NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

YALE UNIVERSITY
NEW HAVEN · CONN

althol should think it would be rough on the budget to make such trips en famille, have the house at Southampton, and spend a holiday winters in Florida as well. Private schools, whether boarding or day, are so frightfully expensive. But so far as I know she must have enough to darry it over. One only hopes for no rainy days.

I bow in return to your bow of deference on my hunch about Catha. You and I each have a sense of such things, which makes me I suppose a kind of Tiresias and you a Tiresia. I'm not at all surprised, but I am disappointed that you didn't have a chance for an evening or two alone with her. I still think the best solution for Kershaw is the solicitor and accountant to get things in shape. It's no good bribing him because his kind won't stay bribed. A Harry Moore will come along, flatter his ego and carress his portemonnaie with promises. Then, bingo! My own increasing feeling is that Catha's best solution is to avoid what we now call "instant biography," (like instant coffee!) Moore does know about Pup, and as in the article I showed you hints around at it like a man who could 'an he would. I have tried to pay him off by giving him transcripts of some unpublished Lawrence letters I bought years ago. It does no good. I have told him he could not see Hilda's letters from Aldington, and he only gets mad. Yet I once got him his present job, to help him out of a hole. He is not in the slightest bit grateful, and has no sense of dignity. It is not so much Pup I think about, but Valentine and the other chickens who are not old enough to understand. Tell Catha that the best thing is wait another ten years for a biography of her father. Then there is no reason why she should not write it herself. Let others stick to the literary criticism of his writing. Of course Moore is furious about the Patmore things. I couldn't care less.

Poor Kershaw. One knows what happens. He ought to hold his own financially, but his wife works to support him and this hur$$ his pride. He redeems his pride by posing as an artist rather than a journalist, and his association with R.A. is his one bid for status. He wants to be, "He's a writer, you know," not "He's a journalist, you know." Mucking up a book with Moore would make him a writer. "He has that book on Aldington."

Poor Kenneth. But this is another matter. I agree. If they are to keep the house, then I think they must fix up a suite for Ethel on the ground floor. But I can't imagine that Joan would want to take over later, or indeed that it would be good for her to do so. She needs her little group in Zurich, or perhaps London. She ought not to be alone with only Lady V to turn to.

Much interested in the cross Greenland trek of the Scotswoman. I'm too old for that myself now, but I rather envy her the experience.

A letter in today from Cleanth Brooks to whom I finally wrote about Miss Lidderdale (who has never written me). I really don't see how I can help her though with her biography. And certainly not to the extent of bringing her over. He also wrote, after saying he was writing her again to write me, to say:

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

"I also wonder whether you can be of some help to Mr Robert Hodgson, the nephew of the poet. He was in to-day askigg whether I could make suggestions for some lectures when he goes to the United States toward the end of the year. he is an artist and illustrator, a journalist, and has written, among other things, a good many children's books, which he has illsutrated. He is very modest in his claims about specific literary knowledge but would like to talk about his Uncle as he knew him for some twenty-five years. I am convinced that he could be most interesting about Hodgson as a personality and about some of his poet friends at the Cheshire Cheese.

"You of course of all people in America ought to be in the best position to know who will be interested in a talk about Hodgson --or whether anyone at all would be interested. Mr Robert Hodgson, by the way, is not, I take it, planning his trip to America in order to give the lectures: I assume that the lectures would be incidental, though he would like to give them if there were interested audiences."

Oh dear. I suppose I could give him a hundred dollars for a lecture at Yale, and pray that some one would come. And perhaps Syracuse, which collects Hodgson would like him. But I hate to act as his agent.

i am much amused to find that one of the largest collections in the States of Henty and Company is that of a professor of history at Harvard, a former chairman of the department and, of all things, a specialist on Byzantine History. When I asked a colleague here who is a former Harvard man about him (he is c. 50) he said Wolff was charming, but instead of writing about the Byzantines spends all his time with Victorian novelists. This was before I said why I was interested. So I think I may have found a speaker for the Grolier show. I hope so.

Trust that Elsie has a good birthday tomorrow. I sent off a cable today. I cannot write tomorrow because of going to Horace. I have a doctor's appointment first, and then hit the trail.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

10 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I am just back at the office late on Saturday afternoon after taking Susan for her first excursion in the car. The doctor came this afternoon, and on the strength of the x-rays permits her to touch her left foot to the ground (so gently as not to crush a mosquito between the floor and her shoe), take a hop up a step if there is a handrail (but alas, altho there is one from the driveway to the entrance hall to the kitchen, there is none for the last step up, so this means nothing), and then to get in a car. This is to be the limit for the next two months, but I hope the car privilege will help to break the sense of imprisonment. We drove up East Rock, which you know, and then circled around home again.

This morning I did the shopping, went to the post office, and then read the proof on Hilda's "Death of Martin Presser" for "The Quarterly Review." Yesterday was spent mostly at the dentist's, where I think I finished my chores, but now must arrange to take Susan; and at my own doctor where I went to be sure that everything was all right with my ulcer, having suspicions it might not be. I was wrong: the various blood tests and the like have turned out favorably, and he has only suggested that I take a tranquilizer four or five times a day, and some extra pills to rebuild me, and a nap at noon. It is a great comfort to know all is well.

I did not write yesterday because the day was too filled and too complicated. And tomorrow of course is Sunday which is my full tour of duty. A letter came from the auctioneers of George's things, as of the 7th, saying that the books were packed and removed from the property on that day and should probably arrive in about three weeks. They thanked for my check and sent me the catalogue for the sale of furniture and oddments. Never having been at Marvels I cannot identify anything, as you will be able to, and so have no intention of bidding. I did however phone Ady this morning just to make sure there was nothing she wanted me to buy for her. She had been given a chance to withdraw anything before the sale but decided against it. I simply wanted to be sure, thinking she might not have the courage to ask for what she wanted. But I can see she wants her house the way it is, and Sam is probably used to it chiefly as a bedroom after the barber shop closes. But how tired she seemed, and could speak of nothing but the past few years especially with the sister and the lawcourts and how it had sapped the life out of her. She hopes that I will come to see her before she dies, and hopes that I will bring you. We may end up by deciding it is better to postpone Natchez until spring again, and concentrate on a visit to her, to Lexington and Salem, the Greg ories and the like.

Yesterday I phoned Needham to check up, and discover that he has put off his visit until February, as (a) a better time for his store to have him gone, (b) so that he will not miss the visit of his daughter and grandchildren, (c) will go at the most favorable climatic

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

moment. Now he wants to stop en route for three days in London so
as to visit two important Tibetan collections there (really he wants
to set foot on British soil). All this seems sensible enough. I am
a little less sure of the advice given him not to write to the Tibetans
announcing his arrival. It is said that the Indian government does
not want too much interest in the Tibetans and censors mail to them.
He feels he has his letters to the Dali Lhama and others, they know of
him, and he would do best just to appear. Well, it's not up to us to
interfere.

I read with sadness in today's paper of the Death of Bob
Blum who was the chief man working with me in the London office during
the war. He was 54, had later become head of the Asia Foundation and
had made important contributions of many kinds. I had not seen much
of him in detail during the past few years, but we that sort of rapport
which could always be taken up at a moment's notice.

There was no letter from you in today's mail, but yesterday
came yours of the 7th. What an odd coincidence that you should send
the clipping about the salmon fishing. Only four days ago the Treasurer
of Yale asked me what I had heard about the subject, which it appears
he slightly misunderstood. He wanted me to write people in Denmark to
find out. I shall send it on to him, and gain immense prestige. #Kenneth's
letter was most interesting, but still I thought sounded tired. Will you
be going to see him?

I reference to new sex habits in England, I have bought a
tasy little item, paperback, on the subject, which I shall save for your
arrival. The ad spoke of references to Kim Philby which was sufficient
bait for me. After talking about his asylum in Russia: "By this time
closer inspection of Philby's personal life revealed obvious homosexual
proclivities. Once more reporters had to be satisfied with 'no comment'
when they asked the Home Office the obvious question. Why had not previous
security checks revealed Philby's deviation." I have to smile when I
remember how the Brit sh refused to let us use an American-born Polish
speaking soldier because he had an uncle living in Poland.

I enclose a new postal horror for Elsie, and a clipping for your-
self. And

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

12 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I'm terribly sorry that a Monday's letter has to be so brief as this one. But it is already 6:10 p.m. and I can't wait too long before going back to the house for dinner. My morning went, after I could get in, with dictation to Mrs Dingle who had been away since last Thursday noon. Since I must go to New York for Bob Blum's funeral, I wanted her to have things to keep her busy. Anyhow she will pinch hit for me as Susan-sitter for an hour or so in the afternoon while the nurse goes to the dentist. I would have done so were in not for this sad and unexpected death. I learned by phone this morning that he had an attack and warning last year, but once well he went on as always. However I take advantage of my first visit to New York since the accident, by lunching with Helen and seeing my copyright lawyer at eleven. So I combine business with grief, as the saying goes.

Yesterday it drizzled a bleak rain all day, so we could not celebrate Susan's permission to get in a car by going to the shore for her to watch the grandchildren swim. Instead younger Susan and the two children came to us for supper, and the two kids were much amused to have me cook the evening meal. Alas, things head toward a climax (or decision in Sue's marital affairs, and she is in a state of intense agitation. I shall be glad when it is over, although sad that it should be so.).

Instead of the visit to the beach, we made the first flight (counting Saturday's as a trial flight) to the dentist, where after much pushing and hauling and lifting we got the wheel chair over the steps and Susan finally into the chair. She had a very bad decay which the doctor worked on for an hour, and Susan now reports herself as feeling fine. If it goes again, as it did all day Sunday when she was in real pain which not even the codeine could relieve, the tooth will have to come out. But the extraction he says can be done at home.

Your letters of the 8th and an undated one were in today's mail. But I had better wait to answer them until Wednesday when I am back from New York.

Until then, but really always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS
YALE UNIVERSITY
NEW HAVEN, CONN

14 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

A beastly hot afternoon and I let Mrs Dingle go home at
lunch. It doesn't matter so much, my staying, and she is well caught
up with her work, I judge. Better that she should lie in her rubber swimming
pool in her back yard. Susan will, if plans worked as they were supposed
to, have been at the shore for the first time. The problem of how to
let her have the means of escape by car may have been solved by my taking
over Mrs Bennett's driver whom she hired on a more or less hourly basis.
Until the beginning of the month he is still working for the estate.
Then I think I will ask him to continue until Susan herself can drive.
"He wants work, but not too much because of social security. Mrs
Eurich, the nurse, is a little frightened at driving the station wagon
and being out alone with Susan. In case of an unglück. I am so Hideously
behind in my work that to give up three or four complete afternoons
to take Susan out would be impossible. At first I think Susan was a
little disappointed that I couldn't, but now I think she likes the
idea. Until August he won't be free all of the time, but then Susan
won't need him all of the time.

Behind in my work, I am equally behind in answering your
letters or commenting on this or that. Let me try to get a few matters
out of the way, no matter whether or not there is any coherent sequence.
As for example: the second folio arrived today, the third folio came
on Monday. Neither was questioned by the customs, I am glad to say. Not
that there would have been any duty, but in this way I was relieved of
having to clear through the maze of documents. I am sorry about not
having Maggs ship George's books. But you had not mentioned the possibility
of their doing so, and so when I had paid and made other arrangements
necessary this was simply included.

At last I have made a little more effort to get the needed
R.A. books which Catha wants. I went this morning to see if there were any
among the library bequeathed Yale by Cole Porter. There weren't. Then I
took them to the modern bare book dealer here (by "them" I mean the list
of desiderata, but he had none. However since he travels to various book
shops he will copy the list and search for them. A good many should be
easy to find.

Two yellowbacks have come in. I was interested in the letter
to the New York Times about women poets. My guess is that E.C. Yazetti, who
wrote it, is actually a female. Anyhow I sympathize with her. # A pleasant
letter from Gretchen. Would you like to fly to Yarmouth some time to see
her? # Foy Q-C writes a pleasant letter. She may be worth developing. #
I imagine you will not be able to see Chris and his Greenlander. It is a
tribute to his photos that the government wishes to use them. This may
give him a lift, at least call attention to him. Do you remember the
darkroom he showed us so proudly at Frederickshaven? # Poor Stephen Lewis
does seem old in his letter. It must be rather hard on poor Marjorie,
and the days seem long. # Would you like me to pay the Texas Quarterly
for Jocelyn's offprints? You could simply write him that you had explained

2

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

YALE UNIVERSITY
NEW HAVEN • CONN

the matter to me and I had said I would handle. He needn't know how. I suspect that inadvertently, a little like signalling at an auction without knowing one has done so, he indicated to send them. Why should be know, and it rather takes the fun away to have to pay. The amount isn't very much and I'll take it out of my own petty cash. # Horace's letter about the cultural barbacue at the White House was an extraordinary one. I rather hate to have to listen to it when I call on him. (I enclose his most recent letter to me.) But he and Marya almost necessarily live in an almost invented world of intrigue and politics. Mark Van Doren didn't need to be rehabilitated because of his son's now-forgotten t.v. affair. No one thinks of it when one thinks of Mark. he was asked, I am shore, because he is polite and safe: the former president of the American Academy of Arts and Letters (to whose lower Institute Horace now belongs), a frined of younger and older poets, and a man whose choice doesn't mean taking sides. Van Doren almost certainly was not consulted about the choice of poets who appeared, any more than Helen Hayes was of the plays or Marian Anderson of the music. The two poets were nominated by Reed Whittemore (this year's Poetry consultant to the Library of Congress) and 'Henry Rago (Editor of Poetry Magazine), who I think suggested Van Doren's name to Eric Goldman, the economist from Princeton who arranged the affair. Tn Robert Lowell they chose the generally accepted leading serious poet, and in Phyllis McGinley (the politest light versemaker). Whittemore, who was an undergraduate at 'ale when I was poetry mentor writes light verse himself. Poor Horace, he wants so desperately to be in the know, and yet he has cut himself off in spirit as well as by his physical handicap. However, once all this is wiped off his comments on the general situation and the attitude presently towards Johnson is not at all stupid. #I was much interested in Collins's letter, not so much because of his unsuccessful courtship as by the implication (through telling you) that he hopes for a pen-pal relationship with you. I have not had any answer to my letter to him, and doubt that he actually will want to sell the manuscript, let alone the letters. I may be wrong, but I suspect he thinks of these as bait. # Holly obviously wants to see you. Probably you will have to let her come in for lunch the next time. #Ena's postcard from China seemed very naughty to read here in the States where we're not really supposed to know that Nanking exists. # Francis Sitwell sounds very businesslike. # I adored Marianne's description of her own White House visit. She knows how to strike the right note: get a tone I can never hope to capture: as "quality food from a striped tent." That would be ring chimes at Buckingham palace. And "real flowers." And "Paper dinner-plates." She is having fun with her old age and enjoying not a second childhood but pixydom. I entcose a clipping from yesterday's New York Times. So much for the letters.

I forgot to say that I was able from a British catalogue to add the English first of R.A.'s *Seven Against Reeves* to the "H.D. Collection of Richard Aldington." I am glad to build this up in her name. Only don't ask me to read Aldington.

Yesterday on the train I read Muriel Rukeyser's *The Orgy*, and liked it as you did. A good description of a furry. But perhaps a bit clouded. I'm not sure whether I dozed just at the point when I should have known just what the thematic point was to the young married couple's participation. Or

3

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

just what epiphany the goat's testicles gave to Muriel herself. But the prose was alert.

I discover, picking up a bit (what a disconnected letter this is! I have seldom so kept to an open ing forecast) that either I threw away the article about Marianne or have left it at home. It is a half page of her, among others, modelling hats in a sidewalk parade on lower New York. Some new designer of hats put it on.

Am glad you liked the Niemcewitz volume, or will like it when you get the chance to read it. What a flood of books from the London Library has reached you. And at a good time, since you won't have the right leisure to write until after the Schaffner brood have gone. I shall think of you eating K together. As to your undated letter: no, the Hemingway letters will be given to Yale, if Yale gets them at all. # This is most generous of Ronnie and a wonderful chance for Alan to get a chance, or see if he likes the idea. He could hardly have better backing then with you and Ronnie pushing together. I am so sorry about Islay's mother. It doesn't make for much fun out of the British stay, especially for Kenneth. But he will discover something interesting, I am sure. Re yours of the 8th which came on Monday but I could not answer, one can't help but worry about the Rosllers. he is too good a soldier, so to speak, to squeek, and it will be hard to know what the true situation is. He too is a man we ought to jump to Montreal to see. A very easy overnight. One flies up, spend the night, has the better part of two days for you to see the town, and then one comes back.

Today's mail brought your letters of the 10th, 11th, and 12th. It was very sporting of Pup to take Nicholas to the beatnik group. He will have immense prestige at school when he goes back. I really do admire her for having the empathy. I see you will already be handling the Collins affair. If anyone can, you are the one. I will see tomorrow that a copy of Avalon is sent to Jack, and a half dozen to you. You should have some on hand.

My trip to New York yesterday went off, I think, successfully. I went from the station directly to the literary lawyer's, to ask some questions related to the talk I must give in Atlanta, Georgia, in November on the scholar's use of literary manuscripts. He is rather old now--Melville Cane--but has a real shrewdness and I enjoy being with him. He writes poems, and I even like a few of those. Then to lunch with Helen at her Cosmopolitan Club. It is a very elegant Sesame-cum-Best's and you might well like to belong. But so long as the present hotel is tolerable I think it fits your purpose better. Across from the Metropolitan for odd half hours. Directly on a bus line. Near to Prutting. Food not served buffet, which is perhaps better for some of your guests. Helen looked better than I have ever seen her, rested and intense. She is pleased about Christian's wedding, though I gather the bride's family are not. Wedding to be Episcopal and not Catholic, but we both bowed our heads in silent prayer that the marriage might overcome such a calamity. I made the sign of the cross and we went on with cocktails. The father is professor of printing and calligraphy at Dartmouth. She brought the folder of reviews and I read with pleasure. I think you have seen all. The consensus doesn't quite get the novel, which isn't just about depositions from homes. But there were a few good ones, including one written in Chicago. Quite apart from his friendship with Pup and John, and naturally his desire to please, I thought they reviewed in the Saturday Review did get the point. I like his intelligence the better for having donesso. She says the sales

3

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Am glad you liked the Niemcewitz volume, or will like it when you get the chance to read it. What a flood of books from the London Library has reached you. And at a good time, since you won't have the right leisure to write until after the Schaffner brood have gone. I shall think of you eating K together. As to your undated letter: no, the Hemingway letters will be given to Yale, if Yale gets them at all. # This is most generous of Ronnie and a wonderful chance for Alan to get a chance, or see if he likes the idea. He could hardly have better backing then with you and Ronnie pushing together. I am so sorry about Islay's mother. It doesn't make for much fun out of the British stay, especially for Kenneth. But he will discover something interesting, I am sure. Re yours of the 8th which came on Monday but I could not answer, one can't help but worry about the Rosellers. he is too good a soldier, so to speak, to squeek, and it will be hard to know what the true situation is. He too is a man we ought to jump to Montreal to see. A very easy overnight. One flies up, spend the night, has the better part of two days for you to see the town, and then one comes back.

4

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

YALE UNIVERSITY

NEW HAVEN • CONN

are now about 4,700 which is very good for so early in the game. Best of all, she feels, is the fact they continue to receive about 70 orders per week. We talked about Collins, and she honestly does feel they are making a mistake. She liked your letter, and we are curious to see the answer. Then what, she asks? She doesn't want to jeopardize her own relationship with them, this is clear. I think if we want another publisher for this, one switches for good. By refusing this, they release you from the necessity of submitting the next. I think she rather thought it might be a good idea for me to pop over some midweek in the fall and have it out with them, and lay ground for whom one would choose, or hope to have as a successor. This she felt I might be able to do more easily than you. But that would be up to you. She gave me a little collection of Kurt's essays in German. Made up as a volume, but actually I gathered it is an issue of a quarterly. A wonderful picture of him as in 1925. I knew him first in 1932.

Having been well feminized by lunchtime at the Cosmopolitan, I then went to Bonwit-Teller's, at Susan's request, to buy her a nightgown and wrap. Guided to "Intimate Apparel," I was the object of much eyeing.

And then to the memorial service for an hour of eulogies of Robert Blum, almost exclusively by his more recent foundation friends. The tributes were impressive. I was guided to his widow afterwards, and I think she was pleased that I had come from a distance both in miles and friendship. Another OSS colleague who worked with me was there--Gerstle Mack. I saw him outside before I went in, so we sat together and went afterwards to the Yale Club for a drink before I caught the 5 o'clock back to New Haven. Only one other Ryder Street person was there, Grace Dolowitz. But all this for Perdita, who knew Bob Blum too.

I have just been told that Stephenson dropped dead this afternoon outside the London Embassy.

Enough for now. We have some Japanese coming in tonight, and I must go home and get the kimonos out. (Not literally.)

Norman

to the dentist, as courier, until all is well. So you see I keep busy. I long to taste your raspberries.
We seem to have had few this year. For some one the visiting fruit man has not offered them. Thank you
offending Helen's letter. I wrote yesterday about my conversation with her. She longs to visit you.
Perhaps it might not be a bad idea simply to join the Cosmopolitan Club simply as a resource. But I
think for the time being the Stanhope is better for practical reasons. The Cosmo is a little Mayfairish.

All best,
NORMAN

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

15 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I am all Henty at the moment, having finished re-reading
Fenn's biography, which is as you say neither quite fish nor altogether
foul. And just as of this exact moment having finished reading the
first of the Indiana scrapbooks to mark what you wanted and what I
thought might be useful to me in preparation for the Grolier Club show
this Fall. I must really begin to work on what is to be included,
and may have a favor or two to ask of you. But this can wait. I whisper
only that it might be your willingness to ask the neices if they would
object to borrowing one or perhaps a couple of items from the Henty
collection now in the Battersea Public Library. Final permission
would have to come from the Library itself of course. An immense
amount of work (and I daresay expense) went into the accumulation
of the scrapbooks, and will obviate your own research when the time
comes for you to write your tribute.

I forgot yesterday to say that Helen told me that Carthage
is to go into a paperback this fall, she thinks. That will make two
in this country and a third in England. I am still glad I held out
(with your agreement) against a double-decker. I enclose also a list
that Johanovich has issued of Helen's list. With your book leading off.

Fortunately I had only left the clipping about Marianne at
home, and so here it is.

I once told you, I think, that I had refused the last offer
from Kyrle Fletcher of a Manville Fenn letter because the subject was
too trivial. Now they have offered me another--somewhat expensive but
worth it--which I have bought. It is about getting his first book
published, and asks "what steps I can take to get a three volume novel,
of well sustained interest, published...." He thought that if it was fairly
brought before the public "it would take." At this time Fenn was part
proprietor of a newspaper published at Bishop's Storford. His first book
was published in 1867. Hollowdell Grange. Alas, I don't have it.

Your letter of the 13th came this afternoon, and I am glad you
agree with Susan about le Carrés book. It's curious. My own thought is
that the publishers pressured him into turning out one fast in order to
capitalize. A big mistake. I can see your September will be as busy as
July, but hope that perhaps there will be a weekend in August when you can
begin on the next volume of memoirs.

Last evening we had two pretty Japanese ladies come to call,
both in gay kimonos. I begin to feel almost Oriental myself. And this
morning my first stop was at the dentist to take a bridge of Susan's that
had broken. I am to pick it up again tomorrow with a piece of blue paper
on which Susan can practise the bite. Then I take it and the tooth back

16 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

A busy and rather confused day. But in the end I guess all has turned out well enough. Last night when I went home I discovered that the nurse had almost fainted, announced that her daughters were urging her to cut her day to an eight hour one (naturally enough), and after supper she told me that she could only work the shorter period. This meant by starting home at 4 p.m., and cooking supper, a gastronomical experience to which no one could look forward to. Indeed Mrs Eurich has been looking tired and drawn, and her smile has been a little forced; but 11 hours each day for six days a week for three months would exhaust anyone. Susan and I spent last night pondering alternatives or even remote possibilities. Anyhow, not to bother you with the details, Susan is coming back from her afternoon at the shore with Mrs Bennett's cook whom we will keep until Susan is off crutches. She will live in, so at least I won't have to cook breakfasts or wash dishes except Thursday and Sunday nights. Mrs Eurich won't have to cook at all, and the news has given her the aspect of a rose revived.

So from the austerity of a servantless house, we now have a nurse, a cook and a driver. And today the grounds were swarming with men mowing the lawns and weeding (I fear they have weeded out Susan's prize plants since when I left I saw them at work in forbidden territory). And upstairs in the plumbers were ripping out the equipment, preparing to putting in Susan's new shower bath.

I'll still have to go home a little early, afternoons, but not with the same urgency as I had feared. I'll be glad though when at long last we can return to a smaller payroll. But how lucky we are to be able to find anyone for a moderately short period, servants being as rare as good Christians.

Mrs Eurich will not work tomorrow, in order to have two days of rest and refreshment. So I will not be able to get to the office, nor will I be able to write you. To make all this possible I had to do the weekend shopping this afternoon, after filling in as nurse while the real nurse went to her doctor's. I have only twenty minutes altogether at the office before going home to show the new cook where things are. And to do whatever is necessary for Susan.

Not much to report. No letter from you, but there was a charming one from Lady Bigham telling of her trials with the executor. I will send it to you when she has been answered. She has taken your books and Hilda's to Maggs, and presumably these are the ones you really meant when you said they would send them along. If they haven't already shipped them I hope they'll do so in several smaller packages rather than

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

19 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I did not, as I warned you, write as of either Saturday or Sunday. I came down to the office on Saturday only en route to do the marketing, on the possibility there might be mail. There was none, except for a thin tubular Gardner News. Instead, before the marketing, I did the usual help with Susan's bath (Mrs Eurich resting for the long weekend, and then in the afternoon took Susan to the shore house while she sat in her wheelchair in the shade while I removed the most horrendous of the weeds in the front garden there. Sunday it rained hard all day, so that she could not go again to the shore to see the grandchildren swim. Instead I finished putting the last of color slides into order, and worked on papers I had brought from the office while Susan continued with her endless answering of letters of condolence. There will be one new one however to write in the opposite direction. Friday night Susan was called by a doctor' secretary to ask if she knew the name of a friend's dentist. Marion Newton whom Susan has known from girlhood -- an artist who turned to making spectacular quilts for living, selling them for 500 dollars and more apiece and having examples in the Metropolita--had been driving on a nearby highway when her car failed and she drove it off the side of the road only to be struck full tilt by a truck drive racing one of those ferries for automobiles around another truck and pulling back in to smack the parked car. The car burst into flames and poor Mrs Newton was incinerated. The police were insisting on an identification by her dentist since nothing else was recognizable than her teeth. She was 63, had buried her invalid mother a year ago and settled into a new little house which she adored. Marion was boring as a person, but we both liked her because she was so lonely. And she had come several times to see Susan after the hip, bringing a tomato plant one time and a bouquet of wild flowers on another. Susan didn't know the name of the dentist, I offered to go through Mrs Newton's checkbook, and there was much telephoning back and forth until finally a brother was notified outside New York and the police said that the brother's say-so would be sufficient. But it was all rather shocking. I go to the funeral tomorrow.

The Fenn letter I told you of has come. None of these men wasted time by writing at length. This is only one side of note paper, but I like it. It is dated 1865: Dear Sir, Some day when you have leisure to send me a line, will you tell me what steps I can take to get a three volume novel, of well sustained interest, published. I think (like all who write) that it would take if fairly brought before the public." This was in reference to his first. It will make a nice item for therolier show.

This noon and the first half of the afternoon was taken up by Kay Boyle who came with a huge packing case of her manuscripts to leave on deposit at the library. She brought a Japanese lady professor, Mrs Takano, with her, since both are at Radcliffe this year. I delivered the papers to the library, took them both to lunch and then out to see Susan, so it was

2

well after three before I got back. Since then I have been reading
the typecript of a book on Thornton Wilder, first written as a disserta-
tion under my direction and now submitted to the Rutgers Press by whom
I have been asked to render judgment. I hope to finish it at home tonight.

But what a gala day of letters from you. Five. And of course of
great interest. First of all, I agree that I have seldom read so inept a
letter as that from Collins. How much simpler to say what they mean. For
I certainly don't know what they said. Helen ought to see a copy of it,
for she is centrally involved. Mrs Dingle is out this week, at doctor's
orders, having succumbed to an allergy for lobster. So the xerox will
have to wait until next week. There is time enough. My own rather hasty
feeling about Collins is that it will be difficult for you now ever to
feel any real rapport with them. One can't have two publishers, and I
rather hope that you'll not try another historical novel immediately
as though to spite them but instead go on with memoirs as originally
planned. Thus you would be exemplifying the opinion you expressed to
them in your original letter. The important thing about that memoirs
is that they should be done while the memory of the first volume is fresh
for the public. And as a document there is almost a duty to continue the
narrative. One needs to remind the public of the true Edith, make them
feel the victims of the war like Gerald, and sense the spirit of a George.

As for Kershaw you are probably right to help him for Catha's
sake. I did try to help her even though bumbling. Perhaps Philip could
look in on him, or have a correspondent who could be ask to look at
Kershaw's affairs. I agree, one doesn't just send along money. You
have Walter as example, and you have Herring. It must be humiliating
for him to have to write in such a fashion, but what he needs is to have
a housekeeping o his accounts. As for Catha herself, this is an example
stimulus to get her to analysis. And provides a good starting point for
her discussions with the analyst. For that at least one may be thankful
to Kershaw.

I must hurry home without trying to answer the others. But I am
glad that the visit of Pup and Puppets has begone so well. I am delighted
that Elizabeth endears.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

20 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I feel quite UN-puritan in writing you the first thing in
the morning, but with today broken by my attendance later, at 11 a.m.,
at Mrs Newton's funeral (Susan of course cannot go) and then this afternoon
by a long session with the University Provost and the Dean of the College,
to whom I am expected to review the history of American Studies, I may
end the day without time otherwise in which to write.

Yesterday the house was a bedlam as the tile people ripped out
the old tile from Susan's bathroom, and with it the huge quantities of rubble
that had been packed beneath the tile as though they originally had been
laying a superhighway base. It took a truck load to carry it off, and men
climbed up and down ladders into my bedroom with basketfuls of their
shoulder. At 8:15 this morning the plumbers were here again to take out the
old and immensely heavy tub. There is dust and confusion everywhere.

But, still, I am revelling for the moment in the presence of
the cook. No longer do I have to get the breakfasts or wash breakfast and
dinner dishes. We sit awkwardly, after so long a time in the kitchen, to
eat in the dining room, Susan at one end of the large table and I at the
other, so distant that I have to ask Susan to raise her voice occasionally
to reach me. We have candles at night, use the good silver instead of
stainless steel, and are served vegetables from silver plates rather than
directly from the frying pan. The cook even makes my bed in the morning
and turns it down at night. I had quite forgotten this way of life.

To return to your letters. I congratulate you on your NO PARKING
sign, which seems an intrusion in one sense and a life saver in another. I
should think your driver would bless you for his new freedom of approach.
#What a sharp eye you had to notice Melitta's need for intelligence. # I
am reminded that I wrote Erich some weeks ago, apologizing for my delay in
congratulating him on his examination and explaining about Susan's ungluck.
But he has not answered, somewhat to my surprise, though it relieves me of
re-answering. #The Penguin Peacock seems to sell well, and as I told you,
Carthage is also to go into paper this fall. All of this keeps your name
before a still growing audience. #Alas, I know how Ethel reacts. By making
small economies she maintains her dignity and sense of thrift. I talked
at length with the Brigadier about her flower growing, or rather he talked
to me about its economics. There, a little like Doris, she fancies herself
more of a business woman that she really is. Still, daffodils are cheaper
to maintain than a stable of racing horses or a football team. # Good for
you, to help Vivianne Lyle. #Your letter to Collins was an excellent one,
much as I had written him, also suggesting Maggs as an appraiser. But I have
a hunch his motive is not really to sell but to confer, to huddle a new
friendship as it were. I should be careful about this, since in the long
run I think he would bore you. # I really had thought, indeed had planned,
to go to Natchez this fall. But I think Boston, and Ady, maybe Hodgson if

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

and the Rosslers. And we could do a day or overnight in Washington. #About Kershaw I wrote yesterday. I do think an accountant is the first step so that one really knows what is owed and what he has. It might well be a grave mistake to sell the house in the country, for he may need this sort of refuge. With Lizzie there was no good just paying bills until one learned what was really outstanding. I am sorry that Catha had to give over part of her dot, but I can see she needed to repay earlier kindnesses to Aldington and to herself. If it were not for these, I think genuine gestures on Kershaw's part, and his continuing relationship to Catha in an avuncular way, one really would have no interest at all. #I know the sort of folding suitcase Pup has given you. Susan gave me one, and it is a handy size for a trip, say, with Phyllis. If Europe comes over to the shopping solution for domestic travel outlined in the enclosed clipping, the extra weight of the folding case would not matter. Up to now it has been rather too heavy. #I realize now that I can get the English Department secretary to run off a xerox of Adrian's Avalon letter. What he doesn't seem to understand is that no one minds any one else disliking something, but one can't abide shilly-shallying. I repeat that I hope you will stick by your guns and get back to the memoirs. If you go too soon to the next science fantasy it may be too similar to Avalon. What publishers don't understand is that one can't serve the same historical meal at every sitting. The cook's muscles grow slack. # I was greatly amused by Henry Steele Commager's letter to the Times about book buying. He is the distinguished American historian (I think you know the history of the U.S. written jointly by Morison and Commager). He is visiting professor either at Cambridge or Oxford. Perhaps the clerk was put off by the fact that Commager bustles and is very Jewish in appearance. That is, he may seem to her to be all too American by his air of aggressiveness. Still, the sale of books can be as valuable to an economy as the sale of electric guitars.

I must rush now, to get to the funeral.

20 July 1965 (2nd ed.)

Dearest Fido,

I forgot when I wrote this morning to say that I will not be able to write tomorrow. I must go to New York for a meeting with the American Council of Learned Societies, that is with the director of their American Studies section. I have been put on that particular committee to help distribute the Ford Foundation grant among visiting professors from Japan, Australia, and New Zealand. A good chance to help.

This afternoon's meeting with the Provost and Dean of the College seemed to go well. I announced, as politely as possible, that after my present term as chairman ends in 1967 I am through with administrative duties. I should probably have been dropped as chairman anyhow on grounds of seniority. But I might as well make the initiative mine.

The funeral was like most funerals. Except that I must say I winced a little to hear the minister say how Mrs Newton had gone to answer God's call. God's call, indeed! I dislike thinking of a lurching reckless truck driver as a divine ambassador.

Yours of the 17th came. What a rich, though sometimes sad 47 years you have had since meeting Hilda. You helped each other to flower, And your second of the 17th also arrived. We will have a full series of visits when you come in the fall. But it will be fun. Will see that an Avalon goes to Lettice. No, perhaps nicer for her and for Cousin Jack if you sign and send. Just this once. I will take care of the Texas affair for Jocelyn after I return from New York.

You and Elsie must have a blow; two checks came from Random House for Pantheon. One for $1062.56. The other for $442.02. I will give the details of how much has been sold of each when I write you on Thursday. Mrs Dingle is out for the week, with an allergy caught from lobster. It has disfigured her hands, she says, and covers the inside of her mouth. She did sound miserable, and no wonder.

Now I must rush home. This was just an end of the day scratch behind the ears for a Fido, done with

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS
YALE UNIVERSITY
NEW HAVEN · CONN'

22 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

My desk is in such an abominable _dissay_ that I have spent
the morning trying to pay bills, file a few oddments, and write a few
notes that would reduce the rubble. Having Mrs Dingle out sick all
week has been a little disconcerting. I begin my letter to you now,
since this is the cook's day off, Mrs Eurich (the nurse) must be off
promptly at 4:30 and so I must take over. I am sorry to say that the
nurse now will come in only Saturday mornings to give Susan her bath
and make her bed. Then I must take over for the rest of the morning
and day as well as Sunday. It is lucky we have the cook. Even so I
shall count myself lucky to keep things going at the office. Obviously
I shall get no writing done. But I am getting used to this after all
these years.

I wrote to the Texas Quarterly and sent the $16.50 which
Jocelyn said was owed. Thank you for the $20.00. When I hear from
Texas that all is in order I will put the extra 3.50 into your account
at the Co-op. Better perhaps not to say anything to Jocelyn until the
thing is firmly settled. Then I can write and say everything has been
explained and is in order. We won't say how it was settled.

I also wrote to John Maggs saying that the set of dramatists
and the two folios had come. I do see that we were talking about different
matters vis a vis George's books. Maggs is to send the dictionary and
the copies of books by you and by Hilda. I was talking about those bought
before the auction.

Now to get to the royalty statements about which I told you
briefly last night. These are for the sales for six months ending March 31,
1965. GATE TO THE SEA: 114. ROMAN WALL (paper:1991. RUAN: 264. BEOWULF:
230. OCTOBER:200. Gandharan Art: 24. PLAYERS BOY: 99. ROMAN WALL (hard cover):
367. TRIBUTE TO FREUD: 25. Previously I have put the receipts from the Freud
into Hilda's account. But now I shall put it into yours. After all you did
put up the money for its publication and so should have that money back. Only
21.06 in any case. These seem to me to be pretty good sales for continuing
ones. Perhaps as for next spring I shall try to see if they are interested
into putting OCTOBER into paperback.

Yesterday's trip the American Council of Learned Societies consumed
the hours. I don't think much was actually accomplished but at least the
ground was broken for the choice of Japanese candidates in the Fall. My
stay there took some 3-4 hours. Otherwise I bought some cocktail biscuits
for Susan at a nice Japanese shop; two serving aprons for the maid at Saks;
and some candy for Susan to nibble on at a little shop on 42nd Street. Down
by the 9 o'clock train in the morning, and back by the 5 o'clock. Fortunately,
with the cook in the house I can be away after the nurse has left.

discovering life. Later, facts will be related to life and at that time seem useful and alive themselves. It must be fun, all the same, for you to watch the world unfold for her. It was nice you could have the visit. Now I only wish you could arrange things so that you could have three or four weeks to yourself. But perhaps that is too much to expect others to let you have, or yourself really to want.

