Spirit of Place: Letters and Essays on Travel
Page 16
Love Larry
Don’t keep Justine II too long as there is a hope of selling serial rights on it.
[1957]
Sommières
To Patricia Rodda
Dear PR,
… We got back in good fettle from Aix where we had a good three or four days with David Gascoyne, whom I hadn’t seen for about ten years. He is Paris 1938 vintage so we had plenty to recall, and punished the bottle a bit. He was staying with a painter Meraud Guevara in a lovely big Provençal house: large car too. Splendid luxury, so we drove around Cézanneland: almost every corner is a ready made Cézanne. I began to understand the technical problems he had set himself much better by surprising his pictures before, so to speak, he’d got them down. But Aix is—well not spoiled but full of artists—which means tourists. And I was rather glad in a way to get back to dusty bony Languedoc with its sleepy un rusé people, and crawl back to this splendid vineyard. Here it is still eighty years behind the times; and the nearness of the Little Argentina (Camargue) with its swamps, mosquitoes and wind should effectively drive off tourists for a while yet; we are just out of mosquito range and fairly high off the floor. And all in all damned lucky. As for devaluation—it’s marvellous! Twenty per cent more for every pound I transfer. You see I have technically “emigrated” and am allowed a transferable account out of which I can whistle pounds over—if I can earn them. People on a travel allowance will get hit backwards, buying their francs in London. That is why your friend is justifiably worried. But if you need francs in France next summer I can provide—if I’m not dead broke by then. It’s going to be a struggle but for the first time now the books are beginning to slide—not very steeply as yet; I must nail Mountolive to the barn door before the form of this nonsense becomes clear. The American Justine has started to pull away from the shore too into a third edition. Seems I’ll have enough dough this year to stay on and beat it out on the machine. Esprit de Corps should be along soon. I’ve told them to send you one. It is a joke—rather coarse material; but these short stabs sell frightfully well. Think of it—500 dollars from the Atlantic and ditto from Playboy in the States—nearly a year’s food and lodging! Not with British income tax though; but as from January I’m opting to pay French (one third) so the British will have to hand me back what they’ve stolen to keep their funny little misery hatch afloat—all goes in painting the front door as far as I can see. The French are so much more sensible I find. Not a penny on clothes or keeping up face; they dress in rags—but eat like fighting cocks and drink like Pomeranians. And they are sensible about love making too. Things like The Wolfenden Report make one snort with laughter in Europe; I’m surprised that Canard Enchaînéhasn’t run it as a comic. And we talk about liberty of the individual! Well, I guess I’ve always been a consenting adult!…
ALMOND, LANCUEDOC, FRANCE
(charcoal)
All the best L.D.
1957
Sommières, Card, France
To Buffie and Gerald Sykes
Dear Buffie and Gerald!
… If you come back to France don’t go to Paris, it is terribly expensive and crowded. Cheaper to choose a backward province and visit Paris as and when needed. Prices are exactly a third; but of course the one proviso in France is EAT IN. We get by about the same as England—but the food is regal and the wine good; even the cheap gros rouge. But of course we have chosen an unpopular department, Languedoc is bleak and stony, and the wind and mosquitoes from the Camargue keep tourists away except in summer, then only a month. But of course we are fairly robust, used to camping about the Balkans etc. so these hardships seem trifling compared to the spiritual joy of living in France—so winy and sexy and mad about ideas! Justine comes out in November in French and German! It is very exciting; and the whole series has been contracted in advance by Germany and England with Duttons now following up most generously. I had a splendid personal letter from E. Macrae of Dutton—President—saying how delighted he was with Justine and with the MSS of Balthazar, the second volume. I’m embedded in the third now—a big straight naturalistic novel; the last one will revert to the fleuve style again and tie up all the ends (I hope). Anyway, with enough in the larder until next summer, the baby paid for for clear through next year, I can draw breath and work without looking over my shoulder at the Foreign Office or the Council of Europe. Anyway I think after my book of diplomatic sketches I’d find it hard to lobby a job now! I’ll be sending it to you shortly. It’s rubbish, with a giggle here and there.
… Signing off, to rush to the post, love to you both—no, all three.
from
arry Durrell
[1958]
[Sommières]
To Theodore Stephanides
Dear Theo,
… I have seen an old abandoned mas in the wildest part of the garrigues between Nîmes and Avignon and may succeed in taking it on a v. low rent for a period of five years. The property is enormous and quite ruined—several hundred, no about a hundred, olive trees dead from frost, but sprouting round the roots; pine, cistus, wild flowers etc. In climate not unlike a desolate corner of Crete or Cyprus. I think that with a few chickens and goats we could live frugally enough, but I’m wondering whether the regrafted olive trees, the sprouts, mightn’t be capable of reviving, and also whether I couldn’t plant a carob or two—unheard of here. If they did well I would rent a large strip (£2 a year) and grow pig food. It’s wild and desolate heath, calcareous, stony, bony. It once bore vines but they are gone. Springs, though, and holm oak, hares and foxes. Do you get the idea? With the exception of the mistral (very severe) it is exactly like a desolate bit of Attika. The French, who work till they drop on anything that will yield two francs a day, simply disregard this sort of terrain as unproductive. Now what crops would need no looking after? Origanum? I thought you might have some ideas—or at least be able to suggest a line of sensible reading which might enable me to dig an interesting project out of this waste and wuthering land?
