The piece came and I've been sweating my whatchacallits off ever since trying to put it in shape. Your idea of a manuscript “ready for the printer” is to weep. I'm preparing one of my best lectures for you on said subject. But when are you coming through?? We need a couple of hours to talk over several points. What I'm doing now is mostly crossing the T's and dotting the I's. But I don't want to hand it over the Heins[heimer] until I've seen you.
Was up Boston way and saw that screwball Shapero. Also met John Lessard92 there, who turns out to be as nice as his Piano Sonata.
Plan to stay over a day or two so that I can get a good look at you.
It just occurs to me – of course you'll be coming for Dimitri's debut on Thursday.93 Or do I err? […] If I guess right, let's have supper zusammen, just to start things properly.
A
76. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland
[Philadelphia, PA]
[December 1940]
Aaron Excelsus,
No, our letters didn't cross, because I couldn't decide whether to cut the President's (Mrs. Bok's) Christmas Party on Friday night, plus a class or two, to be in New York Thurs. night. Lord knows I would have loved to. I had planned so hard on it. But I've been persuaded, & duties is duties, and I must stay. I'll be in NYC Saturday afternoon, probably around 2 or 3 o'clock. I'll call immediately (if not OK let me know like mad) – we can operate on Saloon on Saturday & I can hear Dimitri on Sunday, & be home Monday. Damn the Christmas Party anyway.
You sadden me infinitely about the Saloon. I thought I had it done. Heinsheimer has been clamoring. I tremble at the thought of your lecture. See you Sat.
Love,
Lenny
77. Kiki Speyer94 to Leonard Bernstein
Wednesday [?December 1940 or January 1941]
Mon pauvre petit chou,
I was so sorry to receive such a sad letter from you – and I wish I could come to Philly for a few days to cheer you up. However this is impossible as I have very recently come back from New York. I went with the B.S.O. and had a simply wonderful time. I saw your sweet friend Dimitri (what a marvelous person). Also Aaron, Chasins, Hindemith, Szigeti etc. I was wined and dined to my heart's content and came back to Boston no longer quite so depressed. Friend Stresemann95 I also saw quite often!!
What a shame you are unable to go off on a “toot”. You need it, Leonard dear, and I mean it seriously when I say that you drive yourself too hard. At least if you keep yourself as busy as you did in Tanglewood and here when you were on “vacation”. Do be careful – you've had one bad cold and now la grippe est everywhere, so button up your stunning new overcoat!
There is little news – concerts, rehearsal, lessons and practising keep me fairly well occupied. A few dates sprinkled in add zest – yet like you I am sad, and, my pet, it is the war. I think of it so often although to what avail??
Kouss is on vacation for three weeks in the Berkshires. He had a cold (yours no doubt!!) and felt rotten in New York. His Shostakovitch had a marvelous ovation in Carnegie.96 Even I was so thrilled when I heard it – the chills ran up and down my spine! And Haydn…
Words of sympathy come to my pen with difficulty but be advised that I fully realize your loss.97 I often think of you and hope that we will see you soon. Mother sends her love and a big kiss. Dad and André also send their best.
Love,
Kiki
78. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland
Hotel Empire, Broadway at 63rd Street, New York, NY
8:45 p.m. [January 1941]
Aaron,
I don't know quite what I'm saying – but just a word to tell you I didn't elope or get killed last night – just drunk. In fact, I slept in the Empire from 7:00 to 10:00. Didn't you get a message to call me?
I missed the funeral & spent all day chez les Eisner.98 I am at the moment a half-crazed mystic. Forgive last night's disappearance act.
Expecting you in Philly. Write exactly when.
Love,
Lenny
79. Aaron Copland to Leonard Bernstein
Hotel Empire, Broadway at 63rd Street, New York, NY
Tuesday [January 1941]
Dear L,
All terribly dramatic wasn't it? I felt so sorry that your vacashe turned out so hectic. I'll be curious to hear the full story of the last night and day (I got a message to call 511 – Mr. Green – never dreaming you were there – and I just waited too late before taking the pain to call.
