by Noel Coward
•
THE SPARRING with Woollcott continued:
August [?] 1934
Dear Mr. Woollcott,
I have undergone a serious operation and have been very seriously ill and I feel that I am impelled to inform you that your book, When Rome Something or Other has been largely instrumental in seducing me back to life from the valley of the shadow. I was lent this volume by the Earl Amherst, an insignificant blond of my acquaintance, and was grieved to note on the fly leaf an inscription from you. This forced me to two reluctant conclusions.
(A) That you are a crawling mean old snob obviously intent upon ingratiating yourself with titled people and callously disregarding your friends of the gutter who are naturally better equipped to understand and appreciate your work, and (B)—exactly the same as (A).
Don't please imagine that I am angry or that I mind being neglected. I am only the teeniest bit hurt. I suggest that you remedy this unfortunate error in judgement by sending me a copy immediately, you saucy old sod.
Love and kisses, darling Acky Weesa.
Noëlie Poelie
PS. I noticed with delight that several of the pages were uncut.
P.P.S. I did not cut them.
At this time Woollcott had bought a shared interest in Neshobe Island, in faraway Vermont, and insisted that the Algonks—and anyone else who currently happened to be under his sway—visit, irrespective of the inconvenience to his guests. He replied to Noël from there:
Bomoseen, Vermont
August 11, 1934 Dear Noël,
Your little pencilled scrawl filled me with a great and unexpected longing to see you. I had heard about your illness in the most belated and roundabout fashion. Your Mr. Lunt mentioned it in a hurried letter, breaking it to me gently by saying that you had almost died and then going on laughingly to matters of more real interest to him.
I am considerably upset about this course of action pursued by the fourth and a half Earl. With the exception of Mrs. Stanley Baldwin and two or three articled clerks living near Liverpool, the entire citizenry of the British Empire has written me with great enthusiasm about While Rome Burns, all explaining that they had borrowed their copy from Earl Amherst. This would seem to indicate that thanks to his lordship's lavishness all sales of the book in England and the Dominions had been rendered unnecessary. I hope the little bleached son of a bitch fries in hell. As there now seems to be no hope of your buying a copy, I might as well send you one and will do so when I return to New York in October. In the interval I am happily ensconced on my island. I get news of the outside world in the form of telegrams which are telephoned from Rutland to a boatman living on the shore who takes them down in a firm Spencerian hand and gives them to his son to bring over to me in a motor boat. This makes my favorite occupation guessing what the sender really intended to say. Thus, when the Lunts recently threatened to visit me, I was thrown into an agreeable state of agitation by a distracted telegram from Alfred which said that Lynn was “too ill to take Johnny.” Her condition seemed, indeed, desperate.
By the way, put an order in at Hatchard's for a copy of a new novel by Charles Brackett called Entirely Surrounded, The scene is our is-land and all the characters will be painfully recognizable. Neysa [McMein] comes off best. The portrait of Dorothy Parker (Mrs. Alan Campbell) is the most astonishingly skillful and the owner of the island is a repulsive behemoth with elfin manners whom you would be the first to recognize. He is named Thaddeus Hulbert and makes his first appearance playing backgammon with an English actor at a party. He calls a passing redhead to his side. I quote:
“The fat man clapped a plump, well-molded hand, with dice in the palm, against Henry's copper-colored hair, rubbed it back and forth. ‘Now I double; do you take it?’ ‘Uncle Thaddeus is in wine’, the fat man's opponent observed in clipped British accents. ‘I take it, Duck’. Henry had seen the speaker's tired, eager, charm-furrowed face behind footlights: Nigel Farraday.”
One passage I particularly like is that in which the Dorothy Parker character gropes for the mot juste with which to describe Harpo. She finally dismisses him as “That faun's ass.”
It is a charming book; and now, my blemish, au revoir.
A. WOOLLCOTT
The rest of the year was devoted to other men's theatrical flowers. In April, in London, Noël directed S. N. Behrman's Biography, with Ina Claire and Laurence Olivier. Hugh “Binkie” Beaumont, assigned to co-produce it, would be almost exclusively involved with Noël's work for the next thirty years, but he considered this maiden venture a “dis-ah-ster.”