2

Two letters from you today. One of the 19th and another which was undated. Lately you have been dating only about a half of the letters. I try to jot down as from the postmark, but this is not always readable. I can't say, however, that I blame you. You have had almost too constant a stream of visitors and trips on your own, and you must be tired. You sound it a little, and I worry. Do take care of yourself.

I'm glad you like Marianne as a hat model, even though only in black and white. She really is having a wonderful time. Mrs Bennett wanted to die in her sleep; some men have wanted to die at the height of passion in the arms of a mistress; I think Marianne's dream is to be caught up to heaven just at the moment she settled the salmon pink hat on her head.

Do not worry about the Battlesea Library. I didn't make myself clear, and it doesn't matter anyhow. I wondered only if you could get a statement from the neices or a neice that they wouldn't mind if the Council permitted Gabriel Allen, M.P. to be loaned to the Grolier Club Show. Then with that the request for the loan would have to come from the Club. But this isn't really anything for Maishman. Nor is Hollowdell Grange, though it is kind of you to offer her services. As Fenn's first book it is a very rare one, and something for Brimmell if it is to be found at all.

Thank you for reminding me of Helen's birthday. I shall try to send her some flowers. Too bad Christian couldn't have combined his wedding cake with her birthday cake.

It is exciting to hear about This January Tale. I like the title at once and cannot imagine a better one. You are like a wild garden bed, and I never know what long-planted seeds suddenly sprout from your vitals. As always the important thing is for the book to be right. Fortunately the Norman conquest doesn't need son et lumière to make books on it saleable, so that whether it comes out on the day the trumpets blow and the torches are lit doesn't really matter, except for the fact that deadlines like this always act like pep pills for you. Nor is there any reason really why Collins shouldn't be your censor for the English market if you are willing to accept them as such. That is up to you. Only, as you realize, you can't have one publisher for books they feel are acceptable and another for books they thumb it down. All you need to do is to say to Adrian that you didn't really mean what you said. As for Helen the only thing that matters would be her bitter disappointment that after all the loyalty she has always shown, you now make Collins the original publisher so that she must arrange rights with them. I'm not sure just what your reasons are for not wanting January to come after Avalon, but am sure they must be good ones, better that is than chiefly to placate Collins. My own hunch is not to discuss the matter at all, under the circumstances, with Helen but to wait until you have at least a first draft of January's draft. Just keep at it and make every word count, as I know you will.

It must be startling to discover how little Elizabeth has in the way of formal schooling. I suspect that at the moment she is too excited at

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I am just back from a showing of *Borderline*. For an instruct-
or in the Department of History of Art, who is to give a course on the
film next year, and had already had a screening of it two years ago at
Rochester because of a book he is writing. And for a man in the Drama
School who is writing on the Negro in drama from 1920 on. They were
both delighted with it. So was I. It was my first experience of it.
Kenneth gets some exceptionally fine shots, uses his lights well, and
is particularly good with his close ups of Robeson. Much to my pleasure
they were high in their praise of you, saying that you had really
created a role. And indeed you did. As for Hilda, I was taken out
of myself and the experience of seeing her moving again in my life was
at moments almost too much. Especially when she became Intense, and I
thought of a kaleidoscope of moments when I had seen her just that way.

A letter from you came today, undated but the envelope seems
to be as of the 12th. In it you speak of Agnes' review of the book on
the Elizabethan underworld. Alas, I glanced at it, thought "ah this is
Bryher's cup of tea!", and then foolishly threw the issue away without
reading the review carefully. But I did read enough to know that an
expert wrote the review. Agnes always does what most reviewers don't,
that is to give the reader confidence.

Too bad that it should rain while Pup was with you, but here
everyone would rejoice. New York water may be as scant as Hong Kong soon.
They say enough for four months, and then who knows. It is the worst
drought in recorded history, actually the fifth year of an extended one.
Water will almost certainly have to be metered in New York, but will not
affect people in hotels.

I know how Elizabeth must revel in all the books you present
her with. It is part of her hunger for knowing. I only fear a little
when they read so fast that they will not retain what they are exposed to.

As I told you, I like the title of *This January Tale*, and now
I am delighted with the outline you give me. I do have the feeling that you
are deep in it, and that nothing can stop you, visitors or no. I hope so.
I pant to hold it in my hands.

Am not sure whether or not I shall be able to write tomorrow,
and certainly not Saturday. Mrs Eurich, the nurse, will come to give Susan
her bath and make her bed fresh--a stage of refinement I have never excelled
in. Perhaps, with the cook present, I can get a couple of hours at the
office, and if I do part of it (as always) will mean the chance to write you.
In the afternoon, if the weather is good, I will take Susan to the shore.
Today I imagine she went shopping (marketing rather) with the driver and
nurse. She got great pleasure early in the week hopping about the market,
and pointing to what she wanted while the nurse wheeled the cart and put the
things in.

2

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

A letter from Melgaard came today. He is now at Igloolik, NWT, getting a fresh look at the sites there before he settles in to write his book about the artifacts taken out previously. He took a pollen expert with him to do climatic dating. The Danes are good that way, better than the Norwegians I am told. Also sent what appears to be an excellent piece of ivory carving, modern but made from fossilized ivory by a man at Igloolik. I gather made for me, as a Danish gesture. I will not try to open until I get it home and unwrapped there. Melgaard says the Director of Antiquities in Denmark thought it best to wait until September to announce the Brattahlid project. At that time a press conference would be held with the men who had been on the dig, there could be photographs of what had been accomplished, etc. This seems sensible enough, and probably means better publicity for the National Museum.

I asked today about Robeson, and was told that he is back in Harlem and the consensus is that he is in the last stages of cancer. I asked about a previous mental collapse but the man did not know. Says however he will ask Langston Hughes next week for the full story. If not from there, then perhaps I can get it from Ralph Ellison. I try to remember your curiosities.

Yesterday I saw Thornton Wilder briefly as we passed on the sidewalk. He was most affable and most skittish, as usual. Told me he was just getting the last pages of his book -- a novel, I believe. He had heard I was at the White House "do" and wanted to know about it. Did not approve of John Hersey's performance there. I asked him if he wanted to lunch some day, at which he fluttered and said no he was away again. And this is just as well, for I never have anything much to say to him after the first five minutes. We talked for four-and-a-half.

Mrs Dingle came in for two hours this morning so I sent off my report on the manuscript of the book on Wilder written by an old student of mine first as a dissertation under my direction. At least this is now off my desk.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

24 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I did come down this morning, Susan being agreeable to letting the cook do whatever was necessary once the nurse had left. I relish these quiet half-days at my desk. Somehow even in summer, too many people come to pay their respects or pass the time of day. Even now I am waiting for a man to bring a book-length introduction to the Miscellanies of Jonathan Edwards, which I am supposed to read during his week's absence in Chicago. Alas, unfitted as I am there is no one to substitute for me in hurring along this three-year overdue manuscript for the Edwards edition. I shall leave it here however. I have more than enough reading already at the house for my weekend tour of duty. And this afternoon, the day being good I shall drive Susan to the shore.

No letter from you in today's mail, but my mind has been with you all the same. Mrs Dingle did not, after all, get the xerox copy made of your letter from Adrian House, but I wrote my covering letter all the same to Helen, wishing her a happy birthday on the 27th. I am giving her a copy of the photograph of you and Kurt I took at the Dolder, an excellent one of you both and she was pleased when I asked her at lunch if she would like one. It reappeared when I was putting my Swiss color slides in shape. So did the many I took of Aventicum when I had that nice day there with Elsie, just before your measles. Now that only three trays remain to be put in order (we went over them in a preliminary way last night), I will feel that at least something has been accomplished. If we did not always have so much to talk about otherwise, we could fill a month of your visit to us with slide shows.

Melgaard's ivory carving turned out to be an enchanting little group of an owl on a rock guarding three eggs, with another owl in full flight soaring above it. One of his eskimo hunters had found "a frozen and surprisingly fresh piece of walrus ivory in an old Dorset-culture middern. He used it for the carving. The weather, Melgaard reports as still wintry. The ice remains unbroken, and on the day he wrote they had a heavy snowstorm. Does this remind you of Chesterfield Inlet?

I did tell Helen after all that you were happily at work on a new historical, and said that of course the decision as to Collins was completely up to you. But one can sit on decisions for some time. Like ivory walrus eggs they will remain fresh for a long period.

All love as always,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

26 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I hope the heat at Kenwin will not have been like yesterday's here. I took Susan to the shore in mid-afternoon after I had delivered the cook at her daughter's, and when we returned by the Green the clock on the bank registered 94°. The heat is really something to cope with when, as Susan does, one sits all day in a chair, wheeled or stationary. But thank God by midnight a mild breeze had come up so that sleeping was possible. During the evening she read in a manuscript whaler's logbook, from 1839, that had been loaned to me. And it helped to see the notations of the right whales that slipped away and the boats that had been capsized.

The Sunday papers kept us busy for part of the day. Balancing my check book took up a considerable amount of time during another quota of hours. But nothing in either task so intrigued me as the enclosed forecast of America's Christmas greeting to the world. I hadn't realised that angels cross-dressed. No wonder people wish each other a gay holiday.

This morning I wrote Brimmell, the bookdealer from whom I get most of the Henty and Company books for the collection, asking his advice on a score of points about the October show. The precise dates haven't been set yet, but I gather it will go up around the 20th and last until just before Christmas. There will be two lectures, with only the first one open to other guests and their "ladies," as the invitations read. Since I count on you as my lady, I think you must plan to be here for that. If I can't get a good speaker for it, I may have to fall back on myself.

Your letter of the 22nd and two of the 23rd were in the morning post. What higher praise could you want than the preference of Elizabeth for Kenwin over London! She sounds fun to have around if only as something to watch. And I am glad that Jacques suit looks well on him. It must please his father as well. #Glad the Auchincloss book has been interesting at least in part. I haven't reread Elizabeth Roberts for years. John of course wanted you to read _The Country of the Pointed Firs_ because it deals with his corner of Maine. I had thought you would like it as a mood piece and as a modern adaptation of the pastoral. I regard it as the finest example of the genteel in American literature. "Genteel" may be an evil word in your ears. It ain't necessarily so in mine. Anyhow the book has to be read as a myth.

Am always made happy that despite August you live in January.
Glad you like my suggestion of having Philip take a look into
Kershaw's affairs, not so much for Kershaw's sake as for Catherine's,
Naturally she feels an obligation; obviously too there is an appeal in

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

27 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I've been spending today reading a draft of a dissertation on Richard Wright, the Negro novelist. I guess I'm supposed to be directing it, but the writer (a girl) has been away from Yale so long that I'd forgotten about it and her. No, I really hadn't forgotten about it for it has been near my desk since early March. But I haven't had an unbroken span in which to work on it. And work on it, I've had to; I feel like a city editor with the copy of a cub reporter. Somehow I can't help but feel resentful at spending my summer doing this sort of thing. But perhaps it will add to my credit in heaven.

Mrs Dingle is still ill with her allergy, but will come in mornings. I limp along. Even though it is summer, Yale never quite stops. For example, we have had one priest and now have a nun in our graduate program. The priest has become a bishop. But the scale is being balanced, for I have just learned that the nun is resigning from her order. She cannot accept their narrowness and restrictions. They are not, she says, fitted to the needs and conditions of our times today. She is not renouncing the Catholic Church, only her life as a professional religious. She wants to continue to her degree and teach. I wonder how the shadow of this past will affect her career.

I spoke this morning on the phone with the Librarian of the Grolier Club. It looks as though, faute de mieux, we will call the exhibition *Henty and Company*. And he has given me the date for the ladies night, which will come on the third Tuesday in October. I hope you will plan to be here for it. If there is a dinner beforehand we can arrange for you to come to the meeting with Perdiáà and John, unless you want to put on court regalia and have your gown sweep the floor.

Your letter of the 25th came this afternoon. So did three immense cases from Maggs. They obviously contain the dictionary, and I am overjoyed that I did not have to see these through customs. The duty would have been considerable since they are less than a century old, except for the definitions. Your saga of Mrs Dickson was both witty and shrewd. I congratulate you on the ease with which you handled her. When the minor's widow from Denver, Mrs Brown (called "unsinkable" because she survived the Titantic) visited the Duke of Argyll he gave her a set of winter woolies. Certainly as an adfâdavit, Mrs Dickson should have had another set instead of simply a note from Claridge's. # As I have written you I did read vol I of Painter's Proust. You make me eager to read the second installment. # I whisper it, but I have a dandy volume for your birthday. I shall wrap it in mummy cloth until then.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

28 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

A quiet day. This morning I spent in finishing the chapters on Richard Wright and in writing the girl about them. She will probably think I am not warm enough in my enthusiasm. And then in going to the library for xerox copies of Hemingway's letters to McAlmon, which I sent to Carlos Baker who is doing the official biography. It's really not fair to Bob not to let the biographer draw on them and use them to establish the relationship between themtwo men at an important Contact time for Hemingway. If this isn't done in the official biography it never will be.

I lunched with Gene Waith, just back from Greece, and asked him about the Wycherly volume you spoke of. I thought it was very good, the best so far on Wycherly. But it is literary in emphasis, puts the man into the literary tradition, especially of satire. I'm not sure whether or not you are as interested in this as in a relationship between the author and his time. It occurred to me that you might prefer to wait until you come over. Then I can borrow a copy from the English department office and let you see for yourself. I don't want simply to burden your shelves with peripheral data.

This afternoon, with Mrs Dingle gone, I spent in doing a draft of my annual report on American Studies for the Yale president. I could raise no enthusiasm for a literary effort, and simply wrote it as a market report. Mrs Dingle can retype it tomorrow when I am at the dentist, and I can add a few grace notes and correct the spelling before it goes in.

I gather that President Johnson announced 125,000 new troops for Viet Nam at a noontime broadcast. At least that's what I overheard from a young man who said he had to work fast to get out of the draft. Otherwise no great murmur went up and down the streets. I don't know. It is a frightful mess but I frankly don't see how the President can do otherwise. Ever since Truman took over Greece to keep the communists at bay, actions like this have been American policy. Of course America does considerable whitewashing to conceal its new type of economic empire, but nevertheless this is much more important than that. I don't know, I say. I can't read the newspapers about it constantly, so many dead, two miles advanced and two fallen back. Jungles are beyond me. So I only try to answer letters, and do reports.

Last night was in the low sixties; day times are in the high eighties. I gave the cook my office fan to use in your rooms at Goodrich Street. I stew a little.

No letter from you today. I wait until tomorrow for one.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

29 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

Mrs Dingle has been out again today. I must say I have not had

much time out of her during July, and on the 8th she goes off for her month's holiday. I had hoped that while I was at an early appointment with the dentist she would type a draft of my report to the President. Instead I have had to retype it and rework it myself. But I daresay it will be the better for it, especially as I comb out the snide remarks. This noon I took a young Japanese professor from Osaka to lunch. I was too tired to enjoy it very much, but their regard of an American professor is so unrealistically awesome that my vanity is always healed.

A letter has come from Brimmell with a long list of offerings within the sacred field. I daresay I shall succumb, no matter the cost. One really doesn't have second chances with such oddities as you have led me into collecting.

But best of all were three letters from you: one of the 26th and two on the 27th. They have brightened my day, even though my squeel about dating letters must have clouded yours when you got it. I do apologize. Forgive me. We too had rain the night before last, but the irrigation system went on all the same, and the grass continues to grow greener and flourish. Elsewhere one can no longer say anything but a descriptive "yellow as grass." As to the typewriter, I fear you will have to break a wrist and be disabled from novelizing before we can ever entice you into getting an electric. Anyhow your books are never old-fashioned even though your methods are. #Many many thanks for the Pound clipping. I was particularly interested because the only copy of the score for the Villon was in my office filing cabinet for several years. He had goven it to Martinelli who then refused to give it back after he booted her out of his attention. She then gave it to me to send back. I wrote Dorothy who asked me to keep it. Then, years later, to my surprise, I had a letter from the Pound lawyer asking that it be returned at once to him, as though I had stolen goods. I sent it willingly but did explain and ask for a receipt. #Actually I am sure that Valentine will enjoy himself even though you think him lonely. He's a bit of a loner anyhow. He likes to explore. Set him off to Montreux or Vevey to poke around as I enjoy doing. One has adventures with a floating matchstick. #Wish you would send along an installment chunk of January if you dare risk my seeing it. I can't help having a sympathetic pregnancy whenever you are with book. # Poor Belinda. # I had a nice thank you from Jocelyn with a copy of the offprint. Have not had an answer from Texas yet, but am sure it will be all right. I did send the money.

This is Thursday, the cook's day out. I must get back to stand guard when the nurse leaves at 4:30. What about Inez? You haven't mentioned her for some time, and I can't imagine there are no ripples.

Courage, and all love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

The report to the President did go off today, beautifully

typed by Mrs Bingle who came in in the morning to do it. (A draft or
two of letters accounts for the double space with which I begin to
salute you.) I continue with this sort of house cleaning, remembering
that I have only a week more of even part-time secretarial help before
Mrs D goes on her month's holiday.

Last night was rather red letter for Susan. Since it was
the cook's day off, I put Susan in the car and took her out to dinner.
We went to the Captain's Table in Guilford, where I think you have been/
It is directly on the little sluiceway harbor, on one side, and on a
salt marsh on the other. She was much pleased at this sudden reprieve
and everything went off nicely. There was only one little step to
manipulate, otherwise everything was on a level. As she went to a corner
table I had reserved, her eyes intent on her crutches, a voice suddenly
boomed out: "No weight on the left foot, remember!!!" It was her surgeon
there with his badly crippled secretary. He laughed and was pleased,
indeed had suggested the possibility. And indeed had been asked if
he were Dr. Pearson when he came in (this doctor business grows for
professors, and I loathe it), since I had said my wife would be on
crutches, and his secretary also was. But we had picked lobster, and
raw clams, and a cocktail and a glass of wine. It was like a banquet.

Your letter of the 28th was in today's mail, with its classical
classification. Of all the British politicians I have actually met, Joe
Grimond seems the brightest. Douglas-Home seemed to me sillier in the
debate than Wilson, and I think he will serve better on the moors than
in the House.

Valentine is right to a certain extent; I suppose they do
shove him off a bit. On the other hand he frets if in competition with
Nicholas, who frets even more in competition with his older brother. As
to a summer job, I am all for it. We were always sent packing in summer
as pups. His trouble is that he is still too unadventurous, and therefore
limits his experience. I think he is still a bit afraid of other boys,
perhaps because he has no sense of playing games. The Schaffiner's, John
especially, doesn't play tennis or gold or baseball or anything of the sort.
So the children never have. A boy at Choate could do sports all day long
if he chose to; their equipment is superb. Tennis courts, indoor playing
field for baseball and track; a hockey rink; a crew; riding. But they
won't force a boy quite as much as they do in England, where you play or
freeze in winter.

Oh, when will my desk be clear!

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

31 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

I end the month, although I hardly thought (at the beginning of the year) that the summer would be spent this way. However I daresay by autumn a good many miscellaneous accomplishments will have been made. Especially at Goodrich Street. Being more at home than I usually am, I have seen all sorts of little things that needed being done. The irrigation system, for example, seems to be working wonders. So effective in fact that the grass needs mowing twice as often, and the weeds never stop their enthusiastic growth. The sidewalk has been relayed. The planting replaced as needed. A small fence put in to protect Susan's azalea's against the sledding of the next door neighbor children next winter. Screens have been put in where rotted away or never made in the past. The slides are in order for the camera. And the upstairs bathroom is nearly done. When I think of the hourly wage of plumbers, and the fortnight spent so far on it, I think I shall have to turn into a male prostitute to pay for it. One pleasureable discovery, by the way, is that I save enough on the shorter hours for the nurse to pay the cost of the cook.

Yesterday I checked the list of offerings by Brimmell, and found that out of fifteen or so we already had only two. So this puts us a step further ahead, although when I realise what we don't have even now, I know we will be busy at it for some time to come. Alas, there was only one Henty among the lot --a very minor one I think we already have; but the Ballantynes had a real blood transfusion.

I forgot to thank you yesterday for the Alestair Crowley book which came. It is just the sort of thing I have been looking for, to give me some idea of what Crowley really was like. I do thank you. Did I say that I had finished reading the copy I had ordered of the second Fritz Peters on Gurdjieff? Certainly not as amusing as the first volume, and I guess it may have been written in order to pay the respect to the master that Peters may have felt did not appear in the earlier book. Indeed Gurdjieff did emerge interestingly. I am now about a third through Jean Starr Untermeyer's memoirs, but reserve my comments until I have finished.

I enclose a little card from Horace. I hope to get down to see him after Mrs Dingle goes on vacation. Next week is her last. She has had a wretched time with her allergy, even breaking out in her mouth by the gums beneath her plates. She has come in only for a few hours at a time, and that not regularly, so I have not dared skip town for the day, lest I miss the few hours I can get for dictation. This morning I have been sorting my papers and making a little pile of letters to be answered through her.

I was asked yesterday if I would go to Washington for September 16-18th September for the bicentennial of the Smithsonian Institute as the representative of Yale. The Yale President cannot go because he will be in Japan for a meeting, and the head of the Smithsonian (an old friend of mine) asked for me. I shall have to go of course, but it might be amusing despite the endless meetings, cocktail parties and dinners.

I enclose an official account of the coin robbery, which I thought might interest Elsie. All love as always,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

2 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

As a result of my Saturday's work in putting together a dossier of letters I could dictate, I spent the entire morning in that process. I fear I exhausted poor Mrs Dingle as well as my own voice. But I must say it cleared away a noticeable number of miscellaneous papers. Now that they have been dispersed, others emerge. Tomorrow morning I will see what can be done with them.

And of course each day's mail brings in new problems. I got rid of a few of them along with Saturday's batch. One letter about an Indian I find I have solved without remembering I had done so. (This doesn't happen often enough!) I did, I am glad to say, have a letter from the University of Texas, about Jocelyn. "This will acknowledge receipt of your letter dated July 22, which we would like to thank for -- also, your check in the amount of $16.50, which we have used to pay Jocelyn Brooke's account for the reprints which he ordered. Your cooperation and help on this matter is [are?] greatly appreciated." Very businesslike. I had thought there would be a phrase like "Ah! these authors!" There was also a longish letter from Marya (sorry I forgot to enclose Horace's letter in my last; I put it away and will show you when you come. It wasn't important.) full of woe about Horace's health and begging me to take over and arrange for doctors for his bowels and the like. I had thought Mrs Dingle was going to xerox a copy for you, but I will send it along tomorrow. She begs me to come down, and I will go but must wait until next week when the summer session in American Studies is over, and Mrs Dingle has gone on her vacation. I will get a little at taking on another invalid in addition to Susan, but I am pretty sure this is what God intended me for. You will not wonder that I have taken to smoking again. A cigarette serves as a nipple to pacify. Only I am not really searching for nipples!

Saturday afternoon I took Susan and the grandchildren to the shore, so as to occupy them while their mother moved back into town. Lizzie is to take the next-door house for August, and we have had our own cottage cleaned so that young Susan can use it for weekends if she wants, or as a dressing cabana during the week. Young Susan informed Jim that she wanted a divorce, whereat he begged her to try it again, saying that after five months of not working he had taken a job (of sorts). She shrugs and agrees but I am dubious. Under the circumstances one might have thought he would help her in moving back, but gallantry is not his forte. Anyhow the children had a lovely time swimming, and have much improved in their skill.

Sunday was lowering, although it never showered. I did a stint of weeding the garden beds along the driveway, where the choicest things are (or were), and we were then visited by a cousin of Susan's mother (in her 80s). I offered her a cup of tea, and I must say even Elsie would have approved of the result.

In the evening I finished reading Jean Starr's memoirs. I am still at loss to know just what to think. I see her, but am not altogether happy at what I see. And although I am not an admirer of Louis, I can perhaps sympathize

2

a little with him. What can you say of a writer who publishes: "It was popular for luncheon among discriminating women and it was hither I invited Eva Sikelianos." Or in describing a brief encounter with Miss Millay: "I was eager to see Edna again, and I had a vague notion of warning her against the waste of herself and her art. As though she sensed my attitude, she managed never to be alone with me the whole evening." Or "All agog, and hoping to discover a pair of D.H. Lawrence lovers, I tiptoed and looked over the hedge." Or: "The only farms I had previously

(At that moment there was crash outside the window: a motor accident. Much arguing, and much to my amazement four motorcycle policemen went by without even stopping. I come back to you. Let them argue.)

visited had been small ones; so I was interested in this herd which was so large that the cows were not milked by hand. To the udders of the cows, standing with quiet patience in their stalls, were affixed metal caps from which pipes extended to a pumping machine. At that time, this seemed an innovation. I speculated, but did not ask, whether this was done to cut down labor or for sanitary reasons." This is 1965; is she writing for Martians? And at the end I don't know the answer to her overwhelming question. Her trouble is that she simply can't discriminate between what is interesting and what is not. She might have given her own impressions about Frost, who seemed from his letters to like her or at least feel sorry for her. She simply says she told her reminiscences of him to a woman, Miss Sergeant, who wrote a book on him. She is best on Herman Broch and I did learn from her description. I remember Broch when he lived in a slovenly little room in New Haven, as happy as Hodgson in the latter's ragpile. Broch was as hungry for friendship as he was certain of his own genius, and he knew how to capture Jean with the same ease that Gurdjieff captured the women who followed at his feet. No, the book is not a good one, but all the same I rather enjoyed it. Only I wish George had come alive in it, or you, or even Pound about whom she cannot say much except to list the titles of his early books.

Your letter of the 30th came today. There was none on Saturday. The Grolier Club lecture date you will now know: the third Thursday in October. You are quite right to wait to do anything about Kershaw until atherine has visited you. And right to have her stay in the town where I think she actually will be happier. Incidentally it would not at all surprise me in the end to have Catha join the club; I suspect her three experiences with males--R.A., and Kershaw, and her own husband with his impotency and cowboy ways--will have been such as to make her find greater happiness and satisfaction with a girl friend. But who knows, and it certainly doesn't matter.

Poor Valentine. I think he rather envies Nicholas in the latter's outgoing, easy way with people. And rather wishes he liked an electric guitar if only to discard it. He may have talked too much with adults like John and John's friends, and be older than his years and strength. It is his nature, obviously, for he had boys camp too, and the same schools. I understand and sympathize. The thing to do is to let him talk when he wants to, and if one is quiet and not pushing then he will increasingly want to. Boys are never as easy as girls, alas.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

3 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Everyone seems a little tired by this mid-summer, and Mrs Dingle was so pudgeky this morning that I simply sent her home for the afternoon. She was filing some papers when I said I had a few more letters (business ones) to dictate when she had finished, to which she snapped that I could take my choice of letters or having her take work to the clerical bureau. Later she explained that I had told her to tell me frankly when she felt too tired and that was why she had spoken frankly. I thought I gave her the courtesy of saying she didn't feel well; her idea of frankness seems to be to tell me I overwork her. But since she has worked less than half time for several weeks and goes on her month's holiday early next week, I can't really think I have. Frankly I shall be glad when she is gone. I have spent the afternoon, anyhow, doing the letters myself, so at least these (nor any others that come in until she goes) will not be a burden to her. Perhaps it annoyed her that I was reading a book, but it was so I could correct a student paper based on the book. And that is not what I call reading for pleasure.

I enclose a copy of Marya's letter. Do not bother to return since I have the original. I will try to go down next week. I do agree that a wheelchair would be a convenience to him, and I had even thought of doing over their garden (a part of it) so that he could sit outdoors. He never stirs from his room, and I sympathize with Marya in her sense of imprisonment. It is pride, I suppose that keeps him from occasionally using one. But pride for one's self ought to be mixed with compassion for others, and it is not enough for Horace simply to worry about Marya. I'll have to consult with the doctors here to see what they recommend. Horace won't go back to Gaylord for a checkup, and perhaps it is true that they don't want cases like his now. Perhaps I can get him into the Yale-New Haven Hospital, footing the bills, but I do hope I can wait until Susan is at least a little mobile before I have to start paying him visits too. I feel very mean-spirited about this, for I know they depend on me when they need my help. And I really do want to help, because I know they feel helpless. It is only that so many things, like so many visitors, come together.

Many thanks for An Area of Darkness which arrived in today's post. Both Susan and I will enjoy it.

Your letter of the 31st was also in the post, for which as always my thanks. I could weep for your floods of water and guests. I suppose we all lead remarkably egocentric lives. I think as I sit at my desk unable to do my own work how egocentric I myself am when I groan as each person comes and asks me to read still another paper or chapter of a dissertation or entertain this person or that. With a few of course, yourself amongst them, I leap at the chance for our lives

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

are so interwired that egocentrism includes us both. But to read a chapter of a dissertation whose topic is to be abandoned, as I was asked today to day, seems almost too much. Then I remember noblesse oblige and say yes.

You are having an advanced lesson in adolescence, I can see. Part of Valentine's difficulty with Nicholas comes from the same self consciousness that makes puberty embarrassed lest a parent wear the wrong dress on a visit to school, or say a joke that seems un-Mosaic. But puberty can never be fun.

It would be fun to have you and Helen come to the 'rolier Club together, although I am not clear yet as to whether'or not I should actually give the talk. I have another address to make in Atlanta on November 4th (I will be gone only overnight) and hate to prepare two at the same time.

I think we must have a parade with Nicholas in his pink pants and Marianne in her pink bonnet.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

4 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

The days seem to be growing shorter in more ways than
simply that of the hour when the sun sets. Today I have spent mostly
in the Library checking a man's article on Hawthorne, submitted to
the *Essex Quarterly* of which I am an editor. Alas, he didn't knoq
quite as much about it as I now do after consulting my Hawthorne
files.

Tonight is a farewell dinner for the high school teachers
enrolled in the summer program of American Studies, of which I am
at least nominally director. I must say I haven't seen much of any
of them since the opening tea, but I must make my appearance all the
same. And go home to put on a clean shirt before going to Mory's.
Two of the teachers are nuns; Mory's will tremble when they enter
its doors.

I left at home a long and rather inconclusive letter
from Collins, too long to xerox but difficult to understand. He
more or less says he is one of the two or three persons with whom
she was most intimate, that she wrote him perhaps 500 letters,
and laid her soul bare to him. Most of the letters have been
destroyed, and he has disposed of the few remaining ones in his
will (how? to where?), doesn't know what to do about the essay
which she seems to have laid as an offering at his feet. He
writes very pleasantly, wishes he might talk with me, although
there is much he naturally could never tell (a treasury department
secret service man, who broke the Teapot Dome oil scandal, once
said to me "Sometimes people are silent because they really don't
have anything to say!"), and somehow manages to make me feel a
little like an outsider who perhaps at best only heard of Hilda.
But he did say he had had her publish a number of reviews in the *Adelphi*
which he can identify, and this would be important indeed to me.
I will cope as indicated.

A letter came today from Helen, in answer to the copy
I sent her from Collins. In it she writes, "I quite agree with you --
I don't think Bryher should split her production, giving the historical
novels to one English house and her work concerned with contemporary
history to another. What this sums up to is that we should look for
a publisher willing to do AVALON and her subsequent books, no matter
whether historical or topical. As you know, I shall be for a week in
September in London. Could you get in touch with me about this and let
me have your advice? Is there any firm to which you would give precedence?
I would rather talk this over with you than write about it. Of course
we could do this over the telephone, or I could come to New Haven if

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

5 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Have just gone down for the afternoon mail, and found a letter
from you. Of the 3rd. So I write now, this being Thursday and my day to
take over early. The cook has her day off, and the nurse leaves at 4:30.
We will go out to dinner (fortunately the sun is shining again after rain
this morning), and I have asked a couple, just back from abroad, to join
us at the Lawn Club. I shall think of you and our regular meals there.
The waitresses always ask after you.

Mrs Dingle, as usual, has gone home for the afternoon. We
had a little crise this morning, when I happened to mention in reference
to work to be done that of course there was Monday and Tuesday. She said,
"buttomorrow is the last day!" I was surprised because my engagement book
has as the entry for the 10th, "Hazel, vacation to September 8th." She
was a little flabbergasted at that, but is going anyhow. What a child!
She has done absolutely none of my office business for the last few days,
and worked less than half time for the past three weeks. But last night
at Mory's, for the summer school dinner, she and her husband sat at my
table and she asked if I wouldn't ask herself, her husband and her son
again to dinner there. Her son "would love it so!" But I am getting
used to all this sort of thing, and don't even take a tranquilizer any
more. One makes gestures, but seldom receives them in return.

The other letters in the afternoon's mail were one from the
husband of my niece (Alfred's oldest daughter) who is now Assistant Attorney
General in Washington, in charge of anti-trust matters. An important
position. And then a long two-page single-space letter from Brimmell,
much excited about the Grolier Club show and giving answers to some
questions I had asked him, the names of Henty and similar collectors in
the States. I must absorb carefully and then will relay on the gist to
you. He hopes the Grolier Club will issue a catalogue, "very important"
he says, but this takes money and I doubt they actually will. Usually a
member puts up what is necessary, and I doubt that I am up to it at the
moment. Maybe later one can. He says to relieve on condition of the bindings
rather than rarity, since color will be the main thing. I am still half-
tempted to do the opening talk, but of course if I did it could only be
full of pleasantries.

Prouty came to the office this morning, and asked about the pile
of dramatists on the floor, which you sent me. He defended the texts, and
said the Dyce was rare and hard to come on. I think his mouth watered. He
has had all his teeth out, in what must have been a painful operation. The
plates were put back in before he came out of anaesthesia, and he looks much
better both in appearance and physical condition. The doctors think bad teeth
penetrating his antrims was resonible for his sinus troubles.

Despite your regal delay in celebrating your birthday, I shall
consider it still to be on the 2nd. I have already sent two bulky books by
surface on the slim hope that they will reach you in time. Two tinies will
go shortly by air mail, but you are forbidden to do more than open the outer

2

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

wrapper, to distinguish between the tawdries I have sent you and the twue gifts. Susan has wrapped the latter, her first venture in this sort of activity, and so you will know what is sacred and what profane. I am glad that Elsie gives you more time to find the right thing for her. The weekend suitcase sounds like an excellent idea.

How interesting that Elsie found her landlord at the inn an aficianado of Henty. The nice thing about Henty is that those who like him simply want the titles and are indifferent to first editions. This is the true tribute.

One problem about the collection stolen at Yale is that its particular nature is more suited to a museum than to a library. But I imagine that statistics would show that very few collections of any kind were in fact stolen.

I trust you breathe easier without pups around.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

7 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

I am stealing my Saturday three-quarters of an hour at the office, but the time has almost gone by with the necessary paying of bills. My desk is uncomfortable filled, but at least the office will be from now until September 9th empty except for me. I did not write yesterday, but spent the day reading the manuscript of an edition of Jonathan Edwards *Miscellanies* and have 600 pages still to go. More importantly I suffered while Mrs Dingle had her last day. Once during it when a visitor from out-of-town was here, and I was interrupted in talking to him by a long distance phone call asking for some papers, I asked Mrs Dingle (who was at my door between her room and mine if she would get these together for me. The look I got from her was enough even to startle the visitor who threw up his hands in dismay after I then said quietly I would do it myself only to have her shut the door on me. She spent the door cleaning up, but has done nothing for me for the last four days while she worked only half time (and not all of that) and did things she might have done in June. I know she has been feeling sick for the last month which is why I let her go each day at noon. But, my God!, after all... Too bad, universities aren't a business. If they were, I'd have her transferred or simply let her go. She is the only child of a widowed or divorced mother and I think she must have been petted and spoiled. I pity her husband to whom she whines in a cuddly fashion.

There was no letter from you today, but yours of the 4th came yesterday. I hadn't heard of the Viking Studies with Vebaek's report on Marrsag in it. He hasn't sent me one, perhaps because he so disapproved of a non-Dane helping with the restoration of Brattahlid. This really offended him, and he was quite sharp when I suggested it several years ago as a possibility.

Actually I'm very glad that Catha is coming to see you, and I hope you will have probed deep about Kershaw. I still think the only solution is to put a solicitor on it, straighten out his bills completely, and then give him another chance. Sometimes life does get too much for one.

Yes, Yale does know about the French censorship, and they live like a little colony of exiles in the French Department here. I notice them turning to the French films as a kind of aesthetic relief.

As I told you, I will try to see Helen on the 18th when I have to go to New York on Henty business. But perhaps you ought to brief me on why "you will not have a historical book follow Avalon in America." Your reasons are not doubt very good ones, but I can't guess what they are, and might have thought that a rather nice revenge on Collins would have been to have one appear here which they could not have because of their attitude towards Avalon, the publication of which must be a sine qua non of the shift to a new publisher. I rather hate to think that after the loyalty of the American public to your work, and their original recognition of its quality, not speaking about Helen's own loyalty always and now, they should be in the position of having to wait a couple of years for your next book. Certainly

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

11 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

I did at last yesterday manage to visit Horace and Marya,
driving down after my appointment with the doctor (routine) and a brief
stop at the office to glance at the mail and leave off papers I didn't
want to risk to the road. I think we both agree that it is easier not
to get there in time for lunch, so I stopped off at Tarrytown (by the
bridge) for a hot dog and a visit to the Gould mansion which has now
been opened to the public. The mansion is not, I think, your cup of
Americana although its 19th century Gothic manner and Gothic revival
furnishings gave me some new insights into the American's yearning
for the European past. The house is a kind of moneyed extrapolation
of Irving's cottage, and like it is on the banks of the Hudson. It
was left as a museum by its last occupant, the Duchess of Talleyrand,
née Anna Gould.

