's seaside restaurant and ate and drank until 1.00 in the a.m. Again slept with the boys but also Maria and Liza. Bedlam.

  Went into the studio (Sat) with Nevill. Had a fitting and saw the rushes twice, once to show them to Nevill, second time to show them to J. Springer who has been here for a couple of days. I arranged to have them to lunch tomorrow, Sunday. Bought a bike for Maria and skate board for Liza.

  Took the children on Sunday morning to Luna Park and a good time was had by all except when I was plagued by Gypsies even after I'd given away something between 15 and 20,000 Lire.72 How utterly charmless they are.

  Nevill and John duly came to lunch after which I took them around the grounds. [...] A beautiful day with scudding clouds. England and Wales blanketed with snow!

  I read the Sunday papers for the rest of the day.

  E. now better and the nurse Alex left on Saturday so I am back in my bed again. E said she was sorry she married me on Sat night and all because I said she was a conyn. (Welsh for moaning hypochondriac) She deserves a good hammering for hurting me like that!

  Monday 18th Had the first call for today. I wore the new costume which probably looks splendid on me mounted on the horse but, I think, looks indifferent on the ground. The sheer bulk of it dwarfs my legs from the knee down.

  I rode up the street with everyone – extras shouting Petruchio and hurling flowers, cabbage leaves water etc. at me and my poor Rosa, the horse. She, Rosa, made up to look even uglier than she is, behaved splendidly. Mike and Christopher were dressed and also appeared in the scene. [...]

  Had dinner at home with M. Todd Junior, the two boys and E. Was fairly uproarious and told endless stories. i.e. literally stories without an ending. Several times the two boys pretended to fall asleep from sheer boredom at my jokes. At least I hope they were pretending.

  And so to bed.

  Tuesday 19th They shot the TV show on M. Todd today at last. E was very good I thought. I went to the studio about 4.00 to have Nevill see some of the stuff roughly cut in order. Discussed Faustus with Nevill. It seems we'll be able to pull it off. He wonders if his younger brother could possibly play in it as an extra and thereby be given an
equity card? His younger brother is 60 and does odd-jobs. Nevill said that at the moment he was cleaning lavatories.73 I said I would do what I could. Poor dab.

  Wednesday 20th What a bloody awful day. E was to be tested and into the studio we went. She looked like death. Again some filthy doctor had given her some shot to which she was allergic and therefore she was poisoned instead of helped. I quietly got sloshed, made up, tested with E and got sloshed some more.

  I'm sick of these bloody doctors. I'll have to have a really insupportable smash before I'll ever send for one of these ill-trained, drunken, condescending, semi-literate sods. The only pain I'd like them to remove is the pain in the arse they give me.

  Thursday 21st E much better today – notice that it was achieved without any assistance from a doctor. Again we went to the Studio for further tests on her. I appeared in the test briefly, unmade up and not in costume. In the meantime I worked a little and read a book by Lewes the Victorian dramatic critic on Kean, Macready, Lemaitre, Rachel, Salvini etc.74 That's the first book about acting and actors I've read since I was about 18. Such books are not really interesting. [...]

  I'm not sure I like Zeffirelli. I think he's a coward and devious with it. He cannot look you in the eye either physically or mentally. As a mind and personality he's not a patch on M. Nichols. But he has flair shall we say. He has a sense of the spectacular. He will succeed. Yesterday he was worried again about his billing. I told him for the umpty ninth time to fix it with Columbia and that whatever was mutually agreeable to them was also so to us.75 But his grumbling was put into letter form. He couldn't tell me direct.

  It was a long day. I didn't drink at all and we had supper at home with the boys.

  I read until about 12 – took a long bath and shower and was asleep by 1.00 approx. I may have to work tomorrow. I look forward to it.

  You ill tempered bastard! So do I at least you'll be out of my hair! [Elizabeth Taylor's hand.]

