The Leonard Bernstein Letters

by Leonard Bernstein

  Baudümü, be smart at school this year, and be serious and learn and become the wonderful guy you are to become. Can't wait til Xmas.

  Felicia loves you & sends a big hug*, & so do I.

  Ape-husband-hunter,

  Lennuhtt

  *She adds undying and passionate.

  317. Leonard Bernstein to Philip and Barbara Marcuse

  Humboldt 53, Cuernavaca, Mexico

  9 October 1951

  Dear Gentle People,

  There it is, the address I mean, and now let's have words from you, lots of them. This is not a moment for lots of words from us: it is a moment of getting installed in a new house, new life, new everything. The tensions (do you recall this word?) accumulate still, are fought, lived through. Every once in a while a state of comparative ease is reached which promises well for the future. And now we have a glorious grand huge house with a huge garden and a huge pool, and tomorrow there ought to be a huge piano and then there should be some huge work. I am not quite sure what F[elicia] is going to do all winter while I am at the piano, and in my own world, so to speak. But most of that, of course, depends on what security she will manage to find in a marriage contracted in insecurity. We hope and we pray and we wait.

  What did you think of the Cadillac idea? Me, I think it's great; and it is a real come-on for me. The Buick is in fine shape (got us here safely, sans accident, sans blowout, sans being pinched).

  Let's have a glorious letter!

  Love,

  Lenny

  Felicia adores you both and is as grateful as I am for your presence on earth, and sends her warmest.

  318. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland

  Humboldt 53, Cuernavaca, Mexico

  18 October 1951

  Dear Sorelymissed A,

  First off, thanks for the delectable wire on the wedding day. If this thankyou is a bit late, fíjate, no más, the enormous automobile trip we have made from Boston to San Francisco (stopping for days at ranches on the way) to L.A. and thence to Cuernavaca. It took about a month; and we are slowly settling now into a glorious house and garden and pool. The piano has arrived, I have written an extra aria for Captain Hook (what shit!) to grace the new road production of Peter Pan, and am now starting on the long hard road of writing some real things. I have decided, coute que coute, to finish my little opry [Trouble in Tahiti] and then write a few more little opries. There may be some stray notes – like even a piano sonata, and a new idea for an orchestra piece; but the main stem is still that old devil theatre, and I have to see just what my connection with it is.

  I still haven't seen the score of the Piano Quartet, and long to. Isn't there something you can do?

  Write to me about your life in Boston. Did everything work out well for a house for you and E[rik]? Give him my best, and thank him also for the wire. What word from Victor? Does he find marriage as fascinating as I do (what a word for marriage)? Actually it is the most interesting thing I have ever done, though there are times when one's interest must be that of a person in an audience, or one would go mad. It is full of compensations and rewards, and reveals more to me about myself than anything else ever has, including a spotty array of analysts.

  As I say, write, long and lovingly, and give my love to Irving [Fine] and Verna [Fine] and Lukas [Foss] and Tillmange.

  Dear old Judgenose, I miss you.

  L

  319. Leonard Bernstein to Aaron Copland

  Humboldt 53, Cuernavaca, Mexico,

  14 November 1951

  Dearest Aa,

  Today is the fourteenth of November, which makes four reasons to write you. 1) that you have just written me; 2) that it's your birthday, whether you like to be reminded or not; 3) that we met on this day about fourteen years ago; and 4) that Bruno Walter celebrated your birthday most spectacularly eight years ago by getting sick.51 So we owe each other this here Martini on this here day. With all my love.