I reached Palisades at a quarter to two, having told them
I would not come for lunch and to eat beforehand so that we would not
take any time away from my chance to talk with them. Alas, after
Marya's asking if I wouldn't like chipped beef on toast, or a bowl
of junket, I realised they themselves hadn't after all eaten. So I
drank a cup of tea while they had a sandwich. Horace seemed quite
recovered and in excellent spirits. Marya looked well too, except
for her arm which was swollen and obviously gave her trouble, for
she kept wrapping a handkerchief around it to use as a semi-sling.
One really worries about her future, but of course there is nothing
to do. Horace had just that day finished the Richardson book, and
it is now ready for the typist before going to Holt who may publish
it, and D.R.'s short piece as a companion volume. Horace says he
regards his book as an introduction of D.R. to college students--
"They are the audience I have in mind," he said. I gather it is
largely made up of quotations from the books and from that section
of the letters which I took down several years ago. I had meant
these only as a first installment, but I don't think he really wants
to go deeper into it, nor am I confident that his heart is really in
the book. Nevertheless I am sure it will be a good one, of its sort.
I felt flattered when he showed me a new poem he had written, the first
since his operation to be finished. I liked it; it has a quietness
and sureness which I think you will admire, without its being markedly
different from his earlier work. And it is a little cool as most of
his things are, once he gave up his political feelings. But with the
exception of his poems to Joanna he has never been what one would call
a personal poet. Hilda, for example, was always writing out of herself,
which gives the poems a different intensity.

Horace has already signed a contract with Holt for his
memoirs, and intends to call it "The House on Jefferson Street." This
is his grandfather's house--what makes him feel a Gregory of Coule--
and he intends to begin with a long description of it and the street.
I am not instantly compelled by the title, in terms of the drift of

2

Horace's life and experience, but said nothing. After all, the book isn't written yet, so the title doesn't matter. Marya has just finished the proofs for her book of poems, which comes out in September. Malcolm Cowley having been helpful with it now turns out to be a wonderful man, which is a pleasant reversal of their former point of view.

The children are well. Pat is said to have had his best trip yet, this summer. The older grandson, Gregory (I think) is developing into a distinguished or at least dedicated painter, and for that reason doesn't want to go to Dublin to study classics. Instead he will enter Princeton this fall, a much wiser choice for many reasons. The younger boy is, they say, even more brilliant with his grades, will graduate from his school next spring, and being young (16) they want to send to the Tunbridge School in England for a year before he too goes to Princeton. What he wants in the long run is to enroll at Annapolis after a year at Princeton, and go into what they call the diplomatic side of the Navy. (I suppose this means Naval intelligence, like his father's work.)

I had almost finished *The Magical Dilemma of Victor Neuberg* which you sent me after Jocelyn's mention of it, and I was a great success in relaying my fascination with the book. I have just now ordered a copy to be sent from England to Horace who is as intrigued by Alesteir Crowley as I am. This is really an extraordinary book and I could not put it down. The author, who is hemmetic, wanted to get at what Newburg (whom she worshipped late in his life) and Crowley were trying to get at, and had access to Crowley's journals. The most extraordinary tapestry of British life opens up, and one sees that Lethbridge for example is by no means a lone wolf in his belief in magic, even though he doesn't indulge in homosexual rituals to carry on the doctrine of the Knights Templar. Yeats figures, Walter Duranty, a whole line of familiar names. And the books at issue are, many of them, precisely what fascinated Hilda. For she was deeply involved in much the same sort of mystic concern with the Egyptians, horoscopes, Amberlain and the like, only fortunately in her case she developed it along the lines of Zinzendorf rather than de Molay. I do thank you for sending it. You must look at it when you come across in the Fall.

Lethbridge's book also has come. Susan started to read it but got bogged down, and I will try it next.

I write this with the usual mess on my desk, and so your several letters lie buried. That of the 7th came yesterday. I think often of Mrs McPherson and her death, as well as of my visits to her as she lay by the window and remembered the world. #Glad you are seeing John Maggs et al; as I find with Brimmell it is most useful to have a bookdealer who keeps one in mind. Otherwise with rare books and the Aldington type of newer material, you would be as helpless as without your Tunbridge Wells lieutenant. #And glad too that Valentine appears to like his school. You mustn't take his criticisms of Choate or his parents too seriously. Adolescence is both hopeless and confusing.

Your letter of the 8th came today. I don't see that there is much to do for Horace at the moment, and any money sent him would only go into more repairs or into their travel fund for the trip they hope some day to make

3

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

somewhere. Just as I was leaving I brought up the matter of the wheelchair, getting at it indirectly and on the basis that I could count my rental fees for Susan's wheelchair towards the purchase price of it, so the wheelchair might be useful and wouldn't cost me much. Interestingly Horace agreed that one would be extremely useful when he went to New York. Then he could leave the car and be wheeled in without the painfully slow progress across sidewalk and lobby. Or if he went to a restaurant. I'm not sure whether or not the rental can in fact be so charged, altho I think it can. Really it doesn't matter so long as he feels the bargain redeems the loss of his pride. When Susan is finished using it I will present it to him, but I can manage the cost. Perhaps eventually we might construct a better exit to the streets so the chair could be wheeled down it, but that won't be until Fall and we can discuss the matter together then.

I will write Collins and ask about the Adelphi list. It will be a good test. I can't see what he could tell me or you that we don't already know, and I am surer than ever that what he wants is not to sell either the manuscript of the letters, but to write and talk endlessly with us about them both.

I shall be eager to see the first section of January. I spoke to the Gregories, who had brought up the matter, about Collins refusal of Avalon and they agree with Helen and me that Collins shouldn't have the historical novel now that they have welched on Avalon. It just doesn't make sense, and only redders all the more difficult any later withdrawal. To give it to them would only be to admit defeat, which your dignity doesn't deserve. I said that you didn't want Avalon followed by a historical novel here, but they couldn't guess why any more than I could. I am glad to see you are willing to talk to Helen about it if she likes the book (as I am sure she will). I leave it up to you.

Susan seized An Area of Darkness and read it avidly. I gathered she thought the pace slackened a little at the end, but she thought it was very good. If only I could finish Jonathan Edwards on the evils of the American soul, then I can read this account of the evils of India. I am eager to.

Yours of the 9th came in the noon mail. It will be all right with Mrs Dingle. I am always consoled that there will be only two more years before I am through with administration, and she does know the ropes so far as requisitions etc are concerned. It was only the heat of the summer and her own illness, combined with my own fatigue, I am sure. # So far as a Grolier catalogue is concerned one had better see how the show turns out before one talks about it. I don't know whether there would really be much of a public for it or not. And certainly I am no true bibliographer nor intened to take the time to learn how to be.

Congratulations on your victory with the steak at the Escale. It will be Elsie who takes the lead the next time.

I enclose an announcement from this week's *Publishers Weekly*. I am glad your Avalon was discovered first. It will be interesting to see if the reviewers link the two.

The tile men came to work on the bathroom this morning, before I left.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

12 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

You find me at the end of the day with not more than
five minutes before I must leave to get home before the nurse
leaves at 4:30. The cook's day out. And we will go out again
too this evening for dinner, taking Mrs Wohleneberg and her
present husband for dinner at the Captain's Table.

I must say I do feel a little relieved at having
the three boxes of Jonathan Edwards off of my desk. I have read
and read until I am blue in the face. But I saw the author of
it (not Edwards) just after lunch, told him my conclusions and
hoped they helped, and he took the boxes off with him. Alas they
will have to come back to be typed, but meanwhile I won't have
to stare at them.

Before meeting him I had lunched with a poor waif
of a teacher now on his tenth or eleventh year of trying to get
his doctorate. I refuse to read anything by him, at this date,
until he hands me the whole. Mostly he wants to talk about new
arrangements for what hasn't been written. I won't do that
either. But I can't ignore him since he is back for the summer.
We spent luncheon discussing his bowels instead.

After the Edwards scholar, Malcolm Cowley appeared.
He is in the process of revising a Viking Portable Hawthorne and
wanted to know what he should add and subtract and what books
should be mentioned in the bibliography. Really! I told him,
anyhow.

Your letter of the 10th came this afternoon, written
just as you were off to Avenges. You must give me a report of the
newest excavations since I went with Elsie. #1 shall be delighted
to have Lady B's Aldington. You hadn't had a chance to ask Catha
when you last mentioned it to me.

I have just been reading Time Magazine's review of
Auden's new book of poems. Yesterday I saw Philby's picture in
the Times, apropos of his loss of decoration. (Not a bad idea to
do, although I am surprised to find them doing anything.) Both
Auden and Kim look alike in their pictures, rather jowled and
like debauchees. Graham Green has that same look, as though they
were triplets. What happens to British boys when they grow old.
They keep pink cheeks so long; then suddenly they become worn
leather.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

13 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

What a day! By some slip-up no record was kept of the titles
of the essays written by the 19 summer school teachers, and since this is
needed for each certificate I have had to write a separate letter to each
asking for the information. Mrs Dingle being on holiday, naturally I had
to do it myself. My fingers are ready to drop off, but all 19 letters
have been finished. I assure you, the letters were brief however.

Being in a letter stance I have kept on with various overdue
correspondences, and as a result my desk is a little free-er of debris.

Yours of the 11th was in the late afternoon mail, after the
morning's drought. But actually I did not expect an evening letter on
the 10th after your trip to Avenches. I am glad the day turned out so
well. Elsie is a very good companion on such a trip. Glad too that the
Valley of the Latin Bear had something of interest in it for you. I
will try to keep my eyes open for the genre. I can see the relevance.
#Poor Islay, these must be difficult days for him with his mother sick
and the olives panting to be plucked.

Three yellowbacks, altogether, have now come. Both Susan
and I were fascinated by Lady V's trip to California. I must say the
climate there will be better for her than her own chilly halls, stately
though they are. Do tell her that if her boat docks at New York en route
to California we should love to see her. # I see Dean is slipping the last
of the mss in for sale at Sotheby's. And why not, prices being what they
are. #Roesler's notice of Ruan was very nicely written. What an attractive
and brave person he is. I wonder how he manages on what must be a very modest
pension if any at all. But he never whimpers. I should.

It never quite manages to rain, and the air remains uncomfortably
muggy. Fortunately, thanks to the new irrigation system at Goodrich Street,
our lawns nevertheless flourish.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

I returned home last night to find that the postcard from
Elsie and yourself, as from Avanches on Elsie's birthday, had arrived at
Goodrich Street. This must be pretty nearly a record transit for even an aircard.
It was great fun to have; we thank you.

This has been rather a triumphant morning at my desk, I seeming
to get down to it and keep at it. As a result there is a substantial little pile
of answered letters to be posted as I go home for my Saturday duties. Not really
a full tour od duty, however. I must go to a 4 o'clock wedding and reception
afterwards, so the driver is to take Susan to the beach rather than to have her sit
in lonely splendor at the house with only the cook to look out after her. A long
time friend of ours, a professor from Los Angeles, arrives this afternoon for
dinner and overnight. It will be pleasant, but because of our living conditions
I have taken a room for him at the hotel. With Susan domiciled on the ground floor,
breakfast time and bath time afterwards would be a little awkward with a guest
roaming. As with you, hotels for guests can sometimes be the best solution for
everyone. I simply arrange to have the bill sent to me.

Part of the morning has been spent in checking the xerox prints
made of the Henty albums. I find one page so far that they missed. Otherwise it
is a fine job. I ordered rather more than you had designated, but for my own
reasons and with the Grolier show in mind. What a treasure trove they really are.
It would have taken us years of research to have dug up the same material. Indeed
some of it, as regards Griffith, would now be impossible. I must say I rather
sympathize with Griffith in feeling put out when Henty left him nothing in the
will. Griffith really gave his life to Henty, and had nothing to turn to after-
wards. I take the checklist of short stories home with me over the weekend, and
will try to locate the publication if any of the typescripts we got from Blackie's.

I forgot to tell you that Thornton Wilder had phoned the other
day to inquire about the arrival of a German professor and wife from Freiburg, who
are to be here until the end of the month. He wanted Susan and myself to go to
dinner with him and them. But they do not come until today, when he has left for
Martha's Vineyard for the rest of the month. I suspect he was relieved not to have
to do anything for them. Still, he insisted we must dine at theawn Club together
on his return. I told him about Bauttahlid, and he was much excited. "Put me down
for $100.00," he shouted, "I adore myths!" I tried to explain I wasn't raising
money. "Well, I do adore myths," he said, and we let it go at that.

Must run now to lunch at home.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

16 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

The answers already begin to come in with the titles of the essays I asked for, and my prestige at the mail room mounts as the number of letters in my box grows. But much pleasure for me was your letter of the 12th in this morning's mail, and that of the 13th in this afternoon's. Alas I couldn't read them until now, for at ten in the morning Prof and Mrs Link appeared from Freiburg im Brēsgau. I talk with them to find out what he wanted to do in his fortnight here, then took him to the Library to get his card and to the Beinecke where he is to work on O'Neill, and then took them both for luncheon to the Graduates Club where I got him a guest card so they could eat there during his visit.

Then it was already two o'clock and I stopped at the Library to see if I could dig up some connections between Yale and the Smithsonian Institution which could be incorporated in the official Yale greetings for the bicentennial. Not much luck, I am afraid.

And now I must get ready for my trip to New York tomorrow. I will see Helen first to talk about British publishers, and then go on to the Grolier Club to discuss the exhibition. All last night I searched through the immense bibliographical lists of Henty's short stories, included in the Indiana scrapbooks, but could not locate a single one of the typescripts we got from Blackie's. This was disappointing but I shall exhibit them anyhow.

Yesterday I took Susan to the shore, a hot day and it was pleasant to be by the water. The rest of the time I watered the greenhouse, weeded in the garden, trimmed the rose bushes and sprayed everything against aphis. This pleased Susan who would have already done it often and thoroughly.

I quite sympathize with Beney, and if the American economy appears to improve it will be only because of war orders. This is a false prosperity and I do not like its looks at all. The general European and British economy looks shaky, and that of the Orient is of course thinly propped if at all. (One reason why I want to get the repairs done to the house while there is still time.) #I was much interested in what you had to say about group therapy. I do not lay quite as much leftist influence on this as you do, for there is too much reliance on it as a modus operandi by everyone. But I agree that it shares a way of thinking about the individual which is marked by our times and shared by all parties. C.S.Lewis once said we were at the end of an era, and that the individual would not longer become the focus of attention. He was certainly no member of the C.P., but felt the loss of the individual as a manifestation to be deplored. # In general young Maggs may be right about the book market, although as a

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

dealer he can no longer depend, as the Maggs firm has been doing in
recent years, on people coming to them with things. The dealer has
to get out to discover stock. All big firms do most of their business
privately, but they often go into the Sotheby type of market to get
stock as well as to act on commission.

As to the Grolier meeting on the 21st, I should think you
would at least come over the previous weekend so that you could go into
New York Sunday night from here and begin your sessions with Prutting.
I have to go to Atlanta, Georgia, to give a talk on the 4th of November,
and we can fit our trips in at other periods. I should think you would
want to count one way or the other on three weeks at least on this side.
I can't really think that with all you have to do each visit in London
that you really want to spend time showing London to Catherine and
Jacques. As for family, better not to get mixed up with them. Do your
life-saving from a distance.

We'll wait to see how January develops before we worry about
it. As for being *only* a historical novelist, the answer is that you're
not. But the mere fact that you are doing one does mean that you want
to do one, and p.a.-wise you ought not to deny that part of yourself.
People in America are interested in whatever you write about, and won't
want to be cheated out of a novel you have actually written and published.
You are Bryher, and not a typed novelist. Let them see you as you really
are--the truth, that is, as you always say-- and when your mind turns
towards experimentation let them have that, when your mind turns towards
history let them have that too. You are modern to the core; everything
you write is about today even when it is expressed by a historical metaphor.

I am so sorry about the seeds. We'll have to re-stock you for a sensible summer.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Probably the best way for me to start the day, even before picking up my desk, is to report on yesterday's trip to New York. I was a little later than I had thought in reaching Helen's office, for I had gone to Abercrombie Fitch to look for a double kayak paddle and been sent by them to 133 West 45th Street where I dutifully reported on foot, bought a paddle and then spent the rest of the day carrying it my hand wherever I went. In parched New York it created quite a sensation. In the Harcourt office too, and especially in the lingerie section of Bonwit Teller where I went to buy some nightgowns for Susan. I think my fellow shoppers at Bonwit's looked at me askance, as though I cross-dressed at night and paddled my own canoe by day.

I had a good talk with Helen, much better than one might have managed by letter. We went over her correspondence from Adrian House. She thinks Collins knows little about what is going on, but completely agrees that one can't divide between one publisher for historical novels and another for contemporary ones. Collins, alas, is away, in Bulgaria or some such place, and will not be back by her week in London at the beginning of September. She may however see him at the Book Fair in Frankfurt. That comes in October. So we decided that she should inquire around among other publishers as she sees them, but putting the whole burden on my shoulders, saying that I was unhappy with Collins. That makes it easier for you and for her also perhaps, and leaves all doors open. I don't mind in the slightest, and in fact it was my suggestion.

After Harcourt, I went on to the Grolier Club to discuss the exhibition. My friend Brad Martin, head of the exhibitions committee, had flown up from his plantation in North Carolina for the meeting, a gesture which I much appreciated. People seem enthusiastic about a catalogue but agree with me that if there is to be one it should come out only after the show, so that it can be done professionally with careful descriptions, and not slap dashed before the show is installed. For the two speakers, I am going to try to get the Byzantine professor at Harvard to talk at the first meeting, and a young Yale man at the second. The latter will be, if he is agreeable, on the image of the American West and perhaps Canada in the various novels. We decided on the format of the separate invitations for the two meetings. The second will use the cover of Henty's *Dash for Khartoum*, in color, a very dashing picture of a British officer "dashing" with an uplifted saber. For the first we will use Ballantyne's sketch for the title page of *Dusty Diamonds*. Just that, on which is written "Turn Over" and on the verso print Ballantyne's long description of the drawing to aid the publishers. This is part of the allantune group we bought, and I suddenly realised that the title of the book made just the right title for the exhibition. The full title is *Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished*. Underneath will be the caption: An Exhibition of the Works of Henty, Ballantyne, Kingston, Fenn, Mayne Reid, Stables and some others. I hope you approve. The choice was not supposed

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Most of the afternoon has now gone by, (a) with reading and
redrafting for one of the assistant professors his applications for two
fellowships, and (b) a long and sad discussion with a young man who
having been twice denied deferrment by his draft board now wants a second
year of graduate work. "I suppose they will think I'm running away from
the draft," he said; how could I say without bludgeoning that I didn't
see how they could say otherwise? I met him last in Hong Kong two years
ago. No one can be young again, but it is even harder to feel their reaction
to what must seem like a tossing away of three years. A world they never
made asks what they don't want to give. The young man wasn't sure what his
bubble would have been, but his face was sad because it had burst. He is
a really nice boy, and I would have liked to put my arm around him and told
him to cry. Instead I told him to go in the Navy, improve his Chinese and
learn German, and read some, and if he really wanted to go into teaching
then no three-year intermission would stop him from coming back for the
second act of the play. And I don't think it would.

I forgot to thank you for the stamps this morning. Thank you.
I forgot too to say that last night after coming back from New York I read
Lethbridge's ESP. He really does write attractively, and can turn a nice
sentence. And I think he actually is living in another dimension, maybe
a fancied one but another dimension all the same. His book was especially
vivid after our visit to Hole. Thank you for the book too.

This afternoon your letter of the 16th came. Anya Seaton is a
professional writer who turns them out. People read them too. I am glad
the SF's arrived. I sent two birthday books by surface also, and they should
be arriving in time for the 2nd. Today I went to the post office and sent
two additional birthday souvenirs by air mail, so as to be certain they
would. Open anything for the outer wrap; you will recognize Susan's paper
as a STOP sign, otherwise. How clever of Tigerli to learn so quickly that
Elsie has become a good American with leftovers.

I must write one more letter and then go home to become respectable
before fetching Prof. Link and his wife, from Freiburg, for dinner. Thw
weather continues nothing but a dog day. Everyone is gruff with everyone else.
It is easy to see how mob violence begins in August.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

19 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

This is an early-in-the-day letter to you, since I must
go home shortly to take over from the nurse, this being the cook's
day out. For dinner we will go to the Lawn Club, picking up the
grandchildren who always enjoy their night out too.

The early morning I spent writing out the official
greetings from Yale to the Smithsonian Institution, and this has
now gone off to the printers. The rest of the time has been spent
on letters about the Dusty Diamonds. What devious paths you have
led me into: the arctic and Eric the Red, and now these historical
novelists. But at least I have done about all that is possible to
do at this stage. Fortunately I was able to persuade the young
Yale professor to give the talk on the image of the American West
' in this type of fiction. It links with some other work he is
doing.

I forgot to say that while in New York I bought a
copy of Kenneth's paperback which must be just out. I have one
to send him too, since publishers cannot always be counted to do
so.

A SEXUAL TOURNAMENT...
URBANE ... FASCINATING

This is what stares out at one above the title. On the back is "sordid
and beautiful, hateful and noble, sacred and profane." That runs the
gamut all right.

Your letter of the 17th came this afternoon, and I hope
the visit with Agnes is as happy as it ought to be. No we didn't stop
at Gruyeres, but only passed through it late in the afternoon on our
way home. I have pictures of both you and Elsie there. Susan is
fascinated by the colorful fronts of the houses.

I was just interrupted by Folsom who came to borrow his
first novels of the West. he starts with 'allantyne.

Now I must rush.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

21 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Alas, no mailroom boy has appeared this morning,
and so I do not know whether or not a letter from you is waiting
for me there. And in fifteen minutes, having just come in, I
must leave for New London.

Why did God ever give me a conscience. Professor
Link and his wife, from Freiburg, are here as I wrote you; and
although he does nothing to force me, or even suggest it except
by esp, I know they are bitterly disappointed not to be able to
get out of New Haven over the weekend when everything is closed.
After all, his Fellowship brings them here to meet people and
see things. So Susan has gallantly offered to be content with
the driver's taking her to the shore this afternoon, and I will
take the Links first to New London and then to Mystic. He is
writing on O'Neill and I can show him the house O'Neill lived
in and used for Long Day's Journey (that is, if I can find it;
I've never been there myself); and afterwards go on to the seaport
where he can have his lesson in Moby Dick.

I wrote so late yesterday afternoon to you that there
is nothing to report save that the furnishings for the re-done
bathroom are now stacked inconveniently in the garage, so that
perhaps on Monday they can be installed. And that last night we
entertained after supper a young professor from the University of
Toronto, with his wife, who used to be a student of mine and took
his doctorate here. An Englishman who makes a tactically good
presentation of American literature to Canadians. She is on the
women's board of the Toronto Art Gallery, and I did my best to
get her interested in having the Gallery put on a loan show of
eskimo art from around the world's museums, including Denmark,
whose catalogue could become as important as your Ghandaran book.
If I was successful, the evening will have been a useful one.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

21 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

No reason except that of love for me to write a second letter, having only today's trip to add to my morning's. But tomorrow being Sunday, without my being able to get to the office, this will make up for my failure in the morning. I can't back to the office for a few minutes, found the mail had finally been sorted, discovered a yellowback from you, but no letter. There is no time to open what did come so will save that for Monday.

Mystic was much as before, although I am frank to say I prefer it out of season--as when we go--than to today when one stood in line to go below in the whaler, and when the entire port had a sort of summer carnival air. They have made a good many additions since we last went, both boats and buildings, so some time we must go again. I'm not sure that it ought to get much bigger however for its own good. And certainly not for the feet of the visitors. One can go below in the Bowdoin, which made 38 trips to the arctic; but I guessed the German professor preferred the whaler. Things have been rearranged in the museum, with a case for the Bounty and another, oddly, for Robert Louis Stevenson in Tahiti. The last seems stretching things even though what is shown would be appropriate elsewhere. Still... Fortunately the R.H. Dana uniforms are still on display.

Before Mystic I had the happy idea of taking the Links to New London where we sought out Eugene O'Neill's house; but having written this now I recall I spoke of it this morning. We got to a house where he had lived for six months after the t b sanitarium, thinking it to be his father's house. I inquired politely and was asked in along with the Germans by the owner and her sister who had known O'Neill well and of whom he often spoke. I said I had known him, and that was enough to get the old ladies talking. The Germans were fascinated by all the anecdotes they told, and of course I was much interested myself. Finally we went on and uncovered the proper house hidden among the trees, but did not try to go in. But all in all the diversion was a huge success, and perhaps Link will write a learned article about it.

Now I must run.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

I have written still more letters today about the Henty Show, including one to Cleanth Brooks to see if he or the Ambassador (whom I know) would be willing to write Lady Spencer-Churchill to see if one could borrow Sir Winston's boyhood copy of a Henty or another of the same kind. It would be great fun, I think, and have a point to it as well. I wrote Bill Golding to see if he still had his copy of Coral Island, and Henry Miller to see if he had something. Your Young Carthaginian will go alongside Carthage. I am also digging to see if Theodore Roosevelt had a copy.

So of course you mustn't say "if" you come in October, for if anyone is basically responsible for the show, you are the one. And I have thought of you from the beginning. And, with equal seriousness, you must not curtail any visit to New Haven nor plan to stay anywhere other than at Goodrich Street. This time it would be Susan's heart that would be broken, not her hip. Actually she gets around quite freely except for the stairs, and those won't be a problem in a fortnight or so. We keep on the cook for awhile at least, so don't encourage Susan to discharge her in order to free her rooms. You'll have the large guest room with a typewriting table in it, and your own bath to yourself. You can disappear there as easily as up the back stairs. Susan pants for guests, and of course with the cook there is no extra work involved in having them. She will be sleeping in her own room by October, and it was only when we didn't want stray males wandering around in her bath time that we put up guests at the hotel. So be a good Fido and make us happy and come for as long as you can. We'll plan the trips in between your appointments in New York.

By all this you can see that your letters of the 20th and 21st arrived today, both in this afternoon's mail. Being in the mood for repairs I say Splendid to the new frig and the asphalt roof. It is poor economy to delay either of them. The visit at the Benay chalet sounds like a job well done.

I finally wrote some days ago to the BM offering copies of Hilda's books which they did not have. You remember you had a list sent me. They seemed most grateful to get whatever they could. I hope you approve. I give only when we have a number of copies, and was led to this at the time of the HD tribute when people couldn't find what they wanted.

In the same letter I asked the BM what they had of yours, saying that perhaps I could fill out a little there too. I was thinking of Beowulf in particular. The Department of Printed Books was equally delighted at this chance. They have:

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1. Amy Lowell (2nd ed.) London 1918
2. Coin of Carthage 1964
3. Development 1920
4. Fourteenth of October 1954, 1957, 1964
5. Gate to the Sea 1959
6. Heart to Artemis 1963
7. Lament for Adonis 1918
8. The Player's Boy 1957
9. Region of Lutany 1914
10. Roman Wall 1955
11. Ruan 1961

Now I hope you will shrug your shoulders and say, "Let the fool do it is he wants to. I myself couldn't care less!" But one can't withdraw from the B.M. and it would give me pleasure to fill out their holdings. I hope you won't say _no_, however, for I don't want to do what you have strong feelings against. If I do, would you like a copy of _Avalon_ included? And the American edition of _Artemis_ which varies from the British, altho I needn't say anything except that it does occasionally differ? My inclination would be to have it quietly on record.

A yellowback came Saturday. I had not known about the death of Rudolph Brunner's wife. You had not mentioned it, no reason why you should. # Margery must have had much more of a time of it than I had gathered. # Poor Bertha H.... she doesn't have a very gay time of it, does she.

Your question about the Shakespeare folios from Edith I forgot to answer. Stonehill's has still not revaluated the first batch of books, and I am a little irked because of the insurance people. But I called today and asked if they would compare the third folios and second folios and this without waiting the normal turn. They said they would, and I will try to take down tomorrow.

Be of good chur.

All have always

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

25 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

I didn't write last night being in a frenzy of unpacking the
cases of the O.E.D. and the package of George's books sent by Maggs. They
have been on the floor of my office for weeks. Now the volumes of the
dictionary one on my filing cabinets where I can consult them easily, and
the books which were there are now on the floor. I brought down the extra
volume which was sent from Kenwin along with Hilda's books, so the set is
complete. Alas, some of the volumes are not in very good condition because
of the dampness of Marvells. George was careless that way. Some time I must
have the worst of them repaired so that the covers are sound again. But
what a blessing the set will be, the sort of thing every scholar dreams of
but seldom has. Now, as you say, I must be careful not to spend all my time
looking up definitions. I do thank you.

The books from George's library otherwise were confined to those
by Hilda and Aldington. A number of the books of Hilda's are inscribed,
and always with real devotion. I think they had better go to Yale with the
rest of George's things to be an ancillary to Hilda's. The uninscribed ones
I will put away to distribute appropriately as indicated. What was most
important am I the fifteen or so letters from Hilda he had put away in them.
These are amongst the best she wrote him, but how careless to have made
arrangements that in the due course of events would simply have put them
up for sale or destruction. I cannot imagine what George was thinking of!
Among the Aldington's were three or four letters also, altho he had sent
many to me before; and those he did send were more concerned with Hilda than
these. One shudders to think what must have been destroyed by that wretched
solicitor. I had hoped that perhaps among the Aldingtons might be a few
that Catha was missing. There weren't any however, but there were six items
not already at Yale to make Hilda's collection there more nearly complete.
I think I told you that because of Hilda I was trying to see that Yale had
a complete collection of R.A. Otherwise I wouldn't care, R.A. not being a
favorite author of mine. One interesting volume showed that one of the
stories included was based on Pound and another on Eliot.

I had half expected that George's copy of your books would
also be amongst the others, but I guess these were shipped directly to you
at Kenwin.

Anyhow my office now looks a little tidier. I have started
picking up other bookshelves too, on the base that if I accomplish no writing
this summer at least I can be neat when I begin the year.

A letter has come from Pantheon giving me the alternative of
paying $18. dollars a month storage charges on the 500 unbound copies of
Ghandaran art, or else destroy them. I wrote back that I would pay. At
the present rate of sales they will eventually be needed, and for the repu-
tation of the book it is better to have them in stock.

2

This afternoon I got into the car and took the various copies of the second and third folios of Shakespeare to Stonehill's, where they have agreed to go over these even before they finish what they have. I am sorry about the delay in this matter. We shall see what they report, and then decide what you want to give to Agnes.

A nice letter came from Aurelia in answer to mine, saying that she is busy with her gardening, anxious to see you, and that she plans to run again for the school committee. She has given up her Sunday School class after the current topic on Adolescence and Sex. "You may indeed wonder about my qualifications!" She was happy to have news of you. "I had been troubled about Bryher." Her chief concern was "Who in the world is 'nephew Robert!'" She has written to ask the Kentish relatives. This is a fine mystery, and one wonders if Cleanth Brooks was taken in. I dare say there is some mistake.

A letter has also come today from the first of the American Henty collectors to whom I wrote. He is evidently avid as a collector, but did succumb to an offer of $800.00 for his copy of All But Lost. And has two complete sets of Union Jack, one in the original published binding. He cannot trace the Blackie manuscripts by title. He lives nearby in New Milford, Connecticut. If he turns out to be pleasant you might like to meet him.

I am hoping to have Professor Wolff of Harvard give the October lecture, but if he can't Folsom will give the one on the West first. I think a general subject would be a better opener.

Donald Gallup is back briefly from his trip to England, Switzerland and Italy, and brought as a gift to me a copy of The Mask by John Cournos, inscribed to George. It had been in the dealer's hands since 1955, so George must earlier have been selling some of his books from his library. I shall put it with the others when they come and I present them for the Plank Collection. I shall have to keep my eyes open for any more he may have sold.

Yours of the 22nd and 23rd came in the late afternoon mail, after none yesterday. I had forgotten however in my last to say that one had already come describing your visit from Anne L. # Helen is convinced that Collins is most friendly to you. But I suspect he prefers African lions to British bulldogs. # The paddle really was for Justus but whether he can actually use it or not will have to wait for me to learn when I go home tonight. Susan will have seen him this afternoon at the shore. # The reason for German for the student was the fact that all graduate students are required, willy-nilly, to pass reading examinations in French and German. He already had the French. He reappeared yesterday afternoon saying he was applying for graduate school anyhow. I think it a mistake of character, but how can I judge another? #If you really could get a photo of Henty it would be great sport to exhibit. I have nothing but the illustrations in books.

You will be having a terminal of guests. I myself would be exhausted but you have the strength of a daughter of the empire. More power and fortitude to you!

All love,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

26 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

The days never turn out quite as one expects them to. This
morning I began properly enough with a stint at housecleaning, putting
away papers from yesterday's cleaning, and then tackling another bookcase.
Then I wrote two letters and paid some bills, as a second step in generation.
But at this moment a telephone call came from New York: -- a former graduate
student and then colleague at Yale who had retired to New York to be the
beck-and-call of an artist wife whose egotism I disliked and whose sadism
(psychologically speaking) in emasculating him I hated. Finally, after
a breakdown he divorced her, and she went happily to Italy to spend her
allowance. Now unhappy she has returned. He thought he ought to remarry
her, I fought it, now on the verge of another breakdown he phoned to say
she is spreading stories of how he mistreated her sexually (whatever that
means) so that his friends in New York had abandoned him. We had gotten
him a job in Atlanta, and she says she will spread stories there. He
thought he should not go; I said he must, and so on and so on. He was
to see his psychiatrist at noon and I hope the doctor backs up my analysis
of her motives as well as my urging. I should have been in paa. He is to
write me weekly of his state of mind and organs. Anyhow he seemed comforted
and I think he will go. He must be about forty.

Then a couple of graduate students came, as well as a prospective
new student for next year who had accepted and been given a fellowship, but
now withdraws. That's OK by me.

Little mail of importance this morning, except for one from Jocelyn
thanking for putting things straight with Texas, and talking about the book
you sent me on Crowley. I had suggested he might write his memoirs: "I am
flattered that you should suggest that I wrote my memoirs. But I suppose, in
a semi-fictionalized way, I've already written them, haven't I? And anyway,
I'm written out: I wrote much too much in the years after the war, that was the
trouble. And I'm past the age for rites of Eleusis, even if they'd be of any
use."

Also a carbon of a letter from the president of the Grolier Club to
the Borough Librarian asking to borrow *Gabriel Allen*. I wonder what will
come of it?

Your letter of the 24th was in the late afternoon's mail. I feel
sure I know the very row of houses in which Dean is thinking of buying. I
suspect it would be a good thing for her to do, as a means of keeping her own
lines straight. It will let her pick up from her mother, rather than be sub-
merged entirely in Tom's lesser identity.

This being Thursday, I go home early to be there when the nurse
leaves. We go tonight to Guilford again, taking the German professor and his
wife. Alas, it rains which is good for the grass and reserves but hard on
Susan getting to the car.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

27 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

Last night just as Susan and I were leaving for the Captain's Table, a phone call from one of the administrative staff at Yale came to say that the boy who had been twice denied his appeal by the draft board had received his call. If I would agree to accept him for graduate work, the Graduate School would register him today, and thus he could be saved from the fate worse than death (apparently). And so all this morning I spent going over his records and trying to get the members of our executive committee who were still in town to pass on his application. I am afraid everyone felt a little reluctant, as I did, to turn the graduate school into an asylum. But no one could say that he, single-handed, could say to the boy, you must go into the army. And so in the end he is to be allowed to come. How can one put one's self into the mind and the spirit of some one else who is thirty years younger? And yet this is a young man who has been a football hero, a prominent undergraduate Christian, a devoted teacher, a kind of emblem of the Yale man. I guess he is, but I sense an Achilles heel.

It was much more interesting when Folsom brought back the first eight volumes by Ballantyne on the West, a little satiated but ready for more. He is already full of idea about the cultural differences revealed by the Englishman's treatment of the West, as opposed to our own contemporarenous rendering of the same theme. Folsom will be in England next year, teaching at Leads, and I have told him he has an absolute gold mine as a subject for popular lectures in Great Britain. No one has ever done this before, although as you know I have been eager for some one to take it up in an adult and intellectual, but good-humored, way. I've told him that I thought he could make a good, short book, out of it. This would be quite different from anything you will do with Henty, and will not (I feel sure) interfere with your book in the slightest.

A very formal note came from a Detroit collector of Henty, whom I had written at Brimmell's suggestion. Or rather the note came elegantly from the collector's secretary saying that under "other circumstances" he would be delighted to lend to the Grolier show, that he has one or two items I inquired about. "However, he would prefer not to exhibit these volumes. He asks me to give you his best wishes in your undertaking." Well, I don't think the show will be any the poorer. I wonder who Wilson W. Mills is?

I did not thank you for sending me the clippings on the security matters. I am increasingly puzzled by the attitudes displayed, for no one seems really to take the matter seriously, at least in public. And as for defending the approval of Bossard after his record, this is really extraordinary. In the end I shall surely approve the careful checking by the American FBI, tardy as it often is, and annoying as it usually proves when others are questioned.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Your letter of the 25th was in this afternoon's mail. I shall
have to try to check, thru Canada, on just what Rossler is saying. His
letter is attractive in its spirit, and shows real courage. But I fear I
can't always follow what he is saying. Obviously it is indicated that we
make a little trip there when you come over. I am sure he will need a
little help, just a little even would make all the difference. And he has
worked uncomplainingly and been completely loyal.

I marvel at the Richards in their hut, even on a lower level.
But they are wise not simply to molt. They know what their spirit demands
and they are obviously continuing to feed it. He has kept going longer
than most in an active intellectual life, and she is a sturdy branch in
the old Queenwood.

