by Unknown
The people at Adams, I hear from my gardener who still works there for them, are very happy, very ambitious and very rich … the gardens are going to look like Botanical ones from what I can gather … and the whole house is being re decorated by one of the swankest firms in London … he had nearly all my furniture photographed and COPIED! Can you imagine anything so Bizzar .. Fred, the gardener, says that except for minor details the whole place is almost exactly as it was .... it must have cost him thousands, silly sod. However the house is being loved again, thats the main thing … and after all one only leases happiness … one cant buy or keep it for ever … thats not allowed, I have found out ..... and my three or four years at Adams were marvellous … and strangely enough the death of Ricci1 rather started a little curtain to fall. Enough was enough .... as I told you, it would have been sad to have had Adams haunted … and had I stayed there there is no question [but] that it would have been.
The sun this morning is high and the sky blue … Antonia is on her knees in the hall washing tiles … Eduardo is doing the windows and our Gardener, Tonino, a sort of gnome like fellow who plants celery, peas and lettuce with the abandon of a drunken God … Tonino is tying up some of the vines which tumbled in the torrential rain of last week.… I have moved on to another page and this will make the letter heavy … I must try and get some airmail paper in Rome … how does one ask for it I wonder? How does one ask for Worm Powder too?
What a lot of problems to face .. and to follow … now Antonia has moved in here and is washing literally round my feet … I think she will be dead in a week at the way she[’s] working .... oh dear!
The Widow Berti has arrived in a mink and sunglasses and rinsed hair and is doing the inventory with a pale faced madonna holding a note book and pencil … I cant check myself, as everything is in rapid Italian … suppose a jug has a crack on the lip … do they say so … or will I be charged when I leave? If there is a cigarette burn on the oak table in the hall is it mine or the late Mr Ryans? What to do … what to do … I think what to do is not to be a bloody fool at my age and trip off into the unknown as if I were a boyscout or someone intent on tracing the source of the Blue Nile .... which is what I feel like I am doing. No: that is horrid american grammer: which is what I Feel I am doing …
Tomorrow is a National Holiday we discovered from the postman … so now to the village to get more bread, great round lumps with glorious crusts, pommadoros1 … cheese and vino.…
Among the bits and pieces left behind by the Ryans is a great pile of books … all of them dated about 1935 when Maureen Ryan signed her scrawley name on every flyleaf .. among a bewilderingly catholic aray of books I have found a few to read myself!
‘Little Women’ … ‘How To Landscape Your Home’ by Malkin … ‘The American Twins of 1812’ by Lucy Fitch Perkins ..... ‘Adventures With A Lamp’ by Ruth Louise Partridge. Bet you aint got that set in your little library with the stone and ivy!!
My favourite one really is simply called ‘You Must Relax’ … in its third edition by Machonichie ..... but I did find Leahmans2 ‘The Weather In The Streets’ which I have long adored, and something called ‘Fall Of Valour’ which was an unlikely choice for this library but interesting … also some Dickens and Trollop and a few modern novels which will be fine in the sun under the olives by the pool .... what I should be doing is reading my Italian grammer … or even the dictionary. But I dont think that I’ll ever lick it … it is a fearfully ‘Grammery’ language .... I find English really almost as much as I can bear to learn .... But now I must get on with the rest of the jobs … and this must be your ‘ration’ for a little while … I really am so terribly tired: it seems so silly … but I really have been on the hop since Budapest1 … and think how many things have happened to us both since then.
Is’nt it madenning … I have’nt one single photograph of Adams .. inside or out .. I suppose it is just as well … what is over is the past. and Nostalgia is a dangerous thing really.…
My love to you … excuse the mistake and corrections .. and the nasty paper … and don’t get too grumpy with me … I do my best!
Love D.
To Joseph Losey
I had just written you a letter, and went down into the village to buy some bread and a pot to put geraniums in, when I passed the postman in his little 500. We stopped and he gave me your letter of the 19th .. and saved himself a journey up the hill.
We have just about settled down .. the dust is settled anyway … and the villa, which is not a St Simieon .. or whatever the place is called that Hearst had in Calif … is really a bit pretty … it is well built … on a hill among olives and pines and mimosa … overlooking all the slums of Rome and the rubbish tips of Labaro and Porta Prima2 … but somehow living actually IN the place is better than those awful no-living places on the Appia Antica … we are actually residents of the Commune da Roma, and we are finding it rather nice, thank you very much.
