The Letters of Noel Coward

by Noel Coward

  On her opening night he introduced her with the verse quoted earlier. Later he teased her about her demanding perfectionism: “For Marlene it's. cloth of gold on the walls and purple marmosets swinging from the chandeliers. But for me, sweet fuck all!”

  Noël took over the Actors’ Orphanage from Sir Gerald du Maurier in 1934.

  Here he attends their annual garden party with Marlene. Never one to

  miss a publicity opportunity, Marlene has made sure every one of

  the children has a copy of her photograph

  Later that same year he had his own booking:

  1/11/54

  Noël Coward

  17 Gerald Road

  S.W.i.

  Darling,

  The photograph is absolutely wonderful and the dress looks like a dream and Oh, how I wish I could see you whirling on in that tiny hurricane.

  I am having a lovely rich success at the Cafe de Paris and I got a beautiful laugh on the opening night by whispering “Hello” huskily through the mike and kicking an invisible cloak! I also leant against the piano with that imperious look and they cheered like anything. Love, Love, Love, Love

  Noël

  Ironically, what brought the two of them even closer was Marlene's tangled love life. Her daughter, Maria, who was her constant companion from early childhood, records in her memoir of her mother that Marlene had affairs with, among others, Edward R. Murrow, Brian Aherne, Jean Gabin, Erich Maria Remarque, Edith Piaf, Michael Wilding, Harry Cohn, Adlai Stevenson, Frank Sinatra, and Kirk Douglas—a sexually and politically mixed bag by any estimation. But one seemed to loom larger than all the rest put together.

  In 1951 she began a tempestuous affair with Yul Brynner, just beginning to establish himself in The King and I on Broadway. For once Marlene lost her cool.

  April 3rd, 1952

  Noël, my love,

  Finally I can sit down to write. After returning from the coast I rushed into recordings for my radio show to be ahead on tapings so that I can leave again at the end of the month … That means that I cannot take you to the boat. How sad can things get? And it's all for money, which makes it even sadder. Radio being in its last year as it seems to me, is the last easy source for quick money now and I cannot afford to say no.

  My own show does not bring enough money to keep everything and everybody going.

  My gilded cage life goes on quite hopelessly … Anybody else but I would be on an analyst's couch by now, faded and frustrated, but every time I want to rebel I tell myself that all this is of my own choosing and that I can stop it anytime I wish. Why I don't stop it I don't know. Maybe I'm too used to get what I want. But then—why shouldn't I get what I want? If he wouldn't want me anymore it would be easy but he seems to want it very badly.

  So much of that.

  The Chicago Personal Appearance was fun. So much easier than films. I found out what it is I have on the stage. Balls! That's the only explanation I have for the impact of it all …

  It is spring here so much it hurts. I want it to be last June again and drive in the open car over the Washington Bridge and have Frankfurters and drive back at sundown. But instead I look out through my golden bars and sigh like when I was sixteen. I throw all my tenderness to the children …

  I miss you as you know always in my heart.

  MARLENE

  [Undated—probably early summer 1952]

  Noël,

  I am writing this in a hurry. I will not sign it so you don't have to be careful with this letter. Thank you for being as generous as you are …

  Thank you also for bothering about my personal problem. I have had the vague a larrms all day and I felt very embarrassed to talk about my feelings because what can you say? And if you want to be helpful you might say something, I fear, you don't mean—and then I fear that and therefore I don't tell you really how much I love him. You are wiser than I, so please look well if he loves me and how. There are so many different kinds of love he could have, for me, I mean.

  I kiss you very tenderly.