  Also, we bought a phonograph, and there in the same shop was the Clarinet Concerto and the Quartet, on both of which I am therefore now an expert.52 I am disappointed in the Concerto, and I think it may be a little on account of the performance. I remember it as being so much fun when you struggled with it on the piano (of course everything is more fun when you do it on the piano with your apologetic grin), and Benny [Goodman]'s performance is ghastly and student-like, I think. But there is also something that does not quite satisfy about the score, despite its evident beauties. The opening is still ravishing, and I find to my dismay that it is in places less like Satie than like the Rosenkavalier trio. Tant mieux, say I, though surprised not a little. Strange, in fact, how many touches of Strauss there are; there is even a slight Don Quixote feeling here and there. I still disapprove of the cadenza, finding it cute but arbitrary; but it is the last part that disappoints me because the last part was so much fun. Of all things, the form. Doesn't seem to work.

  But the Quartet, ah, there is another matter. I rejoice particularly in the scherzo, because I think it is the longest sustained piece of continuity you have written in a long time, and it is really continuous, yes, really, and it goes and goes in a remarkably convincing way. I feel rather close to the tonal way in which you are handling tone-rows (I've done it too, here and there); and I find that this movement is a real triumph. The last movement is beautiful too in a way which has already become awfully familiar to Coplandites, so that it is not such a thrill as the second. And the first is lovely, but I never did go for you and fugues, especially here where the opening is so reminiscent of the third Hindemith Quartet. Imagine, Hindemith! Who'da thunk it? But it makes a fine piece, especially for records, because you want to hear it again and again (of course with two or three mambos in between); and I still think you are a marvelous composer.

  That's the good news for today, and I seem to have started a piano sonata right in the middle of all my stage-operations, nolens volens, as Kouss used to say.

  The lectures look awfully inviting, and I wish I were around. Instead I've got to start thinking up some of my own for the Brandeis festival. Let me know how they come out.

  As for T'wood, I am not surprised, though a bit beset by wonderment. Yes, I suppose I'll be coming back, but don't say anything yet: I just might have another brainstorm. Sometimes I think I don't really understand about T'wood any more. More of this anon.

  Are you really thinking of coming here in May? As far as I know, this house is available then. I think you would love it, though it's very large and expensive (2000 pezozzees a month!) But maybe now that you're rich … Let me know. Of course I'd much rather have you around Boston in June to help us out at Brandeis, but I realize that's too much to ask.

  So you're a Village weekender, just like all the Harvard boys? I find it very chic, and send Eric [Erik] my best.

  Dear Aa, it was a real joy to have your letter and I miss you and hope you will continue to write zillions more like that Piano Quartet.

  Much love,

  L

  320. Felicia Bernstein to Leonard Bernstein

  [?late 1951 or 1952]

  Darling,

  If I seemed sad as you drove away today it was not because I felt in any way deserted but because I was left alone to face myself and this whole bloody mess which is our “connubial” life. I've done a lot of thinking and have decided that it's not such a mess after all.

  First: we are not committed to a life sentence – nothing is really irrevocable, not even marriage (though I used to think so).

  Second: you are a homosexual and may never change – you don't admit to the possibility of a double life, but if your peace of mind, your health, your whole nervous system depend on a certain sexual pattern what can you do?

  Third: I am willing to accept you as you are, without being a martyr or sacrificing myself on the L.B. altar. (I happen to love you very much – this may be a disease and if it is what better cure?) It may be difficult but no more so than the “status quo” which exists now – at the moment you are not yourself
and this produces painful barriers and tensions for both of us – let's try and see what happens if you are free to do as you like, but without guilt and confession, please!

  As for me – once you are rid of tensions I'm sure my own will disappear. A companionship will grow which probably no one else may be able to offer you. The feelings you have for me will be clearer and easier to express – our marriage is not based on passion but on tenderness and mutual respect. Why not have them?

  I know now too that I need to work. It is a very important part of me and I feel incomplete without it. I may want to do something about it soon. I am used to an active life, and then there is that old ego problem.

  We may have gotten married too soon and yet we needed to get married and we've not made a mistake. It is good for us even if we suffer now and make each other miserable – we will both grow up some day and be strong and unafraid either together or apart – after all we are both more important as individuals than a “marriage” is.