My air conditioner in the office seems to have gone on the
blink. The fan continues to work, but the cooling unit must be off. But
this being a weekend ahead I shall suffer through tomorrow morning, and
try to see who can fix it on Monday.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

28 August 1965

Dearest Fido,

This has been a Dusty Diamonds morning, with a number of packages of additions to the collection in from Brimmell and from Charles Rare Books. All in excellent condition, and they will seem cut and polished in the show. There is an odd, chiefly religious journal (all numbers) of something called GOOD WORDS, with contributions by Ballantyne and perhaps some others, and a very good copy of the first of Martin Rattler. We already had a presentation copy in a gift binding, but our regular first had a torn spine and this will be an improvement. The list of the others is almost too long to mention, but you will have to take a look at enn's The Crystal Hunters (A Boy's Adventures in the Higher Alps). There is a new (to us) volume of Henty's Stories of History; the first of Ballantyne's Three Little Kittens (who lost their mittens); some Kingstons; an Ascott Hope boy's novel of the West. Etc etc. Nineteen volumes in all. So we continue to grow, and the problem of shelving becomes even more acute.

Yesterday the offprint of the article on letters by R.A. arrived, and I read it last night before watching a baseball game on t.v. It was interesting and will be worth putting into the R.A. Collection of Hilda's. But I'm glad that I personally didn't have to take all that time out in order to edit them.

I have spent the morning answering letters, unpacking the books (not yet catalogued), putting away some papers, but without much visible effect. There have been more phone calls about the boy-in-the-draft, but I am glad to say Yale will do no more officially than to say he has been accepted, and will not register him before the 1st which is the proper official date. I am sick of the whole affair.

No letter from you today, so perhaps there will be two on Monday to start the week right. It is almost time to wish you a happy birthday. I am glad the two airmail packages arrive. I hope the two others, sent surface a month ago, also come. I'm glad I didn't trust entirely to the regular mail, it is like shipping cargo in a stream of molasses.

I will be having a bill of £180/-/- more or less from England for art by Denton Welch and by Proust, plus a little sketch that looks interesting for its own sake. Is there anyone you'd like me to send dollars to, if you want to use pounds. One really shouldn't, but the Proust will go with the Valery; and I associate Welch with Jocelyn. I ask only if .... it is very simple to send a draft from here as I regularly do for the Diamonds.

This is Saturday and I must take over until Monday. So, until then, all love as always,

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 July 1965

Dearest Fido,

Good news today when I had a letter from the University of California in Los Angeles saying that they would cooperate fully with the Grolier Club show. Since they have the Sadleir collection of general 19th century British fiction, and have added in the same field as our own many more, holdings that I did not know they have, this plus Indiana and the Professor am Harvard, ought to ensure a first rate exhibition. The only trouble will be knowing what not to exhibit. One would need the space of the Victoria and Albert to show it all. Los Angeles has the ms of Dusty Diamonds as well as three other Ballantyne ms of no real importance, so I think they must have been buying from Brimmell before we snatched the lot from him. I still think that was the sort of deal your father would have approved of as a tactic, even though the exact provenance might not have appealed to him.

Alas the Harvard Professor wrote offering to cooperate with anything from his collection, but begging off the speak. I shall try to beard him in his den when he returns. He is so obviously the right one.

Your letters of the 26th and 27th came this morning. As to Ware, I don't see why you just don't say to him what you sensibly wrote to me that you would say. Or if you prefer I can pretend that you are shy and because I owned the McAlmon papers (but not the copy-rights) you sent along his letter to me to answer. I can put your para in quotes and he can use it as yours. It won't do any harm, but I don't see what more you can say, or should. I have no idea who he is, since he is not listed in the only academic list I have. Probably the book will never come out; it is the sort which is always being projected but never published. I thought the particular topic had been exhausted for the moment.

How wonderful it would be if you could get the Henty photo graph. It should hang in your study, but perhaps could temporarily be in the exhibit.

We can talk about the B.M. donations when you come. I shall be particularly interested in your comments on the Adonis, but wish they were on paper, to be preserved as more than my say-so.

Tomorrow, the weather being good, I shall kick my heels in the air and take the bus from New Haven to the World's Fair. Obviously Susan will not be in shape to go before it closes, and I ought to have a quick look at it. The bus leaves here at 9 a.m. and returns from the fair at 6:30. So there will not be a letter to you until Wednesday. Keep well for your birthday.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

I can't believe this is indicated as an annual SOP. #Many thanks for the two clippings. For years I tried unsuccessfully to persuade the Yale Press to republish their edition of the American Notebooks. No success. Now I believe some one else is to do it. But do tell me what *Small Talk at Wreyland* is, when "even" it should be rotated as a bedside book. It means absolutely nothing to me, and I feel a fool. I used to talk to Trevelyan about the National Trust, but had not known he had given so much in the Lake Country or that the nephews and nieces had given this new cottage. Susan would be much interested. #The visit from Agnes (Ag) and her sister must have been illuminating. Academics seem so particular that I am not surprised you should not have thought of her boiling an egg. That is why in a blurb for the new Mark 'wain book, I spoke of it as suitable "for everyone: humans as well as scholars." # I was much interested in Horace's letters which seemed to show him still in good health and verbal vigor. When he goes at some one like poor Plomer, the victim gets stuck like a pig. I do hope that Holt takes the DR book, and Horace can get it off his conscience. I don't think, in the end, that he really enjoyed doing it. But it was a felt gesture to you and your friendship for her. #Not sure that I know what you mean about Sylvia Townsend Warner's collection of letters. Presumably she still has hers from George, and I have the other side of the correspondence. I think I will offer to pay her if she will write a memoir of George for the Yale Library Gazette. It would be charming and call attention to the Plank Collection. # The extra volume of the dictionary, you thought, was a supplementary volume which you bogged for completeness sake but did not send on to George. # I don't think it wise to send the Ghandaran sheets to slay for storage. They need to be handy as the call comes for them to be bound for orders. # The quotation from Runciman's comment on Henty was most interesting. I do thank you for the toil in copying it out. I had not known of it. # Oh, it wasn't Yale that was concerned with sexual mistreatment. The man has not taught her for five years or so. He was afraid that Emory University, in Georgia, would be, if the stories were circulated there. I asked him precisely what she accused him of; he said he didn't know, only the descriptive phrase. I suspect she must have accused him of not satisfying her, for I imagine her as an insatiable rabbit, by hunger but not by litters. # Pup's account of the Beatles was wonderfully funny. I went by the temple where the faithful gathered, yesterday. It is the baseball park next to the World's Fair grounds.

And now I must run, prepared to wish you a happy birthday as I open my eyes tomorrow morning.

2 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

A perfectly hellish day so far as my own work was concerned. I began by a trip to the bank to arrange for money for this month's bills-- not a crisis but an inconvenience by which I saved some $35.00 by borrowing until the end of the month instead of losing interest on my savings account. As you know, I do this frequently--all because of my background of mercantile financing. Still, it took time. And when I got back to the office I couldn't even begin to pay the bills or open my mail because graduate students began to come in, plus returning faculty wanting to ask if I'd had a wonderful summer. Then came Professor Lewis, the director of our graduate studies in American Studies who had been on the Cape Cod all summer, looking very tanned and rested. I had been doing his tasks all summer, and he goes on Monday to New York for a week and direct from their to The Hague for a conference, returning on the 20th after the deadline for filing graduate course schedules. So I shall have to do that for him too. He had gotten a lot written as well as having gained a tan. I was briefed on what I must do in his stead, which was fine since I had expected to. But I did think, when I said I had been able to write absolutely nothing, that it was a little cruel for him to say enthusiastically, "The only thing to do is what I did-- go far away and keep to one's self!"

After lunch, Justus having had his bicycle stolen, I took him to buy a replacement, and this took until now--which is a quarter past four. And now I must run to be home at four-thirty and take over from the nurse.

No letter from you today, and I like to think of your having a rest on your birthday.

All love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

3 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Great fun! Last night I was called to the phone for a telegram from Henry Millersaying he had shipped his copy of Henty and hoped he wasn't too late for the exhibition. Normally he sends only postcards saying he doesn't write, so this must have touched a sentimental loyalty. I rather like having the author of *Capricorn* being under the influence of the master of Victorian moral courage.

Most of today has gone to a close college friend when I was an undergraduate, and his wife, who drove down from Lenox to see Susan and visit Yale again. I think we went to his house when we took the trip to the Shaker village in Massachusetts. It was very pleasant, I have always liked him. The only loss was in work. And I have a review of a Mark Twain book due on Monday!

One yellowback in which I have not acknowledged. *October* in paper is obviously doing very well. 10,000 is very respectable indeed. # Maria Wolfe's letter I found most interesting. You have obviously got at her, -- not that she needed to be brought out (isn't that the phrase?) but that being out she is lonely. # Martin's letters show him regularly developing, and he seems to know where he is and to be well over the hump. Incidentally, helping him is the best possible insurance for his mother to whom he will remain loyal but not be enslaved. # Sachie, I think, sounds rather lonely, and one can better realize now what Edith meant to him. Something like a young mother, or, better, a queen. I cannot imagine him and Osbert as being really intimate. #Ethel's letter convinces me that she is better off for her visit to the London doctor but that she will not really take care of herself. She has no joie de vivre, and I suspect life without Doris to bully her is not quite so much fun. #What a charming card from Hilda to Pup. She did care, though in her special way.

Your letters of the 31st and 1st were in separate mails today. Yes, I am sure you are right in Dorothea's being unsympathetic to Agnes, perhaps even deftly jealous and therefore eager to assert her domination. #I am glad the copies of *Avalon* arrived. You were also to send one to Cousin Jack. #About French writing, I have always been interested. But with so little time in which to read, I have had to concentrate as it were. I always feel ignorant and take little spurts as though to render at least homage. #I shall try to use 1814 Buriër. Keep after me so that I develope a new second nature. # What a fine story about the lack of "trimmings". Now that I know what the British require, I shall never dare serve you anything simple again!

Nothing of the day left, and so must run. All love as always.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

4 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Henry Miller's *The Lion of the North* is here! A comfortable, worn, cheap copy which is just right to express love and devotion. In it is Miller's name, a signing over from "Daddy" to "Tony" -- "This was my favorite of all Henty's books when I was about your age. Daddy." And then underneath, Miller has written "Signed over to Robert Siegel--1964." What happened to Tony, I don't know. Maybe his love for Henty disappeared when his parents' marriage dissolved. But it is fun to have this to show. Now I pray daily that William Golding will still have his *Coral Island* and be willing to lend it.

Another yellowback today, but no letter. So, since Monday is Labor Day and therefore a holiday, I sh all not know about the 2nd until Tuesday. Alas, I suspect no letters from me to you until then, too. For Mrs Eurich, the nurse, left yesterday noon to be gone over the holiday, and I must take over. We go to the shore this afternoon for a concert of mixed voices given by a singing group from New York to which a nephew belongs. And tomorrow afternoon is what is known as an "un-birthday party," for all the grandchildren in order to make no favorites of those whose nativity falls in the summer months.

Do you think Ethel will follow her diet? Kenneth really does seem troubled. I hope no tension arises. And poor Lethbridge -- there really is tension between him and Belinda. I wonder what will eventually happen to the girl. Lady B's letter was nice as always. I have worried that the books from the GP sale have never arrived. Now I realise there has been a dock strike for almost two months, and they may either not have been sent at all, or are still waiting in some unloaded hold.

Have had great fun reading the manuscript log of a whaler, out of Greenport, Long Island, in 1836, on a voyage to the South Atlantic. The captain must have been a literary sort and an artist, for he whiles away his time with paintings of the whaler, and a lovely Victorian (hence modest) pinup girl, as well as the outlines of whales whenever they were lucky enough to get one. One did yield 97 bbls., and there was great rejoicing since many of the boats they hailed on return voyages carried only 1400 bbls for their entire voyage. He was moddy too! Once after sighting several right whales without the luck of getting them, he wrote piously: "That man passes through life in the safest and happiest way, whose label on all earthly things is vanity of vanities; on every dispensation of Divine providence it is for the best! On Heaven it is my home." Later" Saw one suplurh bottom and birds of different kinds, colors and habits, to say nothing of whale feed and this interminable waste of waters which is little else than prison and jail limits to us unlucky wights, who live by hope and repine at fruition." It got cold, and squally, "and the weather cold enough to freeze the words in a man's mouth, which he would be about to utter." I was fasfinated to find a new word for scrimshaw, and wonder if some learned man will derive from it a new etymology. "Air weather: all hands emploid Skimsho:ntering upon various articles too numerous to mention."

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

5 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I have sneaked down to the office today to write the
review of SUSY AND MARK TWAIN which is due in Hartford tomorrow
morning. Thank God it seemed to flow along, and when I post this
I shall post that also. It was only 500 or more words, but since
the author is a fellow trustee of the Memorial, and much is being
made in Hartford of the book, I hope they will like it. It is,
actually, about my only achievement for the summer.

Yesterday afternoon we went to the shore for the
recital by the voice quartet, held on the side lawn by the water,
at Mrs Bennett's house. It was rather sad to think that she could
not have heard it, especially since one of the groups was a series
of songs by a grandson. The weather was superbly autumnal, clear
and with a nippy-warmth so long as one sat in the sun.

Last night, friends came in for the evening.

I dread Tuesday. Graduate students are already phoning
me at home to announce their arrival. Strange to say, from their point
of view, I have not been pamting to hear their voices.

7 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

The first real day of the new year, and I am as sad as a ten-year old that school begins again. Mrs Dingle reappeared looking reasonably unhappy, and by the end of the afternoon (that is, at 4:00 p.m., when her husband came she kept tugging his elbow with 'Let's get out of here, let's go home!')

A goodly number of graduate students had interviews about their forthcoming schedules. Sister M. Amelia Greenwalt appeared in her nun's robes, but said it was her last day in such garb. Tomorrow she will be Miss Alice T. Greenwalt. Then an Italian student whom Mrs Dingle had down as Sister Rose Columba came, only she was really and already a Signorina, rather smart in her dress and so religious at all. So this has been a topsy-turvy day for females.

I am glad the various packages for your birthday pleased. I was rather proud of the Henty and of the British re-migrants as discoveries to tickle your palate. And the little book of my own I held back a bit to properly commemorate the birthday.

It is too late to answer the four letters that came today, but will do so tomorrow. It is a pity that Pup 'blew', as we used to say, in C-E. There wasn't much point to it, and indeed I sympathize with you now as I did you decided on your course in the first place. Decisions like this have to be made. Actually they must have known it, probably indeed they led Pup on towards what she said, without her being wise as to what they were up to. Well, it really doesn't matter in the long run.

We had a quiet Labor Day, not trying to go to the shore. It was a beautiful fall day with just a bit of nip underneath. Instead of going again to the shore, we spent a long afternoon while Susan tied up her orchids and begonias, I did some weeding in flower beds and on the lawn by the side of the house, and then sprayed the greenhouse and the roses against aphis. Luncheon I fixed for her, cold, at home; for supper we went out to an Italian restaurant.

Poor Susan! She will be disappointed when I go home tonight. I called her surgeon late this afternoon to say we were going to the theatre Saturday afternoon at the time we hoped he would make his monthly call and arrange for her x-ray and the next step in freedom. She had called him to ask directly; my call was a subterfuge. But no, he says not until the end of September before anything happens. She had so counted on beginning with stairs and the consequent liberation! So had I, for her sake. I must say, I think he is over-conservative. But what can one do except accept his regime.

Will hope to be able to write tomorrow at a little more length. All love as always. I have tried to be good and observe the holy 1814.

All love, Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

8 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Susan was in the depths last night when I got home. She had counted so on beginning to learn to use the stairs and so to be able to visit other homes and take a shower in her own that to have the time lengthened to nearly six months instead of the five that I understood, as she did, to have been set as the "outside limit" was a crushing blow. Worst of all it was because he "would be away for a couple of weeks." He is a splendid orthopedist but not a very smart psychologist. Finally I took her to the movies, to see "The Sound of Music" and let her try the back steps into the kitchen when we came home. This was successful so I asked the carpenters to take away the ramp to the terrace tomorrow, so she could use the steps there and somehow feel there was a little progress. But she wouldn't take a sleeping pill before going to bed, and couldn't sleep after lying down and it was two before she could forget everything except dreams. I couldn't sleep either, so we are both tired today. But don't mention all this in your letters; I am simply leaning on your shoulder.

Have just been to the library to have xerox copies made of the B.M. catalogue entries for Kingston, Brereton, Stables, Fenn, Mayne Reid, and Ainsworth, none of which I had done before. Does the B.M. contain anything except copies of their writing. I am overwhelmed by the length of their holdings. A final collection such as we envisaged will need a separate building of its own! Miller by the way, in a most interesting letter which came Saturday, said he owned 50 or 60 Henty titles as a boy. The son he had given the book to wasn't interested, so he reinscribed it disappointedly to another boy from whom he had borrowed it back. He gave an impassioned plea to me to reawaken interest in Henty. It all seems so odd from an inhabitant of the Tropic of Cancer.

Your letter of the 6th was in this afternoon's mail. I shall be eager for January to come -- not the month but your tale. #And this is very good news about D.R.'s republication. I only hope that this won't cause Holt to renigge on doing Horace's book. I should think it would help both ways. # Why not do a few translations from the Greek Anthology for me, when you're diddling with it. A splendid way to sharpen words. # I think Lady Bigham must have been referring to my lament that, certainly, the destructive solicitor must have burned the letters from Sylvia Townsend Warner to George which came to him after he had sent the main batch to me. No hope there. I will be writing her anyway, and can ask about the last ones from him to her.

To return to the group of letters which came yesterday-- of the 2nd, 3rd, and two of the 4th. I repeat my glee that you liked the Henty offprint. It took great moral restraint to withhold it from you until THE DAY.

10 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Oh dear, I never did get to write to you yesterday and I shall hardly be able to do more than make a gesture today. It is really a chore to have to register the new graduate students and make out their schedules. And now it seems I shall be going home for lunch days, since Susan's despondency carries over into boredom with the table conversation of the nurse. Of course they have nothing really to talk about, and the nurse has to be cheery. I quite sympathise. The chauffeur's gossipy chatter bothers her too, but I can't give up the afternoons also. (But no mention of this in your letters, please; there is only a month or so more to go, I hope, before Susan will be allowed to put her (physical) foot down.

Yours of the 8th was in today's mail. I too had a nice letter from the Henty granddaughter suggesting I communicate with Martin. But you and I were lucky to have had him already at our feet. #I am so sorry about Elsie's dentistry, having spent so much of the early summer in the dentist's chair. But satisfying once it is all over with. # I am glad, if you have doubts, that you are looking into the matter of the will. I am sure there are strategies if necessary.

Yours of the 7th came yesterday. My own hunch is that Elsie tv will put her into seventh heaven, especially if it is in her room and one properly begs permission to peek at it occasionally. Tv can be a real status symbol, especially if at the same time the subject of television is introduced with a degree of condescension. You'll see, sneers conceal smiles. Ahd I certainly don't blame you for providing yourself with a new radio. One does count on them, and far better not to be disappointed at crucial moments.

A letter from Harry Moore: "Kershaw and I reached agreements and are going on with the Aldington biography. The volume mentioned above [the homage] will probably draw the last bit of venom out of the anti-Aldington clique so that when our biography comes out it may receive fair treatment! We are trying to write a sympathetic biography and don't want to arouse any antagonism, though there are times when we will have to be very candid. But we don't want to hurt any feelings and will be most careful about what we say in certain matters. I understand the problem rather well at this time. I was particularly to present a sympathetic picture of H.D. --Richard always admired her, and they were good friends at the last, as you know. You may be able to help me here, and from time to time I may send you questions --and I'll let you know what I'm going to say about H.D. in any event. This is a delicate matter, and this time I'll handle it as delicately as possible." So that is that, echoed by a few short Anglo-Saxon expletives on my part!

(At that point I had to go out to Mory's with a member of the economics faculty to explain what we wanted him to teach in a graduate course on The Structure of the American Economy, to be given for History and American Studies students. The rest of the day has gone to more mundane appointments.)

Alas, no luck from London. Cleanth Brooks writes: "I am sorry to report no luck in getting a volume for your exhibition from Sir Winston Churchill's Library.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I have just finished grading the graduate school examinations in French and German, and been to the bank to transfer a little money from savings and to cash a check to carry me through the Smithsonian weekend in Washington. So with that good a beginning, and no appointment for another half hour let me at least begin a letter to you lest I again come to the end of a day with no time for what I want. Your letter of the 11th was in this morning's mail.

What wretched weather you have been having! And Kenneth especially. I see visions of olives dropping into the mire, lost with the chickens in the mud. I sometimes think that the castle is proving a little too much both for him and Islay. You may well be advised to put off your visit until spring when the blossoms are out and the paths on the estate are dry. Then it will certainly be beautiful for the boys do have a magic touch to whatever they put their imaginations and mind to. They have a truly creative instinct, there is no doubt about it. But both they and you will envy Petrie and her husband in the sun.

Susan is determined to grin and bear it until the end of the month. At least I arranged with her orthopedist so that he can have had her x-rays *before* his return. Thus they can be ready for his inspection at once. Otherwise I feared he would wait until the end of his returning week, come to see her, and say only that she could then have the pictures taken. So far as the new bathroom upstairs is concerned it will have barely been finished for a week by that time, and she can *chasten* it with a deluge of warm water in the shower. She misses a real bath most of all, six months of bed baths being a sheer bore!

I shall be excited to know the results of Helen's talks with the publishers in London. She has naturally not had time to write me about them, and in any event you should be the first to discuss it with her.

Like Robin, I cannot really understand about electric typewriters in Switzerland, being myself so satisfied with them for efficiency and economy of one's energy. So is Susan. The IBM machines are all huge ones like that in my office. Susan's is the Smith Corona, in the smaller size IBM does not make. The smaller one is what you want, since it can easily be lifted and moved from spot to spot according to the temperatures in whatever room you choose to work in. I myself would take a chance, "know" that one had made a fatal mistake the first time something goes wrong (forgetting the times that any machine falters), and then, settling in, enjoy myself with a machine that can be checked at regular intervals like any other.

Since I have no real stack of books for you to read this time when you come over, why not send me the list of what you'd like to see from the bibliography of the re-emigration books. Chances are fair that the Yale Library will have some, which will give you more time for the others at the London Library.

I can imagine you must feel a little perturbed about the matter of the will, and I suppose there is no absolute reason why you should not have Beney as

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

an executor in place of Philip. Certainly with a Swiss will you should have a Swiss executor. My only suggestion would be that you name an alternate to Beney in this category, in case of any severe illness on his part or even his sudden death while carrying out the settlement of the estate. Otherwise a Swiss court might step in. In the States one often names a bank as executor, plus one or two civilians; then of course the bank carries on no matter what. Probably Philip plus a Beney would only mean conflict, but do be sure I am quite happy to withdraw i this seems to be the best solution. Maitre Coigny might make a good executor himself. In any event Coigny could give the best advice on whether you should leave a bequest to Alan and Bryan, or take care of them by a settlement now. It is just possible that the latter might in the long run benefit them most and at the same time cut down the taxable estate. I know you felt this way with Doris and the others, but of course there are still heavy demands on your income unless Beney continues his coups.

I have probably been overburdening you with s-f paperbacks. But I pick them up carelessly for Susan, to break the monotony of her reading, and then unless she objects violently to their badness (as she often does) I send them along on the basis that if you have read already you can re-ship them to the Hebrides, or toss in the wastebasket, or add to your collection. I am afraid that the classical s-f novel has now been worn out as pattern.

The de Beers sound as though they themselves were Hannibal's ele-
phants in the Alps. Or crystal hunters hoping to find diamonds and being
disappointed when there are only crystals.

As to Melitta's Life and Letters, why not have her send them along to me as well as the Set of Close Up. The latter is particularly sought after, and one could distribute carefully. Or, if you think she needs the money, she could sell the Close Up for a fat sum, I am told.

To pick up from yesterday's epistolary brevity, the Theodore Roosevelt Association writes that they are unable to tell me whether or not there actually still are any copies of Henty etc among his library, but they are checking the "thousands of books at Sagamore Hill." TR's son will lend anything if he has anything. The curator will write as soon as she knows. But the loan of the "enty abriel Allen is now set, and will make collectors' mouths water."

Today's post was full of literary business. Pantheon writes in one
letter that they agree to charge storage costs for Ghandaran Art against our
royalty account, which seems a sensible arrangement. They also write that Schiffrin
who is in London asked them to tell me that the Oxford University Press is interest-
ed in taking over a number of the unbound copies for distribution, and so a copy
has been sent them. This is only "interest" of course, but he still works at it.
Then, again separately, there is a letter from a lady professor in New Orleans
wanting permission to reproduce a photograph from Ghandaran, and also to obtain a
photograph from 'slay. Then came a letter from Germany wanting permission to
use a poem by Hilda in textbook published there. Something called "Dread." And
two separate letters from Grove Press, one with Hilda's royalties ($98.19) on all
her books! the other for $7.50 for permissions fees. I'm glad Hilda doesn't
have to live off what her books earn.

The other letters had to do with (a) my help on a book on tombstones in
New England cemeteries, (b) from someone who wanted to sell a miniature of Mark
Twain, and (c) etcetera, sweet etcetera. You see how my days go? Don't think

that this letter was finished this morning. It is now late in the afternoon.
All love,
Zusen

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

12 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Yesterday morning appeared without warning a professor from Texas, who got his doctorate in American Studies here and wanted to use some material I had in reference to Charlotte Cushman, a mid-19th century Shakesperean actress (American, but popular in England and died there) who specialized in the role of Romeo. Apparently off the stage as well as on, since her naturally unpublished diary kept during her first voyage to England in the 1840's was full of tears for Boston where she had lain in the arms of a Juliet.

The result was that I could not write you about my pleasure in the first two chapters of *January*. They are beautifully written, with your skill and freshness. I am eager for more. I liked the easy lingering on scenes, which helps the mood. Don't try to move the characters too fast in this particular book -- at least this is my initial hunch. This is a book which will be worth working over carefully until it completely satisfies you, but I don't see anything so far that will need re-working. Congratulations!

Yesterday afternoon I took Susan to the theatre for a matinee. The driver took us and met us, so that part was easy. And I bought box seats so she wouldn't have to jump up and down as people crawled by her to their seats. Henry Fonda was the leading role. The title was *generation*, about the younger generation, and partly serious, partly comedy. The main goal for me was diversion for Susan, and that worked out very well indeed.

Today is cold and on the edge of rains caused by the hurricane. "Betsy" will not strike us but disturbs the atmosphere. Alas it is only 60°F and it will be no afternoon for her to sit out while I weed. I did the long watering of the orchids this morning, and Susan's widowed aunt-by-marriage (who inevitably becomes our responsibility now that Mrs Bennett has died) will come for lunch. She lives alone on a slim income, and I will have to keep an eye on her. She must be about 80.

Elsie will be interested in the enclosed clipping on the Yale coin robbery. Except for this notice nothing has been said, everything being played in the past close to the chest for apparent security reasons. But I wonder if now the break may not come. That is, if they can trace the sources of the coins en route to the dealers. I should think they could.

The opening talk at the Grolier Club is on the third Tuesday in October, which I take to be the 19th. Why don't you come directly to New Haven from the airport on, say, the preceding Thursday or Friday so that we can have a chance to see you while you rest. Then you go down to New York Sunday afternoon or evening (I will make reservations at the hotel for you) and get Prutting out of the way during the week of the talk. Then come up again on Friday, and we can do Horace over the weekend, perhaps Saturday. Aurelia may be East at that time

N O R M A N
H O L M E S
P E A R S O N

2 3 1 H G S

an d if we could see her either in New Haven or New York it would save you a
long trip some time to Minerva. Somehow a chat with her is indicated, lest
she feel we were interested only in Ralph, but there really isn't enough to
warrant the trip to Ohio for that alone. And other places better to go. I
agree with you that it is better to get Prutting out of the way at the beginning,
thus leaving him a little time for further checks if he wants them. Once he
is done, I hope you will stay as long as you want to before joining Elsie at
the Sesame. I have to be in Georgia on November 4th, which means going down,
I guess the day before.

Now I must rush home and change into my decent clothes (not my
orchiding slacks) in order to receive the aunt.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

15 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Your letter of the 12th was in this morning's mail. I hasten,
at noontime, to begin an answer. For this is my last afternoon in the office
until Monday and there are still a number of graduate students to be seen.
I leave from the Taft at nine on the Dimousine to LälGUärdia, and return
from Washington Sunday morning. This will be my first overnight outside
New Haven since the beginning of April. One really does feel confined. Only
Susan naturally feels it a thousandfold more. I shall try to drop you a
note or two from Washington, as there is time. I cannot guarantee much except
my fatigue.

Yes, yes! A book without a proper index is almost more irritating
than the absence of any. I deplore both, for with a good book it is the life
of service to me that counts rather than the loss of virginity to my eyes.

We do not have your rain, but it is cold and overcast and it drizzles.

A yellowback came yesterday. I do always admire the spirit of Miss
Hulbert. # I have forgotten who Barbara Clark is. # Bryan matures all the time.
One can tell from his letters. He has certainly benefitted from your friend-
ship in far more than material ways. You can be pleased, even proud. # I read
Dean's letter with interest, from the Scillies, and think I now know where the
houses are. It is a pity the sale of Tremel ethen is so slow. Is she perhaps
suggesting that you might advance the money to ensure that she does get one of
these houses, of course repaying it when Tremelethen is sold. # Dorothy Doolittle
seems rather subdued but more or less on her keel and making her own course in a
light wind.

Had great fun last night reading the life of Kingston by a rather
pathetic but intriguing parson who used the Kingston papers he had inherited for
a B Litt at Oxford (at an advanced age) and dedicated the book to an only son who
died in action during W.W.II. Mostly it is about his work for the Seamen's mission,
but one picked up the fact that Kingston seems to have had a good deal of money
by inheritance although in the end he lost it all. I was getting clues as to what
to pick to show from him. I had not known that he and his wife did the standard
translation into English of *Swiss Family Robinson*. Did you? And I have found the
perfect end-of-the-line exhibit for the show in *Treasure Island* whose prologue is
to those who adore Kingston and allantyne. What a nice final piece this will be.
I am getting a little uneasy about omitting Marryat entirely, and people take for
granted I will show some Rider Haggard. What do you think. Is Haggard a boy's
novelist? I called a friend in New York who is also a friend of Professor Wolfe,
and got him to agree to phone Wolfe on Monday to try to persuade him to reverse
his decision and address the Grolier Club after all. If this doesn't work I don't
quite know what I shall do.

All love, as always

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

21 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I suppose inevitably I came back to bedlam in the office. Three days away at the end of last week, plus yesterday and today as the final two days for graduate students to submit their class schedules provide the environs. And then today was my first class; tomorrow comes my second. Tomorrow afternoon we must go to Hartford for a party in honor of the publication of a book on the Clemens family written by a fellow trustee of the Memorial. It will be a chance for Susan to get out of the house, which is important now that she cannot go to the shore in the afternoons, but it also just one more thing after the Smithsonian shindigs. Then this afternoon I had to go over the printers designs and copy for the Grolier Club opening on October 19th and the second meeting in November. They got way off base with the first invitation, so there were telephone calls to New York to set it straight. Alas, it now looks as though I myself would have to do the speaking at the first meeting. The Harvard professor really only collects 19th-century adult novels, is not interested in the historical novel aspect, and won't speak anyhow. I had the head of the Guggenheim Foundation (also of the Grolier Club), who is a friend, call him but to no avail.

So you will have to supply me with hints as to what to say about the genre. I shall count on you.

It is now six p.m. and I can't really begin to answer the several letters that have come in since I wrote last. But at any rate I am glad that you had such a nice visit from Helen and the chance to talk over your publishing plans with her. I'm sorry about the false lead towards Faber. I am afraid that it was I who suggested that a discussion with Peter de Sotoy, her friend, might be useful because of Faber's success with detective stories and that kind of thing. So you must forgive her and blame me for the misunderstanding of your "price", as you put it, as well as not quite getting how you felt about Collins. But we firmly agreed (Helen and I) that nothing would be done without your full approval, and she can now go ahead with Collins again for the time being. So don't blame her, and do forgive me for my clumsiness.

I'll have to leave Washington, I fear, until the weekend to describe. The temperature there was in the 90's, and so it has been here yesterday and today. Everyone is irritable because of the heat and almost complete humidity. One expects these September dogdays but never quite gets used to them.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

22 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

My days seem to have an unfortunate pattern of frustration. This morning I got to the office at a quarter to nine, only to find the window-washers descending on me. It is nice to have the glass clean again, but it was less than comforting to twiddle my thumbs away from my desk for an hour before they finished. Then it was discovered that two more persons had been put into my senior undergraduate seminar, making a total to seat (including myself) of 17 in a room that would hold a maximum of 12. Persuading another professor (after finding likely possibilities) to shift classrooms with me took another hour. I joyfully sat down at my desk to write to you when a visitor from the University of Connecticut stopped in for a happy chat. That took until 11:45. I had an appointment with the head of the world history section of Unesco, in Paris, who had taken his degree in American Studies at Yale. The time set was noon, but he arrived ten minutes early. I had not even had time to put paper into the typewriter. Then it was two o'clock and time for my class. Now it is almost three, and I must hurry home to dress and be driven with Susan to Hartford for the Mark Twain Memorial party and dinner. I really give up. I shall have a light snack of two tranquilizers on toast -- "No jam, please!"

Your letters remained unanswered yesterday and so they will again be today. But there was nothing from you either in yesterday's mail or today's, so my guilt is not compounded even though as always I miss news of you.

The volume of Aldington's poems has arrived from Maggs, for which my thanks.

Bundles and letters pour in from other directions too, including the only copy I know of a volume of Henty in the original dustwrapper, which Brimmell has lent for the show. Plus a letter from an odd dick in England who says he has done a bibliography of Ballantyne and is now doing his biography. He had heard of the show, wrote to me care of the Grolier Club, New York City, with a long description on the envelope to the post office describing the nature of the Club so that they could locate its address.

My love is none the less because of the poverty of words.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

23 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

The temperature still keeps in the 90°'s, with almost complete
humidity. Everyone is worn down by dripping, and faces droop. Mine is
certainly among them.

We did have a pleasant evening in Hartford. I had the driver
take us, so that Susan could go to the door of the Memorial and be picked
up there afterwards. Except for those who bought the 175 copies of the
book and had them autographed by her, the guests stayed outside on the
porch where Susan could sit without milling. Or, rather, the rest milled
about her. Afterwards we went to the house of the author for a buffet supper.
A nice gathering of not more than a dozen: three people from Harpers', the
literary executor of the Mark Twain estate, and an ex-Ambassador (Philip
Bonsal) whom I had known briefly in Spain. We left at nine.

Roger Butterfield, the husband of the publicity woman from
Harpers, had been at the Hawthorne show at the Grolier Club. When I told
him about the Henty show he spoke of Pete Martin who turned out to be a
friend. Apparently Martin is very much alive, and simply gave up interest
in Henty as the fuel diminished. When the management of the Saturday
Evening Post changed hands, he stuck his money in his billfold and bought
himself a house in Birchrunville, Pennsylvania, from which he runs promotion
campaigns and special projects of that sort. I shall write to the Henty
granddaughter who asked me about him and to whom I replied that he had disap-
peared out of sight.

A was met this morning when I came into the office by a smile
from Mrs Dingle and the news that yesterday afternoon, after I left for
Hartford, she thought it would be helpful to file letters from the yellowbacks.
This had not been done since last spring, and I put the sorting folder in
my office to get at as I could. Usually I remove my letters to you, and
anyhow have been doing them myself for many months. She, it seems, was very
disturbed to know from reading my letters to you how much difficulty I had
caused her, had a little pile of relevant documents which I gather she had
taken home to show her husband, and had decided with him that after all since
she was only a secretary that I should find someone new. At that moment a
student came in, but was shushed out by the room by her, but she could not do
this with two academic visitors from out of town who came for an hour, or with
the man from Unesco who returned because he was so happy to be in New Haven
again with the chance to talk. By this time it was noon, when Ruth Stephan
came for luncheon from Greenwich in order to give manuscripts to the Library.
Now it is almost four, and this letter is my sole accomplishment of the day.
I have not had a chance to discuss the matter further with Mrs Dingle except
to say that she must forgive a tired old man, which indeed I am. I did not
mention my surprise that she was actually reading the letters but I daresay I
began them with directed exasperation. Don't worry, she never opens the mail
and will not see them again. I am too busy to find someone else who knows the
ropes. S he says she will discuss the matter tonight with her husband. Today
is the first day of Fall; I hope the cool weather will come.

All love, Noman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

to do. I have suggested that he order xerox copies of each contribution. We
may have some already, but this is simpler than checking at each step and having
him go back. He also wants to do a memoir of Hilda, which I have encouraged.

A permissions slip from the Library came to hand indicating that a girl
at Brown University is writing her dissertation on Hilda's Poetic Development.
She had been looking at the various correspondences by Hilda which are in the
library. So I wrote, saying how interested I was to learn of her project, offering
to help if I could, and then (as the main reason for my letter) telling her by all
means to feel free to send me requests for anything she might wish to quote from
the letters since.... One does have to keep one's intelligence grapevines culti-
vated.

This noon I gave a little lunch for a young Japanese novelist, De Kenzaburō,
just thirty, and an interesting product of wartime and post-war Japan. As a small
boy during the war he lived in a remote village; now as a graduate of Tokyo he is
pleasantly sophisticated. I had read only two stories of his in translation, but
we had a longish discussion of them and about Japanese writing in general. Also
what has been going on among young Chinese writers. He has been there and is himself
rather leftist. But aware of the artistic shortcomings of much of what is produced
under the Chinese circumstances. He was said to be a fire-eater but he enjoyed
broiled scallops on toast, had known of my visit to the University of Tokyo and
like all Japanese was appropriate, if ignorantly, polite to a professor. Everyone
but myself was Japanese speaking, but fortunately mostly we talked in English.

The Lord only knows when I will finish reading the books for the review of
Fennimore Cooper due tomorrow. (Notice the effect on my spelling of working with
G. Manville Fenn!) But I must leave now to change for our dinner outing.

