Decca, p.59
Decca, page 59
To the Duchess of Devonshire
Oakland
May 13, 1969
Dearest Hen,
Oh dear things are getting madly out of hand, plan-wise. Got yours of 9 May today … and three from Nancy which more or less go as follows: 9 May, she says do come any time before end of June. 10 May, she fears it will be so dull for me because she simply must get back to work. ii May, she says don’t come, because Marie105 is too tired & there’s no point in offering to help as she won’t allow, and she says “I’m so sorry but it’s out of my control, I feel too tired to sort of struggle, I must simply exist until my life is re-organized …” etc.
These crossed mine to her, saying I’m arriving on 20 May & should like to put up in a hotel in Versailles.106 Alas, Hen, so by now she’ll have got that and I’ll have fussed her up no end.
Behind it all, she prob. thinks that what a bore having to work out the oubliettes for me & Honks,107 or some such. On the other hand if Honks & I turned up at same time & all was OK, & normal, it would seem like Mrs. Ham’s dreamed-of death-bed scene, don’t you agree? But if I cld. stay in a hotel (& scram there quite a lot) this cld. be avoided….
I rang up Bob at work, & read out all the letters, to see what he thought shld. be done. Apart from saying with some acerbity “your family is v. difficult to fathom,” he thought I shld. go anyway. So, am. The pt. being that … mainly, I do awfully want to see Nancy
Later: HEN! You just rang up, so this is an ongoing conversation.
I couldn’t quite make out all you said re. the medical facts except that it’s obviously very bad; yet somehow, in back of mind, I always thought it would be in spite of all the seeming improvement that you and she told of in letters. So all I want to do is a) come, b) do anything possible to help, c) not be in any way a bother—and I can see from N’s letters that this will be the most difficult of all. And in this regard, Hen, I do implore you to make clear to Honks how I long to avoid all friction etc. etc., as I think I did say in another letter.
One thing has puzzled me a good deal: why have you so firmly decided not to tell her anything at all about what’s wrong with her? That is, I can quite see one would have to exercise a good deal of judgment about that (no point in giving gloomy reports right after the operation when a person is at lowest ebb, etc) but I must say I think I should far prefer to know, for masses of reasons. Which would range all the way from the thing you said about her book (wanting to get all done possible on it) to the horrid disappointment of getting iller & iller without knowing why.
Oh Hen. It’s all so very sad & bad and unbelievable, such a nightmare & those Drs. sound so awful, never getting in touch with you for all that time.
Am so longing to see you, Yr Hen
To Aranka Treuhaft
Versailles
May 22, 1969
Dearest Aranka,
… I’m really awfully glad I came, as Nancy still can’t get about, is very weak from lying in bed so long, still has pain. However she’s in v. good spirits….
Well, I must tell you about my life here—might be on the moon, so far does it seem from home in Calif. or lately in NY. Marie, whom you remember, now aged 75, is sort of my boss, that is, she explains what to buy and where. My main job is the shopping; but now I’m being trained as a gardener, too. It goes like this: There’s an excellent street of lovely little shops a block from here. I’m allowed to get some things there, but not all. The butter? The kind in the little shops is no good for the table, because it is pasteurized and comes packaged, so can only be used for cooking. The table butter comes from the market, only 1 ¼ miles away, Marie explains, a nice walk. So I trudge to the market. I am told to get the butter at the stall of Mme. Gentlet, so I do that. I ask Mme. G. which is the best butcher in the market. She answers expressively “they are all terrible and all excellent, it depends on the shopper.” She sees I am about to burst into tears (I know they’ll all be terrible for me, an obvious foreigner and hopeless shopper) so she relents, directs me to a butcher and says I can say Mme. Gentlet sent me. I cheer up and do that. Then I see some dear little new potatoes, and buy those; but when I get home Marie throws them at my head, because they’ve been scraped at the market (all the mud taken off, I suppose) and will therefore be tasteless. No use to point out that they were quite heavy even without the mud … It’s all like that, takes me a good morning to get it all done, and this is shopping for three