  In any case my dearest darling ape, let's give it a whirl. There'll be crisis (?) from time to time but that doesn't scare me any more. And let's relax in the knowledge that neither of us is perfect and forget about being HUSBAND AND WIFE in such strained capital letters, it's not that awful!

  There's a lot else I've got to say but the pill has overpowered me. I'll write again soon. My wish for the week is that you come back guiltless and happy.

  F

  321. Marc Blitzstein to Leonard and Felicia Bernstein

  Ferris Hill Road, New Canaan, CT

  19 July 1952

  Dear L and F,

  Sitting in the kitchen with Cheryl [Crawford] and Ruth [Norman], eating raspberries for breakfast, it comes all over me what a fine time I have been having recently. The Regina concert started, really sparked, the sense of well-being; then Brandeis and the Threepenny [Opera]; then Mina's;53 then Tanglewood and you-all. Not a great deal of work to show for it; maybe something just as good for me now, and for which I have apparently been hungry: well-being, that says it. It comes over me that for a long time since the Broadway débâcle of Regina I have been slowly withering on the vine. How one needs these vanity-assuagements!

  You are a lovely host-and-hostess, did you know? It goes so smoothly, the guest feels he isn't in the way – that, I suppose, is the stumbling-block of most visits. And if this note betrays a contented kind of stupor, then it does. I have little guilt about it.

  Will you let me know about Trouble [in Tahiti]? What you decided, how it came off, how you feel after the performance. Reuben calls, and I return to grappling with it. One small session with [Lotte] Lenya first; then a week-end on [Edward T.] Cone's boat at Water Island; and off to Brigantine and Jo [Davis]'s and the garage. I promise to be more cooperative in the matter of showing you the opera next time.

  My love and thanks to Helen. And to you two, you chuckle-birds. Write me simply: care Davis, Brigantine, New Jersey.

  Marc

  322. Leonard Bernstein to David Diamond

  Sunset Farms, Lee, MA

  21 July 1952

  Dear David,

  Reports fly in from all sides that you are really happy at last, and this makes me happy. Apparently Rome has been a joy for you, work-wise and heart-wise; and I cannot resist writing to tell you how glad I am.

  Felicia and I live in a constant thrilled expectancy of the child (due at the end of August or so): and it is all an experience to be cherished. Tanglewood proceeds beautifully; the same breathless six weeks. My little opera was a dud at Brandeis, due mostly to the half-baked state in which it found itself at première time; but now the revisions are almost finished, and a new (the true) ending composed; and I look forward to a more reasonable and telling production here at T'wood on 10 August. Then the baby; then a full season in New York (imagine!) without a single conducting date: nothing but composing to my heart's content. God, I have waited long for that.

  Best to you, & write of your plans and your new works.

  Lenny

  323. Marc Blitzstein to Leonard Bernstein

  Box 74, Brigantine, NJ

  15 August 1952

  Your letter is full of good spirits. The modest expression of what must have been an enormous satisfaction, in the success of Trouble in Tahiti, does you credit. I'm hoping you have copies of the improvements, so I may snag one for my files. And I am happy to see that the Rialto-code-word for the work is not “Trouble” but “Tahiti”.

  Of course Evita Péron (I can't remember if the accent should fall on the “o”)54 can make a fine operatic subject: her end, of cancer, while young, doesn't fill the picture of tragedy, really seems senseless (except for the saw that “Death is democratic”). But she has glamor, power, evil, and a saint's façade – all qualities which, incidentally (aside from the “good works”) characterized Regina Hubbard. That makes me wonder if Lillian [Hellman] is the precisely right librettist. Once the Latin color is snagged, and the expanded picture of power-area registered, will she (L) not find herself treading well-worn paths? Then you could call the opera “The Bigger Foxes” or “The Same Old Part of Another Forest”.55 But I'm happy you've found a subject.56 Watch out for Fleur Cowles, who has a first-hand interview book on Eva; she may try to claim ownership of what is surely public material. Or, on a second thought, perhaps involve her (Cowles).