All love, as always —

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

25 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

There was no letter from you this morning, but Chap III of
January did arrive, and I shall read it eagerly at home tonight. My lust
made me want to read it at the office now, but my desk has been such a
mess that I could not bear to start the week with all of the disorder.
So I have been balancing my checkbook, writing business notes here and
there, and tossing things in the waste basket. The desk looks at least a
little better.

As you can imagine there is normally a good deal of tension
in the office. I can't say that I blame Mrs Dingle for feeling as she
does. I gathered from Lewis, to whom she spoke, that the letters she saw
were from the first of August when she was behaving (to my mind) so badly,
and I spoke of her as whining and as a spoiled child. I never like hurt-
ing people, and I don't like hurting her. Lewis thinks she will be around
awhile before the right thing turns up for her. Meanwhile I shall simply
leave the yellowbacks at home, and file them eventually. So don't, by all
means, stop sending them.

The football season begins today, but Susan and I of course
will not be able to go, and she naturally would hate my going when she could
not. So we will go to another matinee at the theatre.

I'll work back on your letters as from the last batch when three
or four arrived together. I was delighted that Hilda Quick's book has done
so well. You were always right in your judgment of it, and in the end I
think she will make a little profit for herself. Though that is not the main
point. # Poor Helen, she does have her troubles. # The problem of Romaine's
book we can discuss when you come over. How I wish I could arrange something.
I feel deeply sad about this. And how I wish I could pop over now. But as
you realize, this is quite out of the question. She is a real person. #You
speak of the tax position for authors. Can they spread income from a book over
the years in which one wrote it? If not, since her things are likely to have a
long life, as juveniles usually do, perhaps like Eliot she should incorporate
herself. I mean this seriously. #I do thank you for getting in touch with
Basil Brown. His clues should be invaluable to you.

The exhibition is getting me down a bit, since the time draws near
and I am not prepared for what I want to choose, cannot make the several trips
I ought to make in order personally to look at collections and select from them.
And I have my classes, the overdue review, four dissertations to read, plus a
novel for a friend. And now to have to give the opening address as well. I was
asked to fly from Atlanta direct to Toronto to appear at a meeting there the
next day. They even telephoned, in their anxiety. But I simply had to say no.
There are limits, there really are. Occasionally even I recognize them. I can't
say how glad I shall be to see you, for in that my joy will be limitless.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

26 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

You owe a Sunday note to my stupidity. Yesterday I rushed off
without Chap. III, and was itchy from then on at having lost my chance to
read it at once. Not there was a great deal of chance to have done so. We
went to the matinee, and then after dinner friends came in to play bridge.
Between the matinee and dinner we watched a football match on t.v. And so
the hours were filled.

A t.v. star named Alan King had the leading role in the play.
But I have already forgotten the play's name, which shows that it was no
masterpiece. Like the one we saw a fortnight ago, with Henry Fonda in it,
this was about teen agers and their escapades, and how they express their
point of view and how they turn out all right in the end after a series of
comic scenes about drinking, disheveled clothing and hair, dope and copu-
lation. Everyone laughs and laughs. I guess it is funny.

Today Lizzie comes for noon dinner--Escale chez nous -- and
in midafternoon we go to meet Prince Mikasa, the younger brother of the
Japanese Emperor; and afterwards to the Washburns to meet the head of the
Danish Arctic Association. By the way, the Vinland map will be published
on October 12th, and there will be a copy for you under your pillow. I
think I told you that when I saw Helge Larsen of the Danish National Museum,
in Washington, he said that the expedition to Greenland had not yet returned
before his departure. I suppose they are hanging on as long as possible.
Actually, as I have said, I will be not at all surprised if in fact they
cannot finish this year. The job is, I think, larger than they imagined.

Two yellow backs had come, which I read at home and will keep
there for the time being. It is easy to do this, and make a job of the filing
later on. Herring seems to be keeping his balance for which I am glad, and O.B.
keeps busy and happy as always. I do like his energy. D.D. writes a charming
letter always. She really can write. One wishes she would do a kind of memoir
of her work in a semi-popular vein, giving the excitement and fun as well as the
conclusions. The Brigadier comes out very well indeed in his letters about Ethel.
He does care, although at heart he is happiest only with his fellow soldiers.
Joan always amazes me at the degree of her recovery. Curiously I suspect her
break with Dori after being left by Heydt came at the right time in her therapy.
You are probably right about Dean's self-sufficiency, and she certainly wants to
stand on her own feet. (Tell me, do you really like the typeface --cursive--
that she has on her typewriter? I'm afraid I don't, although I have several
correspondents who use the same.)

hadn't, but I gather have almost no money to use either for research or publishing. He had been in touch with the Moravian headquarters at Jena, but I don't think anything came of it. This is a pity because the records might provide a wealth of data.

27 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I have managed to finish very little except the day itself. Now I have just come back from a meeting of Ingholt's executive committee of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences (of which I am vice-president, alas) and have fifteen minutes left before I must go home to dinner. No, I did manage something of an achievement: I actually went to the doctor and was pricked for my flu shots and for common colds. Last year I waited too long, caught a cold, and then had to postpone the shots until I was well again.

Yesterday however did have its accomplishment. I read your Chapter III with great pleasure. So did Susan. It marches in mood, and I shall be eager for more. I say mood for that is what so admirably controls the pages so far, and this makes one all the more interested in just how you plan to control the action and define it. Congratulations on keeping your standards flying!

Your letter of the 24th was in today's mail, chiefly about torches. Alas, for Americans a torch is only that which blazes when held aloft as a guide. Or is something like the kerosene torches we light at the shore in summer, for illumination and to draw the bugs and kill them in the flame. Only an American who knew England would respond to the British definition.

Sir Gavin was not known to me during the war, but he was doubtless in HQ and therefore in accessible to persons like myself. We each kept our enclaves pretty scrupulously. It would be interesting to know what he thought of Philby, but I daresay he is too discreet to reply to a question on it.

Yesterday was full. In the afternoon we went to a small reception for Prince Mikasa, youngest brother to the Japanese Emperor. I had the driver take us, and this was just as well since we could not otherwise have parked anywhere near despite the fact that only thirty were at the tea. Everywhere else was filled by weekending students. (Yale lost disgracefully on Saturday to the Connecticut University team who had never won before; indeed no Connecticut team ever had beaten Yale.) Susan prededed me into the room and was introduced first; I came a minute afterwards and was not sure who the man was to whom I was speaking. But he was affable, royalty-a-la-mode-moderne, but somehow less bopped-up that British royalty. We chatted for a few minutes, whereupon I withdrew to the many Japanese I already knew and had a good time with them. The tea lasted only three-quarters of an hour; the prince then went carefully around the room saying goodbye to everyone, and it was over.

Later in the afternoon we went to the Washburns (he is a Greenland specialist in geology) to meet a Col. Houk and his wife. Just the six of us. Houk is the head of the Danish Arctic Institute, and most pleasant. The North American Institute is highly scientific as you know from their journal. The Danish one is more historical and ethnographic. He talked about missionary records, and I asked if they had searched the American Moravian archives. They

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

28 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I forgot to send out a cable late this afternoon to Golding about Lord of the Flies and so had to come back to office to do so, tonight, leaving Susan at home alone. I had phoned them nr Salsbury this morning, but although I could hear Mrs Golding perfectly she could not hear a word I said. The connection was finally cut off. I had had no answer to my plea to him to lend his copy of Coral Island and so tried first the telephonic flourish and now one in cablèse. I can't say the show will be ruined if he won't, and perhaps he doesn't even own the book, but it would be rather fun if he did and were willing.

Otherwise the afternoon was made up with my graduate seminar and then a longish meeting of the professors of English which lasted until dinner time. The morning consisted of the phone call, appointments, and waiting for Mrs Dingle to come back for an interview for another position. When she came at last she had decided the substitute would be a step down, and I replied that I was happy to wait until she found something she wanted. I really can't turn her into the cold, without an income, and I have an awful hunch that the final result will be that she decides not to go elsewhere. But this would be a mistake, for I realize I rub her the wrong way and there is not much that can be done about this. Her bad case of laryngitis the doctor tells her is psychosomatic, so she will be off for the rest of the week to recover her poise and her voice. Life certianly can become complicated.

I still glow with pleasure from Chapter III, but otherwise have little to glow about, except for the expectancy of your visit.

day when I called and howled it was said he would be there today. I checked and found he hadn't been, and so renewed my howl. The man promised him faithfully for tomorrow. But what is faith?

29 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

I should not have had time even for a note to you tonight had I not, in a now characteristically haphazard fashion, rushed from the office to the International Student Center for a board meeting, only to discover that it was next week instead. But at least it let me cut short a discussion with Professor Lewis who had for that reason left for home by the time I returned to make the most of my god-given half hour.

Mrs Dingle is out for the rest of the week, because of her somatic laryngitis (caused by me) so most of the day has been one of penance in which I answered the constantly ringing telephone and the various questions of students and casual visitors. But I did manage to hold my undergraduate seminar, have a discussion with the Dean of the Graduate School, finish the requisition for office equipment for next year, and do various tasks that will make life easier for Mrs D when she returns, and indeed had to be done before then.

The crate of books from George's library is at last en route from New York to New Haven, addressed, as the consignment put it to "Your Good Self." This slight mark of approval lifted my spirits. So did your "Good Letter" of the 26th which came in the morning's mail. As for plans for your visit in terms of your arrival, I had thought this was all laid on as from this end. You will go directly, if you insist, to the hotel, though we would still be happiest if you were to come to New Haven from the airport and go down Sunday afternoon. We leave this to you. On Tuesday you will come with Perdita and John to the Grolier Club after dinner for the exhibition and my brief talk, and then come up on Friday afternoon when your week's engagements are done. Beyond that we leave open-ended because of waiting for Prutting's reports. Somewhere we must squeeze in a visit to Horace and Marya, but we had better wait to decide when that is to be, unless you do come directly from Kennedy so that we can drive down on the next day to see them.

I am most happy about the new and important material you are digging up vis-a-vis Close-Up and Borderline. And I think the records of Sylvia ought to be preserved. It is part of the history, and eventually should become so. In any event they ought not to be destroyed. The Hesse painting you bring, if you do, will be a delight. The de Beers visit sounded like great fun, and some day I should like to meet him if you think he would not bite off my head as a tasy amateur's. What he says about Billy Collins rather confirms the impression I have from Helen. I only assume that Collins is rather bored with it all, which one can readily understand after a diet of prayerbooks.

How I long for you to come, having quite given up any hope of replying to the several letters which came during the whirlwind of events a fortnight ago and since. Tonight I shall try desperately to finish the second volume of Cooper's letters which I am to review, although this is a little hard on Susan who has to sit alone all day too. We are trying desperately now to have the upstairs bath finished before she can mount the stairs. The contractors are dreadful and have quite taken advantage of my good nature. The painter has been promised for a fortnight. Yester-

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 September 1965

Dearest Fido,

Today, I am glad to say, things have gone somewhat more quietly. And despite the fact that Thursdays are when I have to leave in mid-afternoon to take over from the nurse on the cook's day out, I really have managed to answer a number of letters, have several conferences, and see students to such an extent that both my desk and my mind are less cluttered.

Your letters of the 27th and 28th have arrived for which, as always, my thanks. Do not worry about your letters to me. These I have always kept securely in my office and filed myself close at hand. As for mine to you, do not worry about them any longer; for as I wrote I shall keep the yellowbacks at home and file later on weekends after Susan is on her own. Recent ones to you will be tucked away in my own office so there will be no temptation that way. The pity is, that in trying to put the yellowbacks in order (a thing she has not done for a year) she was really trying to help. Seeing her own name in print she succumbed to curiosity. I think now the worst of the blow to her amour propre is over, and I have persuaded her what she wants to believe; that is, that being tired and not wanting to worry Susan I blew off to you with remarks that ought not to be taken any more seriously than the exaggerations anyone makes under stress. But I think we also agree that with her traumatic allergies by which she reacts to me I am not good for her health or peace of mind, and that when she finds something she really likes it would be best for her to move. I have said, being really sorry as I always am when I have hurt anyone, that I should be happy to have her stay. Now my only hope is that she will not, for the difficulties will only arise again under other circumstances.

So continue to return my letters to me for safe-keeping and I shall write no differently than before. Letters are the umbilical cord we share as Siamese twins who are born from each other and nourish each other. At least I hope you feel so, for I certainly do. Perhaps the two-way umbilical cord is not the right phrase for it. In any event I have always told you I was an old-fashioned Muslem.

I doubt that I need to write to the Stanhope, but will phone to confirm early in the week of your arrival. Coming as you do on Saturday you may well prefer to rest for the next Sunday at the hotel, or perhaps ring Annie Reich for Sunday supper. If you are willing --do let me know -- I suspect that your best escorts to the Grolier Club would be Pup and John, for if they are not invited it will seem like a snub to them. And if you invite them to the Stanhope beforehand, where I imagine we also will be staying overnight, this can double as one of your nights spent with them.

The matter of the poplar tree is an irritating expense, but the difficulty can only mount in cost and nuisance and damage if you postpone the surgery. As for cutting down more than necessary, however, I do shudder with the experts. Flowers should be saved for the back garden where there is plenty of access for the sun.

I breathe a little sigh of relief that the Hotsons will be in Maine

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

during your visit to New Haven for it will mean one less complication. He
works well there, and although the weather will be chilly it should be
diamond-like in tone.

Montegufoni will be difficult as a place to live in, but from sheer
practicality I am glad that common sense makes Osbert give over Renishaw to
Reresby before death duties. Even Renishaw could not be truly comfortable in
the cold, and Osbert might well be persuaded to make a modernized nest for
himself in a corner of the castle. This is what the senior Pounds did at
an otherwise arctic Brunnenburgh. The Salter difficulty is really what I
expected. This is the difficulty in rushing into print with any details.

The Scarletts are another matter, for they are trapped.

As I said in my last letter it is difficult to know just how to
plan your trip after the 22nd. We want by all means to have you at the house;
this is no problem at all. The great problem is the psychological and
practical one of my getting away as we had once planned. I have classes
Tuesdays and Wednesdays which cuts up the week. Susan won't really be able
to go away at any time just now (Tho don't mention this in your letter),
and she wants to ramble so desperately (rather like Horace and Marya) that
I think it would make her miserable if I were to go the following weekend.
But you might finish Prutting if needed, and then do Boston for the lawyer
and the Richards in mid-week, with another few days with us before you go
back perhaps by way of Shannon. How little one seems able at this stage
of life to plan anything in advance!

Collins, H. is lonely. He feels life fading and wants to hold up
your image before him, with Hilda as a glue. She was to him as Aldington was
to Kershaw, and so her image after death becomes more vivid I suspect than it
ever was in life. And he did adore her, so naturally enough Hilda must have
responded a little. But not as he paints the historical drama.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

It has really been raining all day. I say really, because we
so much need real rain. Outside everyone scurries huddled under umbrellas
and raincoats, but how the resevoirs will rejoice. You spoke of the shortage
of water in New York, but do not worry about it as an immediately practical
matter. The levels are down to one-third of what they should be, but any
restrictions are now off as of several weeks ago.

I had my own little reward for being faithful to Dusty Diamonds
last night. I have been trying to bone up on Mayne Reid by reading his wife's
memoir and a biography, and in the former found long chapters devoted to a
reference in Hawthorne's letters which had baffled me in footnoting. All
relating to Louis Kossuth and a false letter published in the London Times
attributed to Kossuth. K's biographers never went into any detail about it,
but Reid it seems was Kossuth's best friend, leapt to his defense with letters
the Times refused to publish, and so on. It is all here at my fingertips at
last.

My reason for this pressure is not only the proximity of the show,
but because I have to drive to Boston and back on Sunday (alone, alas; how I
wish you were here) to choose the Kingstons and the Mayne Reids from the collection
of Professor Wolff. He can only see me on Sundays, he says, and I must bring
the books back with me so I cannot, as hoped, go on the train and work while
traveling. Apparently his collections of both men are superb.

I made a rough calculation today and think we must have roughly a
thousand volumes in the collection. And as one knows this is only a beginning
for we are not yet outstanding in any author, just good.

Mrs Dingle being out the day went quietly, although the afternoon was
devoted to an oral examination for the doctorate in English. I was to examine on
19th century British poetry. He passed, I am glad to say.

Yours of the 29th was in the late afternoon mail. I can see that
much new thinking is required by the conferences on the Swiss will. I shall be
interested from a legal point of view as to the differences and technicalities.
We will have time to discuss. I suppose you will bring over the usual statement
from Beney; this will be a good chance for you to get an estimate of the total
to see what has happened in the way of growth of the original sum. Have him
give you a single overall sum as well as the details, and do greet him for me.

The measurements you brought for Jacques' suit were so excellent that
perhaps you should get the daughter-in-law to be sure everything is included. As
a matter of fact, perhaps I can run over in the morning and see what Press needs.
Be sure to find out whether he wants a winter suit or a summer one, since the
winter materials will be what is mostly in stock now. If he has a preference
between blue or brown or black, stripes or plain, that would also be helpful.

Your tale of the poplar bending over the roof where you sunbathe

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

2 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

I rather snipped off yesterday's letter to you, but had had a
call asking me to stop in briefly to meet still another Dane (the name I
never quite got, but can pin down later) who spends most of his time in
Peary Land. You would have liked him: -- leather-skinned, thin with strong
cheekbones, and because of his adventures impossible to date as to age. He
might have been a young 70 or an old 50. Alas I could only stay a quarter
hour, but he invites me to Peary Land next summer and promises me many
flights in his airplane over the ice-cap and along the northern and eastern
coast. I daresay the invitation was more polite than serious, and I couldn't
go anyhow. But what a dream to have!

I had thought I might not even get in a note to you today, with
a committee meeting scheduled at 10, and the time before that taken up by
the visit to Press for the enclosed bulletin, and to the Co-op for money to
take me to Boston tomorrow. But the meeting turned out to be a short one,
so I have unexpected time now to clear my desk before Mrs Dingle's return on
Monday and before I go home for lunch and then to take Justus to the football
game this afternooon. The rain has stopped and it is a clear nippy autumn
day. A Japanese comes at noon to the office to pay his respects. Sometimes
my hand-across-the-sea aches.

Your letter of the 28th was in the morning's mail. I had not known
about the missing dog at the palazzo but am glad he was found. Only lucky that
it was not you or I there on a visit and shut up in a disused room.

There are extenuating circumstances for poor Mrs Dingle, since she
really was trying to help by doing something she had not done for many months.
It is all right if she should change her mind and want to stay; but I think that
if my presence gives her swollen lips and migraines and laryngitis, she ought not
to continue to live so dangerously near.

A pity you cannot make the Queenwood gathering, but you have been
wonderfully loyal in the past. And since Doris will not be there, nor is Ethel
likely to go up, part of the pleasure would be absent anyhow. As I have written,
I should think Grolier Club with the Schaffners, and if you agree I will lay it
on with them. I think better to leave post 22nd open for the minute, since one
will have to see what the doctor says about Susan when he comes to see her this
afternoon.

I may be in for it. I agreed to serve on the National Book Awards
prize committee for the best book under the category of Arts and Letters (rather
vaguely defined), and am now told the other two members will be Francis Fergusson
and Walter Kerr, both theatre critics. But when Lewis, a close friend of the
former, saw the two names together he threw up his hands in horror since the two
men literally will not speak with each other and make a point of not appearing at
the same place. Someone must have goofed horribly. The only way of coming to a

3 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

A very hasty Sunday note indeed, as I come to the office to
pick up the packing cases to take with me today to Boston when I see Prof.
Wolff. The books will be mostly Kingston and Mayne Reid of which he is
said to have outstanding collections.

But you know that. You do not know however that yesterday
afternoon when the doctor came to see Susan, after her x-rays, he brought
a cane with him for her, took her upstairs on a trial run (which went
smoothly), told her to toss away the crutches unless she wanted prosection
in a crowd, and told her even that she now drive her own car. She was
naturally radiant, and walked with her cane to greet me when I returned from
the football game with Justus.

Life should be much easier for her now. And a little easier for
me too. I ordered three tickets for the football game on the 23rd so we can
all go. And I forgot to say that we would be spending the night of the 19th
at the Stanhope, and count on perhaps tea with you that day and breakfast
the next morning. I think I will have the driver take us down and back, so
we can transfer any heavy articles you may have to him to bring back in the
car with us.

And so now to Boston!

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

4 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

Well, it is now settled. Mrs Dingle is to be secretary to the Dean of the School of Arts and Architecture, whose secretary has just been taken over by the Provost, and will presumably transfer at the end of the week. I had a longish and pleasant talk with the Director of University Personnel this afternoon, and we decided that it was better not to wait until we had found a replacement for my office. All this for a variety of obvious reasons. So now I shall start fishing. Fortunately the chief secretary of the English Department is on my side and is looking for some one to take over for me. I'm glad of that since she warns me that the other secretaries are hearing stories of my sinister character, so no doubt my very name will be reason for blackballs.

Yesterday's trip was a long one, especially the way back. But I managed it all right and brought back a library box filled with goodies for the show. Wolff really does have an impressive private library, and devotes himself to it and the collection of china and silver. From a collector's point of view, his shelves of Victorian three-deckers is far more important than ours; but in the end I suspect ours will or at least might be more important for scholars and historians. After all he likes the adult novels these men wrote, and indeed they are the rarest because they are the worst, compared to the juveniles. Anyhow we have Kingstons he doesn't have, tho he has the edge by what we lack. And we even have one three-decker Ainsworth which is one of the only three he lacks. I knocked on his door and left at five after a nice bookish afternoon.

Now I must work like a madman to pull the exhibition together.

Three letters from you were in the mail today, at various posts. The 30th, 1st and 2nd. Never apologize for the lady's magazine when they contain items you know will fascinate me. Do thank Coigny for me. #We can talk about the Moravian papers when you come, but I think I had better wait until Brattahlid cools. r else the Danes will think I am taking Greenland over. By preference they would prefer to be stodgy. #Glad you had your shots. Both Susan and I have already had one set already. #Hope you have John Maggs New York address. I should love to have him see the show. Do you think he would like to dine with you and the Schaffs and go to the opening afterwards. He can certainly get into the show whenever he wants to, opening or no opening. And he may not have black tie with him. Wouldn't he like to come to Yale and see the new Beinecke Library. The curator would be happy to see him and it might make an important connection for him. I really think he should. #I had forgotten about the collection of travel books you have at Renishaw. We must talk about them and the Cornish collection when you are over.

It is six p.m. and I must flie home.

All love as always,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

5 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

Last night I devoted to the Pope and the last of his visit to the States. It was really an extraordinary experience to watch him conduct a mass in Yankee Stadium, with the cameras making each detail of the ceremony as clear as though one were officiating with him. He is not a handsome man, nor dignified in the way of Pius XI or warmly human like the late Pope. He seems more like a serious-minded merchant. Except as the crowds roared and he waved and blessed during the processions. He liked that. The two moments which were the most appealing were when one had a close-up of the face of a policeman whose child was receiving communion from the Pope --tears welled in the policeman's eyes; the second was when the Pope himself was bidding a last farewell at Kennedy airport, and the heavy winds caught up his cape from behind, whipped it over his head and covered his face completely in muffled splendor. Nature asserted itself.

Today all has been sweetness and light at the office as Mrs D prepares to leave for her new job next Monday. I must say she has gotten an immense lot done. I wondered a little whether if she had worked similarly in former times, the office might not have gone better and peace reigned. Still.... It will certainly be awkward not to have anyone to answer the phone for a while.

After the Pope flew off I went back to the list of choices for the New York show, and will have to come down to the office tonight to start packing the books in boxes for the driver to leave off at the Club on Friday when he takes Susan in town for her hairdresser. Chosing is as hopeless as can be. But if I showed everything one would stage an expo as large as Lausanne's. Susan's sister Molly cabled today that she was airmailing one of G.M. Trevelyan's boyhood copies of Henty. I only wish I could hear from Golding. But I daresay I won't.

No letter from you today.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

7 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

Mrs Dingle, with her husband, is packing up her things before going, and I imagine (the time being 5:30) that my presence is disturbing. Nevertheless I do want to write at least a note, so that your mailbox will not be empty.

I phoned the Stanhope this morning to make a reservation for Susan and myself for the night of the 19th, and to check yours for the longer period. Everything is in order and they are expecting you. This being Susan's first flight for six months I splurged a little and am taking a suite for the night. It occurred to me that this would be better if you joined us for breakfast on the morning of the 20th (I shall have to leave by 9:30 to get back to New Haven.) And we might even have the chance for a cup of tea in the late afternoon of the 19th. Also if Pup and John would like to come back after the exhibition, where I imagine Susan will not want to stay indefinitely, it would be better for the five of us to join at the hotel than to go as before to the Schaffners, and from there back to the Stanhope. So I console myself that the extravagance is somewhat justified by the occasion and the need.

A rather gay piece of luck happened today when Susan's sister sent G.M. Trevelyan's copy of Henty, from his boyhood. It is *Lion of the North*, and it will be rather fun to have his copy and Henry Miller's alongside each other.

But how glad I shall be when the show is over!

You once asked about tipping. For taxis. For the ordinary ride I usually give twenty or 25 cents, whatever brings it up to the nearest quarter dollar. Once in a while if it is raining and the river kindly stops I have been known to give 50 cents. The driver gets 40% to 45% of the meter, so longer hauls reward him anyhow.

Marya's Collected Poems has come, and I read it last night. This is not quite my cup of metre and theme --indeed there almost is no scheme, chiefly a landscape somewhat dimly seen through a fanciful eye. But the poems are her own, and she is a poet.

Oh, we have a new format! Elicit is in trouble.

Prof.
Dearest Fido,

What a way to begin a letter to you! Though I must say you deserve it in terms of your knowledge and responsibilities, such a salutation can only indicate what the end of a secretaryless day is like. Still, I have been pounding away at correspondence with considerable freedom of vigor, and a sense of relief from feeling that a moment of unguarded telepathy might give Mrs D a relapse into psychosomatic laryngitis. I was sorry to have rushed my note so last night, but I realized that it must seem as though I stayed on only to supervise her final packing with the help of her husband.

I continue to be grateful to you for your help with the Henty show, for today I had a nice note from Phyllis Jackson saying they were sending on several photographs and letters for the Grolier "in view of your very nice letter." It really is most kind of them!

Monday I will take an early train down and go to the Club to advise on the arrangement of the books and papers. I am sorry I can't actually mount the show myself, but this is impossible. One is never satisfied with what others do, but even Monday will be crowded. I have to take an early train back for the unveiling of the Vinland map. Susan went in today for her permanent, and the driver took the last two cases.

I phoned Perdita a little while ago, this afternoon, and all is in order. They will have dinner with you at the Stanhope and go on to the Groller. Then return afterwards with you to join Susan and myself in our room for a quiet chat. I hope your appointments for the Wednesday morning will be late enough for you to share our breakfast. Of course if Dr Prutting insists however, that is another thing.

As to your queries in your letter of the 5th (none today), I had planned to have you meet Marie Borroff, and indeed have told her so. To her delight for she is a great admirer of your work. (2) You did leave a spare suitcase with us, and if you like you can take it to New York when we come. In any event this will be just the things for your visit to Boston. Rooms will not be hard to get in Boston at this time of the year in midweek. So let us see. Cambridge might actually be better if you want to see both the Richards and the young Wolfs in the evening. Then you could take a long flight by day to Pokross. # We are most impressed by your list of shopping duties. The lumber jackets I should get in New Haven, although Abercrombies will have lovely and slightly more expensive ones if you insist on a name. The batteries also might be easier to get here, although Abercrombies would be also a possibility.

8 October 1965

9 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

We had our first attack of vandalism at home last night. We went out for dinner and bridge, came back about 11:30 and were in bed a little after midnight. This morning when I woke I saw that the carriage lamp at the entrance to the driveway had been smashed and bent, and the new underground hose for irrigating between the sidewalk and the street had been ripped out and tossed to one side. The nursery was to have sodded the soil this morning, and so the pipes were exposed as a temptation. The police came, examined the footsteps in the mud (it had been raining), and decided it was juveniles plus a few bigger feet. What rats such vandals are. Fortunately the men came and were able to resink the pipes. Tonight all is sodded and we hope safe.

This morning I did a series of errands, including picking up an overcoat I had had relined. It was over thirty years old, and so perhaps it is not surprising that it needed relining. But do not accuse me of squandering money on clothes, after such a thrifty gesture. The few hours at my desk were wonderfully peaceful, with interruptions, and this is lucky for I must have a reasonably neat desk on your arrival.

Later we went to the memorial services for a friend who had been Dean of Yale before he died suddenly of a heart attack this summer. The university being closed then, the services were postponed until now.

Your letters of the 6th and 7th were in the morning's post. I am not surprised that your Kenwin needs new furnaces. It is like my coat! We shall have time at the office, and freedom there to talk will be all the greater because of Mrs D's departure. I think we do business there, and I shall leave that sort of paper and problem for the Hall of Graduate Studies. I shall have to be well-drilled on the will. #Americans ask for a stationery shop, or a stationers. Or if that seems too elegant, as it sometimes also is in England, then one asks where one can get writing paper for letters. Brennos of course is an excellent place for this sort of thing. There is probably one also around the corner from the Stanhope. # I am much relieved to know what Beney really wants. How too bad it would be to have sent the wrong thing.

I go to New York tomorrow to indicate (I can't do more) how I hope the Club will set up the books and manuscripts in the exhibition. So I shall not be able to write you, and think this will probably be my last letter to Kenwin. Do call when you come. It will disturb no one, and delight us to know you are safely in your New York kennel.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

10 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

Having come down to the office today, morning and afternoon, I sneak in what will really be the last letter to Switzerland. Perhaps I shouldn't send this, but nothing in it matters except the bon voyage. As you would know without my saying so, I have been working on Dusty Diamonds, preparing a series of notes on what to stress in mounting the show, which I can give to Austin, the Librarian of the Club. I should think even a child could follow the scheme, and he should be much better than a child.

I wish I could be satisfied with it, but I know too little and the scale of relative values (non-financial) are too tottery. I realise now how very poor our holdings in Stables are, and wish I had omitted his name except as buried in "Some Others". I used to think we had a pretty good overall collection; now I see there is a long ways to go before even this goal can be achieved. But we can try. About all we can say is that what we have compares favorably, and that some items are really good.

The men who repaired the damage done by the young vandals made a very handsome greensward indeed out of the sod they laid. But when I tried to use this extension of the system this afternoon when I was cutting the roses and the crysanthemums, and doing a little weeding, I found that one set of valves didn't work, and another was skew-gee. Still.... The glazier came and finished the shower in Susan's bathroom, so after two a half months that chore is completed. Susan will try baptism tonight, having had to wait until the calking dried. The rug people came late yesterday afternoon and returned the rugs which have been absence since before her return. You were here when they left; you will be here for their new visit. How odd it is, that your absence almost exactly coincides with Susan's fall and reovery. Although she uses crutches still, occasionally, to save her energy and muscles, she will greet you on a cane.

At moments like this one believes that life is charted. But where is the chart for tomorrow?

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

Welcome! I have not written since Sunday, but at least I want something to await your arrival. You must be dead, but I shall begin to live with the knowledge that you are on this side again at last.

Monday was taken up for the day by New York. I went in by an early train and went directly to the Grolier Club taking the ms of Steven's prologue to *Treasure Island* and a heavy bundle of the ms of Mayne Reid's novel *The Land of Fire*. It was fortunate I had made such elaborate directions for ordering and emphasizing the exhibits, for nothing had been unpacked and so nothing could be done in the way of actual arrangements. But I could explain, and explain I did not only to the Librarian of the Club but also to Headley Martin who is chairman of the exhibitions committee. And he too had his contribution of the true first edition of *Swiss Family* in French as well as in English. The one I brought was only 1840. Monday night we went to the dinner celebrating the publication of the Vinland map, and the head of the Morgan Library (a classmate at Andover and Yale) said they had the ms of Marryant's *Mr Midshipman Easy*. When I got back to New Haven, the bundle from Phyllis Jackson had arrived. Susan will take it to New York tomorrow. So I think the show will be really sufficient to interest you.

The Vinland party was interesting, and I was brought to meet the ambassadors from Iceland and Canada, both of whom were much interested in Brattahlid. There has been an immense hullabaloo about the map, with all Italians and Spaniards being furious. Even the Norwegians are unhappy that the map was drawn by a Swiss! I have saved some of the clippings for you to see. Yale has been called a liar and spoil-sport. But my guess is that all this will help calling attention to the Vikings, and will sell the book. The crux seems to be whether or not it was good manners to announce the map the day before Columbus Day, or wait for some February morning when it would be lost in the fog. Personally I am on the side of calling all possible attention to the Vikings.

I am delighted that John Maggs can come to the Grolier. I think he should indeed be at one of their meetings for his pleasure as well as his business. Ask him back to the Stanhope afterwards if you'd like to. I hope he will be able to come to Yale to see the Beinecke Library. I quite understand your not wanting to eat at a distance from the Grolier, and have written to Pup suggesting Delmonico's, which is literally around the corner on Park Avenue, or one of the several restaurants directly across the street from the Club. These will not be inexpensive, because of the neighborhood, but they will be convenient. I recommend making reservations beforehand, but Pup or John can do this.

Probably the best place to get the crocodile (the price is the same everywhere) would be at Mark Cross, in the basement. If as I hope you plan to leave from New Haven to Kennedy Airport on your return home, why not buy this on Monday or Tuesday after your arrival, and let us take it back in the car with us. From the house to the limousine presents no such problems as by train.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Your Gillian Freeman sounds interesting, since it is the lack of
fiction about the lower middle classes in England that strikes me so strongly.
Lettice Cooper, of course, I have not read.

What an interesting letter from your Basil Brown-Henty! Perhaps we can
send him a paperback *Roman Wall* from this side. I must say I was taken a bit aback
by finding him born only in 1917. I had thought of him as a doddering curate.
Wolff, the Victorian novel collector really goes in only for the three-decker
early ones in the century. I fear your mamma's would have been much to late
for his specialty. He is also rabid on condition, and wants only nearly mint
copies.

I can't really make this a letter, and most has been written on the morn-
ing of the 15th, before my first appointment and later hours of giving oral
examinations for the doctorate in English.

And I did want to tip you off to the fact that Marianne is receiving her
5 thousand dollar award from the Academy of American Poets, and giving a reading
in acknowledgement, on the night of the 21st at the Guggenheim, just up the
street. Although a Chancellor of the Academy I can't myself go. The annual
meeting of the Connecticut Academy, of which I am a v-p, is the same night,
and for Harald's sake I must be there. But if you want tickets I can get you
some. Just tell me by phone. The actual announcement says, "Miss Moore, the
Academy's new Fellow, will receive a citation delivered by Mr John Hall Wheelock,
and will respond by reading *Spencer's Ireland*. Mr Wheelock and Mr. Richmond
Lattimore will then read from their poetry." So it's not quite a "reading"
by Marianne, but I am sure she would be honored by your presence. I have written
her I could not go, but have not mentioned you would be in town or even that you
were coming.

Much love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

16 October 1965

Dearest Fido,

You will have witness of me just as I am about to go down!
For in a few minutes in mid-afternoon I shall begin to try to pull things
together for my Grolier Club remarks.

I thought I would be able to begin last night. But late in
the afternoon I had a long-distance call from Toronto saying that a man,
now teaching there but doing his dissertation under my direction was
flying to New Haven to see me today. Alas, I had not read the 400 pages
of his first draft. So last night and this morning went to that. At
least it is done, and I discussed it with him this noon at luncheon,
which was in fact easier than trying to write at length and with delicacy
to say he must redo the last 100 pages.

After lunch, until now, I have been cleaning up my desk of
immediate tasks, and to recover from a two hour committee meeting late
yesterday afternoon of the lecture committee of which I find myself chairman.
Tomorrow another substitute secretary comes in for the week, one who will
at least answer the phone and hold the fort when I am in New York. The
personnell director of the university is away until Tuesday, so there is
no news about the woman I hope he will hire for me.

George Plank's books have at last arrived, and I cleared them
through customs Thursday morning. This is a slow voyage, since mid-May.
They are in a huge packing case in the hall outside my office door, but
will be so you can see them when you come. I am at least glad of that.

Yours of the 13th was in the morning mail. I do hope John Maggs
will like the show. It will be a good chance anyhow for him to see the Club
and perhaps make contact. I wonder if he may not be staying with my friend
Robert Black, the bookdealer in New Jersey. I met Black first when we were
both up at Oxford.

I suspect that with Ada Gloss as she is, it may be better not to
try to see her this time. I suppose the double deaths of her sister and George
have taken it out of her. The sister's last years I know were gruesome for
her.

We will have spoken before you get this. But at least it will
be something in your mailbox.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1 November 1965

Dearest Fido,

It was sad to bid your farewell
this morning, but nice to know that we have
the spring to look forward to. A letter from
Ethel was in this morning's mail and I took
it out of its envelope so that it might fit
mine.

Also in the post was a card from
Romaine: "This is what Nice has become minus
endless cars on the roads. Bryher tells me that
you & Mrs Pearson may be coming this way. I
do hope so & I send my best greetings to you
both." A new plan strikes me for the spring,
which I proffer. Why don't the three of us
fly from London to Nice on the Sunday. See
Romaine, who will be thrilled by your coming
(and indeed I think it is indicated that you
ought to get the feel of her place there,
vis-a-vis your memoirs), and proceed on Monday
together to Geneva. I have a feeling that
Susan would like to go (she hates to be left
out of things), and that even Romaine might
wonder if I went alone, as though trying to
get something out of her. And I would be much
easier with you as liaison.