I'll be down on Monday. I'll take the one o'clock train. Will you be home after 2:30? If so we can have an hour together before I start my duties: Around 3:30 at the Free Library, at 5 for interviews, and at 7 for dinner at the Art Alliance. (Ain't it awful.) I won't be staying over – so may I use your room as a place to change in?
Heinsheimer says the proofs of El Salón are being sent me – so I may bring them with me if there are any changes needed.
I feel even closer to you after all that's happened.
Love,
A
80. Leonard Bernstein to Helen Coates
[10 January 1941]
Dear Helen,
Forgive me for not writing sooner – I have been in a messy state of mind. Last Saturday I lost one of my closest friends – Alfred Eisner. I'm sure you remember him as my roommate for two years. A malignant tumor on the brain – and it was all over. Just as he was about to reach the top – with the world before him, wonderful jobs in his hands, and 24 years old. I've been completely numb ever since: something seems to die in you, & refuses to accept a fact as cruel and unjust as that. Coming so soon after the death of David Prall, it makes me very leery of world values – so much so that at the present I find it difficult to consider anything important.
Please write soon – I know you will understand the brevity of this letter.
Love,
Lenny
81. Helen Coates to Leonard Bernstein
66 The Fenway, Boston, MA
13 January 1941
Lenny dear,
I found your letter here less than an hour ago but I'm so shocked over the death of your close friend, Alfred Eisner, that I must write you at once. My heart goes out to you in the tragic loss of your very good friend, and I grieve to think that such a brilliant young person should be taken from this world. Tho I never met him, I, of course, do remember him as your roommate, and often heard you speak of him. And then when we had dinner together in New York in late November, you went on that evening to the hospital to see him. I never thought to inquire of him afterward as at the time you thought he had some sort of a throat infection, nothing serious.
Death is appalling enough at any time (except in the cases of very old people or those who are seriously incapacitated) but at your age the death of anyone so close to you strikes a particularly hard blow. I feel the keenest sympathy for you, for I had so many experiences, beginning when I was just a little older than you, that just knocked all support from under me and very nearly disillusioned me completely. All sense of values goes, and as you say, you “find it difficult to consider anything important.” There's nothing very encouraging I can say to you at such a time. Each one has to battle his own way thru the fog and find something to hold on to. I can tell you this however: that, as one gets older, the blows from any tragic experience seem to strike a little less deeply. I suppose one's senses are not quite so keen, and one's emotional nature not so easily unbalanced.
It is cruel that you have lost two such wonderful friends in so short a time. Last week in N.Y. I saw a friend from the west whom I hadn't seen for 10 years – and discovered to my amazement that he and his twin brother (whom I did not see that day) were old and very good friends of David Prall. Robert and Frederick Schlick (from Portland, Oregon) graduated from the Univ. of California and studied there with David Prall. They were very good friends – often went together to Carmel to stay with other friends. Later when the twins were in Paris and David Prall was at Oxford, he went over to stay with them in Paris. I
'd like so much to have you and the Schlick twins know each other. (Their mother and my mother are very old friends, and were friends before I was born.) Frederick is a playwright. He's had one play produced on Broadway a number of years ago,99 and he's been writing for Paramount. Robert is a poet and has a very unique plan about his life's work.100
If you and I can hit upon another weekend in N.Y. this winter (they are there just for 4 months) I'll arrange to have you meet them (they're just 35).
Phila. must have seemed particularly gloomy after such a tragic personal experience. Somehow, I hate to have you come so close to tragedy. I'd like to protect you from such heartbreaks and disillusionment. But, unfortunately, no matter how fond we are of another, we cannot do that for anyone. The only solace I've ever found when the world looked so black I didn't see how I'd ever go on, was work and more work, and – the passing of time which somehow eases the keen edge of suffering.
Write me soon.
Much love,
Helen
82. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland
2122 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA
[January 1941]
Aaron, best of all,
Please don't think of me as a fool – I was just knocked out by the death of my friend: I didn't quite know what I was doing. I tried to get you on your return from Allentown, but apparently you didn't revisit the loft or the hotel.