Then there was the 1927 Ferber/Kaufman play The Royal Family, to be retitled Theatre Royal for its British production, out of deference to the real royal family.
Ferber wrote to Noël:
Pebbles
Sasco Hill, Southport, Conn.
June 28th 1934
Ever since you cabled George [Kaufman], my dear Noël, about The Royal Family, I've been wanting to tell you how happy I am to know that you are doing it. In all the world there's no one I'd rather see producing it.
I spoke to Jack about the Oscar Wolfe part because I was a little upset about the man chosen to play it in England. It's all none of my business, perhaps, except that I'm fond of the play, of you, and of myself. You know. Anyway, that part, though rather brief, has a curious importance …
Oh, forgive a doting mother's heart, sir!
I see your dear diabolical smile in all the pictures of N.C. in all the papers. It's grand to know you are to be here next winter and I hope to Gawd I'll see more of you than I saw last time. Three plays I believe it is for you this next season, and very tidy, too, and HOW does he do it is what I always say.
I'm here in Jack's house and it's practically perfect—or would be if there weren't usually ten workmen around the place hammering, pounding, digging, blasting or scraping. I have developed a green hatred against the Laboring Class as a result, and when the Revolution comes I'll be the Marie Antoinette of Connecticut.
I love you, and hope this finds you the same, and beg to remain,
Respectfully
E. FELDMAN
Since the closing of Design for Living, Lynn and Alfred had been playing the parts of idle country gentry. Every summer they would retire to their home in Genesee Depot, Wisconsin, and work hard at relaxing until their desire to perform propelled them like shot from a cannon back to Broadway and the inevitable tour.
Back in August, Alfred had given Noël a progress report:
Genesee Depot, Wisconsin
August 16th 1934
Dear Noëley,
Don't worry, baby, we shall be in New York November 24th, start rehearsals on the 25th and open Christmas Eve in Boston. I can't swear to be opening two weeks later at the [Ethel] Barrymore [New York], we may not be quite ready, though I hope we will.
I have never felt so well in my life and when I tell you that it is now but six a.m. and that I've been up since five o'clock, you can imagine with what happiness I welcome each day.
Lynn is getting on awfully well—though slowly. [She had recently been ill.] She should stay here a year but, of course, she won't—we can't—we're quite broke for some reason but just the same we're building like mad and enjoying every brick of it. Ever since the possibility of your coming out our one bathroom has worried us, so we decided to add a couple of new ones and work began this week. The place should be lovely and I hope to God you'll come out some day, you little bugger, and enjoy it.
The pool is a huge success and the hotter the days the nicer it is. You can't get Lynn out of it and I must say I like it myself. We have cocktails brought down, sometimes at noon, which will give you a rough idea how loose we've become.
Lynn is getting on splendidly with her French. She has a woman come out three days a week for conversation and from what snatches I catch as I pass with my hoe or my mop it all sounds very good indeed. I'm doing a bit of German (with our cook) but it's all about food and so I shall never be able to say a w
ord outside a kitchen— which, however, is Jake with me.
My sister, Karin read Point Valaine and was thrilled to death—she had a miscarriage a few days later. Everyone was delighted and feel it a good omen. She says the next time she's about to have a child, won't you send her your newest play? She and Louise (my other sister) sing a lovely song, “All Abort for Alabam”.
I'm having Kate Lawson work on rain effects—and Sunday is my birthday—I don't feel a day over forty. [He would, in fact, be forty-two.]
Great love from us all,
ALFRED
On Alfred's fiftieth birthday Noël would cable:
HALF A CENTURY HAS SPED
OVER GRANDPA'S SILVER HEAD
SILVER HAIR IS GRANDPA'S SORROW-
HERE TODAY BLACK TOMORROW.
A few days after Alfred's letter of August 16, Lynn also writes:
August 30th 1934
Darling, darling, darling:—
This letter has been simmering inside me, what you would call deep, deep down, all summer long where all my best letters simmer and never seem to come to a boil. Is it because I watch the pot? (Five pounds over weight and can't get it down).