All love, & thanks

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1 November 1965

Dearest Fido,

Later in the day I have had a
letter from London, on which you may perhaps
be able to shed some light. An H. Allan Clodd
says a friend of his has acquired "a little
pamhlet of about 10 pages entitled Cuffing the
Thunder--a Fable; it is prose and is in fact a
sort of fairy story or fable. No author's name
appears anywhere nor that of any printer, but
on the last leaf are printed the words The Chapel
Press, 122 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. Laid in is a
card with the words (in an unidentiable hand
'sent to you at the request of H D'. I should
also mention there is also present an addressed
envelope postmarked 1934 and the layout and
design of the pamhlet suggests publication in the
Thirties." They hope it is by Hilda, but I have
never heard of it, nor any reference to it. Does
it ring any bells for you? You would know the
author and the reasons for Hilda's interest, if
anyone would!

4 November 1965

Dearest Fido,

I began the morning by going to the postoffice to buy stamps and send a Christmas package to you and the suit to Beney, both by air. The latter was fabulously expensive, but if it is ever to get there it must be by air (they took so long to make it up), and perhaps the Christmas aspect of the card inside will make the customs people lenient. And I put as low a value on the suit as I realistically dared. I have written Beney that it is en route. Your own present is a record, wrapped to soften customs, but I leave it to you as to whether you open now or wait. It is the Beowulf record which I had actually bought before your request for it was written. So pat me gently for crystal-ball gazing.

Yesterday I wrote to Dr German to send Horace's record to Prutting, having discovered that the miraculous German has recovered again and is back at his surgery. Just now I have finished a letter to Prutting saying that the report has been requested, and reviewing the arrangements and giving what I know of the history of Horace's intestinal difficulties over many years. Patrick said it was and always had been a preoccupation of his father, and is at least as much due to his comparative immobility and bad bodily habits as to the particular operation. Though of course it may be related to the latter also. I am most grateful to you for making it possible for Horace to see Prutting.

Your letter of the 1st was in today's mail. I am sorry about the electric typewriter, but don't seriously think you ever will want to have one. It is hard to make changes when one's writing habits are firmly established, and I imagine many authors never did shift from quill pens to steel nibs. # Odd that you should mention the Janet Flanner book in this particular letter, for in the second morning mail the book itself arrived as for an entry for the prize in the National Book Awards. Susan reads away like mad to help me shift chaff to one side. At the moment she is just now finishing the new Edmund Wilson volume, but the shelf of entries fills her side of the study. You are right, Miss Flanner does basically care most for the politics of France. But one follows French politics much as Ethel and Doris followed football. # I never quite get used to the idea of a restaurant like the Escale closing for a month. But I suppose it does make sense for the employees who must work like mad all summer.

Have just ordered from the House of Books a copy of Hilda's
Tribute to the Angels, "Presentation to a very well-known poet on half
title, 'To... with love from Hilda.'" Since this is where Marianne has
been selling her books, I gather this must be one of them. I order out
of curiosity, but expect it will long since have been sold. I recall
that Marianne gave other inscribed books and letters from Hilda to be sold
at auction for the benefit of Poetry Magazine. I sometimes think, remembering
Edith and Hilda, as well as Marianne, that women poets are more grudging than

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

men towards at least their fellow women poets. There was also listed
for sale a copy of _The Walls_, presented to an unnamed "cousin." I wonder
which one?

I too had a letter from Aurelia, all of a bustle with her
activities as a member of the school board and a dozen other community
doings. She reminds me of an autumn crocus, what used to be known in
Bavaria as herbszeitlosen.

Much to my surprise I opened an envelope yesterday to find the
gift of a Henty letter from the head of the Beinecke Library. A very
nice one too, and warmer than one had Bedn led to expect. My dear Miss
Hay. It is a long time since we saw you. Will you come and dine with us
on Friday next. It is my natal day, and Lizzie is celebrating it by a
dinner. The hour is 7. We have a spare room for you, and it will I am sure
be much better for you to sleep here instead of turning out into the cold.
I should say you had best send your box on by carrier and dress here.
With our love, Yours affectionately, G.A.Henty.

I wonder who Miss Hay was? Perhaps Mrs Jackson will know.

This afternoon we drive to New York, particularly for the opening
night of the play _Zeami_ by Yamazaki, my Japanese protege. This will be
the first full length Japanese play to have been produced in New York, or
at least so they say. We will spend the night at the Stanhope and drive
back tomorrow morning. In late afternoon we go to a cocktail party at
the Grolier Club, given by friends. Obviosuly we wouldn't go down just
for that, but since we will be there anyhow have decided to try. Before
the play we are taking the translator of it, with his wife, to dinner at
the Stanhope. I hope the dining room opens at six.

I shall probably not get to the office until Monday, so no report
until then.

7 November 1965

Dearest Fido,

I must take a nibble from the morning to drop you a note. Since this afternoon I have my seminar, and after that a departmental meeting in English will will carry on until six. Whereupon I must hie me home and then take Susan to dinner at the Lawn Club and afterwards to the concert by the Boston Symphony. I could well use an evening at home, but she would be disappointed to miss the recital.

Yours of the 3rd came after I had written you, and there was no time in which to write you after mid-afternoon. Edel got to the office at 4; we had a part cup of coffee here and then went on to the lecture. Alas it was only sparely attended, not more than forty or fifty. But he spoke with common sense, and people appreciated what he said, and so all was well. All went well with the dinner too. I had only a small group: Louis Martz, Gordon Haight (who is writing the life of George Eliot) and Frederick Pottle (who is writing the life of Boswell. So they could all talk shop together. Edel made a belated effort to, as he said, explain his actions in respect to the Wharton biography. But I more or less brushed this aside, since it was not like to be congenial for an evening when one was host.

Poor Perdita. I know from Susan how one feels stripped when whatever family things one has is taken. It is not the actual value but the fact they can never be replaced. I suspect it would be almost impossible to guard properly a New York house, but do not know how the Burglars got in.

One has not even started Christmas mail as yet, and I have a ten-inch-high stack of applications for grants in American Studies, made to the American Council of Learned Societies which I must have read and pondered before Friday. I had hoped to spend Thursday in New York (I must sleep the night there in order to be on time for the opening of Friday's meeting) but it now looks, because of the papers, that I won't be able to go down until late in the afternoon. Too bad, I had hoped to do some Christmas shopping and buy myself a pair of shoes. But I never really expect any sort of freedom of movement any more, and so do not allow myself the possibility of disappointment.

I am glad to say I feel a little better today--not well, but a little better.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

9 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

I couldn't write you yesterday. It was a frustrating day and I seemed, for some reason, depressed. I get things done, but not enough of them. I go to meetings but there are too many of them. And I think I was a little tired from having to house-mother the Archibald MacLeish lecture on Monday night. It was at 8 p/m; I had a male dinner for him beforehand at Mory's and a rec eption for him after his talk. Fortunately I didn't have to introduce him to the audience, though I have been repeatedly asked since why I didn't. But I have done it too often, and I think people are weary of my slick seals of approval. Anyhow both the floor and the balacony were full, and Archie had really worked and polshed his talk on the '20s and what he and his generation were after. It's obvious he feels out of it now, and his eyes quite literally filled with tears on several occasions when he spoke of his own belief in man and literature, and his abhorrence of black humor and the LSD'd imagination. He is just 75 and, as he said, quoting the new song, at the point where on a clear day you can see forever. He liked being asked, he liked the parties, and I liked having him here. But it was tiring all the same. Fortunately this is the last of the lectures I have to chaperone. I have gone off the committee, hopefully having laid down the rules for a future procedure that will be better than what was handed to me.

Your second letter of the 5th came yesterday, with the welcome note on the envelope that Perdita had been heard from even though trapped. (At that moment one half hour went with faculty visitors--all with problems.) What fun that Melitta might have procured a magazine for Blake. I gathered she wouldn't have actually seen Blake but only to get a magazine for her friend's friend. And since it was the Oriental Review which was wanted, I should well think it might have been. I was most interested too that she was now treating Belinda. I agree: Melitta has both the knowledge and the sensitivity -- and the toughness-- to handle her.

I went to the bank yesterday and searched the deposit box for W material. I did not find what would truly be the original -- that is, the top copy -- but I did find affidavited carbons, properly and officially stamped, of papers of incorporation, your power of attorney which I gave you, etc. I have sent all these today by registered airmail to M. Coigny in case they are what you are searching for. In any event, although their absence leaves me naked, they would be outmoded when Coigny makes changes.

Must close now and rush home.

10 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

It is pouring outside, but I shall still be glad to get
home. For the Spinks package arrived today and I shall not have the
moral strength to wait until Christmas to open it. I was in great
luck, for in response to the mere filling out of a form from the New
York Custom House the package was sent to my office, and I did not
have to go through the local Zoll. My only little flight from the
office during the day was to go after lunch by car to the bank for
Money for Washington, then to the picture framer's to leave an
object from Mrs Bennett's house to be framed, or re-framed, and then
to the Savings Bank to deposit the check for $125.00 which the *Times*
paid me for the Stevens review.

The rest of the day I have sat at my desk, reading the
manuscript of a dissertation I am supposed to supervise, phoning
next year's Pundits, and being talked to by instructors on a multi-
tude of matters.

Your letter of the 7th came. In a sense it must be a
little frustrating not quite to know when Pup can reach you. One
never quite feels like beginning something which may almost at once
be interrupted. The Benkovitz dame seems strangely familiar by name,
as though I had run into her before in some other connection. The
Bowen Dame (as I presume one day she will be) may not write you but
she always spoke warmly of you when I have been with her. That has
not however been recently. I am not sure what she is up to at the mo-
ment. Formerly she spent a good deal of time in the States. The
stories of Florence are frightening, tho this morning I read that
there was no basement to the Uffizi after all, so how could all the
negatives in the basement be lost. And that 600 rather than 6000
canvasses were damaged. And that the books were spread out over the
countryside to dry. People are said to be collecting money like mad
to save the art treasures. But better I think, first, to find out
what actually is needed.

It was fine that Coigny is so much better. Is she able
to be at all at the Consulate?

11 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

The warrior is magnificent. I hadn't dared hope he would be the visitor, though of course I remembered seeing him and (in whispered thought) thinking how marvelous it would be to own him. He has such dash, and is so beautifully modelled. The Phippen wrote: "This comes from a good collection and I think she has done very well here." I know how lucky I am, and wheeze joyful barks of gratitude why my tail whirls like the blades of a helicopter. Thank you and thank you again, as Gertrude used to say. We ponder where he should go, for he needs light to show the etched armor. At the moment he is next to the Etruscan head (two exiles together), where the lamp can shine down on him.

Today is a holiday, at least for the post office and the banks. Armistice Day it is used to be called, after World War I, but there have been other armistices and no armistices and so now it is known as Veterans' Day. It is hard to know whether one has to be sturdier to be a veteran of peace or of war. But somehow the Yale postoffice must have used the free time to clean out the boxes. This morning I had a large cardboard roll containing a lithograph of Brattahlid done by a man named Mikkelson who went out on my gift last summer to plan the relief model of the settlement I suggested would help tourists visualize what it once was, rather than trying to do a Viking Gnossus that tourists would confuse with a World's Fair. There were four photographs too of what they had done since they took the gardens out of the banquet hall of Eric. The place looks simple but attractive. I really wonder if we should not plan, the three of us, to stop at Copenhagen next summer to see the huge Viking exhibition the National Museum is planning, and then fly out for the tour up the West Coast they have to Disco Bay and beyond so that we could visit Chris. Susan wants now to see Greenland and Brattahlid, and I'll go if you will. It is really the right moment and perhaps our last chance. I shall take the photographs with me next week to Washington. I think Gwyn Jones might be interested in them. He had just left Brattahlid when I first went there.

The mail also brought your two letters of the 8th, and it was much to my relief to know that Pup had at last reached you safely. She did as I thought she would by hopping by plane. It was not only the most sensible but probably the only possible way. Some time do tell me her reactions to the palazzo. I was sorry Kenneth drew back a little into his cocoon. He is a little better with me, I think, perhaps because we both love you but without my having actually shared the early days of his dependence. I know how to join in his "circle" jokes but don't engage in rivalry. I guess what I'm saying is that more and more Kenneth has drifted into a man's world. Or at least a male world. He likes to have women about, however, so long as they can't seem to make demands. And when he does appear for an audience no one can be gayer or better fun or more knowledgeable. So

12 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

Alas, it is raining. What a pity for those who wanted actually to go to the Princeton game, though it is to be televised and most will stay home to watch it in comfort. I imagine Susan will do just that, but Justus may prefer trying the game itself at least for awhile. I really am sorry, for he will miss the glamor and the excitement. One only hopes that Yale will be able to hold on to the football and that Princeton will keep fumbling. It is Yale's only hope.

I worked at the budget last night. I only wish I could understand the directions for filling the sheets out. They are endless, and so is my confusion. First, however, I read some of George Plank's letter to Sylvia Townsend Warner. They are certainly amongst his best: he is wonderfully like a sprite, and with her goes into all sorts of memories of the writers he has known. Perhaps some day because her own to him are so good they ought to have a separate volume in which both sides appear.

Which does remind me. You spoke of Sachie's speaking to a publisher about Romaine's manuscript. Was this seriously meant by him? If there is still a chance of course, I'd like to take it. Then when things calm down, if there isn't, I'll try to work out what a privately printed edition would cost. That is, if I can find the right printer. We must get on with it, if it is to be done at all. The actual payments wouldn't come for a long time yet, and so would not embarras Fides. Indeed I may not have to go to them at all.

As to The Military Orchid on your side I don't know what to say. Susan has a copy here but it is kept (you gave it to her) with her flower books rather than with the collection of Jocelyn's. His letters to you are still in the files; indeed I have not actually given over to the Library any of your correspondences feeling that they ought to be kept together as yours, and eventually go en masse as a total collection listed under you. Too, we have always thought they might be useful when, as I hope you will soon, you return to your memoirs. But in such matters I of course do as you think best.

I was surprised two nights on coming out of the gymn after dark to be hailed from behind, across the street, as Mr. Pearson, Mr Pearson! And then, You are Mr Pearson aren't you? When I confirmed that I was smarter than the old lady and admitted that I did know who I was and that he was right, -- he said he had heard me speak three years at Andover when I talked about Yale to students there who were thinking of trying to become students here. It had a lot to do with my coming, and hence my life, he said; I only wanted you to know and thank you. Odd isn't it, how we do get influenced and teased toward another path than that we had planned to take. I ought to know, and I do thank you too.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

14 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

I did not write yesterday. Saturday night we went to a performance of *The Marriage of Figaro* by the New Haven Opera Company, and did not get home until late. So we were up later than usual on Sunday and had to leave after eleven a.m. for Greenwich and luncheon with my friend Ruth Stephan and her new husband (once head of the atomic energy research lab at Oak Ridge, and with the Hambros (he is United Nations Ambassador from Norway to the U.N., and the son of the famous Norwegian parliametarian). We were home only just before six, and it was footless to expect to do office work after that. But the luncheon was most pleasant, in one of those large suburban villas that are certainly not my cup of domicile but are nice to be and escape from. The opera, too, was unusually good and *the* it is surprising that a local company can put on productions that are the equal of small companies in Italy or Germany. New Haven seems to have a cultural boom with a symphony, the opera, a ballet company and a resident stock theatre, all in addition to the university activities.

Instead of writing to you last night I read the last presumably of the pseudo yellowbacks from London, with letters to you. Your Una (the friend of Hilda) seems to be ready for your lap if you want her. I doubt that you do. Incidentally I asked Ruth Stephan about Elizabeth Bowen; she said she had written Bowen eight months ago about her marriage but had had no reply. She thinks she is living in Kent, having sold her house near Oxford. # Catha is obviously a little unhappy but I am not really worried about her particularly. She will have to sort out her own basket. I think in a way she misses the outlets she had as a student. # What a nice letter as always from Miss Hulbert. I hope she can manage the real reunion next spring. # Islay is obviously worried a bit about his novel, and tired. The trip will be a life-saver for both of them. # Alan is a little subdued about his studies, but his mishap may well be the best experience he could have at this time. He obviously intends really to work. # I think I told you I had a copy of the *Sara Teasdale* sent me by Marya's publishers. I do feel guilty about not seeing them, but am helpless. They lead such a different life I am not surprised that it is hard for them not quite to understand why I can't always hover and bring worms. Poor Horace is a step below where he once was physically, but his mental energy obviously is returning. Life is not easy for either of them, and they are both properly grateful for all you have done for them. # Marianne's letter was frightening. She is slipping; there can be no doubt of it. I wonder what will happen to her, but fortunately she has the niece to keep track. # Dean must be relieved that Sir Ronnie and you managed to find a niche for Alan, but she is still worried. I hope you can see her on one of your trips. Margery Hicks too. But she hangs on.

I am rushing the morning to get ready to go in mid-afternoon to

Washington. I certainly should not be going, but I am certainly glad to get

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

away. I have been rereading the Vineland book in preparation, and will take
Ingstad's volume with me, to read on the plane. Letter writing may be difficult
for the next few days, but I will do my best to send at least a note from
Washington. The proceedings are eventually to be published, and will make a
better report for you to read than I could give.

Your letter of the 9th was in the morning's mail. What a pity you
can't hear Dprothy Richards on the wireless. I have just heard that I.A.
has a bad attack of phlebitis and is more or less immobile. He has had to
cancel being a judge for the Bollingen Poetry prize in late January, and
had had us postpone the meeting a month because they expected to take a trip,
I think to the tropics, at Christmas time. Presumably he can't do lectures
so they won't go on that either. I am sorry for D.R. who will feel more
penned in than ever in Middletown.

I am delighted that you may be able to help Pup with the new house
if that is what they want. Obviously it will be a step up in every way from
what they have had until now. I go on the basis of what the Fletchers would
have had and improved.

You asked about the Hotsons. I spoke to Cleanth Brooks about
them last Thursday. He said they must obviously be back from Maine, but that
they had not heard a peep out of them. The trouble of course is that the
Brookses would not join in the revolution against the church wardens. The
source of the dispute was that the church had built a new church house,
and the wardens agreed that a local nursery school (non denominational)
could rent three rooms to use as classes for part of each weekday. The
village being small, there were no alternatives and the church felt it
ought to be cooperative community-wise. I must say I should have sided
with the governing board of the bhurch. Mary and Timkum Brooks exchanged
letters all summer, but Tinkum avoided mentioning the dispute and Mary's
obvious desires to win them over. Finally Mary wrote in such a way that
the subject could not be avoided, and Tinkum said that they could not agree
to separate from the parish. Since then there has been only silence. The
Brookses will try to get in touch with them but feel awkward about it, not
being notified that the Hotsons are back or want communication. What a
shame it is! Perhaps I am not a good enough fighter to sympathize with them.

All love,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

I did not write yesterday after my return from Washington, and hardly am even today--this being the season for submitting budgets for 1967-68. One of the anomalies is that of not really having gotten started in one year before one must be definitive about the next. But at any rate, for better or worse, the budget has been handed in --and I solemnly pray it will be the last one I have to prepare. If I am able to retire from the chairmanship at the end of the year, of course it will be the last. The administration expresses pious hopes of finding a substitute; I express true-blue hopes that they will.

The Vinland conference was a great success, but I will get on to that tomorrow when I can more reasonably write you. A wonderful flock of letters from you, however, welcomed me back or arrived yesterday. That for the 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, and 15th. Thanks be unto a bountiful God, as Plankino would have said.

19 November 1966

... and that was as far as I got yesterday. And again it is almost time for me to have to go home. I wonder, I wonder. I have been standing for the last twenty minutes while a man here from mid-Pennsylvania would not finish saying goodbye or thanking me for having let him use the Hawthorne letter files. He flattered me by wanting to talk, but he kept me from you. However, he was not the only one. I spent the morning in going over the revisions in my revised text, made by the editors of the encyclopedia. They certainly moved things around, and plucked out supposed weeds. But mostly I let it stand as they had manipulated it. Absolute requirements of space are too much for me to worry about, and nothing was offensive. I mailed that at noon. Then I had my hair cut, and came back to the office to do chores while I listened to the football game with Harvard in Cambridge. I brought a little radio with me this morning to the office. But, oh, how badly Yale played, losing 17-0. Perhaps I brought them bad luck by having been interested. Tomorrow afternoon we have three official parties we must attend. But I will come down in the morning and begin the day my letter to you.

To your letters: What fun you must be having with Restif. Why not get the unexpurgated French edition.? He is the sort of writer one best picks up for an hour or two. One cannot read him steadily without retiring into his world and eye-strain. I am much amazed to find that the Victorian counterpart of which you read, *My Secret Life*, has now been published by Grove Press. Very quietly. I wonder if they will actually be able to get away with this one. I have bought a copy for myself before it gets banned, but will not send one along to you unless you want me to. Otherwise you can read, if interested, when you get here. I have dipped. It is sheer porno, but has I must say a certain vitality, a rendering of sensuality which is startling, and of undercover life which is honestly graphic. I shall however obviously never have the courage to get through the entire 2400 pages. #I am not surprised that the new Schaffner house comes

2

but it is obviously a better investment than trips to Florida or taking
the whole family annually to Europe. And as the children grow up they
will need fewer nannies. I was glad too that you have given Perdita
your mamma's ring. I rather think she does like things of that sort,
not perhaps as much as some others do, but still considerably. Only she
has never really had much chance to get them. Her visit was obviously a success.
I shall hope to hear all about it when she stops in en route to Choate.
I will be in to ch with her before then, phoing her perhaps to ask about
the trip, and clear the coast in that way.

I rush this down to the mail box, having only three minutes to
get there before the man is due to collect from it. I write again tomorrow.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

19 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

The letter was dropped in the box and I hope the postmas does
come. I shall not have more than a moment to go on with, but it least it
makes a beginning. I repeat, I am glad you had the chance for Pup's visit.
I know she enjoyed being with you at Kenwin. It cannot be quite the same
in New York, either at the Stanhope (rushed) or her own home (pressured
by the children and John). # Horace's letter was a great triumph for him.
He must have expended an immense amount of energy on it. I was sure he
would like January. The bookstore copies have not yet reached the Co-op
for sale, but will be here soon I hope. I have seen only the review I
sent you. Horace's nurse wrote that she had in fact taken him into New
York for the Sisley show. She had lost the last check I sent her, so I
have had to make out another for it as well as the present one. A bill
has come from Horace's surgeon (I asked for it in July), for nearly
$1600. I am sending a copy to the lawyer to ask if some cannot be paid
by the insurance directly. It will also jog him, since they had not yet
had time to do anything when they last wrote about another matter--that
of Close Up. I will write your reply to Close Up tomorrow, I hope. #
Sorry I wasn't in New Haven to meet your Chester when he came up for
Horowitz. But of course he doesn't know me. We were in Greenwich.

20 November

I didn't get very much farther after all, and this morning
I disloyally began not with a letter to you but with some connected with
the Vinland Conference--thanking the organizer, an d submitting my bill for
travel expenses. Then I wrote the New York lawyer about Close Up and
Horace's surgical bill. I forgot to mention that the surgeon said he
hoped to be able to close the colostomy in January. And that Horace's
nurse said she had indeed taken him to the show in New York. (You see
how distant the first paragraph now is, since only in writing this did
I realise I had in fact said it yesterday. Perhaps I stayed up too late
last night. We were asked out to dinner, discovered it was for a bridge
party, and I luckily won first prize. Susan won one too, but to her
dismay it was for the lowest score, an accident because she plays very
good bridge indeed.)

Both Pat's letter and Horace's about January were excellent.
There was no review of it in today's Times, but Helen is doing well with
the advertising. I enclose that from the Times this morning, as well as
from last week's New Yorker. She might not send. It is a very good book,
you can be proud of it. I at least am proud to know the author. #It
seems astonishing to think that the Boys are off on their jaunt. How I
envy them. From Kenneth's I last letter to me (about Close Up) I judge
they will be in New York just about the time we will be with you. I am
sorry for that. Well, even if they aren't actually off they will be soon.
But I will try to write a bon voyage, happy crocodiling note. #You speak
of Pup's not reading January while she was with you. She never discusses
your books with me either, I think out of embarrassment, a not uncommon
trait in anyone. Between you and me it is, after all, very much different
a relationship.

2

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

Odd that Ines should so quickly say, of the floods, "The Americans will pay for it." In my entrance office is a coin receptacle put there during my absence for just this. I myself am not sure about the wisdom of reading in the papers about damage, suddenly organizing committees and flying investigators over (they even wanted to send students to help them spread out books to dry!), and raising funds before they know how much damage was really done, and how much is needed. After all it is a little condescending, foreign missionary work with a venefance. The Italians might play a part in saving their own treasures. Anyhow, not a penny was in the empty pail, so I -- in loyalty to American Studies -- put in five quarters, three ten-cent pieces, and two nickels, plus two one dollar bills. What a fine show of general interest this will indicate! # I shall be eager to read Ines's manuscript, and wonder what Helen will think of it. # Don't forget my query about Sachie and the Brooks manuscript. # Glad you have Greenland in mind. I shall write soon to Aero Lloyd and inquire about schedules. I enclose a copy of my latest letter, but am not sending the photographs since they would be less meaningful to you than to me. Mostly what they have done is to tidy up. But it is important that they should do what they want to do; then it is theirs. # I have asked the Co-op to send the Stevens letters to you. You may want to dip into them from time to time. And I wonder if you would not like me to send you Dos Passos' just published book of memoirs. A copy from him to me arrived yesterday, so I have not yet had time to read it. But there is Paris in it and your old crowd and I think you should have for your collection. But it is not very big and if you prefer to sample first you can dip into my copy when you come over in mid-winter or spring for a checkup. # Yes, it is better not to send me a diary. Susan is faithful to hers, but I dare not keep one of my own lest it conflict with the office one kept by my secretary. When I travel, as to ashington, I slip one of your little notebooks in my pocket and make that do. # Much interested in the Rider Haggard item, tho I have not actually included him as a Dusty Diamond. He is dusty enough, and most people think I should. But there have to be limits. The collection grows as is. Yesterday I catalogued four more by Stables, and eleven American firsts by Henty, all in splendid condition. But what will I do for space? Soon I shall have to build a private library, and call it my Bryhery. # The Restif really does sound interesting and I repeat my suggestion that you subscribe for the entire French edition. My Secret Life had a full page ad in this morning's Times. So there is at least little that is secret about the life any more. It is real undercover Victorian England, and altho many of the passages (as I have dipped) are dully repeated pornography, rather in the fashion of Sade-cumCleland, but others give a graphic picture of common life that out-Dickens Dickens. And when he deals with sex, whether with women or men, he is at least not sentimental in the fashion of most pornography. You really can't do more than dip into it from time to time, but if you want me to I can have a copy sent you for winter reading. I should be curious to know your reactions. There are of course a good many passages between women too.

I enclose a letter from Mildred Brown that I thought might interest you. I will drop her a card at Christmas. I did not send her January. Do you think I should, as from you? I also enclose a clipping about sunken treasure. I especially liked the versatility of the captain's chain. # Your Co-op statement (monthly) has come. You still have a credit of $112.64 to draw against. # I meant also to ask you if you read in the TLS about the

3

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

formation of the Havelock Ellis Society, and wondered if you planned to flip over for the inauguration meeting. It is hard to know what these things amount to. # And I forgot too to say what a pleasant tribute it was to Ninon Hesse. I was always sorry not to have met either of them, but remember so well looking up at the mountain side where their house was when I was at Lugano with you and Hilda.

My real amazement from the post was a long two-page letter from Max. I had of course written O.B. when I sent him the book he wanted on photography, and presume he was waited for the endless transit by surface of the book to him before thanking for it. But from Max? And for no apparent reason than that of course I sent double greetings when I wrote Oswell. Do you think he hopes I will buy a painting sometime? They are all so huge I would have to move into the Louvre to hang it. And alas I fear you have made me love antiquities even more. Still, it was kind of him to write, and will make easier and more natural my looking after O.B. if that need should ever arise. Have you by the way received any answers to your inquiries about Jocelyn? I could write the bookdealer who was so fond of him. Let me know if you wish me to.

Now I really must go home for lunch. This afternoon, alas, we have to go to three parties. One given by our ex-next-door-neighbor whom we cannot offend; another by the Dean of Yale College for next year's Morse Fellows (two of whom are instructors in American Studies, and I go as Chairman--- the fellowships give junior faculty members a year off at full pay and are much coveted and an honor); and then we go to a double art show's vernissage--the painters being two ladies, more Susan's friends than mine, but ones I know of course as well).

I shall finish going over the papers from the Vinland Conference and write about it later.

Mark Shorer, then to his lecture, and afterwards (but only briefly I hope) to a reception for him. Fortunately I am no longer on the lecture committee, so the preparations this time have brought me no headaches. But tomorrow we have to go out to a symphony concert, and I long for old age and the quiet of the Asile.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 H G S
YALE UNIVERSITY
NEW HAVEN · CONN

21 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

Rather a confused morning, but I write you at the end of it as a way of putting a little order back into the day. Your undated letter, posted the 17th, was in the morning mail and made an axis to swing the hours by. There was a note too from Jean Coigny saying my papers had arrived and were, apparently, what he needed. Or so he at least politely said. Later in the morning arrived a set of papers from him about Scilly, to sign. I have been too busy to read them carefully as I must, but I gather these need not be witnessed in New York. I am interested in Philip's lack of enthusiasm for the Swiss idea, but am I suppose not really surprised that it should be so. Naturally he would favor the British angle, this being his accustomed and inevitable point of vision. Whether he now is or is not au courant with business affairs, he certainly will be by the time that your affairs are in question. In this respect Coigny's comparative youth is a better basis of reliance. Or so it would seem to me to be.

It might be rather fun to have Simond check on Henty's Sardinian coal mine, and I shall gladly send him a check if you find he is actually going. Then it can all be done as for me and for you. Will $50.00 be enough really to cover things? You know best about that. I shall try to dig the data out this weekend, a holiday because of Thanksgiving. Yale has a long weekend recess. I have so many things to do it will be hard to know where to start. But I think with this and with a long overdue review of Cooper's letters. (I found them dull reading).

The restaurant you and Elsie have discovered sounds like a real discovery. I like nothing better than to be under her and your wings when it comes to matter of food!

Osbert's letter was a mirror of rejuvenation. But I must say I should want something to cuddle up against at Montegufoni, in winter, even on the first floor. Sometimes I think he ought also to have a villa in Greece or Sicily where the sun sometimes shines.

Yesterday the thermometer hardly rose about 35°F, but it was a sparkling air. After my morning at the office, and a warm lunch, I put on work clothes and took the screen door off from the entrance to the kitchen, swept the leaves out of the garage (Susan saved them for her outdoor ferns) and prepared to climb ladders to clean the leaves out of the gutters. But when everything was ready and I had climbed to the top I discovered that the roofmen had been there yesterday and done my job for me. So the rest of the afternoon could be devoted to three consecutive cocktail parties, or rather two and the vernissage. I was good and drank ginger ale at the first, one cup at the second and one at the third. So I suffered afterwards from nothing more than standing on my feet.

Tonight we have to go to a cocktail party and then dinner for

22 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

A frittered day. Not especially so by me, but by a long
series of appointments and committee meetings. I think my countrymen
or at least fellow academicians have a kind of muscular tic which
expresses itself in the formation of another committee. Early in the
afternoon was one for the Connecticut Academy; then at four was another
on the basis that we must acquire a new professor of 18th century
literature before another university took the same man. I threw in
a damp sponge as first speaker. By the time the meeting had ended
enough water was squeezed out for a flood to down the suggestion.
In between were appointments. After the late meeting got over at 5:30
I still had to make arrangements for an occasion on December 1st (in
committee--another one).

Thanksgiving comes Thursday. I shall be thankful for the
holiday if not for the turkey.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

This being the eve of Thanksgiving I sent Mrs Sherman home at late noon. Her son and daughter-in-law come down from New Hampshire, and this will give her time to get the house ready. I asked if she were going to cook a turkey. She said no, she was only going to bake a cake. But I wonder if she makes stuffing and gravy and cooks sweet potatoes to go with the roast cake? Actually I believe she takes the cake to a sister's, though I sometimes wonder if she ever does anything in the kitchen except cakes for parties. Otherwise she and her husband eat out. Perhaps he is anxious not to have her feel potatoes!

What a glorious image I gave you. It seems strangely sensuous, and perhaps the wife of the limousine traveller squeezed them in anger as well as felt them. Ouch, first from the potato. Then the husband protesting on behalf of the innocent, and she in anger retaliates cuttingly. I can see how I might have typed my f for p, but I shall have a long session with my analyst while we get at my unc.

Your letter of the 21st arrived today. Tomorrow of course there will be no posts. The girls insisted on Thanksgiving dinner at Goodrich Street rather than the Lawn Club. So Lizzie brings the turkey and young Susan the deserts. Well, why not if they enjoy it more. But I shudder at the dishes. Yesterday the boxes came back from the bank with silver and books. I took the books out of the two chests last night when we returned from the piano recital of Claudio Arrau (not the symphony as I had thought), and this morning the men who came for the rubbish carried the chests down into the cellar. Tonight I shall arrange the books, here now for the first time in two years.

Do Swiss women not want the responsibility of the vote, or do Swiss males keep them from it? Do women vote in Italy? If Elsie did vote she could pass a law that shrub snippets were legal when picked by her, but immoral when larger. It is like the story of the custodian of the Louvre who was discovered by Anataloe France putting fig leaves on male statues. I do it only, he said, when they are abnormally large. -- And how do you know what is normal? -- By comparison with myself, of course.

How genuine Marianne's enthusiasm for your January is. And how equally genuine the warmth of her gratitude for your gift. In her generosity I think she would even invent need in order to be hugely thankful.

Your letter from Melitta about "open" prisons came yesterday just as the New Haven paper printed the enclosed. I saw no reference to this in the New York Times, and wonder (you will have watched) what space the London Times gave it.

I had not realised that Belinda was not to go to "elitta as a patient but as a secretary. I must say I think she is taking a bit of a

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

chance, but Melitta always is doing good for some one. I remember how
she once did good for me, and after all at some risk to herself profession-
ally.

You did have an adventure with Mde Goguelin. I don't think you
ever told me about her hunting husband. I shall have to keep my eyes open
for him. Meanwhile you must keep first your eyes open for her, and then
your ears. She and he are obviously good specimens for your collection
of natural histories.

Indeed I do know about the Terminal Essay of Burton. It is a
sort of summing up after the first series of the *Nights*, and for many
years (really until just recently) was available only in the original
limited edition which was unbowdlerized. I am not sure in what context
cousin Jack asked you about it, but it is chiefly known for the section
on social conditions, and which dealt mostly with pederasty and other
sexual practises, mostly homosexual. It was a kind of collector's delight
and titillation, but in its own right was unique and valuable. Now with
all of the freedom of publication it has been several times reprinted.
So I went out after lunch and bought a paperback edition which is only
a slight condensation of the original. I am sending you it by airmail
on Friday morning, when I must do some other posting, and I imagine you
would be interested in it. You can send it or take it to your cousin
the next time you go to him. My copy of the original edition of the
*Nights* I bought from Maggs during the war, and would occasionally read
a tale or two at Chester Square Mews. It is now in our front guest room
where you have undoubtedly seen it. Burton was as you know very definitely
one of the other Victorians, and delighted in packing all the erotic
knowledge he could gather into learned footnotes to the text. The gist
of these and what he could not find a place for went into the Terminal
Essay. His eortic imagination had its flights in his translations of
the original poems, converting them into a language of his own. The poems
at least are not always easy to read.

Tonight I shall put the books back on the shelves, and try to
read the rest of the Vinland papers.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

25 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

Thanksgiving filled yesterday, and I did not have time to get down to the office after all. In the morning while Susan did her preparations for the noon dinner, setting the dining room table gaily with fruit as a centerpiece, I put the Elizabethans back on the shelves, and made at least a temporary arrangement of them. (This afternoon, by powerful persuasion against the dealer's inertia, I got him to load the two remaining boxes into my car, and will take those out later. Just how I will get them all evaluated after his failure to do so, I don't know.) Lizzie came promptly at twelve with the turkey needing only to be finished in the oven, plus some vegetables, but Susan's pie had not baked completely so it was half-past one until she came with the children. We were not up from dinner until half-past three, and then there were the dishes to do and the children to exercise in the back yard. But the meal went well, and I gather that all were particularly pleased to be at home this year. Young Susan is a little miffed at her husband -- they at his insistence not yet having told the children of the divorce, though of course I am sure they know it -- for having, when the children visited him last weekend, a 20-year old female student of his in to cook the meals and spend at least until they had gone to bed; and then the next day go with them to Boston for sightseeing there. But how like him this is, and how stupid on his part too! For children are usually offended by this sort of imprudence. At any event, Susan and the two children did not leave until after six, and then I was too tired even for a letter.

But not too tired to enjoy receiving one this morning-- yours of
the 22nd. I shall be interested to hear about Philip's visit, but usually have
to accept a Saturday of no mail and so must wait until Monday. One of my this
morning's tasks after writing a report on the last of a dissertation draft I read
yesterday morning at home, was to sign the authorizations and mail them by air
register to Me Coigny. # I was interested that Grace Irwin had gone to a mental
home; you wrote only of the difficulty without specifying it.

How awful for your little woman. I have had a note from Queenie Bowra,
who is still looking for a place but seems satisfied that people are helping her.
There was a little difficulty about the telly, but that is now in order. Obviously
she is slipping, and I do not look for a long life from her. I suspect she does
not want one now that Alice is dead.

Yale ostensibly has been in session today, but the students have stayed
home for a long weekend since classes are not compulsory, and the secretaries were
given the day off. The graduate school has been like an empty barn but I have
revelled in it. I ought to have got more accomplished, but for such accomplish-
ments as I have made I thank God with gratitude.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

26 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

The day has drifted away; but, oh, the letters I have written.
My desk will look even better after tomorrow morning, but already I feel
encouraged. For the first time in years all my letters of recommendation
for Guggenheim applicants have been done, before Christmas. Drafts of this
and that are on Mrs Sherman's desk for her to type on Monday. Thank you
notes are in the mail. One was to Dos Passos for sending me his memoirs,
which I read last night.