people, Nancy, Marie and me. Then Marie says there’s enough bread for lunch but not for dinner. Shall I get the dinner bread? No, best to go again in the afternoon for that, so it will be quite fresh. Needless to say the meals that come from all this care are indescribably delicious. Also, I begin to feel indispensable—clearly one of us has to be here while Nancy is ill…. I feel that I’m getting on well with Marie, I offer to do all errands she requires, and we work together in that way. Of course, no use to point out that things could perhaps be delivered etc., as neither M. nor N. is about to change the habits of a lifetime. This afternoon, having finished my Morning Work, I was put to clearing spaces around the peonies (cutting weeds), and was told I had done quite well for a beginner
This house is the prettiest ever seen, and the garden! Wonderful poppies, roses, peonies and dozens of flowers that I don’t know the names of. Nancy’s out there quite a lot when she is feeling all right, as she is today. (Of course she never says anything about the pain, you know how they are; one can only tell if her face goes grey and she rushes off to her room.) …
I crave letters, so do write some more; I’ll be here until 4 June, it seems. Pam will come back then and be the helper
Much love, Decca
To Marge Frantz
Versailles
May 22, 1969
Dearest old Marge,
It seems like many a year since there you were, pouring (as Va. would spell it) over me galleys at home, and I never have thanked you properly. Truth is, I was so nervous about Nancy at the time that I simply couldn’t have done it without you. Am far less nervous now I’m here on the scene, which is so often true? Don’t you agree. Anyway, that whole book also seems like a far-off memory….
I suppose what you really want to know is how Diana and I are getting on…. Rather well, actually. That is, whilst cutting the grass round the irises I forebore to say I was giving the irises lebensraum,108 although it came into my mind. In other words, all efforts are bent to Nancy’s welfare, & that’s all we talk about if we’re alone together….
Marie and I are running the medical scene (gave prunes today, for constipation, and it worked!!) but I’ve written to Eph begging for advice. Debo is, as Bob says, the only really intelligent one of the family, but she can’t talk French, so is useless with the Drs. and Marie etc….
Marge, I LONG FOR LETTERS. PLEASE, PLEASE WRITE…. I do long for proper news. Much love to Laurent, nippers and you,
Decca
To Virginia Durr
Versailles
ca. May 26, 1969
Dearest Va,
So sorry not to have written sooner—I came away in such a rush, & have been occupied here at Versailles with so many tasks. When I first got here, Nancy was very ill, had a ghastly pain in back & legs. But miraculously, she seems to have taken a terrific turn for the better—the pain has gone, for the moment at least, and she’s back at work on her book. Pam was here with her for ages. Diana lives about 12 miles away, and Debo was staying with her. To describe the daily life here is as difficult as for someone trying to describe an L.S.D. trip to somebody who has never even smoked pot (equiv. of pot being an ordinary weekend at Swinbrook or Chatsworth)….
I am the shopper In between times, the sisters swoop down for an hour or so, and shrieks of laughter ensue, the neighbours must wonder. Even when N. was in the worst pain she still managed to shriek, it is her way of life….
The medical situation is so hopelessly confused that I’ve given up on it. There are five doctors in the picture: the Paris G.P., the Versailles G.P., the surgeon, the stomach expert, the back expert. None of them have been near her since the operation. The only person who comes is a terribly nice pharmacist called M. Suchard who lives next door here and whose shop is in our shopping street. All v. unlike being ill in America, or even England I should think….
So, so sorry all this happened and we couldn’t come to you, as planned. I feel fearfully out of touch; do drop a line to me. …
Much love, and to Cliff, Decca
The butcher in our shopping street knows me now. “Ah! Enough for three ladies who don’t eat very much,” he shouts when he sees me coming, as that’s what I asked for the ist time, not being able to cope with kilos. It’s a French Cranford here, small-town all over, not a bit like Paris, you’d love it. In the evenings we all (Marie, N. and I) watch the presidential candidates on telly. Marie’s comments being worth the price of admission. On Sundays, she goes to church (as Nancy says): “to confess her saintly sins.”