The blinding fact that none of us, Antonia and Eduardo or Tote or me (natch, me) can say more than ‘Good Morning’ or ‘Thank you’ or sometimes if put to it ‘How much does this bolt of muslin cost?’ does tend somewhat to delay matters … but whatever else the Italian is, he is, anyway in the working class areas, or in the villages, amused, concerned, and patient as long as one is not a Yankee … whome for some reason they dont seem to care for … I suppose they have had a belt of Frankenheimer once.
We have so far managed to register with the police, cope with the Central Heating (Jokey at best, scalding at worst) buy all our grub in supermarkets and deal with our gardener Antonino, who is as bent and sturdy as an Olive tree, as enduring and as incomprehensible .... but he is planting beans and garlic and lettuce and peas and radish and chick peas and Dhalias and pruning the vines … and tells me that we must ‘Tread’ the grapes in October … we can actually make our own wine from our own vines … or am I being a little too A-Tree-Grows-In-Brooklynish?
Most days, if we dont go to the supermarket which is cheating because all the names and prices are written up for you .... we go to the stalls in Porta Prima and stagger back with wondrous bunches of artichokes, of parsley, of Broccoli … and the first of the broad beans .. small as the nail of your little finger and as tender as a virgin nipple! [ … ] Hmmmmm.
Anyway, as you might be gathering, so far, so far, no regrets .. as long as the lolly holds out.….
The first night we moved in, T. and I, absolutely alone except for the Rolls and the Simca … we felt a bit bereft! There was nothing much in the house … it is a leasing villa, so apart from a bed in each bedroom, and a couple of chairs and a settee in the drawing-room, and a few ashtrays stolen from a resturant near Lake Garda … there really was nothing much else .... and then a dog with a broken leg and worms came to visit .. and a cat with half a tail … and with them some sort of life entered the closed-up feeling .... we lit a timid fire, lighted a candel and eat Libbys Bullybeef with a hunk of bread and a flask of Antinori .... and slept trembling together in a nasty little bed from Bloomingdales!! With one blanket! Furnished house in the Italian manner you gather ..... However next morning, in torrenting rain, we surveyed our new villa and found it not unpromising … we rented some furniture .. tables, chest of drawers, and a couple more chairs .. and for three days we washed floors, shoved beds about, humped chests and matresses, washed cupboards, and finally when Eduardo and Antonia arrived from Valencia we were on our way to being a household … and then they pitched in, and now the brasses flash .. the floors gleam, the kitchen cooks and the sun has come out to bless us … and Tonino is filling the pool … and they have cut off the water for two days without telling us ..... and we are going to have a veal stew for supper.
And I’m liking it all very much so far.
I am sad about ‘Go Between’1.… I spent a lot of time with Julie2 and did what I could to persuade her to do it … she longs to work with you, and she liked the script .. and she KNOWS that she SHOULD do it, but it’s that sodding Warren3
.... and unless you offered him the part of Tom and let him play it bare assed, I cannot think that he’ll let her do it … as you say. Mia4 I would think was utterly wrong .. too nurotic and angular and wild-beast-under-the-parlour-table stuff ..... Willie has’nt much of a part really … one of the few faults I find with the script are that the parts are so terribly stripped down ... it’s rather like painting mahogany wood white and fitting steel wheels to it all .... it’s redolent of ‘Accident’ … ‘heat haze, she smiles, sweat runs, he looks, she smiles, heat haze’ ........ it was a little too un-rich for me .... I wanted a little more fruit in the pie … and a little custard … I did’nt give a tinkers Gob about anyone … and when it was over I felt that a gentle wind had riffled past me .... that a whisper had been whispered … that nothing very much had happened at all ….. except they cut the trees down at the end .... naturally I’m talking nonsense, you know that … but it does, I feel sure, need to be a little more developed (I know Harold5 DOESENT develope, dear) to make some of the parts really tempting … however, thats me. And I [am] not much of a judge, except I do get worried a bit that Pinter may soon become an adjective.
and thats that. I’m allowed to talk to you like this because I love you almost as much as Patricia .. and know that I can get away with it as long as no one else hears what I say!
