Lizzie
[In November, Lowell was admitted to the Priory Hospital in Roehampton, London, for mania. He was transferred to Greenways Nursing Home in December and was released on January 4, 1976. From January 5, he received twenty-four-hour nursing care at home in Redcliffe Square.]
322. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
January 13, 1976
Dear Cal: I was happy to hear from you and unhappy to see that in some way we, or perhaps only I, were confused about Christmas and by somehow waiting for calls or signals that it would be convenient Harriet missed coming over as she had wanted to do. I have spoken to her and she rejoices that all goes well and says, yes, she wants to come for spring vacation. I think she could leave here the 5th or 6th of March and return on the 13th. We will plan on it and indeed these months go quickly, or they do for me although some days go slowly enough when one is trying to work.
Harriet is fine. A new term starts in a week and everything here is very busy. Slush in the streets, lovely snow all weekend, grey rainy days and nice bright evenings in cabs slogging around the east side. Winter and the city; you know it all, of course. I am very pleased to be here without ever having to make my strange trips back and forth to Northampton, back to my one day at Barnard. But I am simply terrified of writing on this soi-disant novel. It goes about one trembling paragraph per day; confidence drips away painfully and one can’t imagine it even being printed much less read. Yet I mean to persevere because I must, and why must? Having started anything in our poor economy of the arts is to be crushed by an investment of a sort, isn’t it? I can’t go on to something else while this is in front of me and strangely enough I do feel like writing just now and have fallen into a mood of reading books, thinking, idling about—all that puts one into the frame that makes writing possible and the life of literature beautiful and thrilling.
Let’s see. All has fallen away and what steps into the old spaces is always so unexpected one cannot put it together as gossip, at least not quickly. I miss Mary very much and think of her a great deal. She has a gift for life I find myself trying to discover the shape of—that great Will and the blessing of not “lettings86 things get to her.” By the latter I suppose I mean that she does not linger too long over disappointments and she doesn’t surrender her freedom over her feelings and actions. I look back on my own life of intense anxieties whose cause I have no memory of mostly. And yet one is given his own quivering self, at birth I suppose. I am much more able to block out a few things than I once was, but then again not very able. The odd thing is that I am rather happy in general, as much as one can believe is his due—not much. All of this has its roots, as you can imagine, in my very concrete situation at this very moment: trying to write my book before taking up this letter and knowing I must go back to it after this letter. Personally—ah, if only there were just that, but personally I am having a very good time going about in my black dresses and high heels.
I am grateful for our talk and delighted that all goes fine with dear old St. Sebastian and his needle-arrows.87 Parmigiano, isn’t it?88
Much love,
Lizzie
[In late January, Lowell was admitted to St. Andrew’s Hospital (formerly the Northampton General Lunatic Asylum) in Northampton, England, for mania.]
323. Elizabeth Hardwick to Mary McCarthy
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
January 29, 1976
Dearest Mary: I understand from Ellie89 that you are coming in February. Of course I am overjoyed at the thought of seeing you once again. I would love to have you stay with me—I am all alone amidst my Lowell spoils and things—that gets in both James90 and Lawrence91—and it would be easy for me as well as thrilling. I don’t have my studio and so I am asking you to stay here in my apartment. I really do hope you will want to. If it isn’t the best for you at least allow me to give a smashing dinner.
The thought that you are reading all the books is too much.92 I am giving up juries because I never have a winner, always somehow ending up intimidated. Actually I am on one right now, the PEN translation prize,93 about which I know nothing and after begging off cannot get off.
Oh, dear, what news is there. Nothing seems very good somehow just now and even I have been sick with fevers for ten days. Tonight I am alright and so I suppose it is over. Dear old Cal is in the hospital again. Caroline has been utterly gracious about calling me, this time and the last time. I suppose now that we are all so deeply worried nothing really matters except Cal. Actually she said it wasn’t very bad and he called here several times the week before and certainly was not totally deranged, whatever that is. I suppose it is back to the lithium. It is a lifeline, but somehow we are all depressed about it.
I am trying to write the “novel” after such a long time off. How hard everything is. I have only one wish and that is to write one more good thing. (I have the “more” in the wrong place and mean that I want to write something good.)
I believe you got a letter from Jane Kramer. She’s rather nice I think and quite a good writer. I have only seen her once since the—how dreadful that the name of the great house won’t come to me. Ah, senility. Not mansion, not inn, not—yes THE MANOR.94 Dearest Mary, this is just a note of joy that you are coming. And how I wish Jim were coming with you. Maybe I’ll dip over to Paris sometime before the summer. Of course I haven’t a sou and have vowed to write every day until July … But … Much love. You can dictate a reply if you want to stay here and I am praying you will.
