The Dolphin Letters, 1970-1979
Page 34
Harriet and I played St. Matthew’s Passion77 during Easter week and compared the Gospel Stories. She went to the Easter parade and reported nothing except drag queens, one in a granny dress and roller skates. No, no. Not even a flowered hat on revered grey hair.
Rats to your assertion that we never like the same people!… Adrienne has published her new book, Diving into the Wreck. Some are very beautiful and the propagandistic ones are a mistake. Lovely seeing the Taylors and I am truly sad that Elizabeth must put up with the ravages of cortisone.78 “Every cure alerts a nerve that kills”79 or some such words from the bard. I am so happy to know that she is sorted out and more or less content. I liked seeing her … All is the same here in Babylon. Went to the Epsteins for the weekend and Jason and I cooked six ducks and innumerable potatoes.
Ah, let me see. Nothing in my head this morning, although I always have a store of things I plan to write if I have occasion to do so. Whence are they fled?80
Much love to you,
Elizabeth
249. Robert Lowell to Mrs. Elizabeth Lowell
Milgate Park, Bearsted, Maidstone, Kent, Eng.
[May 1, 1973]
Dearest Lizzie**
When I read your letter, I called Henshaw and he promises to collect the material over the weekend—if he lacks anything he will call me/ Monday. England is a little like Maine, no one ever does anything within the promised time. I guess this will go through. God knows, I’m rather like Maine too.
I was exhilarated by Watergate and by the old southern senator.81 It gets to be rather too much doesn’t it—the dull endless roster of German names and advertising experts. And the really much greater war crimes of Nixon and Johnson passing by unatoned. The only human touch so far among the accused is the Mitchells.82 I wonder if the last election can’t be declared fraudulent—that would get around Agnew succeeding. Or maybe Nixon will ride it—I don’t see how, except maybe that the actual bugging seems secondary to the perjuries. Augean stables—are they ever clean? The country is so/ close to moral ruin … and it/ might get better.
Glad to hear of Harriet’s bicycle drill. We’ve had hippies working here; the women work like beavers, but the men are languid. They vary a lot. Did I tell you Dean (?) Crooks of the Harvard summer school’s daughter/83 comes in daily to clean—very nice and works like a beaver.
It seems so natural writing to you, like breathing, an organic part of my life. May it ever be. Last week,/ I went fishing up north in Westmoreland a sort of inland New England draining population county. After a while one is older—stiffness, cold fingers and toes.
Love to you and Harriet
Cal
250. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
May 5, 1973
Dearest Cal: First, business of what is called our “transitional year.” Naturally the “transition” is merely the legal designation of last year. Mr. O’Sullivan’s office reminds me that [the] second half of his fee was due in March. You are to make out $1,750 to me and I send it to them. That will be over, but I have no idea when if ever I will be over paying fees to Boston lawyers about the trusts. And they did not pay Harriet’s tuition, saying they still don’t have legal/ authority to do so.… I hope Henshaw will send the records to Nat soon because I must have that cleared away.
Now, after a request for forgiveness on the above matters. To remind someone of money is unforgivable and I long to be able to write a letter with no taxes (will do so if Henshaw will “close”) and I hope no money matters of any sort.
I called the Thomases this morning about the matter of going up to Castine soon to empty the house on School Street, send everything to storage. They have started work on the barn, but I do not believe it will be ready this summer. I said to someone the other day that Maine was precious to me, you, Cousin Harriet, poems, our Harriet as a little summer girl. But I will not be dishonoring, erasing, you and Cousin H; the barn will always be a shrine to me, and the streets of the town, the water, the dock.84 I am very glad not to have the house[.] New addition to the school next door, basement flooded all the time, more dampness, incredible expense. The barn, with a wing, upstairs and down where the shed was will be beautiful, easy, and I think Harriet will love it, as a truly pleasant, easy place to visit with friends when she is older. Warm, bright; and the water is something to do, if only to look at, think about, remember, cherish.