Love Larry
[1958]
[Sommières]
To Richard Aldington
Dear RA,
… We have found a tiny mazet on the Uzès road, on the edge of the garrigue, windy folorn and rather Bronte where I hope we’ll be moving in September; but it is completely unfurnished and it’s tricky work planning for basic furniture etc. But I’m going to take a plunge, rent for a ten year lease with an option to buy if I can, and … well: once more into the breach.… But things are, if not rosy, better than they were. The quartet is sold in four languages which is something, and the Yanks are going to put all my books into print at the rate of two a year. I calculate that with ten chickens and the excellent potager out there I shall just squeeze by!
… Now that I have formally put poesy aside until I can earn a living with prose people are pestering me for it, the BBC intoning it and other smile-making things—what is one to make of the British? In Mountolive the only cut they insisted on was the word “fellatio” which I shouldn’t have thought anyone knew, save the late Havelock E. and Norman Haire—It baffles me to be unable to get a sense of rapport with the way they think; they shy like a nervous horse at a piece of paper in the road—Anyway, what the hell; if I have to do six more thrillers to stay here I shall do them with a good grace. I have now cased up this joint, as Henry would say—To live within bike-shot of Nîmes, and with the Stes. Maries as my summer resort (I have two excellent tents) seems heaven to me, mistral and all. Ouf! I suppose I’m getting old, but I’m sick of travel. As always, everyone is trying to make me start travelling again; Balthazar has had quite an extraordinary advance-press, for it isn’t out in USA till next month, and next year in France, while the Germans have lagged behind with translation-troubles over the blood-clots in Justine. But the book has been reviewed in three languages on the English ed and the result is two invitations to tour America, one Holland and one Sweden! But I’m going to stay with my chickens; they need me (and I need them until I see how the mo
ney shapes)!…
Every good wish
Larry
[1958]
le mazet Michel Engances
Chemin d’Uzès
près Nîmes GARD
To Richard Aldington
Dear Richard,
A swift line to thank you for the unexpected and welcome gift; I thought at first it must be an EOKA bomb and so made Claude open it! I am sorry that we won’t see you yet awhile, but the stocks of dead olive will hold out until you come. Meanwhile, too, we are working wonders with this little mas and I shouldn’t be surprised if you found it an ideal hideout for a couple of boozy writers. But of course the prospect of actually being able to buy it next year has made us look at it with entirely new eyes; I’ve got quite a little building project in my head. There is a mountain of dry freestone to play with and I can do the work myself; I have an awfully good mason friend who comes and brickies whenever I need something really professional done for the pleasure of borrowing Chauvet’s books which he wraps up and carries away reverently. They are extraordinary people—all of them anxious to paint and write, the artisans. The plumber’s wife is a lauréat of the Beaux Arts and the painter who is rather languid does appalling but very professional water-colours. But one senses quite clearly here that one is in the Panurge country—they talk endlessly of belly wearying meals with emphasis on quantity always—a thousand oysters, a million pigs of garlic, a fifteenth helping; and they are always down with ferocious liver crises! But delightful honest chaps (deeply suspicious of each others’ honesty!). Yes, this was a good ploy indeed. I gather Antrobus is going well in London. I am hovering about like a wet hen before beginning Clea. Ouf! I’m tired by the thought. I’d so much rather be a plumber or paint in oils! Another ten days and we’ll be quite straight and then the merry rattle of typewriters! No, I haven’t had any bites from the movies; I nearly sold Labyrinth once but after two attempts at “treatment” they gave up.
Every good thing
Larry
[Postmarked October 1958]
MAZET MICHEL
ENGANCES, PRÈS NÎMES GARD
FRANCE
To Alan G. Thomas
Dear Alan,
Claude has found some excellent old bookshelves cheap and we have plastered them up along one wall; a queer sense of whatsisname they gives me after three years of homelessness (symbol of homelessness for me is books on the floor, under the bed and in the granary). What I wonder would it cost me to have you send me out a few slowly, bit by bit? It was about a tenner to get them all out to Cyprus wasn’t it, and about fifteen to get them back home. I think I could invest a tenner in the project now—about which there is no hurry whatsoever. Do you feel able to do a tenners worth of sending or are you absolutely work-bound and staffless? I don’t want to trade on your good nature.
If you can and do; please make small parcels, preferably a single book as the postman is a hundred and twenty and has to cycle four kilometres uphill. I have to give him wine and fan him with my hat after every book.
ALSO PLEASE DON’T FORGET TO MARK EACH PACKAGE THUS
Gratuit. Service d’Auteur.
Otherwise I shall have to pay customs!
I’d be most interested first in books of reference, or anything on the Gyppos about whom, damn it, I shall have to start writing; the Elizabethans can stay put for the nonce.