It seems incredible at this moment, when we are usually packed to go back to rehearsals very depressed, that we have two more months holiday. It gives me the loveliest, calmest feeling in my spine …
We have so much to tell you, some of it cannot be written but some can (that's good, I hear you saying, or perhaps something wittier). One is, that I have read Pointe [sic] Valaine twice and found it each time awfully exciting. I don't see how it can fail.
I have a French teacher every other day and we sit and talk, and thank God, I am at least beginning to understand what she says. I also took the French grammar to the mat, God help me, and I—jeserai and il sera andfaurai and ye suis monte. Oh, just all over the place but isn't it fun? I'm afraid it is going to break my heart to stop it and learn Pointe Valaine …
Well, sweet, the time is getting short now, in a couple of months we shall see your pretty face. Until then, most beloved,
Your own,
LYNN
Lynnie Potts
As Alfred and Lynn were composing their letters Noël was holidaying in the yacht Marra in the Mediterranean with “Sugar,” the actor Louis Hayward, who had been in the cast of Conversation Piece,
As Noël had left London for Cannes, where the Marra was due to dock, he had also left behind a production problem on Theatre Royal, The male lead was to be Brian Aherne, who had a contractual conflict for the pre-London tour. He first had to finish a film for MGM, and Laurence Olivier was to play the part for two weeks before Aherne arrived. However, on reflection, Noël preferred to have Olivier play for the whole run.
From the Carlton Hotel he cabled London:
UNABLE TO RETURN BEFORE FRIDAY STOP YACHT HAS BEEN STORM BOUND AND HAS NOT ARRIVED YET STOP NO BOAT LEAVING BEFORE THURSDAY STOP HAVE PERFECT FAITH IN YOUR JUDGEMENT STOP SEE ONLY TWO ALTERNATIVES STOP EITHER SCRAP WHOLE PRODUCTION AND SUE AHERNE AND METRO FOR DAMAGES OR OPEN WITH OLIVIER AND FORCE AHERNE TO FOLLOW HIM STOP CAN THINK OF NOBODY ELSE FOR PART STOP IS THERE NO CHANCE OLIVIER BEING PERSUADED PLAY WHOLE RUN STOP WIRE ME CARLTON CANNES STOP IF YACHT ARRIVES TODAY WILL LEAVE IMMEDIATELY FEEL DREADFUL NOT BEING THERE TO HELP ALL LOVE STOP CHOOP
The Marra arrived and the cruise began.
•
ON AUGUST 2 4 Noël is writing to Violet from Ajaccio, Corsica:
This island particularly is the loveliest place. Enormous mountains and vast red cliffs going sheer down into deep blue sea. We go paddling along the coast for a few hours every day and drop anchor at night in some small harbour, well away from the shore, so as to be quiet and we sit on the deck and have cocktails and play the gramophone and sometimes go ashore to dine in some little cafe. We have a very good cook of our own so we don't need to budge if we don't want to. The sea is generally like glass and very clear and it's lovely to be able to pop in over the side before going to bed. Sugar has mastered his fear of the sea and is beginning to swim quite well. I take great care of myself and propel myself along with my arms so as not to return to you with giant hernias sticking out of me like melons. We're in bed by ten every night and up at seven. I think grandfather must be responsible for my sea fever! It's certainly very strong …
Love and hugs.
SNOOPIE
Sugar sends his love
The sea, unfortunately, decided not to stay “like glass,” and the yacht was wrecked soon after “a terrible night in the storm with a fainting French Captain, me at the wheel, upheld by gin and my ex-appendicitis truss.” Violet was never told the full story. Instead he cabled from Marseilles:
SEPTEMBER 6TH
PERFECTLY ALL RIGHT STOP LEFT YACHT FIVE DAYS BEFORE WRECK STOP SNOOP
Years later he confided to his Diary that “that bestial little yacht” was “not one of the happier episodes of my life.”