I am sad that she, incidentally, is still bedded … but that is to be expected I fear … I had eight or ten weeks6 … I forget which .. and then an awful long ‘recovery’ crawling about drinking tonic water and bitters and pretending I was enjoying it .... give her my deepest love .. or give her this letter to read if you cant be bothered … and tell her she’ll always find a bed, of sorts, at Villa Berti .... but no Candy; she is going to stay with my sister ... it’s kinder and less of a wrench for her … that flight is a bit hellish at her age and in freight, in a smallish crate .... so the wormy dog is mine now, and a complete life is wiped out except for the clothes in the suitcase and a couple of photographs up on the wall.
I long to hear about Paris. Did you have power cuts? Or did you incite the Left Wing to burn down the Chateaux? You are so difficult. Like Resnais [ … ] By the way there is some sort of a film7 out last month here, about Galleleo (cant spell it but I can spell CUSACK … whome to my horror plays the gentleman ..) When did that happen? And where were you. I expect that you knew all the time .... but I got a shock driving through Popolo and seeing the poster.
Secret C.1 is on here … not a bad poster … rather better than the flick actually … but I did’nt see any reviews … how was it in Paris. I bet they liked it.
I do wish that you could come out for a bit here. Sit under the mimosa and watch the flies buzzing on the rubbish dumps and sip a very good Vodka and Pommedora Juice … strangely enough you are someone that I find I constantly miss … and as we really have’nt been THAT close all THAT number of years it is strange ..... but I am a loving soul, and there you are.…
As soon as your old troglodyte-wife-with-a-yellow-face is getting a little stronger, bundle her up, like in May or June … before the heat, and bring her to us .... we would love it beyond endurance, and get tins and tins of beans and pickled onions for you.
And write to me more fully next time .. dont sign off with a ghastly line like ‘I Have No Idea What Next.’ ...... I felt quite weepy, and had another beer and came up here to write to you, tear up the first letter, and get this sent off to cheer u.
Love and deep affection to you both [ … ]
What a Soppy letter –
Love Dirk –
Dirk had sent a postcard to Losey, blaming for a delay in writing (a) the sun, (b) the ‘dulling’ wine, (c) the daily chores and (d) ‘running a rest home for our English Chums, which is fun, expensive, exhausting, & quite lovely when they go!’
To Joseph Losey Villa Berti
12 August 1969
Oh! My dearest boy!
What a miserable letter from you today dated the fifth. I really do feel that I should swiftly fly to your side and hit you between the eyes. So much self pity! You really are a sod.
My card was really not dismal … or I dont remember that it was … I have been and still am, touch wood, supremely happy here. I mind not working, of course, but that is by the way.… I wont do what I wont do … and the crap that they have sent me in the last few months defies description .... re-makes of ‘Accident’ or of ‘Knife In The Water’ or very often, a terribly ‘Nazi-Hates-Yanks??-Hates-The-World’ kind of crap ..... so I just sit and POUR beer down my throat at lunch … wine after, and swim and sleep and willingly write to you or anyone who writes to me, and enjoy it all! Hugely! I garden a lot … not your idea of joy, I know, but useful therepy … and I read a great deal .... and get pissed again in the velvet evenings and shop and market and wander about feeling happy and smug and on holiday ...... and really, thats about it! Lots of chums have come to stay … from Bumble1 on the one hand to David Baily and Penelope Tree on the other .... we are a cheap holiday, you must remember, with fifty quid and nowhere to go for our chums .... and we are only about fourty minutes from Fregene and the sea … and twenty from Piazza del Popolo … and Bologonaise .... if you cant manage Antonias cooking, which is super now that we are all in the Med. together!
Actually I buy myself large tins of ITALIAN baked beans in the supermarket and eat them from the tin .... constantly. I can also manage to get, if I am really very persistant, PICKLED ONIONS. The Farting can be heard at the Catholic church in Prima Porta.