This place is awfully wild, mosquito and gypsy ridden, and suffering from the recent floods which were v. bad; Sommières was sunk up to its waist in riverwater. We luckily are on a hill like a draining board. In an awful mess still, trying to set everything to rights.
Latest joke was a telegram from Hollywood saying I was the only man to do a script on life of Cleopatra and would I go at once please! Will I hell! But it is curious to think of those cigar stuffing moguls reading Justine.
Love to you both
LARRY
[Spring 1959]
le mazet michel engances
chemin d’Uzès Nîmes GARD
FRANCE
To Alan G. Thomas
Dear Alan,
Very many thanks for the happy letter and the prompt despatch of the books. The old postman puffed up the hill with them this morning. I am beginning to wonder whether I won’t be able to take everything readable off your hands this summer; I’ve now masses of bright new empty shelves with nothing but hideous copies of Justine in six languages. The English only send you six complimentaries; everyone else 15. I’ve been trying to cut this generosity off at source but an occasional parcel comes through full of Durrell. You should hear the groans. Nothing in them to read. I am steadily moving out into the fairway—Clea is half done; eight languages in all. But the Americans and Germans saved me by handsome advances which enabled me to continue with them; though I’ve had to do a lot of dirty chores as well of a journalistic kind. My windfall in the autumn will enable me to pay Saph’s school on the Composition Fee Schedule for four years in advance, thank God! And also to put down perhaps the whole sum on this house which is tiny and in rather a mistral-swept corner of Provence, but suits me fine. But until I have something saved I won’t consider myself really free; it’s tricky living abroad and trying to earn at home!…
I can’t move from here until I’ve finished this blasted book. Everyone wants to send me everywhere; the Americans up the Nile for Holiday Mag, and the Observer back to Cyprus; meanwhile The Times wants short articles—but about what I ask myself! Ah for a moment in that loft of yours!
There are now three Egyptian society ladies in Cannes claiming to be the original of Justine! I’m tempted to go down and try them out for size. How could they refuse?
Every good thing
Larry
Thursday 26 March [1959]
Masmichel Engances
Nîmes Gard France
To Alfred Perlès
Dear Joe,
… I was glad to get your sunlit letter from Crete.… I hear from Charles [Holdemann] that your Greek is absolutely terrific; this delights me. I knew the country and people would thrill you. It’s a climate that strips the bark however old you feel and pushes out green shoots; I peel ten years off me every time I touch down at Athens. I have never discovered why. But apart from a general meeting up of all the old “sea-green incorruptibles” I had also something else in mind. If I could find some old house on an island I could give the children a Greek holiday for a change this year. I had in mind to motor down and show Claude the Ionian islands before making a definite move for this summer. (She is mad about Rhodes, but hasn’t yet seen Corfu, Zante, etc.) In the middle of all these pleasant dreams Cyprus flared up again, and I have been watching the developments carefully, very fearful that the result might well be a wave of resentment and annoyance against the British and Americans; as usual the UK is going to play its stupidest hand and suggest partition; now if in UNO you have Russia voting for Enosis, and the Anglo-American team voting for partition, our good name will be mud once more; hence I hesitated. I was not thinking of anything more specific than unsmiling faces and the lack of courtesy without which Greece is never quite Greece. And having been through all this once in Cyprus I didn’t want to have a repeat performance for a summer holiday. Hence my hesitation. I want the children to see Greece with her smiling face and not her wounded pouting one.… I have a hundred other things to tell you; but they’ll keep—geia hara!
Larry
[Postmarked October 1959]
Masmichel Engances
Nîmes Gard France
To Alan G. Thomas
Dear Alan,
… I have enough work for two full time secretaries. Stuff is piling up all the time; and the French and German press has broken all records on the first two of the quartet—Mountolive isn’t even out yet! Pray to goodness the bubble doesn’t get pricked too soon. Yesternight a 40 minute live programme in the French national hookup with Henry and I. My French sounded quite respectable to my surprise. NRF are doing a study of The Black Book; Encounter and Paris Rev
iew are doing two long tape recordings of me. There have been some long articles in Holland, Italy and Sweden which I can’t read. My dear chap all this is very well but I am so busy explaining my genius to chaps that there doesn’t seem a moment to think about any more work for the time being; and I really want a corner to do some Elizabethan reading.
… I am trying to avert further crowd scenes in Paris when Mountolive comes out; they offer me parties and television appearances and a formal signing of me own work at the biggest bookshop in Paris. Jean tells me that Gagliana had a blow up picture of me life size in their window between Proust and Stendhal! Up like a rocket, down like a stick. Anyway Sapphy is paid up to the age of twelve and we can eat for two full years ahead; I certainly didn’t hope for anything like that when I crossed the Manche! Devoutly thankful to the dear Europeans for taking the wandering boy to their bosoms in so unequivocal a fashion. A fluke! But life is made up of such flukes and windfalls. I’m sorting Henry’s letters to send you; they are muddled and many handwritten; don’t know how you will microfilm them at all. But in my rummage I’ve discovered a number of letters I thought I’d sold or lost from Dylan Thomas, Shaw, etc. Only alas not the nice insulting one from Sitwell; what can have happened to it. I’d like to have quoted it in my memoirs.