•
BACK IN LONDON he began rehearsals for Theatre Royal. The London production starred Noël's beloved Marie Tempest, equally beloved Madge Titheradge, and a fully committed Laurence Olivier. Noël tried to put Fer-ber's mind at rest about her “baby”:
Ferber my little darling, this is just to tell you we have had our last dress rehearsal and it looks pretty good. Larry Olivier is playing Tony and is marvelous. I think you'd be delighted with the whole cast with one notable exception and that is W. Graham Browne [Miss Tempest's husband] as Oscar Wolfe who, owing to being very old indeed and unable to act at all (combining these assets with complete inaudibility) will present to a resigned public one of the most degraded characterizations of the modern Theatre—pardon the word modern.
This unfortunately is absolutely unavoidable as Marie Tempest will not appear without him and she is beyond words superb as Fanny … I think you and George would be pleased with the whole performance and production. Anyhow I hope so as I've worked very hard over it and have been living all through rehearsals in a Nursing Home. I am better now, however, and shall join the play at the end of the week … and devote the last two weeks to polishing up. I'll be arriving in New York on the 20th so put the kettle on the hob, there's a dear and please may I tell you, dear Miss Ferber and dear Mr. Kaufman, that I think The Royal Family [Theatre Royal} is one of the most superbly written and brilliantly constructed plays that I have ever had anything to do with.
Second time proved to be lucky, and the Ferber-Kaufman piece was well received.
•
THE LUNTS were to get their wish to see Noël before New York, but not until after a November visit of his to Ottawa with Edwina Mountbat-ten, where the attention he received he found “all very pompous and faintly funny. The Governor General came down to Quebec to meet us with a special train and a great deal of bowing and curtesying went on … I have a dreary pompous day ahead of me.”
Edwina was always a particular favorite of Noël's. She was a woman with an individual spirit who attracted more than her share of gossip. At different times there was speculation that she had had affairs with Paul Robeson and Indian politician Pandit Nehru.
An invitation to share her company meant a happy time and shared jokes. A proposed weekend in 1937 inspired a note for Lornie:
/ could really not be keener
On a week-end with Edwina
From the moment that one rises
Life's a series of surprises.
On emerging from the lu-lu
One's confronted by a Zulu,
And one gives a sharp shrill cry on
Being pounced at by a lion;
So it's natural at dinner
One's appreciably thinner.
Still I just could not be keener
On a week-end with Edwina
From there Noël went straight to Genesee Depot “and the darling Lunts.” To Violet:
The Waldorf-Astoria
New York
November 20th
Darlingest,
I had an enchantin
g week with Lynn and Alfred in their farm. It is so sweet, all done in bright colours—like a Swedish Farmhouse. Alfred gardens madly all day long and Lynn sews curtains, plays patience and studies her part. She almost knows it. We start rehearsing on Monday …
Conversation Piece had opened on October 23 at the 44th Street Theatre, with Yvonne Printemps and Pierre Fresnay again heading the cast. It would survive for only fifty-five performances.
On December 3 he reports that rehearsals for Point Valaine “are going with what is known as a swing … Lynn and Alfred are in a flat spin and everything looks rosy!” Though a little later he would admit: “All very difficult. Rehearsals fairly beastly. Gladys sets too heavy and highly untropical. The Lunts touchy and not happy. Finally opened in Boston on Christmas night with everything going wrong including rain effect and most of the lighting. Nobody pleased.”
Point Valaine turned out to be an ill-considered venture. Noël had written it in a hurry, wanting to produce something “different.” As Alfred would say when it was all over, with more than a touch of irony, “Well, Noëly—you certainly succeeded there.”
It was the story of a group of ill-assorted people who find themselves in a run-down hotel on a small island in the West Indies. The Lunts were daringly cast against type, with Lynn playing Linda, the woman with a past who owns the hotel, and Alfred as Serge, the surly Russian servant who has been her lover.
It was uncertain melodrama, a hybrid of early Tennessee Williams, who had yet to arrive on the scene, and mid—Somerset Maugham. Audiences who had come to see the Lunts be the hunts did not take kindly to it.
Symptomatic of the mechanical problems that also plagued the production was the evening when Alfred was revealed standing high on a stage rock from which he was meant to jump into the sea to be devoured by sharks. Unfortunately, a stagehand had removed the mattress on which he would land. The curtain and then Alfred had to be brought down, in that order.