  410 Park Avenue

  August 11, 1952

  Dearest Noël,

  … I am stuck here just as frustrated as before. There was one ray of hope about 2 months ago, complete with moving out and taking an apartment, but it only lasted 2 weeks and things are again as they were before. It was all done very quietly on my unegotistical advice and therefore nobody noticed the two weeks interval. The reason given was again the child [Brynner's]. I do not believe that that is quite true. There are too many children not brought up in bourgoisie life who became quite extraordinary men. So I am still mystified and have no way out. I have repeatedly proposed to pull out of it all but have been implored not to. So I sat here all summer. The films offered to me were pretty bad, therefore it was easy. I'll probably do my television films soon, that will give me something to do …

  I kiss you tenderly as always,

  M

  The affair limped along for several years, and Dietrich clearly felt a degree of catharsis by pouring out her feelings to someone she loved who was not a lover.

  [Undated 1956]

  Last week in New York, I stood at the door when he came. I was not going to do one wrong thing. He came in smiling, bottle under his coat. He came into the bedroom and told me about Paris, the fog around the Eiffel Tower, the streets, the bridges and how he thought about me. I stood there thinking this is not a dream. He is really back and he loves me. Then the hurricane broke over me for three hours and I fell asleep for the first time in two months to the day without torture and sleeping pills.

  He woke at eleven, said he had an appointment at twelve. I made coffee as usual, gave him emperin as usual after a drinking night. He left as usual a little bit vague and at the door I said AS USUAL: “When will I hear from you?” and he said: “Later.”

  He did not call. Sinatra opened that night at the Copacabana. I went at midnight. He was there. I went home. He did not call. All day Friday I waited. As I had made plans to leave for California on Saturday. I called him at 6 p.m. I said my name and he answered. I said I was leaving Saturday and he said he was on the same plane. He said I'll see you then. My heart stopped again. There was something wrong. I thought maybe he hated himself for having come back and there would be scenes again and I said: “Won't I see you before?” And he said: “No, I have no time.” I said “I want you to know there will be no complications again, no scenes, no trouble ever, no questions.” He said: “Thank you, ma'am.” He said: “How did you like Sinatra?” (he saw me there and smiled to me very sweetly and intimately). I said: “I thought it was terrible, Sinatra was drunk, had no voice, very unprofessional.” He said, “I sat with him till 8 in the morning.” Again I said: “Can't you phone me later tonight?” He said “No.” I said: “What's wrong?” He said: “I want nothing anymore. I have no confidence in anyone or anything anymore. Not in you either. You asked for it.”

  I said: “No confidence in me?” He said: “Yes.” I said: “Don't you love me any more?” And he said: “You said you would not ask any more questions. I have to stop, someone is coming. See you tomorrow on the plane.”

  Horrible night. Wanted to cancel trip, but then thought I better go because if I don't go I will reproach myself and I went.

  I was taken to the plane first. He came later. Walked by me and took a seat on the other side furthest away from me in the seat section in the back of the already made-up berths. The empty plane took off. He had three drinks and went to his berth without ever looking at me, Thank God I am German. Otherwise I would have jumped out of the plane.

  I went to my berth. I took a Fernando Lamas [Marlene always referred to the sleep-inducing suppositories on which she had come to rely as “Fernando Lamases,” because she claimed he was the most boring actor she knew] but could not fall asleep. Dozed off and on. Then suddenly I FELT HIS HANDS ON ME AND HIS BODY FALLING HEAVILY ONTO ME. I did not know where I was only that he was there. I took his hand, heard the noise of the motors, k
new he was in my berth on a plane and wanted to hide him and pull him in. He pulled himself up and half out and said something. I said: “Come here!” Still half dazed. He started to crawl back to me, then he pulled back again and said, “No, there are too many people around.” I let go of his hand. I opened my shade and saw it was light. I said I dreamt this. I looked through my curtains and saw his foot in the shoes I brought from Italy on the floor of the opposite berth. He sat again on his seat of the night before.

  I went over to him and said: “Good morning.” He said, “Good morning. How did you sleep?” I took [Paris] Match with his story in it so I could bend down, gave it to him.

  If you are still with me after reading so far, let me thank you.

  Please write to me. I will be here at the Beverly Hills Hotel till February 8th. I have to work which is the worst part of it all. Work usually helps unhappy people. But my kind of work cannot be done with unhappiness. A film would be different because one is being pushed and does not have to create everything alone.