Terrible news, like a novel. First, Bishop Scarlett died during the spring. But second. You remember that Leah left Clark about two or more years ago.85 It was one of those two couple affairs; the other a Bar Harbor family, he the director of Acadia National Park. He and Leah finally got married after the two divorces, and they went to live in Yosemite where the man, named Mr. Good, (remember the old Boston joke, Was Good!) was appointed director. Leah went out to pick wild flowers last week, was found dead in a gorge. Her husband and her sister say it was not suicide. What a ghastly, searing end. Bishop Scarlett’s heart had been broken, his old heart, by Leah and the frightening collapse of Clark’s family. Clark behaved in the most childish, undisciplined way that was truly unforgivable, complaining, unable to take hold or even pretend to, to carry on. One looks back on their the Fitz-G’s/ somewhat accusing purity, making do, capabilities of an old-fashioned sort. The awful thing was that people began to hate Leah and yet Clark gave them nothing to respect with his self-pitying deterioration. I sympathize because of the house in Maine, the cold, the emptiness, the winds, the rains. And poor Leah’s happiness, what all of this was meant to be about, in honor of! The wild-flowers are too much. Nature does betray the heart.86
Send the check, please, for the last of the divorce bill and please check once more with Henshaw about the taxes. All must be here soon because Nat needs time and may be going away.
Love,
Elizabeth
251. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[15 West 67th Street, New York, N.Y.]
Thursday, May 17, 1973
Dear Cal: In Haste. I hope you have sent back the deeds signed by you and Caroline and notarized, as requested. Sent to Veague in Bangor. I am going up for a week on May 23 to empty the School Street house and send everything to storage. I hope to sign the sale deed on May 31st, as I agreed long ago. Work has started on the barn and yet I do not expect it to be finished by this summer. I may go to the Rockefeller villa in Lake Como, but it is not clear just yet because I only asked about it a few days ago and naturally everything for the summer had been settled long ago. However, more about that when I come to write you about Harriet’s trip, a rather mixed up affair. Also the final check for my lawyer’s bill, please, if you have not already sent it. Also I have not heard of any progress on the taxes, a really foolish unnecessary situation since so little is involved from England and so much from us here is waiting.
Will write in less business-like a manner after all of this is settled. I am at my desk working, with the little tv on a stool next to me. First day of the Senate Watergate Hearings!
Harriet is fine, except for examinations coming up.
Love,
Elizabeth
252. Robert Lowell to Mrs. Elizabeth Lowell
Milgate Park, Bearsted, Maidstone, Kent
(A first letter, a week earlier than the second, and almost the same
I’m afraid.)/87
May 21, 1973 [postmarked May 28, 1973]
Dear Lizzie:
Back from Italy—with O’Sullivan’s bill, bill for $300 from Iseman, ten thousand out of Harvard when contract is signed for you, five thousand I’ve decided to give Elizabeth Bishop.88 However she is intelligibly murky on whether she will accept it. This is all expected, but I have an illusion of paying more than I earn; my money is in small bits, with different checks rules/ on them—and the amounts seem to change. And then the new vat89 system, and then the income tax. My fault. I’ll send the lawyer’s, tho he seems to be paid more than than four carpenters working th
ree weeks.
I have questions of the “dower” deeds. I’ve mislaid the divorce agreement, so I can’t cite the minute particulars on which truth lies. But it’s inconceivable that Cousin Harriet who unlike us knew all there was to know on such matters, wasn’t aware of this, and didn’t intend to protect the Maine property for me and Harriet. I am interested in Harriet’s part. If the house is sold, she should have some half (delayed) ownership in the restored barn, or a sum of money to be given her at eighteen or twenty-one. This might be worked out in several ways, all a little complex. Also I must have things, personal things, like the eagle, country clothes etc. Not worth much but dear, if I were to see and them I would/ recognize them again. Or maybe I have no legal right to ask this?