Jean Smith2 came to stay a week before the Edgartown Rumpus, and I bet that was her last happy holiday .... Gareth has been out … Simone and the Trintignants (Yves was still stuck in Paris)3 .... Visconti comes to swim … and, I dont know … it’s all a bit nice really. We shall probably leave, with two cats and the dog and Antonia and Eduardo, for Jamacia in December for a few months … unless something smashing happens film wise … which I doubt. Visconti has a super idea which I wont tell you, because it’ud make you mad, and we could never get the lolly in England [ … ]
‘Justine’ has opened in N.Y. with odd notices … the Studio has obviously panicked and cut hours of it, and it is the one thing the critics complain about! More time, rather than less … Anouk is alright I gather, I’m ‘overwhelming’ (When have I not been) [Michael] York survives .. (well: time will tell) … Anna Karina is ‘Charming’ .... the film is very distinguished, and the notices for Cukor are super, thank God .... but the picture has been destroyed by the Zanuck-Berman set up ...... The N.Y. Times is superly good.… I await the rest with bated breath … although 270,000 dollars still makes me feel warm, it aint the same as ‘King And Country’ for tuppence and three weeks … however you have learned that little truth, I’ll bet.
‘Gotterdammerung’ [The Damned], the Visconti thing, is staggering … it is far too long … by about almost half an hour … but where to cut! The picture is tilted towards the boy1 … but then he did that with Delon2 … one understands … but the sheer spectacle … the detail … the splendour of the high opera acting … is unforgettable. It is not something that an American Audience in the Bahamas will readily cope with … Brian Forbes might well be ill, after all he was running ‘Chaillot’3 (Pronounced; SHY-O O T.) According to the handouts … at the same place, and I am sure they will all love that. But, Goodness! The camera work … the playing … the whole horror and beastliness of Germany in ’33 is before you.… I would think you have seen the various spreads on the film in ‘The Sunday Times’ thing: and in Stern and various European papers … it IS obscene, if cruelty is obscene, it is perverted, if fucking your mother is perversion, it IS unrelenting in its castigation of the People in Berlin and the Krupps and Thyssssins in general … (I have to use too many letters to explain my dislike) and it wont make a sodding penny. Unless Warners cut it, and play it all for the Queer element, the incest and the tarts … not to mention the hero dressed as Marlene singing ‘Ein richtiger Manne’.
Thats not me dear.
; I really think that the most successful thing I have done in ten years or more is a one minute bit in ‘Oh! What a Lovely War’4 … which gets applauded every time. Now why? What was wrong with three hours in ‘Accident’ or two in ‘The Servant’ ..... are’nt people funny.
I have written a long recollection of Asquith5 .... I was asked to, and was unable to refuse because I did know him well .. and was tremendously grateful, apart from other considerations, to him … and suddenly I remembered ‘Go Between’ .... When do you start? In spring, I hope. How is Mr [Robert] Shaw? Unhappy I hope. But doubt. The first time I ever met him was on a film of Asquiths, oddly enough, ‘Libel’ .. he had three lines as a Press Photographer … rather too many I thought at the time. But he was awfully worried about the tilt of his hat … and if his mackintosh was too short, or long, I forget which, it was a fearful bore anyway … and we nearly recast. Is’nt life odd again ..... and there goes the professional Welshman, Mr Baker Burton (!) – Freudian slip – [Stanley] Baker for Burton – both as tiresome as each other – being so tactless that I rather think he’s lost his Knighthood .... tactless just before the Investiture thing6 … in ‘Life’ Magazine ..... ‘I am a patriotic Welshman and I care about our language … they cannot foist a foreign prince on our country.’
It’s all cock anyway, but have you ever heard such rubbish? ‘OUR’ country .. when has he ever done more for it than cheer a Rugby Game or send a donation to Aberfan .... what Taxes has that little fellow with his Mammy-Wife ever paid, I’d like to know …
I better stop … the white wine has released far too much.
I hope you and Lady Patricia realise that this letter is written in a temperature of untold degrees, and only written for your amusement ..... probably better than the script you are shooting … but dont take it heavily and seriously .... You cant, can you, with my awful spelling.
Now what else. Rossella [Falk] is coming to supper this evening … we will give her fishcakes and beans. This, she thinks, is English Dinner … and tells her friends … Did I tell you we sat through THREE HOURS of ‘Hedda Gabbler’ with Miss Falk playing Hedda? A long bumsearing evening, but she really was’nt bad … a pretentious production, and I only understood one word the whole night .. ‘Certo.’