Alas, I jumped the gun and when I spoke with Roysce Smith
the other day asked him to send it and the Stevens letters directly to
you. But there are things in the Dos Passos book you will like. He is
especially good on Hemingway, I thought, and showed the ambivalence of
his friends towards him. He was good too on the ambivalence towards
Scott Fitzgerald. But too often he did not stop long enough with a
friend for me to see him. Lawson, whom you may have known--you owned
a book or two of his--was one. Lawson came close to holding a party
card; in the book he hardly carried a name plate. Bobby, Dos says,
made him uneasy. But if one says that, I want to know why. These
were of course memoirs; the book is not an autobiography. But he is
not at all as good as you were about yourself. He covers over. And
the novels in which he casts himself seem to tell a different story,
not one of bliss but of discomfiture. He was an unhappy bastard at
Choate, others tell me; he describes himself like Tom Sawyer. In
politics too, Dos glosses over his convictions, and as Kazin does
makes himself into a dispassionate observer. This wasn't the spirit
that made *Manhattan Transfer* and *USA* powerful. Older men shouldn't
forget how deeply they once felt. Still, I think you will like it for
your collection. Still, I hope you will go out to do better. But I
despair of ever getting you to return to your memoirs. I feel the
18th century novel stirring in your womb.

Your two letters of the 23rd were in the morning's mail, unusual
bounty for Saturday. I was interested in what Philip had to say about
England but gather he must have said nothing about your affairs. Or if
so you did not mention it. I suppose I should not be surprised that the
Blake escape means nothing to him, but I find it somehow indicative.
One does have to, after all, watch the house timber for termites. Or
the house falls. Yes, you must, as I have urged, go with Elsie to see
the chateau. If only to be my surrogate.

I am sorry about the unevenness of my recent letters, though I
hope with the budget in that things will go better from now on. I expect
the football book will eventually come out in paper, and time enough for it
then. It is about professional players and their lives. As to Elizabeth:
I warn you: take her, feed her candy and take her for walks, but don't try
to teach her. One gets cross or discouraged when one does. Much better to
keep the role you have established, and perhaps one day be the confidant
rather than the schoolmistress. You teach well, but it always works better

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

with non-realatives, perhaps just because relatives become so itchy in
their eagerness to improve.

A pleasant letter from Jocelyn's sister but I think I will not try
to write. She would not know who I was or why I wrote, and it would
simply sap her energy.

The enclosed review from tomorrow's Times has perhaps already been
sent you by Helen. I do not see their book section ahead of time, and
this copy was sent me by Roysce Smith. I can't say I agree with him,
the reviewer, and don't quite think he got it. Actually I am a little
disappointed that Helen cut my blurb for the jacket down so, just as it
got to the point. But she will have it as the story of a particular
blacksmith; I think of it as a story of exile.

27 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

I have just phoned Horace, by way of friendly gesture, to belatedly wish him a good Thanksgiving. He has a cold and found it difficult to talk, but otherwise seemed in excellent spirits. He had sent off his Byron selections yesterday, and Patrick is taking the retyped ms of the DR book to the publishers at the end of the coming week. Now he hopes to get down to some poems and his memoirs.

We went with the Hoblitzelles (Susan's sister and brother-in-law) to Mory's for dinner, and sat in a booth next to a table from which a man hailed me with immense enthusiasm, having (he said, and I am sure he must have been correct) a student of mine in the late 1940's. He could never thank me enough. He must buy drinks for all of us. His somewhat made-up wife smiled each time he introduced me to her. When we were leaving, they already had left; but another couple sitting at a little table joined to theirs, who knew the Hoblitzelles came to report the wife's conversation with her husband. She had been discussing selling some stock to buy a tombstone for her mother. Finally, "You care more about that teacher than you do about my mother's tombstone!" Such are the rewards of teaching.

I read again the review in this morning's *Times*, and see now that my objection was not so much that he called it the blacksmith's tale, as that he seemed to think (at one point) that the issue was whether one competing culture was better than the other. From my point of view this is irrelevant, for in a time of crisis it is only one's own that counts. But we like to think that it must have been good for England to be captured by the Romans, then by the Vikings, then by the Normans, and so why not by the Russians I suppose.

Two yellowbacks came Friday but I did not have time to mention them yesterday. I am so pleased that Rosemary liked her brooch. Shall I occasionally keep my eyes open for similar trinkets. I think she wants these rather than diamonds. # And how sad Carrie Jenkins has become. # I am most grateful to see Miss Collins's brisk letter about Miss Bowra. I suspect she is a little tired with her, and indeed I doubt that Miss Bowra has much energy or drive on her own. It was Alice, the housekeeper, who had that. But Miss Bowra will have to work it out somehow, though how difficult it is that old people cannot find rooms where they can retain even snippets of their past. In the States, or at least in Gardner and New Haven, they are trying to build just such accommodations for the elderly. It seems to work. # I find it interesting that Herring now writes at such length. A little subdued but much in the old manner. # I wonder if Petrie will take this new writing assignment, though naturally she won't if she insists on being paid. In one sense I don't blame her --she having once been professional--but she might enjoy this sort of thing as a hobby. I wonder what her reaction was to my letter to her about the Queenwood ms. Did she ever mention the letter to you? # A local man has just succeeded in setting a record by playing the organ.

2

122 1/2 hours without stopping. But I am sure no one will ever equal Jean Starr's record of a lifetime of endless complaint. But I translate her texts as I read along, realis/ing that this is simply her language. # I smiled again when I read Eric White's description of his lecture as "on current trends in British poetry," remembering Siegfried Sassoon as a current trend. I am interested that he mentions my having given him January, without commenting to you even slightly about it. Nor has he to me. I am sure its message would not have been his cup of tea. But more, and continued, power to you for brewing your own brand and strength! # You can imagine how eager I shall be to see Quayle's biography of Ballantyne. I am glad he keeps in touch with you; alas, I offended him by not having gone to spend a weekend with him when last in England. I gather his collection of Ballantyne is supreme; certainly it is far more complete than ours. # Poor Islay must be going through agonies while he waits for word from Heen about his book. I hope she likes it. It will be a great blow to him if she doesn't. But their trip will distract his mind and he may want to rework it anyhow when he comes back. # Much interested to read Michael Williams' emigration letter. This is a genuine document. I am grateful for the chance to have seen it. One despairs for the state of things. # Melitta must have found a new secretary, her letter of mid October being so fluent in its English and neat in its appearance. # Pleasant to read of cousin Jack's pleasure with s.f. You will have to keep him supplied. # Sir Ronnie's letters to and about Alan must have pleased you by their honesty and serious effort on A lan's behalf. More than ever now I am glad he is having a chance to show what he can do on a second try. One can blame the earlier school, but they did all right by his brother; and indeed no one anywhere can train a boy if for one reason or another he doesn't wish to train. I suspect that Alan has been the baby of the family and, more probably than he himself realizes it, has been pro- tected both by parents and older brother. And so has come to assume that some one else will get him out of difficulties. But after all this is common enough, and I shouldn't worry about him if I were you. I think he'll make the grade. He really is a most attractive young man. # I liked Cassie Evans's letter; she seems to keep stable despite what must have been a difficult life for any girl.

Now back to my desk for the rest of the morning. I began it with
you.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

28 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

The end of the day has finally brought the end of my reading
George's letters to Sylvia Warner. I could not bear to turn them over to
the Library without first savoring them. In many ways these final letters
--there must have been a couple of hundred of them -- were among his most
interesting. She goaded him on with the idea that these were to provide
his immortality and so he filled them with anecdotes and reminiscences of
people he had known. These are sketches, biographies in miniature, kind,
naughty, perky. I think he may indeed be a favorite some day of those
who relish the richness of human beings.

I forgot yesterday to say, when I was talking with Horace, I asked him if he had seen the review in the Sunday Times. He said no; he never saw the Times. I am a little sorry, for he is the kind of man who ought to be in touch with the world. He has his own world, but he should occasionally commute to the rest of the country and the world. I suppose I could subscribe for him to at least the book section. But I think not; he has enough to pay for it if this is what he wanted.

Yesterday afternoon we went to the annual meeting of the New Haven
Colony Historical Society. Lengthy reports by officers and committees, and then
a talk on Mount Vernon. I think we must go there on one of your next visits.
I am ready to show you Washington for a couple of days at least. After dinner
the two grandchildren came for overnight while their mother sang in a concert
and then went to a party for the singers afterwards. They were very good, and
Susan took them happily off to school this morning.

Your letter of the 24th was in the early morning mail. We had been
threatened by snow today but none materialized. It has been unusually warm but
now is cold again. About Sachie I agree completely. But he may himself have a
thing against drugs. What a frightening word that was to me as a child. We were
not allowed to drink even coca cola. I am still frightened of drugs, but a doctor
friend once knocked common sense into me. Why agonize for the sake of a principle,
he said; go on, take a sleeping pill. # I did notice the fight over the distribution of grants through the Arts Council. I must admit I did not find Wric White's
account of where money went very impressive. But I prefer governments to be out
of the arts business.

Your letter of the 25th came in mid-afternoon. It was a very good
letter indeed from Winston. It would be comparatively easy to pop up to Brattleboro
some time if you want tea with him. I know the town; we used to own a store there
and I went often with my father on his business trips. The countryside used to be
a great water cure spa. Longfellow sent his brother there to be cured of drunkenness. It didn't work.

I will get at the Henty Sardinia matter shortly, I hope. At the
moment I must begin to prepare for my talk Friday night on Greenland and the
Vikings.

He is much improved, the clot having dissolved. But he has been given his orders: no more even mild mountain climbing from now on, the phlebitis being said to have stemmed from his continuing at it too long. In a way this may be better for both of them, since neither will stand in the way of the other's pleasure.

29 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

I got back last night to the house, to find Susan trembling with chills after a spell of nausea and other evidences of flu. The doctor came over to give her an injection, and after I had gone to the druggist's to fill a prescription to bring back to her I went out for my supper. This morning when she got up she was raring to go, as planned, to New York. But after five minutes in the kitchen she decided against it and ate toast and sipped tea instead. It was supposed to be one of these 24-hour attacks, but for a number of people it has been 24-hours for 10 days. I hope she is better when I get home tonight.

My first job of the morning was to write Sylvie Townsend Warner to thank her for George's letters. I took them to the Library at noon. It was really most kind of her to send them, and her friend Valentine included the letters to her as well. If you want to write her, the address is Maiden Newton, Dorchester, Dorset.

I then wrote to Krogh to thank for the photographs of Brattahlid, and to Mikkelsen to thank for the lithograph of the old church and the ruins he had sent. So those were two agreeable chores out of the way, and from there I went on to the mountainous pile of applications for fellowships, from Europe, Australia, New Zealand and Japan which I will have to discuss and decide on at the meeting of the American Council of Learned Societies on the 9th.

Your letters of the 26th and 27th came today, one in the morning, the other in afternoon. I am pleased at both Coigny's improved health and improved salary. One can still be sure that, like civil servants everywhere she gets only a pittance of what she deserves. # I repeat, vis-avis the Times review of *January*, that the point of view of the book doesn't depend upon whether Norman or Saxon culture was better; what matters is when one's own is broken into shards. # Glad you have been able to get at your LL books. But you will have to build a NEW wing to Kenwin in order to house your notes. # I don't know Jasper Ridley. You will have to show me his article when I come over in the spring. # Poor Jean Starr! George was full of her "poorness" in his letters to Miss Warner, for she inhales and exhales misery with every breath. But it must be hard not to have one's poems published. I wonder what you will think of John Hall Wheelock's which she has sent you. I must admit I find them very uninteresting, though he himself is nice enough. # I was most grateful for the Blake clipping. It lay behind the one I sent you, and I had not known the origin of the story of Blake's escape. It would be fun to read the account in *Der Spiegel*; maybe there will be an old copy at your barber's and you can give me an account. The papers everywhere seem to have adopted a policy of hands off. Mine are still thrown up in horror.

Donald Gallup was at Wesleyan last night and saw Richards.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 November 1966

Dearest Fido,

No letter from you today, but a nice yellowback did
come and I shall enjoy it at home tonight. Indeed not much either
came or has gone out, and my day ends on a note of frustration.
I did leave my car, on the way to work, to have the snow tires
put on -- it hasn't actuallt snowed yet, but we get daily warnings--
and then picked it up again at noon. Otherwise I wrote a few
letters this morning, and read at the ACLS applications for
fellowships. This afternoon from two until after four went to
a student from Brandeis University who is writing his disserta-
tion on F.O.Matthiessen, whose papers are about to come to the
Yale Library. For various reasons there is the problem of what
restrictions to put on them, and the reasons are indeed various.

Last night there was the meeting with the undergraduate
majors in American Studies to hear their suggestions for improving
the major or particular courses. It was impressive the discover that
so many really did seem to care about their studies, but I am afraid
that my secret view is that little comes out of value in the end.
However I sustain myself with the feeling that, if I am lucky, this
is the last time I shall have to attend as chairman. Ur at least,
this is the last year.

A new book is being advertised for Christmas in <u> Publishers Weekly </u>, called "Children's Letters to God." I rather liked the sample:

Dear God,

Are boys better than girls.
I know you are one but try to
be fair.

Sylvia.

Susan was a little better last night, and this morning
said she felt like herself again.

Hope your trip to Zurich will have been fun. Ingholt came
in this morning, still worried about the Connecticut Academy. I told
him not to. Mallowan and Agatha Christie are back in New Haven on
Friday. He is worried that they will not be well taken care of. I
told him not to worry. Mallowan gives his talk on the Nimrud ivories
on Friday night. But I cannot go, having to talk to the International
Student Center on Greenland and the Vikings. Nor will there be time
to show him the eskimo ivory carvings he wanted to see. But the days
are too short, including this one.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

There is a saying that the first thing on the first of a month is to say "Rabbit!" The first thing for me is to write Fido. Actually I must, for at noon (rather, at one) I have to give a luncheon for Joseph Heller, the author of *Catch 22* (one of the chief black humor books you didn't want to read yourself), then a meeting with the Associate Provost. Then a two-hour session with graduate students and Heller, followed by a reception to Directors of Foreign Students in New England universities, followed by a Fellows dinner at Jonathan Edwards College, and a business meeting of the Fellows afterwards. Once home I must run through the slides I chose to show on Greenland tomorrow, to be sure they're not in upside down.

I thought you might be amused by the enclosed clipping from last night's New Haven Register. I had not realised Spink had such a history, though I am willingly its slave as you know. (My Etruscan warrior stands proudly by my chair in the front room, and I would be tempted to pat him from time to time except for my fear of being involved in of Miss Renault's classical liaisons of which she writes with so much fidelity and knowledge.)

I was most grateful too for the clippings about Blake. Much more actually was said in Commons than I had thought. I don't think the Conservatives can do more than echo *me peccavi*, but certainly only the reading of spy thrillers could make one applaud the escape or the escaper. Do continue to clip, as indicated.

Your letter of the 28th was in the morning's mail. I am sad to think of you and Elsie deprived of the Escale. And of course the double privation for Tigerli: poor prince, with neither fancy food nor fancy lodging. If only you could teach it to read, then the library would make a better hostel.

The paperback Burton should be there when you return from Zurich. I have sent off several wrapped books for Christmas -- those which came early enough. One or two others have gone since, unwrapped to save time. All surface, save for the Terminal Essay.

I feel most stupid today. Do forgive me.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

2 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

It was good to have your letter today from Zurich. I am glad you went. Actually I think you should plan on a monthly escape to there, much like Susan's New York trip. It will save your sanity, as well as permit you to see Joan (who needs visits from you) and do odd bits of shopping. It would make me happier to know you had the chance to slip off by yourself occasionally. Sorry, tho, that the Glock is full, and even more that you have to have been in the midst of debris there as well as at Kenwin. I can imagine what Jelmoli must have been like. Susan got up at dawn to go the local big store in time to avoid the housewives out for a loot.

My series of parties yesterday were valiantly gone through. Heller proved to be an easy person to be with, and to hear. I did advertising and worked for Time, News Week and McCall's before writing his book, and obviously knows what he does at every moment. So long as he can maintain a five-room apartment for himself and wife, and eat meat he seems to be content. Reads comparatively little by other writers, but is a great admirer of Heinrich Böll whom he prefers to Grass, although liking Grass. Have you read Böll's *Billiards at Half-Past Nine* or his *The Clown*? Heller likes the way you can't guess what is coming on the next page in the way of illumination. With Grass, he says one third of the book tells him what the other two thirds will contain. Lunch went well; John Hersey came, and the conversation was sincere literary talk by professionals. Heller was also good with the foreign students we gathered together at four for a conversation. I slipped out early to go to the reception for the Directors of Foreign Students, and then to the Fellows meeting. The business part went on and on, tangled in arguments over the parliamentary administration of a small trust fund (later to be made considerable), and I became so bored after an hour and half that I went home to put the slides in order for tonight's lecture. Presumably my disinterest arose from the fact that by the time any considerable amount is on hand, I will not be.

This morning I have continued reading fellowship applications from the Japanese for ACLS grants, at noon went to a luncheon committee meeting of the Connecticut Academy, and now write before going to the gymansium for a massage, then to an English Department Christmas party, home for supper and then to the International Student Center for the talk, then home again to put on white tie and take Susan to the Assembly where the debutantes are to be presented to local society. I may sleep late tomorrow.

After I wrote yesterday, I found the little segregated pile of yellowback letters I meant to mention. : I will thank Rose for the clippings in my Christmas note. # The Hotsons apparently have still not got in touch with the Brookses, though I see from her card to you that they have been a month or more back. # Poor Dorothy Richards. I feared she would find herself shut off at Wesleyan; indeed she went with that

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

expectancy in mind, as she told me last spring at the spring party of the National Institute, in New York. And I do rather sympathize with her. I.A.R. meets with other men during the day, has his contacts; but a woman is confined to her rooms, and poor D.R. cannot even hike away her heat. # Sylva Norman is probably right in thinking it not worthwhile converting her present flat to heat, if she is to find another in a year. But, oh how for your sake, I hope she doesn't put the cheque away uncashed for a year. It drives me wild when I have to carry an amount over from month to month. # I was really much interested in Georgia's letter. I suspect, again in a natural enough way, Sachie is a little jealous of Reresby. Reresby is the head of the new generation of Sitwell's, with Sachie more of a biological hyphen (as Mendelsohn's father was). Reresby has the money too, and the Hall. Reresby handles Edith's affairs; the boy friend handles Osbert's. Sachie's own garden must seem small in comparison. # I must have forgotten that Ethel had been involved in a motor accident to her car. What bad luck. And usually the offender, on this side at least, carries no insurance. # I must say a steady diet of Mildred Brown and Cindy correspondence would be exhausting, but it was fun to see her, and I shall card her at Christmas. #And how sad to read Islay's report on Anticoli. I have forgotten. Does Kenneth still carry the lease?

You will long since have been home when this reaches you, and I hope the painters will have been in and out again.

3 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I did wake up late this morning, and it was nine when I got out of bed. The thermometer stood at 18°F and I was ready to climb back under the blanket again. But I was brave, and after breakfast brought the glass storm windows down from the attic. Susan was going to wash them during the day, and fortunately they are easy to install. I had new frames made for interchangeable screens and glass, when Susan was recovering from her broekn hip. The earlier ones required a Gobbiath's muscle and a sturdy screwdriver. These simply slide in. The temperature has been in the 20's all day, and there was even a period of light snow in the early afternoon. But this seems to have disappeared.

I worried for a bit, reading in the morning paper of the new rains and floods, that you might be trapped at the Glock. Then I realised that in your time you were back at Kenwin. In mine, you are still in Zurich. Yours of the 30th came in the morning mail to report you still well. I continue to like the idea of your keeping your wings fit by an occasional winter flight. There is much to be said for a change of seed. I think in time we will get you back to the flicks again. After all, who saw them with clearer eyes than you had? # Your Tibetan escape book obviously belongs on the shelf at Kenwin. I shall remember to peek when I come.

The talk on the Vikings apparently went well. At least the room was crowded, and no one left. I showed a slide of the map alongside slides of modern ones, some Vikings' relics from the Danish museum, then the east coast as they came, Hvalsey, Gardar and finally Brattahlid. It worked out well enough. I couldn't get away until nearly ten, whereupon I rushed home and changed into tails, and took a by-then restless Susan to the Assembly. The debutantes had already bowed, but we danced and mixed and had a pleasant evening until one. I was glad to have a long talk with Jim Houston, the American responsible for the development of the eskimo carvings in soapstone, and then later the prints. He is now chief designer for Stueben glass and has the daughter of a New Haven friend of ours as his mistress. Or at least one assumes she is. Her mother says he is getting and divorced and they hope will give the girl his name. He is an unexpectedly shy almost boyish man, happy as Arctic buffs always

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

are when they find another one -- we of course have many friends of
the trade in common--and we talked shop and ship. He wants me to
see his collection in New York, which would be fun --we had actually
met once when he came to hear me give one of the Grolier Club talks --
and gave me the name of a new dealer whom he thinks best for eskimo
objects. I suspect Kleiggman borrows from this dealer to show me,
for Houston says he has a fine stock of Siberian things. When I have
saved some pennies I will try him out.

This morning, or rather what little was left of it after I
reached HGS, I spent finishing the ACLS applications. So that is more
or less behind me until the meeting at the end of the week. This
afternoon I have been writing letters and paying first-of-the-month
bills. What a variety of things one is involved in. A letter to a
woman finishing her doctoral dissertation on Hilda. A letter about
the reprinting of Palympsest. A letter about a line of Longfellow
I had been written in inquiry. A letter to the New York lawyers
about another bill of Horace's, this time from his physical therapist
for $250. I should think this would have been Medicare. But I hear
nothing from the lawyers and have asked for an appointment on Thursday.
I do want to get the lines laid out.

And so the day has gone.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

5 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

No one watched out for me, so even my teeny sparrowhood
fell. Yesterday I felt so completely rotten that I simply stayed home
all day on the couch. One cup of tea and a quarter-crust of toast for
breakfast. One cup of soup for luncheon, but I am glad to say a little
ball of ground meat for dinner. It was the same flu bug, I should
think, that Susan had, though I did not suffer so severely. But honestly
I could have accomplished nothing at the office. I should have couched
at my desk hung-dog. As it was I groaned my way through a good many
oddments I had shelled against my ruin, and did my best to satisfy my
conscience that way. But it meant no letter to you, for which I am
sorry.

This morning I have felt a little better, though I am ex-
hausted after each interview. A longish one from the head of a new
Australian university at Melbourne wanting advise on recruitment; one
from an Englishman wanting to know where in the States he can go to
study the writing of poetry; a Japanese wanting to know why he can't
use certain of O'Neill's diaries; a graduate student asking about jobs
and Margaret Sanger. So the day has gone. I shall write briefly to
you now and then go home to my couch again.

A wealth of letters from you have come in today's mail: of
the 1st, and two of the 2nd. Plys the really charming Christmas stamp
first-day cover from England. And a letter from Elsie stamped with and
enclosing the new and gay pro-Juventate stamps. How wonderfully kind of
her. Justus will be delighted. I already am.

Your visit to Bruno's boys sounds immensely successful. I
am glad you could go without Tante Elsie. The lines are a little different
when one is alone with a family situation. But I am not surprised that
the junglings were uninhibited with you. You never make the mistake of
saying too much to them, or of condescending. Children, secretly, loathe
condescension.

Oh dear, if only you could have gone Swat-ing with the boys!
It would have been a lark, and just the winds for you to sail on. But I
suspect you are wight, and that the Christmas season especially is not the
time to leave poor Elsie alone. It would take the plum from the pie. In
summer there are, as you say, her flowers and the vegs., but in winter there
are only chillblains and Tigerli.

Christmas does come near. Susan bought a pin for Elsie in New
York, and added ear rings. I don't think I've ever seen Elsie thus aurally
decorated, but perhaps she will try them on in the secret of her boudoir.
At the moment I am perplexed about Inés, and have thought of buying her a
mini-skirt to wear when she goes to the convent. It might become a conversa-
tion piece. What do you think? Would she look well in one?

2

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

YALE UNIVERSITY

NEW HAVEN · CONN

Your news of opening pages of the memoir going off delights my fringes which do not even rise in horror at the incredible title you must inevitably have chosen. Your roses by any name always smell sweet to me. # Yes, how stupid of me about Philip. You and I are so directly beamed into each other that I sometimes think everyone glows by reflected light.

Justus is having troubles with his reading, perhaps because of the family troubles over the last year or two. He will not work, they say. Maybe a typewriter would be good for him so that he would read as well as spell. After all, encouragement in typing words might help him to be interested in reading them. He likes being read to, but that is of course passive -- and attention.

The football book is no joke. I have decided to give two copies away at Christmas. If Susan peeks in one first and finds it fun, I shall succumb and ship you one. One will keep an eye open for a suitable Rosemarybud. It is just that one might unexpectedly pop into view. # Your comment about the Zurich film being avant garde but 1930's may latch on to my amazement at going to see what was supposed to be absolutely *the* latest in theatre: a happening. What happened was a flashback to the cabaret of the 1920's accompanied by Weils-and-wehs of music. But you and I are Tiresian and Gerontionesque.

Much interested that the German-language *Spiegel* is to be found only in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. # Brattleboro is also just above Pittsfield where I took you when I interviewed the headmistress of the Shaker colony to see if you could be entered in the lower form. # My newest plan for your American education-- a plan with which Susan enthusiastically agrees-- is that we should go to Nantucket sometime when you come out of summer season. It is an island with all the things that attract you. Only, please, not in summer, for it can be worse than St. Mary's with trippers. But the on-islanders come out of their caverns when the summer gang planks are drawn.

I am sorry that Jovanovich doesn't like Islay's book, but glad that Helen does. I imagine by her description that the range falls just between the audience for Miss Muffett's curds and whey and Burroggh's *Naked Lunch*. Appetites usually run to extremes.

I am glad that the various books have arrived, but rather sorry that you did not take Burton to the Glock. I rather fancied you in your chamber with the maids sitting in a rapt semicircle at your feet while you read the book to them. Then the clock would have struck twelve, and each would have had to scurry to the next bedroom -- and what fun you would have taught them to expect. The trouble with the working classes is that we do give them a sense of gratification in their tasks. What a mismissionary teacher you might become if only you seized your opportunities.

One of the books I read yesterday was Marianne's *Tell Me, Tell Me* which I bought without the chance to dip into. It is slight but she has not lost the touch of the lapidary. There has never really been anyone quite like her.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

6 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

Writing you last night revived me, so that it was six
anyhow before I finished and went home. Indeed before going I had
a phone call about the possible purchase of the property at the shore
(the adjacent land I told you about), plus a call from John Schaffner
in answer to one from me. I had hoped that he and Pup could dine
with me Thursday night when I went down to be in time for the ACLS
meeting on Friday; but Pup had already accepted an invitation to a
cocktail party given by or for some Englishman, and John was to go
to a poetry reading by a client after dinner. He spoke a little
about the Fletcher house as well as about Cow Pasture where there
present home is. As to the latter it seems that only the earlier
will, leaving it to the government as a park is valid. So the old
man's wish will obtain. But the Schaffner's quite wisely do not
want to be tenants of the government. The Fletcher house does sound
like the right thing for them. He fears you will think it expensive:
the asking price was $60,000; the deed is being made for $55,000.
But it is an 18th century farmhouse with two acres of land in a
New York resort area. Considering that the asking price for the
house next door on Goodrich Street is $42,000, with much work needing
to be done, and only a small area of land around it, the Fletcher
price doesn't sound high to me. That is, not high if one has the
money. I gather that the annual payments will not be high.

A phone call from the New York lawyers made an appoint-
ment for me at 11 a.m. on Thursday, so perhaps I can move a step
ahead on the Gregory problem. I dislike not even examining the status
quo, so this will be a relief to my nerves of not to my pocketbook.

I was tired when I got home, and slept for an hour after
supper. But then settled in on my reading, mostly the applications
for fellowships in law. I am, for example, intrigued by Prof. Fumio
Unabara, who wants to come to work on American trust law. He was a
lieutenant on a Jap submarine during the war, and after a law degree
went to work for the Japan Soda Co. As his reference says: after
working six months he came to me and asked to become a student. "I asked
why, and his answer was--'I found that by nature I am not a businessman
and as we were magnificently defeated by America I would like to study in
earnest something American.'" He seems to be pursuing law with all his
might and even like a good warrior at the risk of his life....Besides
being a ranking judo wrestler, he swims, rides, skis and plays Rugby
football. Of course he is not perfect. He seems to be rather impetuous
and hot-tempered and possibly a little scrappy but never to an unreasonable
degree considering that he was once a professional soldier. On the whole,
I think, it may be safely said that he has a pleasant character. I just like him

Professor Naoki Kobayashi has no such revealing letters of
recommendation, but I am much taken by the directness of his answers to
the questionnaire:

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

What is your present telephone number? (I don't install a telephone in my House.)

Please list any constitutional disorder or physical defect. I have a pain [sic] of hemmorrhoids in winter.

Shall we send him to a university in Florida?

At that point I had to leave to attend a meeting of the graduate faculty in English, to hear a synopsis of the complaints of the graduate students assembled as ours had been. One has to listen, I know; but oh how much talking is done.

I saw Cleanth Brooks there and asked him if he had heard from the Hotsons. He had. Mary had written them a note in mid-November to say they were back, and the Brookses had invited them to Thanksgiving dinner. "We asked some buffer guests," Cleanth said, "so that the conversation couldn't get to the topic of the church school. Everything went well, and we all enjoyed ourselves. We won't see as much of them now they have left the church, but I'm especially glad we could ask them for Thanksgiving." So am I.

I don't really seem to have done much to write about, and there was no letter from you in today's mail; only a yellowback to take home with me. I did go this morning to ask to have a sample color tv put in at Goodrich Street for over the weekend. I think Susan secretly wants one, and in fact more and more programs are in color -- so much so that reception of the others is less good, since the black and white of color is foggier than when of black and white in origin. We will have to have the two grandchildren during the daytime while young Susan does a term paper for a class; they will enjoy it anyhow.

Last night I read catalogues that had come in yesterday's mail, and was struck by the appropriate sequence of the following:

26. 150 SEX QUESTIONS & ANSWERS. Illustrated.
Interesting, intimate & most frequently asked sex questions & problems, by noted sexologist. Every secret question you've yearned to ask but dared not!
$1

27. FRENCH CUTIES. Naughty French cartoons, Gags, and belly laffs for the broadminded.
25c

28. THE HOLY BIBLE—New Testament. Complete. Authorized King James Version. FREE with order.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

7 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

Your letter of the 4th came this morning, those of the
3rd and 5th in the late afternoon mail, so all are in order again and
make a happy family.

I wish I were really in shape to go to New York tomorrow.
But today has been one of interruptions and I hardly know even whether
I have my papers in shape. I see the lawyer tomorrow at 11, Helen at
3:30, and try to pack in other calls as I can. I take Helen January
in its slip case. I opened the case today and found they made it too
fat for the manuscript. It doesn't matter I suppose, but it is sloppy
on their part (Maggs, I mean). However, Helen will be much pleased.
She is pleased too that they have already sold some 5000 copies to
bookstores. I know the Yale Co-op took 25. You have a loyal public.

It really is frustrating to have to leave my desk, but
perhaps the change will be good for me. Only, since young Susan must
do a term paper for her courses, over the weekend, we have to take the
children. This is pleasant, but keeps me from letters and reports.
Perhaps that is a good thing too.

This really is exciting about Gawain, and I hereby give
you the book as a Christmas bonus. I mentioned the issue to John
Pope, Professor of Beowulf at Yale, and since he wanted one I promised
to order a copy for him. I will simply order two and keep one for myself.
I always beam with pride when you like one of my timidly proferred bones.

The wag of Fido's tail
is my delight;
God grant I often see
so fine a sight.

One breathes easier to know that Grace Irwin is being cared
for in England.

I doubt much that Blake will kiss his freedom under British
mistletoe. Much more likely that St Nicholas will have brought him a
good boy's gift in East Berlin. Perhaps we should send Coigny's dame-
and-dog into the east zone in pursuit of him. It would give the dame
an objective, and they would return Blake with her to get her out of
sight and mind.

F.O.O. Matthiessen wrote *American Renaissance*, an important
book in its day and a good book still.

Renault sounds fun. Is she still with her nurse. No, no,
I have no intention either of kidding you or mating you.

The yellowback I took home last night, before your warning

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

came, was opened by mistake. But the enclosures were no mistake; they
were a delight, and have been put away for the tree. They will make
me complete. I bow in gratitude.

Much interested in Bryan's letter. At a lower grade in the
scale he would be in the midst of a sophomore slump: the beginning is
over, the end seems too distant. And he is not quite old enough, tho
certainly not immature, to take pleasure in the tasks themselves. One
thinks only of exams, finals. They are a fact not a symbol. Otherwise
he seems in good control of himself, and I am pleased that he is com-
ing to the States next summer. Do tell him to stop by in New Haven.
I would be delighted to see him.

I see with real horror that I have a lecture to give next
Tuesday, on the American artist in Italy. Have not even begun to prepare.
The weekend and Monday will be a horror. I shudder to think of it. Pray
for me.

Continue to read in the TLS about the suqabbling over Arts
Council grants. What power even a little official money gives. The
power to strangle.

Will try to write tomorrow but may not be able to until
Saturday, because of New York. So be patient.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

10 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I returned from New York last night, getting to the New Haven station about seven, and stopping for a moment at the office to pick up my Thursday and Friday mail. An immense pile, and fortunately for me your letter of the 6th was among the rest. Nothing from you today, but that should mean a couple on Monday.

The morning was a confused one. I had my hair cut, then to the library unsuccessfully to find some notes for my lecture on Tuesday (this worries me), and then to the doctor for my cold shot, and as it turned out for a prescription for the cold that has been with me since last Saturday and Sunday. He wondered if I couldn't take things easy, but that is impossible. We have the grandchildren during the day today and tomorrow, and somehow I've got to begin my preparation for Tuesday. Only I can't put my mind to it or to much else.

I did get the Bethlehem letter from you, for which my great thanks. I put first-day issues like this away for Justus when he is a little older and more sophisticated as a collector. My thanks too for the Pro Juventute series. They are always lovely.

As to Edith's letters, do you think it would be appropriate simply to say that they had been sent over to this side for safe-keeping, that there were probably too many to ship the originals over (that's what they always want), but that if he would indicate to me the sort of letter they were after I could have some one go through and xerox them. This will run into considerable money, but it does seem too bad to have a collection come out of this sort without some evidence of her affection for you. Or if you give me Parker's address I could write him myself. I could hire some one to go through them. I think I know the one who could do it. But why the rush for what ought to be as carefully done as the edition of Stevens's letters.

It is no good trying to write you at length about the New York two-day trip. There isn't time now that I must go back and take the children over, and I feel simply to blaw to write with any spirit at all.

I summon up what little I have to wish you

Skimming the newspapers locally I found a name I covet: Florimond LaFleur, of Plantsville. It sounds like a character out of a novel by Ronald Firbank. In fact, he was a drop forger.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

12 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

No letter from you in today's mail, which means only one since
last Wednesday. But I have not been much better, and though I did write you
from New York I carried the letter in my pocket back to New Haven with me, so
much was my rush.

The poetry reading Thursday night was my first in New York,
but I am glad John S reminded me of it since as a Chancellor I really should
go. The room, comfortable but sloping towards the center like a bowl, was
in the bowels of the Guggenheim, but the bowels were comfortably lined so
one could sleep--as some did--more restfully than at home. Barbara Howes,
the first reader, was one whose book we published at Wesleyan--and she had
sent a special invitation. John is her editor. The other, James Merrill,
read a long dramatic poem extremely well. He is a wealthy orphaned grandson
of a broker and the Marjorie Post who owns General Foods, and does an enorm-
ous amount to help younger poets. He himself is in his late thirties, I
should think. He is a good poet and read very well indeed. The Boys probably
know him since he hangs around the Peggy Guggenheim group in Venice and is
a boy himself. Afterwards I went to the part for Miss Howes at her Knopf
editor's, and then back.

The Friday meeting went well, and I was pleased that an old
(that is, long ago) student of mine from Japan was given one of the two
literary fellowships to come here again. I suggested New York University
however, for Edel, since he is working on James. He was turned down last
year, and ranked only at the head of the secondary group by this year's
Japanese judge. I was desolate on going over applications, but the committee
all agreed the referee's rankings were unfair and so gave it to him. It is
always pleasant to be of help. The committee may have acted as it did out
of a gesture towards me. It doesn't matter; he has it. By the time I caught
the 5:04 I was exhausted, having left the meeting at 4:30 to catch a cab,
stood for fifteen minutes by the United Nations Plaza, then walked fast with
my heavy brief case to the Yale Club, picked up suitcase there and over to
Grand Central in time plunk down panting before the train left. I wasn't
good for much work that night, my cold having turned into a cough and nose
and loss of voice. Saturday morning when I went to the doctor for my cold
shot (monthly) he gave me a prescription which I have been taking since.
Tried to work at the office Saturday morning without getting much accomplished,
but had to go home in afternoon to take the grandchildren shopping. Saturday
night we had tickets for the theater, another anti-way piece but better than
what saw the last time (this called Dynamite Tonight). Sunday I could not go
to the office at all, since we had the children again, and in mid-afternoon
had to go to the Historical Society for their Christmas party (Susan was
pouring).

Now I must work like hell on my talk tomorrow at the Art Gallery,
on the American Artist in Italy (in the 19th century). I can only pray I
can think of something to say. And that my voice improves. This afternoon
I have to introduce an Australian poet who is giving a reading.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

13 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

Well the lecture to the ladies aid society for the Art Gallery
has now been given. On, as I think I told you, "Italy and the American
Artist." Not certainly a difficult subject for me to dig up, because of
Hawthorne--but somehow my two weeks' sniffle, plus going to New York for
the ACLS and preparing for that, plus the children on Saturday and Sunday
made it seem like an unscaleable peak. The room was hot, and I suspect
a good many of the 150 women slept, but at any rate my husky voice did
not conk out on me.