  Wednesday 27th Here is the longest gap in the diary yet – six days. And what days! Crisis after crisis with Zero a Sharaff over the costumes.76 E now really loathes him (Z) largely because he is a ruthless selfish multi-faced ego-mad COWARD. It is this last that both of us find most objectionable. I am by no means heroic morally but I can make decisions and accept advice. This chap can do neither.

  Some of the scenes have been hilarious. The normally nervous but dignified Irene Sharaff opened a meeting with Alexandre, R. Hanley, E and Franco Z with these immortal peace-loving and diplomatic words: ‘I would like to say before we go any further that you Franco are a fucking liar.’ Good for starters. Later out of the mittel European mask of her face came another qualifier for Bartlett's Dictionary of Quotations – ‘You are nothing but a fucking fag.‘77 That's my Leslie!78 Pots and kettles turned over in the kitchen of their own accord recognising kinship when they saw it.

  Next day on Monday I had a go at Mr Z. It exhausted me spiritually and emotionally (as it did E yesterday) to be so brutally honest with such a tissue of evasions as Franco. But it had to be done.

  Yesterday we sort of made up. E hasn't yet but will I suppose for the sake of the film.

  Later in the morning Mike Frankovich arrived.79 Good timing for the situation though it wasn't planned. He was thrilled with the film. The only redeeming thing about Franco Z is that the film seems very good. It's also, perversely, infuriating.

  Liza brought a little girl home from school to stay the night. Her name is Jodi Lowell. I asked her what her father did. I had already asked her father's first name which is Robert. She said ‘he is a writer and poet.’ Could it be the Robert Lowell.80 Must be I suppose. [...]

  The cat Charlie disappeared on Sunday evening about 6.00 pm. We called for him in vain. [...] At about 4.30–5.00am I thought I heard him cry. [...] I found him up a tree and terrified. It was a pine tree and therefore unclimbable. [...] Finally after a frustrated 1/2 hour looking for a ladder we woke Enzo.81 He found the ladder on the roof of the potting shed – it had been hidden there to stop the boys climbing, with its aid, onto the roof of the house.

  I held the ladder. Enzo climbed. [...] At last Enzo got him, descended a few steps and hurled him to the ground. I dived on the cat, Enzo dived from the ladder and the ladder, untended, fell accurately on to E's head. She will have a headache for several days. There was no blood. Phew!

  Thursday 28th By our standards of late, today was peaceful. We saw the rushes including E's first shot in the picture. It wasn't very satisfactory. E was fine but the whole set-up is undramatic. She should appear violently like a snarling beast. They will reshoot it.

  And they did. In the flesh it looks good. Now we'll wait to see the rushes.

  I didn't work today before the camera. I watched E in the re-shooting mentioned above and took her to lunch at a farm house about 1km from the Studio. It was very pleasant.

  After lunch Wolf Mankovitz came and we talked of Faustus.82 It will be a good thing to do. [...]

  Life’s Tommy Thomas was sneaked in to see V. Woolf and was overwhelmingly impressed.83 Or so he says. I wonder what will happen when an audience sees it. Will they laugh in the wrong places? Will it disintegrate before derision? We are anxious to know.

  We dined at home quietly and made lovely love. The first time for a month because of E's condition. What a magnificent relief and release.

  Friday 29th I was called in for make-up at 12.00 noon. E was called for 10.30. But Alexandre didn't get her hairpiece ready till 11.30 and she managed one shot before lunch. As a result of this late start I didn't work at all. I read Auden's latest collection of verse About the House.84 [...]

  M. Hordern came to dinner with us. [...] We work tomorrow. It will be E's only Saturday performance I fancy. I feel dog-tired and need a long sleep but obviously shan't get it for some time.

  Tomorrow we shall, out of duty, go and see Chas Beal play his piano.

  The film is going smoothly now and E. is beginning to enjoy herself. An wot I says is if yer don't enjoy yerself in yer job wot's the point of it all. That's what I says.