  Reuben really goes well. More later.

  I shall probably be back in town after the first. How is Felicia bearing up these last weeks before the event?57 My love to her and Helen. And remember, we have a September date to do the records of “3d Opera”.

  Helen probably told you that Mina's mother died. She might relish a short note. (Mrs. Mina K. Curtiss, Williamsburg, Mass.)

  I hug you.

  Marc

  324. Leonard Bernstein to Solomon Braslavsky

  205 West 27th Street, New York, NY

  19 September 1952

  Dear Brasy,

  I want to thank you for both your beautiful letters. You are a warm and good soul!

  The baby is beautiful beyond works (her English name is Jamie), & the mother is just as beautiful. We are slowly getting settled in a new apartment, and should have a wonderful home-like year.

  Best to you & your family, and a Happy New Year.

  Lenny Bernstein

  325. George Abbott to Leonard Bernstein

  Hotel Carter, Cleveland, OH

  23 April 1953

  Dear Lenny,

  What a joy it is to work with agreeable people!58 Next time let's put in the contract that any job writers have to submit to a psychiatric test to be sure we get a fairly congenial type. Anyhow Rodgers and Hammerstein would pass the test.

  The show is beginning to take form.59 The scenery never quite works, but it will be when we get where there's a better crew.

  Thank you for the wire. Give my love to the beautiful Felicia.

  I hope next year doesn't get by without our being together on some exciting effort.

  Yours for diminished sevenths.

  Love,

  George

  326. Arthur Miller60 to Leonard Bernstein

  Roxbury, CT

  [?June 1953]

  Dear Lenny,

  I especially appreciated your note because as it happened I was about to go in and shake up the Crucible production myself. It is done now. I've removed all the sets, and as much of the fakery as possible, and tried to make it look as much like my work as possible.61 Some night soon when you are at a loss for what to do I wish you'd go in again and let me know what you think. It is my first try at “directing”, and although I could not, under the circumstances, do half of what I would had I started from the beginning, I think you'll get a weird feeling as well as a sense of horror at what production can do to a piece of writing.

  I don't know what you do in the summer but if your mind ever turns North give me a call and come up with your wife and baby. We have plenty of room and eat often. I mean it.

  Sincerely,

 
Art Miller

  327. Francis Poulenc62 to Leonard Bernstein

  24 July [1953]63

  My dear Bernstein,

  I've tried, in vain, to obtain your address in the United States. It's promised to me, but I'm still waiting. So I am sending my letter to Salabert USA (I think, after all, that Schirmer is your publisher). I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all that you've done for my dear Mamelles [de Tirésias]! I have received some press cuttings and I know that it went very well. With you I was calm, since you played the piece by heart, better than me. As I have a great weakness for this score, you've given me true pleasure, and you have all my gratitude.

  At the moment I am composing a big opera based on the Dialogues des Carmélites for La Scala. I hope you'll like that too. Let me know when you are coming to France, Danton 52–23, 5 rue de Médicis, Paris.

  Until then, I say again thank you, thank you, and I embrace you.

  Francis Poulenc

  328. Leonard Bernstein: sworn affidavit for passport application64

  District of Columbia

  3 August 1953

  Leonard Bernstein, being duly sworn deposes and says:

  I am a citizen of the United States and was born on August 25, 1918 at Lawrence, Massachusetts.

  I attended Harvard University and was graduated in 1939 with a bachelor of arts degree. While at college I majored in music. Thereafter I attended the Curtis Institute of Music from 1939 until 1941.

  After these studies I became assistant to Serge Koussevitzky at the Berkshire Music Center in 1942 and Assistant Conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in 1943 and 1944. Commencing in 1945, I was Music Director of the New York City Symphony Orchestra for three succeeding years.

  In May 1946, I was honored to be selected as the representative of American conductors at the International Festival at Prague and conducted two concerts of American music. I also conducted at Prague again in 1947 as well as in other European cities.