I'm back, and suffering. I can't tell you how numb I feel. As if part of me had died, refusing to accept the fact. The phenomenon of music on the brain, which has always been with me (you know that) has stopped. I have no tune to sing. My head feels like dry, brown, cracking wood. I took a piano lesson tonight, & having nothing to play, did the Variations,101 badly, & Vengerova didn't like them. Thursday night will be good. Strange – they seem like a different piece now. I see them more in formal outline.
How was the Whittemore & Lowe affair?102
I'm sending a pseudo-bill to Boosey.
Let me know when you arrive in Philly.
Heard Serkin in dull Reger tonight.
Saw my 16-yr-old girl103 – I don't know.
Much love, & apology,
Lenny
P.S. Just got yr. letter – of course I'll be on hand after 2.30 Monday. Just taxi up to the door. And you can change or anything else you want to do here (I can't decide whether to come to NYC Sunday next).
83. Oliver Smith104 to Leonard Bernstein
7 Middagh Street, Brooklyn, NY
6 February 1941
Dear Leonard,
The Stravinsky last Saturday was very swell; I want you to know how much I appreciated it, as well as the tremendous concert a week earlier. I would have written sooner, but I have been in the process of moving. I am now living in Brooklyn Heights, which is the nicest part of the city. It seems completely dominated by the bridge, the river with the endless chain of boats, and nice old streets, very quiet and full of nostalgia. I don't know why I sound so dopey. Perhaps it's because I'm freezing in this new house which is marvellous. Auden, Geo. Davis, Gypsy Rose Lee, Benj. Brittle105 live here. Miss Lee has since vacated. I think perhaps Paul and Jane [Bowles] will move in. I have two rooms, no furniture, and lots of nice drawings on the walls, a Picasso, several Bérards, a Chirico, and a Smith. Downstairs are empty rooms with rat holes, an enormous piano – I think you would sound very well on it – and books. The atmosphere is completely surrealist. I enjoyed meeting you very much, and I hope I will see you again some time.
Sincerely,
Oliver Smith
84. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland
2122 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA
6 February 1941
Dear A,
There's a good chance of my doing Quiet City at a private concert here on Feb. 20. I want very much to do it. (Orch. from Curtis.) How much wd. we have to pay, if any? Could I get the parts & score before Feb. 18? Trumpet part sooner? Please make it go thru –
Lenny
Write writeaway
85. Aaron Copland to Leonard Bernstein
Hotel Empire, Broadway at 63rd Street,
New York, NY
Friday
[February 1941]
Dear L,
Heinsheimer says you can have Quiet City. Write to him direct. I forgot to ask him whether there would be any charge. The proofs of the score are to be ready Monday. I have a sort of a trumpet part I could let you have. OK?
Just finished Billy!! Mills was a big help.
El Saloon is being held up on account of they say they want a picture on the cover.
Outdoor Overture is being done today in Manchester by the London Philharmonic – Germans permitting.
I still think on you lada dia.
See you Thursday.
A
“Unless love is love is love love?” Paul Frederic Bowles.
86. Leonard Bernstein to Kenneth Ehrman
2122 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA
13 February 1941
Ken,
What's happened to you? You have a most unnerving way of dropping out of people's lives. If you live, reply!
There's much to write, but I'm taking no chances with disappearers. Reply, reply, softly, and with brittle brads.106
I've just earned a small but cozy nest-egg & am thinking O so seriously of an exotic trip in May – Mexico or Cuba, or maybe Palo Alto. Why don't you come with me? Please. Almost anywhere you say. Costa Rica. Guatemala. Reply, reply, gravely and with Jesuit joy.
I can't make myself say any more until I hear from you, embodied and calm.
A more than ludicrous transition, but I take it you've been informed of the wretched and tragic death of Al Eisner. Not another word about it. You understand.
Please write immediately if you can. And keep that trip seriously in mind.
Always the best,
Lenny
87. Benjamin Britten107 to Leonard Bernstein
7 Middagh Street, Brooklyn, NY
28 April 1941
Dear Lenny,
Please forgive the lateness of this – but I have been working all days & nights for the last three weeks on the score of the operetta108 & I haven't had a moment for letters.