  I don't know how to do it yet. I have no Lebensmut [the courage to face life]. And, without that it is difficult to exist, let alone go and dazzle people in Vegas with a performance which is a fake anyway and took always work to put it over.

  Now it becomes a mountain of silly, superficial exploits, which only my sense of humor of myself could surmount.

  But where do I find that?

  As long as I don't know what he feels I will have no rest. If the jealousy angle is true then he must love me still. If not then why did he come back at all? Why did he call you? Why did he tell me he'd “missed me”? Why did he want me so badly?

  How can one forget the one one loves when one has no pride at all and no way out like nervous breakdowns or trips around the world or jumping out of a window?

  I love you and I wish I could behave in the proper fashion.

  17 Gerald Road

  29/8/52

  Darling,

  I've just returned from a holiday to find your sweet letter awaiting me. I am thinking of you so much. Don't get too frustrated—there is obviously nothing to be done but “wait and see”—and please, please remember that I love you dearly always. It's the last stretch that counts.

  Love and Kisses

  NOËL

  November 13, 1956

  Sweetheart,

  Well, the trip was hopeful in the evening. I spoke your dialogue in French (which was not as good, naturally) behind newspapers but, thank God, I had the seat beside him, but Susan Strassburg [Stras-berg] sat opposite. He said “Don't let's talk about it.” Twice he said that when I asked him for forgiveness. He lied, saying he had not had my letter or telegram … That can mean that he did not want to answer them. He said they were probably all amongst the vast mail he had picked up when he drove by the hotel for a moment coming from Boston. Then I read the book with a possible part for him and told him about it. That interested him. From then on we talked quite naturally about films. Ten Commandments, etc. Also drinks had by then been drunk. By the way, I forgot to say that he was drunk when I came in. Not terrible but not sober. He had six at least while we were talking. The only thing pointing to future was: “I think The Red Badge of Courage is the greatest film ever made. If you have time I could show it to you at Paramount.”

  Strassburg had by then gone to bed and we were alone talking English. I gave him the ring and the watch because I felt I should not hold on to that. He said he had not missed them. Sure not, because he wore one of the ten watches I had given him. He must be traveling with ten watches. I wrote a note—“Je t'aime” and put it on his briefcase which lay on his berth. His berth was above mine. I said “How fitting, I should be below you this time. When we came I was vis-a-vis on the same level.” He smiled. I was quite hopeful when I was lying in my berth. I was sorry that I had the lower one, because that probably made him feel less important in Hollywood eyes, as he reserved his so long ago. I was lying there and thought—“ Be happy, he is lying up there and last night you did not know where he was.” In the morning I found him sitting up two hours before landing.

  I spent the time with Jean Pierre Aumont and family in the back of the plane and came there only at the end of the trip. He offered me his seat but I did not take it. Did not want to talk to Strassburg. Then we walked off the gangplank, he behind me. His man saw me and his face lit up. My friend, whom he knows, waited for me. He said—“ Hallo, Max” and shook hands with him and then he took off like lightening [sic], walking so fast that his man could not keep pace and had to run. Waiting outside for the bags, he drove up with the sports Mercedes and drove off like a race-driver—and that was all.

  I talked to his man last night and he said he asked if he talked to me on the plane and he said not much because of Strassburg. And that he was through with all women.

  Well, I am living in this empty house. It is cold this morning and dreary. I just took a Dexomyl. I must not get depressed and miserable. I wish I could talk to you. If ever you go somewhere for any length of time where there is a phone, maybe you can call me and I call you there.

  I am sending you one of the stories from a movie magazine. The dates are too funny, you might have a laugh. It seems that he was a Doctor of Philosophy at the Sorbonne when he was 18 years old. And an actor with the Pitoijeffs when he was, fourteen. Before that he had sung in Montmartre clubs and also had been with the circus. I am not interested in how old he is, but the horoscope would benefit. Or if one knew the Pitoijeffs, that would help.