I keep phoning Henshaw and he keeps promising. I will again this afternoon. But why can’t your lawyer deal directly with him?
France and Italy, Paris and Pisa. Though my French and Italian have certainly rotted somewhat, I had a strange feeling that [I] could master both in six months. No. It’s that after twenty years, city, country and tongue seem less foreign. Again the twenty course dinners with the poets; again Giambologna—Orcagna restored, the halls of the Campo Santo we saw in 1950 covered. Wish we were arriving again. Peter Brooks and I half-seriously imagined flying to the US to watch Watergate on TV. I don’t intend to hold up the deed, much,/ but it’s naturally sad for me to have the house sold. What are you getting? Should I let it go without worries and suggestions, as if it had only been air to me?90
253. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell91
[Castine, Maine]
May 24, 1973
Dear Cal: I’m writing you immediately after my call. I understand the feeling of deprivation very well and the emotional torrents about Maine. I am here all alone, trying to get things together in a week, and it has been a trauma, one that started weeks ago. I do want you to understand that nothing is being destroyed, thrown away, either here or in New York. True this house is being sold and I want to explain that it has been increasingly expensive to run it, there has been an addition to the school, flooded basement, the house increasingly damp, and very, very hard to keep up, roof, etc. I wasn’t even in the barn last year, because I just never got around to opening it, cleaning it and that too is terribly expensive—taxes, mowing, burglary. It seemed to me that I couldn’t begin to afford both, that I was exhausted with the work involved, Harriet at this stage doesn’t like either. All the advice I could get, everything that seemed right, indicated selling this, adding a wing to the barn. We are putting the barn itself on a foundation; the wing will have a cellar, will go upstairs from the barn with a balcony, two bedrooms with one bath. Downstairs, kitchen facing the sea, and a guest room. I will put all I get for the house on the Commons into that and some more. But Harriet will have a place she can drive up to from May through Sept., with her friends, open the door, sweep out, close the door—nothing. All on the sea, compact, and very beautiful. Coming into the Commons House is a three week job. It is increasingly damp and mildewed. I could sell both and give H. the money, but how would she invest it? The thing is that real estate is the best possible investment. I am assured that this is in her interest. The Commons sort of house is not very desirable now; I feel I got a top price and for the last time. When I got here, the sidewalk was all torn up from new sewers, the yard in front destroyed, etc. I am keeping everything. If you and your family ever want to use the barn house you can do so with joy from me. Nothing of yours is being destroyed. In New York I am even more careful because I feel very strongly. About some money for Harriet I agree. I will look at our agreement, talk to Mr. O’Sullivan and see before you come in Sept. how it should be done. We will talk then. I just want to ease your mind about this and also offer it to you for any possible time. It won’t be done this year. I won’t be up here, or you could come up for a weekend in September.
Do take care of yourself. I hope to receive the lawyer’s money, the tax figures (absolutely minimal) and then we can do your last year’s tax. When you come in the fall, I think perhaps you can go and talk to Mr. Hoffman and arrange something. Our situation is complex, indeed, and I am prevented from paying taxes on the money you have given me because the money is listed as your income still in Washington. How boring it all i[s]. I assure you I don’t go on about this in my life except for these letters to you, which are a grief to me, with all their business. I am fine, saw briefly in NYR office your Encounter piece,92 very good, but I will have to get the magazine. No notice or news here of your books yet. Had lunch with Bill Merwin in New York and sat all afternoon looking at Watergate. I will write again. Will be back in New York very soon after this reaches you. Here is Mr. Veague[’s] address. If you get this in time, airmail to him, otherwise to me. If Caroline has to sign please have her do it, at the Consulate. Mr. Arnold Veague, 6 State Street, Bangor, Maine.