I was very, very pleased that you liked the Sinf[onia] da Req[uiem].109 Judging by your remarks you certainly “got” what I wrote, & it was extremely nice of you to take the trouble to write & say so. I am sure that it's the “best so far” – and as it's the last, that is as it should be. I might argue with you about one or two of your remarks about my earlier masterpieces – but may be there is something in what you say. The only thing is, may be those particular vices are less vicious than some others I can think of – such as inhibitions, sterility, self-conscious ideas of originality – but we won't go into that now!
How are you? I saw you were conducting on the radio on Saturday – how did it go? When do you come to New York? I shall be around until June 1st or thereabouts. Give me a call when you get here. How are your chamber concerts going? As you probably know, the Bowlesesses departed for Mexico.
The operetta is chaotic. [Max] Goberman is not doing it – Hugh Ross has taken it over – & although he has the right mentality for training choruses (entre nous) he is not so hot on orchestras. However – we shall see.
Thank you again for your note. You ask how the others liked the symphony – all the ones I respect were pleased – including Aaron, Chávez, Colin [McPhee], Lincoln [Kirstein] et. all –
Best of luck,
Yours ever,
Benjy B
88. Leonard Bernstein to Shirley Gabis110
86 Park Avenue, Newton, MA
[May 1941]
Hello, you Galatea!
Time out (2 minutes) from orchestrating music for a Harvard production of The Peace of Aristophanes (a new headache I've contracted). My hand is numb from writing score; & to make matters worse, I bruised my metacarpal (!) playing baseball this afternoon. All of which makes good for concerto-playing the 25th! To say
nothing of Scriabine-playing the 17th. And conducting the Peace music the 23rd & 24th. Life, dear one, is hectic plus – I really need your steadying hand on mine now. It's amazing to look back & see that it really was a steadying hand. Phenomenal effect for an adolescent Galatea to have! But then, you're you.
Of course Bill [Saputelli]111 has told you of our Atlantic City escapade (mostly gabbing with Curtisites). And now you're doing algebra, & going to Ivy Balls […] & putting your hair up and down according to your escort, & eating chez Saputelli, – I've completely left your mind. See? I told you so.
But make an effort anyway, & write me all – a bright moment of letter-opening in all this muddle of a bustle. And darling, take care of yourself.
All my love, to split with Rae.112
Lenny.
Isn't it daring to do The Peace at a time like this? I love it – the music is good too.113
89. Leonard Bernstein to Shirley Gabis
86 Park Avenue, Newton, MA
[after 25 May 1941]
Sweets,
It's all over & I breathe again. Quel week! The Greek show brought the house down both nights & my score was universally beloved. But at the price of awaking on Concerto day with a fine feverish cold. Hence the concerti were under par, but very exciting. Good reviews, too. Vital, vastly impressive, etc. But could have been perfect but for that damned fever.
Now I'm home nursing this lovely cold, sort of good-for-nothing & let down. No trip for me, I think – I'll spend the dough on records, raquets & phonographs. God, it's good to be home.
When do you graduate? Or do you?
Miquelle came for the concert – in fact she's dropping round this afternoon, as one might expect.
All kinds of congrats to Mel & Dot. May they grow fine grapes together.
Nothing now 'til Tanglewood; & I plan to go up next week to […] see Kouss. Will you be up this summer?
I think I'll write an orchestral piece.
Have you read Henry James? Read The Turn of the Screw, one of 2 stories in a book called The Two Magics.
Write soon.
Love,
Lenny
1 Burton 1994, p. 11.
2 Helen Coates (1899–1989) was Bernstein's piano teacher from the end of 1932 until 1935, and they became close friends. She kept a maternal eye on her protégé during his student years, and gave up piano teaching to become his secretary in 1944. She remained so until 1989. Her unspoken role in this book is of the greatest importance. It was Miss Coates who assembled and maintained Bernstein's scrapbooks, filed all his correspondence, labeled his photographs, organized his papers, and, as a consequence, did much to arrange the comprehensive documentation of his life that later formed the basis of the Leonard Bernstein Collection in the Library of Congress.
The Leonard Bernstein Letters Page 10