To Pele de Lappe and Steve Murdock
Paris
May 26, 1969
Dearest Neighbs,
I’ve written masses to Bob about the utter dottiness of the medical scene here, & how difficult to form any sort of view of what N’s real condition is…
Longing for news of Berkeley.109 Bob sent some clippings of 19–20 May; needless to say, there’s no pnt. to discussing it with Nancy as she’s completely against the students. So I do feel v. cut off.
The most curious thing of all, of course, is seeing Diana after all these years—34 years, in fact. She looks like a beautiful, aging bit of sculpture (is 59), they don’t have this thing of wanting to look young here, her hair is almost white, no make-up, marvellous figure, same large, perfect face and huge eyes. We don’t, of course, talk about anything but the parsley-weeding and Nancy’s illness. God it’s odd. I thought it must have given her a nasty turn to see me, aged 18 when last seen by her. But she told Nancy she thought I hadn’t aged except for my voice. I explained to N. that if one talked in America in one’s childhood voice, people would think it so affected they wouldn’t talk back, which would make for a lonely life there…
Much love, Decca
To Aranka Treuhaft
Versailles
June 1, 1969
Dearest Aranka,
Thanks so much for writing. Yes, this is like the last century, I shall be making the Great Leap Forward into the 20th cent. on 9 June, arrive NY 1:25 p.m. I’ll come straight to your house, if I may; if you’re out, please leave keys with the local burglar & ask him to watch for my arrival. At least, that is my plan. But I rather stupidly let my U.S. passport expire; so if I don’t show up on the 9th, please check at Ellis Island….
I’m terribly glad I came. … The first day I arrived, our sister Pam, who had been here, picked me up at Orly airport. On the way home, I said “please fill me in—what sort of useful things can I do at Nancy’s?”; Pam thought for a while (she’s not too good at thinking) and answered, “Well, I always make my own bed on the day Mme. Guinon doesn’t come.” Mme. G. is the daily domestic who helps Marie. “What day doesn’t she come?”; “Sunday.” Well, it seemed rather curious to me to have come all the way from Calif. simply to make my bed on the day Mme. G. doesn’t come. Luckily, I arrived on Tuesday, so the dread bed-making was some time off….
[Nancy and Marie] are madly for Pompidou,110 wouldn’t you know. Marie signed something for Pompidou, so the other day she got a notice to a meeting, 9 p.m. Friday night. She was quite fussed over this: “I do hope he won’t be disappointed if I don’t come. But after all, I put my age, 75, on the paper I signed, so perhaps he won’t be upset if I don’t come? He’ll think, she’s 75, it’s a late hour for her, do you think he will understand?”; …
I shall miss being here; you should see the parsley beds, lettuce beds, roses & lavender, all of which I’ve weeded daily. In the afternoon, we generally have company (one or two friends of Nancy’s) & sit and shriek with laughter in her bedroom. But actually she’s not getting much better, alas….
Much love, see you soon, write c/o
Sonia and give me news of Dinky,
Decca
To the Duchess of Devonshire
Oakland
July 17, 1969
Dearest Hen,
Thanks awfully for yr. v. informative letter of 13 July from Versailles. …
Now, the point you said about telling Newlington.111 I As the medical scene is so thoroughly dotty (Nancy wrote to say she had sacked the Versailles G.P. and also the Masseuse), I can’t see what difference it will make, to tell or not to tell. As no local Dr. will now appear to instruct her what to do. As long as she eases the pain, that’s the main point, don’t you agree?
However, I do feel most terrifically strongly, and must stress this point Hen very much, that it is now verging on wicked not to tell Nancy, in view of Dr. Evans’ report. Because don’t you see, it’s awful enough to get such news when one is feeling fairly OK & strong; but if it is delivered very late in the thing, when one was completely weak anyway and in much pain, so much harder to bear, I should think. Now might be the time. Bob suggested that it be put in terms of new information from Dr. Evans, newly discovered, or some such. In fact, I think Dr. E. should be imported to impart this, as those Fr. Drs. have turned out so drab & uninterested. To me, it seems a sort of awful betrayal not to tell the truth, & I must say it caused me many a horrid moment when there….
Life here is chugging—did you read that Dr. Spock was freed by the appeals Ct?112 He was. Am writing an article for N.Y. Times Mag. about all that. Shall send me drab stuff (the book, and article in Atlantic Monthly) although you may find it rather boring, but just to show, Hen, that I’ve actually done it all….