Lizzie
324. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
February 11, 1976
Dearest Cal: I wrote you a letter last week and forgot to put postage on it. So now I am back at it once more. I imagine you are back home in Kent and indeed I hope so. This has been such a difficult time for all of you—and yet I know it will be better. Isn’t it partly getting the boring medicine straight, finding out what one can endure that is the best? I am sitting here thinking of all sorts of hopeful things that would be hypocrisy for anyone except you—things such as the conviction that there are so many good and sweet matters in your life.
Blizzards and snowstorms here and then suddenly days as warm as August. Harriet is very well, seems incredibly happy in her apartment life, works at her classes and got good grades the first term. I talk to her almost every day on the phone, but I don’t see very much of her unless she needs to come to type a paper. Her routine up there is so demanding and full that she can’t bear to break out of it. We are always very anxious to know about you. Very, very eager. You are so far away and yet you are always in our thoughts. Caroline was marvelously generous in calling me to reassure us. I am struggling along in my usual way. I have just been to Colorado for a few days, lecturing, and next week I go one day to N. Carolina. But how I loathe the speaking, the standing up talking away, and the dull, perfunctory dinners and cocktail parties. Occasionally one such affair works. I understand how you feel about the poetry readings finally. I am writing my novel, often discouraged, and nevertheless determined to persevere because of the audacity in beginning at all. Life is fairly good, I suppose. I haven’t any news at all. Would love just a word by cable from you. Much love,
Lizzie
325. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
February 15, 1976
Dearest Cal: How marvelous to talk to you on the phone and to know all is well. I have good news for you. Harriet does want to come over for the vacation in March. She will come on Saturday, March 6th and leave on Saturday, March 13th. I am delighted she wants to do it and feel it is very wise and good in every way. However, both H. and I are never averse to sudden changes and if it is not [convenient] now or should become inconvenient for you and Caroline you know you can let me call it off at [any] time. I will write in a few days about the exact times, the airlines and so on.
Harriet definitely needs out a bit after all these months in the apartment up town, but most of all she wants to see all of you very much.
Jacob Epstein is in London, living in an apartment in the same house that Lizzie Spender lives in. I will have Barbara give him the Kent and the London numbers.
On Tuesday the bank will have a letter about your medical expenses from me and they will write you about it. I can imagine how terrifying it was for you, the expense of it all and I hope they can help. It always makes me feel sad to take money from you but I don’t see how we could live otherwise or how I could keep this home for Harriet on my own, even though I work very hard all the time. You have been wonderfully generous and kind to both of us, especially to me, and I am grateful.
Will be back in touch soon. Thank you for calling me. I have thought and thought about you and we always want to know about you. There are a lot of “yous” and “knows” in this letter, but I am rushing it off.
Dearest love,
Lizzie
326. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
February 18, 1976
Dearest Cal: I sent off urgent letters to McLeans and to the New York Psychiatric Institute where you started the lithium with Dr. Platman95 (?) not (Glassman) and I tried to make clear that it was urgent. I understand from a quite remote quarter that, in general, it takes time for these releases and so I hope they can start in London/ whatever you are planning much sooner. As you see on the card, Harriet’s plans are listed. The card about Jacob Epstein is to enable her to get in touch with him when all of you are in London.96
Let’s see … lovely day here, clear and cold. I am expecting Mary McC. as a house guest next week. And of course I am overwhelmed with pleasure at the thought of the dear one here for breakfast and in and out during the day. Susan is struggling along, but with some hope as new treatments and prospects more favorable turn up.97 This pitiful struggle of hers has been deeply involving to all of us. One of the sad aspects is that she lived in such a bohemian way and did her writing in a similar undomesticated fashion, up all night for days and then sleeping two days. Now she has very little energy for the time being and the only way she could write would be a few hours a day, and a bit here and there. I can easily see that way could be hard; it is for all of us since the real writing way is a kind of all or nothing.
Dearest Cal, I long to know this bad period is over for you, that you can settle into some life and medicine that is possible for you. You can’t imagine how much we are thinking about you. I’m so pleased that Harriet wants to come over and I know it will be the greatest pleasure for all of you. Unless there is change, meet her British Airways, Friday night, the 5th of March.
Much love, Lizzie
327. Elizabeth Hardwick to ROBERT L[O]WELL
[Telegram]
[New York, N.Y.]
[Received March 1, 1976, Maidstone, Kent]98
CELEBRATE THIS BIRTHDAY AND MOURN THE NEXT STOP HARRIET ARRIVES BRITISH AIRWAYS FLIGHT 590 AT 940PM ON FRIDAY99 LOVE
LIZZIE
328. Robert Lowell to ELIZABETH HARDWICK
[Telegram]
[Maidstone, Kent]
[March 6, 1976]
ELIZABETH HARDWICK 15 WEST 67 STREET
NEW YORK CITY NY
HARRIET HAPPILY WITH US LOVE
CAL
329. Robert Lowell to Elizabeth Hardwick
[Telegram]
[Maidstone]
[March 9, 1976]
ELIZABETH HARDWICK 15 WEST67STREET
NEWYORKCITY
HARRIET ARRIVES SATURDAY BA FLIGHT 59I AT 8.50 PM TERMINAL THREE LOVE CAL
330. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
Tuesday, April 20, 1976
Dearest Cal: I don’t know why Blair sent you the Barnes review, as he told me he had, but of course he (Blair)/ meant well. I am happy to rush this off to you.100 The Barnes idiocy, so philistine, ignorant of America and the whole background of the plays, did make me despair of our enterprise in life, of writing, reading. Everyone around was appalled. It doesn’t matter and indeed it was a nastiness telling off the “clever” people who don’t know anything about the theatre.101 And yet it does enrage and discourage. I left the house that morning and walked about furiously for hours.