  But after all, only he can help and I am waiting as usual.

  Michael Wilding is begging to be with me. He cannot stand the thought of my living in this empty house. He is really kind and loves me but I could not hurt him the second time, so I cannot be selfish and let him stay.

  How can I learn to be self-sufficient? I think for that one has to be someone of depth, more than emotional depth, or am I not unselfish at all and have to love someone for that reason? Or is that logic that I as a woman have no right to have? He said a few days ago—“ I should have married you twenty years ago” (with the accent on twenty years ago). He always claims that we are married. And “I love you much more now than I ever loved you.” That's why I am waiting. Because it is logically impossible that he has stopped loving me the next day after he said that.

  Michael said something strange to me. He had taken me to the plane when I had left for N.Y. and had seen him. He said—“ I had expected him to look mysterious and slender and foreign and he looked robust and like a business man and his voice was so American.” I had noticed all that too. That day at the Copacabana he looked lithe and fine, if not like an animal of the jungle but like a race-horse. He has lost that quality. Also in the expression on the screen he still has it. Did I tell you I saw Anastasia and that he is a great actor in midst of no direction and a muddled story and cast of a very low caliber??

  The phone just rang but nobody was there, just that empty buzzing sound.

  I love you so very much and I long for you, not only out of loneliness or to throw my burden on you. I long so for intelligence and brain food! For reading one needs a calmer mind than mine is now, always listening for a phone bell.

  I got all my “wisdom” from books and great men's thoughts since my childhood, being brought up with Kant and Nietzsche and Goethe and Heine. I know all their theories and their personal experiences and all of them wanted love and nothing but. So I can only get reaffirmation of my deep conviction and little help. I need the living contact anyway.

  Love love love to you, my exalted friend of the soul and the heart. And God bless you forever.

  MARLENE

  November 15. Still waiting

  There were many such letters and Noël would typically reply:

  Firefly Hill

  Port Maria, Jamiaca B.W.I.

  Oh, darling,

  Your letter filled me with such a lot of emotions the predominant one being rage that you should allow yourself to be so humiliated and made s
o unhappy by a situation that really isn't worthy of you. I loathe to think of you apologizing and begging forgiveness and humbling yourself. I don't care if you did behave badly for a brief moment, considering all the devotion and loving you have given out during the last five years, you had a perfect right to. The only mistake was not to have behaved a great deal worse a long time ago. The aeroplane journey sounds a nightmare to me.

  It is difficult for me to wag my finger at you from so very far away, particularly as my heart aches for you but really, darling, you must pack up this nonsensical situation once and for all. It is really beneath your dignity, not your dignity as a famous artist and a glamorous star, but your dignity as a human, only too human being. Curly is attractive, beguiling, tender and fascinating, but he is not the only man in the world who merits those delightful adjectives … do please try to work out for yourself a little personal philosophy and DO NOT, repeat DO NOT be so bloody vulnerable. To hell with God damned “L'Amour.” It always causes far more trouble than it is worth. Don't run after it. Don't court it. Keep it waiting offstage until you're good and ready for it and even then treat it with the suspicious disdain that it deserves … I am sick to death of you waiting about in empty houses and apartments with your ears strained for the telephone to ring. Snap out of it, girl! A very brilliant writer once said (Could it have been me?) “Life is for the living.” Well, that is all it is for, and living DOES NOT consist of staring in at other people's windows and waiting for crumbs to be thrown to you. You've carried on this hole in corner, overcharged, romantic, unrealistic nonsense long enough.

  Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Other people need you … Stop wasting yourself on someone who only really says tender things to you when he's drunk …

  Unpack your sense of humor, and get on with living and ENJOY IT.

  Incidentally, there is one fairly strong-minded type who will never let you down and who loves you very much indeed. Just try to guess who it is. XXXX. These are not romantic kisses. They are un-romantic. Loving “Goose-Es”.