To Clifford Durr
Oakland
September 6, 1969
Dearest Cliff,
Well I was elated by your letter, thanks so, so much….
As you can imagine, I was particularly pleased you thought it might be useful as an attack on conspiracy doctrine. The Old Trial Hand113 was v. helpful about all the that….
The Old Trial Hand’s role was a curious one in some ways. He thought from the beginning that the book should take the form of an essay on the nature of political prosecution. Well you know how hopeless I am at essays, or anything that requires much thought. So I started writing up the trial itself. I’d read out bits to Bob when he got home from work, & he’d say “that’s boring, irrelevant, who wants to read about an old trial that will be way out of date by the time the book’s published?”; Which made me cry, because I value his judgment. So I stopped showing him bits. Then came the deadline for submitting the ms. Two days before the deadline, Bob had the day off (somebody’s Birthday), and he sprang into action, doing last-minute proofreading, collating etc. By now it was so late, we had to take it to the airport & send it airfreight (not trusting the post office). On the way to the airport, Bob said, “I wish you had put in more about the trial, all that was fascinating.” I kicked him so hard he almost skidded across the freeway.
Yet in some ways he was invaluable: the chapter on conspiracy law, the last chapter, the appendix about role of ACLU. So he was soon forgiven….
Other news & views: My Son the Harpsichord Tuner is in great shape, at the moment. As he is the apple of my eye (or one of them, Dink’s the apple of the other), this pleases me. Do your children smoke pot, take LSD etc? Dink doesn’t, she’s too elderly; but Benj did (LSD), worries me to death. Now, he says LSD is passé! Vive that passé. He’s utterly self-sufficient, makes his own living (is now building a harpsichord with a partner … [who] was a juvenile-delinquent friend of Benjy’s since junior high school days, is now the solid influence! To me, they seem like a comedy team, Laurel & Hardy. My day brightens when they drift round here)….
Much love and again, dearest
Cliff, THANKS for all you said.
Decca.
To Pele de Lappe
London
October 24, 1969
Dearest Neighbour,
London is an autumn festival—more like autumn in a film than the usual London reality: the right amounts of mist & hot sun, crunchy gold leaves underfoot. WISH YOU WERE HERE. I’ve been to the country quite a lot, too. Am doing the cousins (Rudbin etc) while Bob’s away as I fear they bore him stiff. Last wknd was at Rud’s tiny country cot, having a brief whiff of that milk-bland life that seems utterly unchanged since childhood (except there are fewer grooms, gamekeepers, cooks). I’ve come to the conclusion Bob only really likes the statelier, Chatsworth-style English country life. We did have one such weekend before he left for Japan, at Ld & Lady Head’s (my newfound revolutionary friend Dot Head). Lord Head is dyed-in-wool Tory. Dot not only went to Ho Chi Minh’s funeral service in London, but wore full mourning for a week thereafter. (She’s about 60; her conversion is rather like Dr. Spock’s, came about as result of Vietnam war.)114
Debo was at the Head weekend, and a marvellous old codger called Lord Hardwick. A sample Hardwick story: “There was this fellow I know in the Foreign Office. A memorandum came across his desk—it was full of utter bosh, don’t you know, so he was going to write BALLS on it. But he thought that was a bit steep, so instead he wrote ROUND OBJECTS. Memo comes back from Tony Eden115 with a note: ‘Who the devil is this fellow Round, & what does he object to?’”…
I’ve seen quite a lot of the Martin Bernals. Old J.D.116 is, alas, dying of a series of strokes. It seems that all of his ex-wives & ex-mistresses are coping. They take turns in shifts to look after him. So there are compensations to his sort of lewd & lascivious life? These ladies, now aging themselves, were on non-speakers with each other but have buried all hatchets for the nonce. Rather touching, & marvellous, don’t you think?
The Moratorium117 sounded from newspaper accounts nothing short of extraordinary. We picketed the U.S. embassy a bit that day, & were hailed by all sorts of Berkeley types who’ve shown up here. …