  Saturday 30th A hard day picking up E in the pouring film rain and dumping her on a donkey. Not easy but we managed to do it more or less correctly each time.

  Went into town to The Chianti for dinner – took Pamela Brown who is in Rome for a few days because ‘the ceilings of my house fell down’ – with Bob and Sally Wilson, John Lee, R. Hanley, Frank and Agnes Flanagan.85 Then on to ‘Le Pub’ where in the din that always goes on at such places we pretended to listen to Chas Beal play the piano. It is a dull place. Saw Dave Crowley who is very sweet and his ‘sportsy’ wife who is not.86 Persuaded P. Brown to stay ‘till Tuesday and so see some of the film.

  Boy I do not much like Zeff. He didn't want Cyril and Maureen Cusack to come to the party tomorrow night.87 All the other actors are invited. What a petty little bastard. Some fancied slight from Cyril is behind it I suppose.

  Saw E's close-ups etc. at the window. She is splendid now and is bringing up her big guns (no offence). It is one hundred per cent more effective than the previous shots. She is going to be Kate.

  I am very worried about Webb's, Lynch's – Biondelle's audibility.88 It will create ructions among the more ‘quality’ critics.

  MAY

  Sunday 1st Having not gone to bed until 5.30 a.m we woke at 9.30 and had a large brunchy breakfast. Fried eggs, bacon, chips, tomatoes and tottered back to bed about 1.00. We slept fitfully till party time. [...] The padrone of the restaurant in the Studio came to cook for us. It was a nice enough party though Cyril became very drunk and at one point threatened to shoot Eliz because she told him that of course Maureen, his wife, loved him and that indeed he was generally loved by all. He was however drunkenly determined to be unloved even to the extent of shooting my wife. M. Hordern took them home.

  Paul Dehn and friend were very nice.89 Franco despite the presence of his ‘godson’ – who looks to be about 104 – was seen kissing and cuddling with Natasha Pyne.90 Spinetti told E and Ma
ureen that he liked women and men as lovers and would never get married for that reason. What is the world coming to?

  I told stories and laughed a lot. E very sweet to everybody. She's a good old thing – fair dues.

  Liza has 48 hour flu and Maria is very proud that she was able to come to the party while Liza stayed in bed.

  Thursday 5th It's actually 10.00 in the morning. [...] It is a glorious day. Indeed all the week we have had glorious weather. I've just come back from a walk. [...] The fallow field is now hip-high with weeds and grass. Poppies, daises, buttercups and an unidentifiable whitish weed that looks like cow parsley or baby's breath but isn't, and a pale blue tiny flower, make a splendid rebellion of colour.

  Yesterday E worked but I didn't. She did the mad whipping scene with Natasha Pyne. I sat around all day in my dressing room having first gone to the mini-max (a supermarket) to buy sweets for everybody, particularly me. E was worn out at the end of the day and in the car on the way home she suddenly asked if we could possibly stop at a Trattoria (a sort of roadside cafe restaurant) for a bottle of wine. Gaston, who was driving, stopped at the next one. It was a perfect choice, the kind of place where chickens brood under the table, though there were none here. There was the usual arbour of vines. Two men there intrigued E. One was a distinguished oldish man, well dressed, who sat alone at a terraced table and neither ate nor drank nor moved. The other looked like a mendicant monk of some obscure order. He read from a parchment and ate bread. He didn't look up at all. He had a large beard. At seven-thirty just at dusk a Mass began at the church on the hill the other side of the road. The Church of the Madonna of the Divine Love. The voices of the choir drifted on the air like an invisible mist, like unseen tumbleweed, like a dream. We stopped eating our fave (raw kidney beans) and rough cheese and we stopped drinking the vin de pays to listen. It was one of those moments which are nostalgic before they're over. The two men had gone, the tramp monk maybe to the Mass and the other who knows where. We drove home feeling holy and clean while the moon bright as I've ever seen her and with a whisp of chiffon cloud around her throat (E's image not mine) shone on us from the cloudless night.