All is well and it was absolutely marvelous to have the visit with you.102 I will be coming to London for PEN in August I think—around the 20th—and I hope you will be in the country (England I mean) at that time.
Mary McC. has been here in New York this week, in very good form too, all discipline and propriety, always married, as all of us here in our various frayed conditions see with amazement her life is/ like some sort of company with a president and a chairman of the board presiding. And yet what a strange heroine she is. I feel here, surrounded by Devie, Harriet, Barbara, Susan and assorted others, as if I appeared to her “brainwashed” and like Patty Hearst to be held accountable for joining the SLA.103 She will be back in late May and we are going up to Castine for a few days—something I like to do just to get it all open. And then I don’t want to feel obliged to spend every moment there either. As I told you—there are nothing except couples and that palls at times.
Harriet seems to be looking for summer jobs and to be very well. We had an Easter dinner together. Nothing very interesting to say. Just to say how nice it was to see you and to wish you well.
With love,
Lizzie
331. Robert Lowell to Mrs. Elizabeth Hardwick Lowell
Milgate Park, Bearsted, Maidstone, Kent, Eng.
April 29, 1976
Dearest Lizzie:
My heartfelt thanks for your letter and the good review. I didn’t [know] how the Barnes gloomed me, till I read the other. It was like a good piece of music criticism keeping the old performance in mind in toto.104 The new production didn’t come up to Jonathan’s of course105 and was often like the original coin restamped in plaster. However, I like the new man as Endecott much better than any I had seen.106 Barnes is so glib and persuasive, that I hardly realized how much he misunderstood. He can’t have read the plays. So many quotes mis-slanted and out of context and character.107
It’s summer here, for the moment now. I’ve even done some weeding. I’ve vegetated here so long, I am hardly fit [for] the active life, the bustle of New York. I think we will try Brookline or Cambridge again. Mary is like James’s description of being taken for an automobile tour by Edith Wharton. We were taking her to the theater last fall, only I three times took her to the wrong theater—by the time we arrived at the right one our tickets had been sold. In retaliation, she took us and the Mostyn-Owens and a Dutchman to a very bad play, then a very slow, expensive dinner, where we searched endlessly for the meaning of the meaningless play. I don’t see how her energy, money or courage hold out. But how can sloth talk deflect/ to a torpedo?
Sorry that Harriet is probably not coming. She is welcome to rest with us indefinitely. I know of no jobs though but the New Review.
Isn’t paying bills a torture?/ I’ve been paying off medical bills all morning, and am confused. I should be paid for it.
It was lovely seeing you finally. We flew back the next day in the longest and slowest plane I’ve ever been in, then four days in the Hebrides—like Maine without trees, tourists and almost without people. I miss having you to talk to. I feel deeply all you had to put up with me for so many years.
Love,
Cal
332. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
May 30, 1976
Dearest Cal: The long Memorial Day weekend, an American notion for which there is surely an equivalent in every country with every country’s war dead. Up to Castine last weekend to see if all was still standing after a winter in which Bangor, swimming in water on Main Street, made the national evening news. Everything was fine, strangely just as
I left it last Labor Day, almost dustless, dry and quiet. I very much like going back and forth by air, renting a car and starting off on the long driveways of the Bangor International airport (where now there is a smallish Hilton hotel, usually quite without “guests”—conforming to the Maine emptiness), then on to Water Street, where the tides are threatening the bulkhead, but never quite winning. On my way in Bucksport, the rain starting, I hit a mid-afternoon shift change at the St. Regis Paper Mill. Down the long scaffolding came hundreds of men in work clothes, little caps, silently carrying lunch boxes and thermos bottles, all the men/ pouring out, old and young, crippled, faces covered with an ash-colored dust. It was like the middle of the last century—the men and the mines. Behind the big barges with logs, the high factory whistle. Most extraordinary. Otherwise nothing much new there. The expense of such weekends is frightful, but if it were otherwise I would do it often rather than stay there. As it is I plan to teach two weeks at the Graduate Center at City University, stay here in N.Y. for the Democratic Convention,108 go to Maine for about a month—mid July to Mid August. I’ll be in London August 21st I think and hope it will find you near enough to have a meeting. All will be written to you when the time comes.
The Dolphin Letters, 1970-1979 Page 42