I hate having a conversation like the one we had. Much love, good health/
Elizabeth
* * *
The seals, the swallows miss you & so do I. How awful life is in some ways, with its swift passage!93
254. Elizabeth Hardwick to Robert Lowell
[Castine, Maine]
May 24, 1973
Dearest Cal: Another letter, written after our conversation this morning, written at night. I was very distressed and I do know how you feel. I feel a great deal about Maine, but I know you feel many things in addition: the deprivation of the past, the idea that I have everything that belongs to you, money, houses, everything. You always felt very strongly about Castine, about its not being really mine—and I agree to that.94 I even asked Mary if she thought you and your family would ever come here and she didn’t think it would be likely. Summer is very brilliant in England, etc. But I cried after I talked to you, cried because I do have nice relations with others, as you do, never acerb, argumentative.95 I called Harriet when she got home from school and had a long talk. She has professed utter hatred of Castine for the last few years, but I don’t take that as permanent but as a just feeling about the deadness for her age. She said that she felt I was doing the right thing and that she could really imagine liking it, coming up without me with her friends later, when a truly interesting manageable place was made of the barn. The last years have been so much work for me and I want something simpler, and indeed this house, on School, is very expensive and difficult. I told Harriet that if she didn’t like Maine when she was in college, I would sell it and she could have the money to invest and live on. I myself actually would not have too many regrets about disposing of the whole thing. What I would do I don’t know, but I truly can’t feel that would be right now/. The furniture, the barn, the whole thing still seems a part of whatever it is a part of and I will come up after this year; also I can rent very easily with my new easy place … But it is awful. I have not and never will throw out anything of yours, your family’s, anything, Harriet Winslow’s. I have just dusted off your Harvard degree to take to New York. You have no real idea about how much I do feel the custodian of everything. I know you have no money, neither do I. I work very hard, and just as soon as Harriet gets to college I will be doing things like a term at Berkeley, everything I’m asked. I am enclosing these photographs. Will send you some more from New York from various periods, places—mostly without me if possible.
I am so sorry you are distressed about this. I suppose if you were here you would see how difficult it is. I have written a little thing I will send you about this move, the houses.96 I do feel it all strongly. If you call me when you get this letter I will not sell.… Please forgive me. Life is very difficult in many ways for Harriet and me and we do try to keep going. I will definitely do what you think about money going directly to her, will talk it over when I see you in the fall.…
The Thomases are fine, Castine is lovely. I will probably be abroad most of the summer—but more of that later. I just feel utterly sad and upset about my talk with you.
Elizabeth.
255. Ro
bert Lowell to Mrs. Elizabeth Lowell97
Milgate Park, Bearsted, Maidstone, Kent, England
May 26, 1973 [postmarked May 28, 1973]
Dearest Lizzie:
I’ve spent the forepart of this afternoon looking for the divorce agreement, and fail to find it though once there seemed to be three or four, various versions, in drawers.
I’ve been in a rather inactive mood since coming back from Italy, but also I am reluctant to act quickly on the “dower.” The first I heard was a letter out of the blue from Iseman. I’m not happy about the common’s house being sold, but of course feel that it is practical … necessary for you. I am assuming that Cousin Harriet, who was very up on such things, must have counted on the dower as some protection for me and Harriet. I am my own protector? Still it’s a desolate thought that all I have from the past is Grandpa’s gold watch and some fifteen books. I suppose that isn’t something for us to fight about, that in convenient time, books, articles, furniture (a small share) will come. I do think Harriet must have something of her own while we are still alive. I suggest that out of the trust she be given at eighteen say, $1500 a year./ I was eager to arrange this last fall in New York, but there were legal or tax obstacles. The houses were, maybe in Cousin Harriet’s eyes, a certain protection for her; a yearly independent allowance would be an/ better equivalent.
I am not trying to hold you up more than I have written (except why should I sign away my claim to all my/ Castine property?) The barn isn’t being sold.) I am rather irritated about this being sprung on me in an instant.
Strange, this morning I was planning a friendly dawdling gossipy letter to you. We still can’t get a house for four months at Harvard, but I suppose we will and it would be more satisfactory for me to pick out the books myself. It’s cramped, almost illiterate not having them.