Now I can get back at my desk, the unpaid bills, a chapter
of someone's didertation to read, proof to finish for the encyclopedia
article, and above all else Christmas cards to address. (I had a nice
one today from Stephen Lewis and Marjorie--a picture of their house.)

There have been three letters from you today. The 9th, 10th
and 11th. All much concerned, obviously, with chaos in the villa. I
grunt my sympathy. But how you will shine forth when all is finished.
I agree absolutely that the work has to be done. One really has no choice,
except to move from Kenwin to a pension. The smell of paint does permeate
everything. Even when the drawers in the cellar were done, the house was
full of it. # I am so sorry about Elsie's lameness and hope she takes
good care of herself over the Christmastime. I can't say : make her, for
I suspect that is impossible. # Yes, Helen really did seem pleased with
the sales for January. There have not been as many reviews as usual, but
this has not affected sales at all. I suspect the reviews will still trickle
in. The main thing was to have the one by Winston and the one in the Times.
Helen spoke to me of wishing you could have joined the boys, but I reminded
her of St Elsie and the very short time you would have had for shots, visas
and packing, what with your Christmas letters to mail etc. Had one known say
in October one could have arranged, etc.

Young Susan had arranged for Justus to see someone, but she also
finally insisted with Jim that the children be told of the divorce--especially
after he had his female assistant to help entertain them. He arrived late so
it had to be done as they took him to the train--characteristic on his part.
Little Susan cried; Justus said he thought so. And has brightened up, been
a good worker at school again, the teacher reports, and very amenable. Both
Susan and I agreed they should have been told long since, but Jim was opposed.
I think he prefers a world of make-believe; one can wriggle unseen beneath it.

Your dinner with Simond sounded interesting. I am sorry he isn't
to get to Sardinia, but perhaps that will come later. Now that life quiets
here for a span I shall try to dig up what I can about the Henty dates, just in case.
And how very kind for him to have brought you the vase. I daresay Michael Gough
can tell you, or you might want, sometime, to take it into Spinks yourself for
their opinion. I gather this sort of thing is very tricky. But this takes
nothing from the gift as gift.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

I hand't at all meant to suggest that you should bring up the subject of a share of the new house with the Schaffners. Indeed, I wouldn't want to appear to act as mediator. It was only as your espionage agent that I was reporting. And I gathered that the payment could be strung out over a longish period, because of the tax situation for the Fletchers.

Your Information, Please clipping struck a sympathetic chord in me. I get them here. A high school teacher thinks it would be fine for his student to be "in touch with" a scholar. So I get letters asking me why I think Longfellow is a good poet. Or what poems by Frost do I like best.

I see by the newly released papers that Edward VIII's sympathy for the Italians, under Musso, is now to the fore. There must be much in addition to what we know about the abdication.

told the man to call Susan, since she spent the early Fall going over the Wright papers. She will be pleased
by all this.

All right, Norman

Now back to my proofs.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

My eyes being a little blurred from focusing on the tiny print
of the page proofs of the first part of the American Literature article for
the Encyclopedia Americana, I take a Bryher-break in mid-morning. It was
too stupid of me yesterday when I wrote, not to remember that on Monday
after I had written there had been no letters from you, two later came.
The 7th and the 8th. I wonder that you survive Christmas, with all you
have to do. But then how could your friends survive what comes through-
out the year if it were not for your remembrances. I am glad in a way
that you are continuing with Collins, even though he is not mt prize ram.
But he is helpless, the times are against his kind (as you say) and one
can't really have anything against him. I note your American benefactions,
which will make the aide memoire in case of necessity. No, I don't think
you need to take on any more. I had a letter from a youngish Negro writer
in the middle west asking if I would lend him a thousand dollars to establish
him in New York. He is talented in a small way, but I don't think being
in New York would change his success. I said no, for obvious reasons however.

Last night we had our first snow, but not more than a couple of
inches of wet white. The usual car failed to make the grade up Goodrich
Street after midnight, waking us with its spinning wheels. Then it was
abandoned, and this morning it was forlorn in the gutter. I bowed in
sympathy as I drove by, but this morning on my way to work.

And Elsie, really poor Elsie! I hope her knee loosens. A
little package will also be coming, by the way, for Ines. Just a token,
since I don't want there to be comparisons between the two. But Ines is
always kind to us when we are with you.

The dissertation on Hilda? I haven't actually read it. The girl
wants more material for it, and so wrote me. A book on her by another writer
should be out next spring. And Duncan writes me that he is coming to New
Haven in May, where he has been given the use of a flat, and will stay until
his book is done. He has just been awarded a $10,000 grant, and plans to
use it to buy a house for himself and his companion.

And Wilson, really poor helpless Wilson. What a mess has been made
for him, and what a mess he makes himself.

Your letter to the Times was a jewel. Just right. You made exactly
the right analogy by comparing publishers with art dealers. It is too absurd,
and the worst of capitulations. I am glad you wrote. I had not known, by the
way, that Collins was so deeply involved in paperbacks, until I read a back
number of *Authors*. No wonder they think only in terms of huge sales potentials.
England will soon be worse for the little man than even the States are.

I was interrupted by a visiting scholar who wanted data on Susan's
Grandfather Wright. He was the first to develop the x-ray in this country, among
his other accomplishments. It is nice to have him begin to get recognition. I

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

15 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I sit around, fidgeting while I wait for the American Studies
Christmas party which comes from 5-6:30 but always goes on a little longer.
It is for the faculty, graduate students, and various female secretaries
with whom we deal during the year. About 125 altogether, and 0 the names
I shall have forgotten when they come up to be introduced to Susan! It
is always hell; my mind goes a complete blank. And what does one say on
the run?

I came down last night to hear a very long talk on Chou Shu-jen,
a Communist Chinese poet who seems to have had much to do with the revolution.
Why did I come? because the speaker normally teaches in our Program but has
had a three-year leave in order to learn Chinese language and culture. It
was interesting but far too long.

Yours of the 12th and two of the 13th came today, and I have duly
noted the Hotel du Raisin. It sounds like fun. You must take me there one day.
I imagine Coigny will stick to the Bunch of Grapes as fresher. I always think
these Swiss picnics of yours are worth a shelf-full of books about Switzerland.
The character hasn't changed much down the centuries. Nor perhaps the food,
but I should not call a $34.00 meal for a group cheap. Indeed my mouth watered.

I should have bought the Times myself, and burned the plant down if
they had not printed your letter at once. It was one of your best, nicely
seasoned with spice.

Am glad Horace begins to work at his memoirs. It is just the right
sort of thing to keep him busy. I had hoped there might be an occasional poem.
But if so he keeps it very hush-hush. I hope to get down to see him over the Christ-
mas holidays.

You talk to me of wings? You must have yourself flown about Lausanne
to get so much accomplished in the way of shopping. You deserved your little *Sara*.
I suspect that nothing of vertu in Restif will have been lost even if the book
was tampered with.

Many thanks for sending the inscribed *January* to Helen. She really
was pleased at your gift and thoughtfulness. She seemed more relaxed than I have
seen her for a long time, had put a bulletin board on the wall with your picture
on it, Grass and Johnson's, Mrs Lindberg's etc., and remarked how this showed
that she now really felt at home. Her books are doing very well, I should judge,
and this naturally helps. She must be a good half of the Harcourt trade backbone.
She is not giving up on Islay's book and is asking Winston to read it. As for
Romaine's ms, she is going to see what can be done about getting estimates abroad.
Margaret Marshall asked me about the ms, and I told her to borrow it from Helen.
But Margaret is thinking of Silvia Beach's, which she edited, and I'm afraid this
doesn't have the same sort of appeal. My feeling about a private printing of
Romaine's book is that if it is to be done this way it must be handsomely done.
This is the excuse, this the solace to her pride. So she is starting with a man
she thinks wonderfully well of, who if the price were acceptable would see it all

16 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

How short a time it takes to make a mess of one's desk. Tonight it looks as though a dumpy trunk had been spilled on it; what I need is the weekend and the chance to get gradually down to bed rock again.

No letter from you today but there was a yellowback, filled chiefly with my letters to you. The Latham girls wrote interestingly, and I was rather struck by her statistics on the decrease of women professors at the University of London. The opposite is of course true in the States; even all male schools like Yale have their women on the faculty now. And very good they often are, perhaps usually are. # Glad that the Brigadier keeps well; I hope to be able to write him before Christmas. Have not yet been able to start my cards, and a review is due on Monday so fear the weekend must go to that. # I was amused by John Maggs' casual reference to the fact that "A box rather loosely filled is much more fragile than a book." -- As though I had ordered it that way, to be stuffed with three newspapers! And I think he might have sent along a note with it by Mr Vietor's hand, or dropped a note afterwards. I was not overwhelmingly impressed, I must say.

A Christmas note came today from the Dominican Republic from Eric Heydt. He had been there for three weeks on holiday but seems to have analyzed all the betwitched natives. He enclosed an unstamped card to a friend in Baden Baden, and altho he made no mention of it I stamped it and sent it on airmail. Hope I was not involved in espionage.

The girl from New Orleans who wrote you about Hilda's paganism sent a missive today to say she had failed her comprehensive examinations for the doctorate, and intends to move north with her husband to a university in this neighborhood. Wouldn't it be wonderful, she asks, if she could now work with me for a degree? Wouldn't it just! Alas, I don't think there's much chance of Yale's admitting her. The "alas" is for her, not for me.

Our Christmas party yesterday afternoon for American Studies seemed to go off well; at least much was eaten and drunk, and the lounge was a bedlam as people talked. Now that, fortunately, is over. And if I am lucky in getting out of the chairmanship, this will not be my responsibility in the future. Later this afternoon I go home to pick up Susan and hie us to the English Department party. I wonder if anyone really wants to go to this sort of thing?

The papers arrived from Me Coigny for Winson, but I have not yet had a chance to study them before signing. I gather they are pretty much the same as for Scilly. At least they do not have to be certified in New York.

Hope all goes easily in these last pre-holiday days.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

17 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I must say I find myself a little exhausted after a long day at
my desk writing Christmas cards. Not just signing my name but writing at least
notes on them in answer to letters that have come to me, or thanking for books
or offprints that have been sent in recent months. Really it is a stisfactory
way of not having to go on for page after page. My wastebaskets are full of
now emptyable envelopes and letters whose goading is no longer needed. We
go to a cocktail party at the end of the afternoon, and tonight I shall go
on with those which are more nearly simply greetings. But oh how full my
desk still seems. And I have not even begun the review of Cooper's letters
which must be finished by Monday.

Your letter of the 14th was in the late morning's mail, unusual
for a Saturday. What an international hyphen you have become, now for the
post as well as for the English colony as a whole. And think of the Americans
who will spread their cheese in gratitude to your intercession.

I think the best thing for me to do is simply to have Sylva's
letter xeroxed and send on to Helen. She is a little careful about having
things peddled around; it hurts their dignity, she says. But she can write
you and advise how to write Sylva. How kind it is of her to help, and one
does trust her judgment. I am delighted that she is still planning to go
to Georgia. It will mean everything to her.

Christmas geertings have come in from Robert Hodgson. He is
still feeling the economic pinch and sticking out of London on the Isle of
Wight. He has now turned up that Hodgson not only served in the army in WWI,
but also and later in the Navy. What a genius Hodgson had for keeping things
secret.

I forgot to say how delighted I was with the Observer's account of
the mock Hastings. I think the writer must have been of your clan, in his
reference to "that tragic battle which Englishmen find almost unbearably funny."

Horace's nurse wrote her usual pleasant letter to accompany her
bill (she now signs only her first name), and said that Marya had been in bed
a lot this past fortnight with bronchitis and doesn't seem able to shake it off.
Horace is in good spirits and types more easily all the time. He will have known
by the end of this week when in January he expects to go back to the hospital for
his new operation. The nurse is to go to the west coast for the several weeks it
is expected to take. I do hope the lawyers manage so that hospital bills and nurses
and the like can be directly charged to major medical.

A nice note from Rosemary about the brooch, and Brother Volant reports
more visitors than ever at Churchill. So it goes.

The papers this morning carried the news that Yale and Vassar (a girl's
college in Poughkeepsie) are beginning formal discussion about moving Vassar to
Yale. 1500 girls on the campus would make quite a difference. I remember a retired

don at Magdalen who, after Oxford went coeducational, drove back to the college only in a limousine with the
URTAINS drawn. Perhaps it will be that way for me.
Keep well.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I have really stuck so close to my Christmas knitting that I can really do little more than make a slight progress report as the holidays draw frighteningly nearer. I keep scribbling messages on cards that may just possibly reach the recipients before the 25th. I spent part of the morning paying bills to make doctors and butchers and thieves happier at the year's end. I signed the various documents for Winson and have them ready to send by registered post to Me Coigny tomorrow morning. I made out Horace's thousand and dollar midyear allowance and wrote a letter on a card to accompany it, and manage to stack up a pike of outgoing mail without much reducing the balancing stack of what still has to be made ready to leave.

Last night we got to our party, and did indeed have a pleasant time there -- the guests being more of our own advanced age than usual, and almost all of them friends. The chief topic of discussion was the proposed moving of Vassar College to Yale, and I should judge from my conversation with the President's wife that the thing has gotten to a much more advanced stage than I should have thought. Announcement of the discussions were postponed until the last day of classes for undergraduates at both colleges. Most seem enthusiastic about it, although one still wonders where such a large institution could be built. The consensus is that it would be in the six or eight blocks near the hockey rink on Prospect Street, en route to Goodrich. It would not of course impinge on us. They have already found a comoany, the IBM, which would buy the Vassar campus and all its buildings and 980 acres in order to set up a research center there. But it would at least give them some money to begin again with, and they already have a 36 million dollar endowment. Somehow it does seem ganz amerikanisch simply to pick up a large institution and move it in this way, but it does also appear to be a way of recognizing the importance of improving the facilities for the education of women.

One of the Hotson's lady friends spoke to me about them, lamenting the further withdrawal from society. But their last conversation had really been, or rather their last meeting had been, a lecture by Leslie on his new book. She called it marvelous sleuthing without an iota of substantiating fact. I mentioned that Thornton Wilder had admired it more than I could, and she corrected me by saying that Thornton had only exclaimed his wish that Leslie could use his immense learning more orthodoxly and substantively. But Leslie is wonderfully happy about it all, and that is what counts. I expect he would really enjoy a martyr's exhilaration of the world rose up to deny his thesis.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

19 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I already feel in the Christmas spirit having this morning sent off the review of Cooper's letters to the American Historical Review. That it is only 18 months late doesn't matter; the final deadline was tomorrow, and at least it will be en route by then.

The rest of the morning I spent tidying up still overdue business letters and filling out report sheets. This afternoon I spent an hour and a half with a nice young lady who is doing her dissertation for Brown University on Hilda's poetry. She asked intelligent questions and didn't try to pry. She teaches at a Catholic school but made no effort to transform H.D. into a nun. I rather liked her, and would be interested to read her dissertation when it is done.

Tonight I can really get at the Christmas cards.

Your letter of the 15th was in the noon mail. Your news about Catha is really worrying. Most certainly she should keep at her analysis; she very much needs it. And one wonders, in France, why what you give her is not enough. I fear people may use her and her funds, relying on her desire to be liked and to find a place and need for herself. The marriage of course was a disaster, a refuge on the death of her father. Much better I should think to have a divorce and be done with it. I know: Catholicism! But all the same....

I must say I have no guineas doesn't seem bad to me, for Authors, when one thinks of what they provide. Anyone who would use them ought to be able to dig in that much.

Last evening it was cocktail party, another of them, so we left early. Now I must hurry across the campus to a memorial meeting for a friend who died earlier in the autumn. His book on Italian architecture since the 18th century is being published. I am told it is splendid. Perhaps it might be something for the boys some day.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

20 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

Don't say I'm not faithful to the Christmas spirit. I spent the day, or most of it at home, writing Christmas cards while Susan went to New York to get her hair done. She will I hope be relieved when she comes home (she must be home now) and finds them out of the house, having spent most of last night wondering how they could be mailed before the 25th itself. Usually I have addressed them and written the notes; this year because I was busy she tried to. Anyhow even though I have more to write at the office tomorrow, the Goodrich Street ones were finished. 150 more done today, and my eyes spin.

So much for the day.

Your letters of the 16th and 17th arrived, appropriately
carrying your Christmas wishes since they were buried in greeting cards.
Your visit with Wendy sounded like a good break in your schedule, and
her stories of Turkey must have been interesting. Too bad she did not
have more pictures, but we learned always to take an ample supply of
film with us. I am intrigued about ferrying her car to England. Can
one send a car by air freight? It sounds too wonderful.

Alas! I am not surprised about the Cheverton. In fact I suspect she was not writing about Hilda at all, bur rather laying the ground for a touch. This is inevitable, I fear; they know how kind you have been to many and they believe in an economy of plenty--that is, enough to go around so long as they are in on the distribution. But perhaps I am too harsh.

What a nice Christmas celebration you will have in Elsie's
newly refurnished digs.

Susan will write you that she bought a lovely housecoat--
for guests in the evening at home, with the Christmas cheque you sent her.
She of course was overjoyed. Actually for one reason and another she has
gone a little lightly in replenishing her wardrobe, and now that her only
good dress shop in New Haven has closed she has to buy in New York, which
is understandably more expensive.

Tomorrow I start on a new phase of Christmas letters: acknowledge-
ments of books and aryicles sent me. Plus a chapter of a student's disserta-
tion I must try to read. One never really can stop.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

20 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I think yesterday's output of Christmas cards must have drained me. I could hardly face one more today. But I did manage a few, although otherwise I have been doing incidental chores. A visiting Japanese wanted some Latin translated for him; it was a little too much for my waning familiarity, so I drew in a member of the classics department to help. Then I dug up the source of a poem by Hilda (Socratic) published in *transition*, and phoned Indiana where a publishing house had been sending telegrams for permission to use it. Luckily I have a card catalogue of most titles and first lines. Then I arranged for dossiers of graduate students who want jobs, to take with me to the Modern Language Association convention in New York from the 26-29th. And at noon went to a luncheon for a lady who is lending her collection of "The Night Before Christmas" to be shown at the Library. A very rich lady from New York, now in her 80's, to whom it had seemed important to show it at Yale. She asked me if I could arrange it, weeks ago when she was here for another show. Then I went to the bank for Christmas money and enough to take to New York, since Monday is a state holiday and the banks will be closed. I looked also for paperbacks, but had no luck. Later at the Co-op I bought two by Heinrich Böllfor Susan to read on the train. But you would prefer the German original if you want to read him at all. The rest of the afternoon I have been reading the chapter of a dissertation, all that has been written so far. I am supposed to be the director.

Yours of the 18th came, and so you creep closer to Christmas. I do not even dare hope this will reach you before the 25th, but it carries my Christmas love anyhow. Elsie's newly decorated room sounds like a shrine, but I wonder if she would even let Christ be born in it. Look, straw all over everything!"

Roysce Smith reports they've been selling more *Januaries* than ever. I was naturally pleased.

The Mark Twain end-of-the-year plea is chiefly for those who want tax advantages, not your situation. This year there is a special purpose; they are redoing the entrance hall as it originally was. For that reason I did give a little. Do as seems wisest, but your many demands at this time must be making a drain.

Ohd, aprons never really do go out. Susan wears them, especially the full length ones. So do most people. I can understand why they like the Heimatwerk ones; the material is so sturdy and un ersatz.

All love,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I really think the planet must be running down. At least I
am, and people have moved only slowly up and down the halls. They want
to say Merry Christmas and then realise they have still another day to
work. Mrs Sherman doesn't; I told her to take tomorrow off. There is
still too much to be done but no one has the energy with which to do it.
I went to the Co-op for a book for my brother-in-law, on cruising. No
one was waiting in line at the cashier's. Even the mail has been light
of Christmas cards, and the postmaster over the radio thanked the
citizenry for getting their letters in on time. No letter came from
you, but that only means they didn't get it to me on time.

I gave my Christmas tip to the barber when I had my hair
cut, and to the maid and janitor when they made their rounds this morning.
The garbage man at home has had his. The Mory's waiters will have theirs
tomorrow. I had one more piece of Christmas cake, baked by an English
Department secretary, than I could eat. I will save it for tomorrow. I
read most of the day finishing the chapter of the dissertation done by
my student. I phoned him; he was off with his wife and child for home.
So our conference must wait until after the New Year.

I shall go home and wrap my few presents tonight, and in
the morning go off to Johnson's Point to give the caretaker his check,
and also give one for his assistant.

Abd all of the time I shall be wishing you a happy Christmas
and sending you my love.

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I began the day like Santa Claus in his sleigh, taking packages around town to the various Japanese who are visiting as students. They are the loneliest; the Europeans can take care of themselves, and even if they give me I do not try to return the gesture. But the Japanese have all brought me presents when they arrived: books, fountain pens, etc., and etiquette demands that the sensai reciprocate. Then I drove to Johnson's Point with the Christmas cheque for the caretaker and his assistant; and walked up to end of the point where the big house was. All is flat to the ground and raked over. It is even hard to remember. So time goes by.

The rest of the day I have spent at my desk, though too much still remains to be done. But I managed fifteen more cards-cum-letters, and that at least has been accomplished. No, more than that--for what I wrote at the tail end of the morning I posted at lunchtime.

After a little famine during the past two days--just enough to whet my appetite, today's noon mail brought your two letters of the 20th-- very good indeed I thought considering the heavy mails at this time of the year. I was particularly glad, for I am not sure that the office will be open tomorrow, Monday is a holiday, and I will have left then to be gone until Thursday night. This without letters from you will be real famine. I shall be ravenous.

Congratulations on your new ribbon, although, as Keats said, darkling I love you. I might--who knows?--have loved you even more were you argenté. Your man must be a Swiss version of Midas. I should have demanded a photo in color.

Of course Eric White howls. But for the wrong reasons.

The Schaffner loan does seem indicated under the circumstances, and as I think I told you the transcation now includes two more acres of land than originally planned for at this time. But of course the extra land adds much to the value and the pleasure of the property. I hope you and Fides will feel you can. The Schaffs are, I think, quite sincere both in wanting it and intending to be thrifty to pay it off.

I think I must pop down by the postoffice to get this out of the corner box. It may reach you the sooner with my New Year's love and greetings,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

24 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I brought the Christmas tree into the house just in time. Now it is really beginning to snow, and they say we shall have six inches or more before it stops. Pleasantly, but unfortunately, we shall have to venture out in this evening since we go to young Susan's and her children's for dinner. They have been fixing their tree, and it is important for them to associate Christmas with their own home rather than just with their grandmother's. Tomorrow noon, as I understand it, they are to be delivered to their father who will take them to New York to his mother's.

A little to my surprise there was an office mail this morning, and in it was yours of the 19th. Out of order, but none the less welcome as reporting in before the holidays. As I wrote you there will be no deliveries on Monday, and I leave that afternoon for New York and the convention from which I come back on the 29th in the afternoon, for Susan's birthday.

Your letter to the Times really did strike home. I wonder if it will come to cool White's warmth for you. He is a kind person, but chiefly to his kind.

The Frances Yates book does sound interesting, and some time I shall have to read her on the hemnetic tradition, a field about which I shall have to know more because of Hilda. As to the Globe Theater, I always feel interest; but an Elizabethan pub does the same thing for me.

I shall be thinking of you all in the library, a much more sensible place, or at least cosier at this season of the year. I sent Christmas cable last night, thinking that the Sunday holiday might otherwise complicate. But I shall be resending it constantly, by esp, during the weekend. How much I have to thank you for, but much of all for the gift of yourself. It means everything.

with deepest love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

26 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

All day yesterday the Etruscan warrior lifted his invisible
shield to salute me with your Christmas greetings. He seems to like
his position on the side table by an easy chair in the living room,
and I most certainly do like him. I am most grateful for this, and
when I leave for New York and the convention this afternoon I shall
be Griedered with your Christmas bounty. Thank you, and thank you
again, as Gertrude used to like to say.

I hope your own library-fête was warm and happy. After
all, you have only to turn on the hot water to recognize the grace
that has befallen you, and only to step tip-toed into Elsie's re-
decorated suite to know the beauty you live in proximity to. This
has certainly been a year of household accomplishment for you.

The snow kept falling all day on the 24th and during the
night, so that we woke to an eight-inch blanket of snow. But fortu-
nately the snow was dry, so that it did not interfere with our visit
to young Susan on Christmas Eve; and Lizzie who had driven in earlier
in the afternoon from Killingworth to avoid being trapped spent the
night at her sister's. It was a good idea, too, to keep Susan from
feeling lonely. We had a lovely supper of roast chicken, with a
bottle of wine, and then sang carols together while Susan played the
piano, before I read "The Night Before Christmas" with the children
taking turns supplying the rhyme words at the end of each line. They
of course know it by heart. They hung their stockings, and we left
comparatively early so as still to be able to make it to inside our
gaage.

Christmas morning we could not have. But the men who bring
snowblowers and plows to clear us came at about nine, and did sidewalks
and driveway, so that when the others came they could drive in and keep
off the street. Justus's chief present (which he had dearly wanted) was
a walky-talky set usable up to a mile in distance. He spent most of the
time thereafter going to remote rooms in the house and communicating from
a distance with those still around the tree. They left at one for the
station where their father had come up from New York to meet them, and
the rest of us had a mouth-watering roast beef, with plum pudding after-
wards. The two girls went their separate ways at the end of the after-
noon, and I lay down for a long winter's nap.

My other relaxation was to read the two yellowbacks which had
come in on Saturday, so that I was still with you in a sense or through the
senses. There was a rich group from O.B. which had accumulated at your
end. He does thrive. A particularly chatty report on Non-Nour from Miss
Dudley; I shall be eager to see the official document, though all still
seems wrapped in basic mystery. Mollie Dobson seems to have had a good
success with what she brought over to sell. I suspect she will be coming
regularly to the States and to Canada. # Can Hilda Quick simply give

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

over the royalties, or what is it she gives to Pestalozzi. I really
wonder why she feels she should give anything there, when she has
her own needs and her own old age to cushion. # I had no mailing
schedule for the B oys and so could not send them greetings. I
ought sometime to tell them I am likely to be in Switzerland when
they hit New York, but you can perhaps tell me how to reach them.
They should be having a whirl. # I was interested in Michael Gough's
letter and to learn that the devil had been driven from the Council's
sponsorship. This should make life easier for them. I somehow doubt
that they actually will ever migrate to the States. He really does
such an effective job in Ankara, that they would miss him mightily.
Perhaps they will settle for the usual overseas education of the boy
when he is old enough for preparatory school. # Weaver, as perhaps
you know, did actually get the job at Exeter. I was lucky enough to
know the head of English there, and so perhaps my letter did help a
little. # Melitta seems more and more at last to be settling in. I
think I told you that I had a card from her. # Catha's letter seemed
less desparate than I had thought from yours, but there must have
been a later one than I have seen. I had not realized her interest
in archaeology. Of course the south of France must be an absolute
treasury of Roman shards.

I phoned Horace this morning to wish him a happy season.
Marya is apparently still not recovered from her flu, but Patrick
was in good form and Horace appeared to be on top of the world. His
voice was lively and vigorous. He is hard at work on his memoirs,
and says he finds he is having almost total recall and will have to
cut drastically later. But it is the full detail of people especially
that gives body to memoirs, and I am glad that he can do this and not
have to depend on philosophizing to fill the pages. He says the doctor
is indefinite about the time of the operation, and is being conservative
about it. Meanwhile he is looking for a second therapist so he can
take exercise every day. What a miracle it is that he is alive; I should
not have guessed he would be, back in February and March. Few can
match is drive to live.

I come back Thursday night from New York, and letters to you may
be scanty for a few days. But forgive me, and know that you have my love
for the New Year. Your cable arrived safely to cheer us.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

29 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I started a letter similarly, in New York, on Tuesday, and never got further than the salutation. I put it in an envelope, nevertheless, as I was leaving to catch the train early this afternoon. But the former graduate school student, being an hour late for her appointment clung to my arm and ear while I took my bags down and stood for a half hour in line to pay my bill. So the envelope stayed in my pocket as I hurried for a cab and will be mailed with this. It is at least a pledge I did not forget you.

I took a cab home, stayed while Susan opened her birthday presents, and then when she went back to her household duties I came briefly to the office. The mail room had had to take a packing box to put my personal mail in, so I have been slitting belated greeting cards in from around the world, and getting things at least vaguely so that I can put a good day's work in tomorrow. Alas, I have planned nothing special to celebrate the 29th. We will go to a cocktail party celebrating the new house of the Professor of Assyriology, whose wife did her dissertation under my direction -- we really cannot refuse, so we seldom see them except at functions -- and then we will perhaps have a Chinese supper out.

Not the least joy was the company of letters from you, which when rescued and joined made a sextet. I am taking them home with me still sealed, lest I forget time entirely while I relish them.

Susan was delighted with her cable, which was lying open on the desk when I came in.

Now I must try to regain my identity. As of yesterday morning, 11,900 people had registered at the Modern Language Association convention. By this morning I was ready to growl. Tomorrow I shall report better on it. But oh deary me suzz! If I do get my leave for next year, I shall not, repeat not, go to that year's meeting in Chicago.

All blessing for the New Year to you and Elsie, and all love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 December 1966

Dearest Fido,

I have been digging away at the boxful of mail that was waiting me, and stabbing out such short notes in answer as I could manage. But I seem to have worked only fitfully, and should have accomplished much more. My only excuse was a two-hour luncheon when I entertained four visiting Japanese (no three, and myself) after which paid a visit to the postoffice to mail a surface package to you, then to the Art Gallery to see an exhibition of German Expressionist prints, up for the last day, then bought some shirts and came back to my desk again.

Your sheaf of letters gave me great joy last night when we got back from dinner. Ypurs of the 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 24th, 25th and morning of the 26th. The second of the 26th came this afternoon. I really am sorry you had to wait for your gifts, unexciting as they may have been when you opened them. Very sorry about the duplication on two of them. You are really getting impossibly well-stocked. But perhaps you can find an outlet for the extra copies. I was sorry that the *Geats of Beowulf* still hasn't been actually published. I inquired again of the publisher at the convention. The representative didn't have it listed.

The struggle over the Arts Council continues to fascinate me, especially being so completely on your side. I am delighted that you spoke out; others may be afraid of getting the publishers against them. I must say there are moments when I think Eric White is a bit of a sham, or at least stupid. Such a power clique hasn't been known since the Bloomsbury gang. The letter from the head of the Little Presses was excellently done. We will have to keep a careful file of the whole episode. It reveals much of what is wrong. One suspects that the Council would give a grant to Trevelyan to help him publish the Kennedy book. No wonder they weren't interested in *January* when they were arranging a deal like this for the purchase of the rights.

I have just had a letter today from Helen about Romaine's book but must work it out, since that to her was in business German. I will write then. # How relieved you must be to have your Christmas letters done with. Alas, I still have many to go, and a book review to be read and written before the weekend ends. # In New York I saw the woman who wondered about Hilda's paganism. She now has lames the question on her teacher, but I think a cleverer person would not have passed it on. I also learned about her from her former teacher who says it is quite impossible that she should ever pass anywhere. She was married to a scientist I believe, for ten years or more, and has now divorced him and is married to some one much younger, I gather an undergraduate since he plans to begin graduate school in a science next fall. She was extremely pleasant, likes Hilda's work but doesn't really understand it. She plans to go on with a book on her own, and I don't suppose there's any reason she shouldn't have fun with it. I gave her a half hour and then had to go to another appointment. # The new Leslie book is, I gather, the one about the portrait. The general opinion now seems to be

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

that learned though he is, he no longer gives substantiation. He prefers
the role of the detective, and as you know he now always refers to himself
as such. Anyhow it gives him great fun. I sent greetings at Christmas
but again as last year we were not honored by them. However I can't
really feel guilty. # What an immense pity about the Stevens book of
letters. The Dos Passos doesn't matter; it is rather flimsy and repetitive
of what he has earlier written. A little at the end on Hemingway and
Fitzgerald is interesting, the rest much less so. It has not had a good
reception. # I had forgotten Authors has gone up. The bank pays my
feel annually and charges my account so I didn't know. # A cat card
came during the week from Islay, but I still didn't know where to write
them. Kenneth is not a card sender. Good for Islay to force the trip.
They both need it. # Helen is indeed brave. I wanted to shout hurrah
when I read what she did. She is of course perfectly right. One
remembers the joke of recent years, in which one German says to another,
"How pale you look!" "Don't worry," the other answered, "the sun will
come out again and then I shall be brown."

Perhaps I really should call you dearest Dio. They never read
cables back to one these days. But I am wonderfully gleeful that Elsie
liked the little purr. It will come, as you suggest, from both North
and South. That is, if one can live long enough.

Your Inmos orchid must have been lovely. I am glad you were
permitted at least that much in advance. For my own little wag from you
I barked happily., even from a low posture.

I bark, that is, and send my love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

1 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

My first gesture at the office this morning was to take down

the 1966 calendar from the bookcase side, facing my typewriter, and put it
in the wastebasket. My second is to write you the first letter of the year.
I moved my fingers very slowly as I typed the date, and it did come out 1967.
Perhaps that will be an omen

Last night was pleasant. I drove home by way of the downtown
postoffice so as to speed my letter to you, but reached Goodrich Street in
time to change for the couple in for dinner, cards, and to welcome midnight.
Actually they stayed until one-thirty, and it was two before I had finished
washing the dishes and silver and emptying the ash trays. As a result I
feel less than energetic now, but hope to be able to go through our little
"at home" for the seven Japanese students this afternoon. Snow is threatened,
but I shall be already there; it is only their kimonos and stockinged gitas
that will suffer.

A yellowback also came yesterday and I read it last night. A
nice Thanksgiving letter from Perdita; I had not realised they would npt
be spending Christmas at the shore, or would have ordered my Christmas gift
of a bushel of oranges sent now to town. I feared there would be no one to
accept its delivery. # Mary Renault's letter was attractive. I think one
would like her. She has your sense of insatiable curiosity about history, --
curiosity and creative love for it. It was a very good letter indeed. #
I tend to skip a word here and there in Barbara's endless epistles, but their
gossipy flow is a wonderful insight for me into what so many women must
talk about when they are together.

Perhaps I am getting to be an authority on women. I think I told
you that a Hartford lawyer, from the firm of a friend, phoned me before Christ-
mas to ask whether I would be willing to testify as to whether or not the
Swedish film, "I, a Woman", was porno. It had been closed in Hartford and he
was defending the film. I said I didn't have time to go there for a special
showing because I would be in New York the next week. He thereupon said I
should see it in New York. I said I would let him know afterwards, if I saw
it; but since the trial was to be on the 5th I found on the 24th that there
were to be faculty meetings that day I could not avpid and so sent him a wire
to that effect. But in New York I did go out of curiosity to ponder what I
would have said had I gone to court, and was glad I couldn't. Only Friday
the lawyer called again to say the case had been postponed. I said no, sorry
I couldn't. For a good prosecuting lawyer would only have had to ask me to
compare it with other movies I had seen, especially other Swedish movies, and
I would have had to say I had seen nothing since "The Sound of Music," and
"Little Women." The picture was certainly not like "We, Little Women" at
least as Louisa May Alcott looked at her own sex. It was the story of a

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

nympho's awakening to sex; and once she was awake she never took a nap. I have seldom seen freer display of naked flesh, and remembered with a kind of awe how once people were excited by a fleeting glimpse of Hedy Lamar running across a distant field in Ecstasy. The picture opened at a church service which both the girl and her father disapproved of, but the mother thought heavenly. Once home, the father took out his violin and played it while his daughter, listening, disrobed and made extended and graphic love to herself. Thus incest. Thus almost everything else in a long series of encounters by the girl who became a nurse and lent a helping hand to everyone; her fiancee, her father in retrospect, an interior decorator, a first-mate on shore leave, and finally to a rapist whom she appeared to like best of all. All of the art props were present: symbols, repeated lines with new nuances. The only thing missing was talent. I mean film talent; the leading lady was what she was.

Then just after I had refused the Hartford lawyer on the phone, another lawyer, this time from Bridgeport, phoned me to ask if I would testify in favor of a banned book. What book? Well, thirty books -- all pulp, yes, and not very good really, but not porno. Distributed at newstands. I said no; but when he pled to discuss it with me I allowed him an appointment for next Tuesday afternoon when I will say no again. I don't mean to be a prude, and hardly can claim to be, but I think it is unbecoming of me, as professor, to get up to defend trash. He really doesn't want me behind him anyhow; he wants Yale.

You asked about the Manchester Kennedy feud. The enclosed may give one very little angle about it. More important however is that altho she was talking to Manchester, she was recording for a different series for which Manchester was allowed to be the interviewer in order to save her from doing it twice. I fear that Manchester was careless in living up to the terms of his contract, a circumstance which kept two others (who had earlier been asked to do the job), including my friend Walter Lord from accepting. Anyhow, Drew Pearson (no relative) often does print what others won't, and is a little of a Manchester himself.

Happy New Year!

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

2 January 1966

Dearest Fido,

Alas, the holiday is nearly over. A few minutes and I shall
drive to the postoffice to put this and other letters in the box. Alas,
why haven't I accomplished more! My desk looks cleaner, and is not alto-
gether deceptive--but so much remains to be done. I had, for example,
one last review to get out of the way. But it seemed to me preferable to
pay bills, write notes, and letters of recommendation, -- all the nibblers
that eat away normal time, while the boothy sheets of paper they represent
clutter my soul.

And two hours of this afternoon went to a former student from
Texas, now head of American Studies there. He tells me he has just boggled
his wife a black Lincoln convertible sedan. There must be oil in the classrooms
too. As for myself, this morning I put the 1967 stickers on the number
plates of the Oldsmobile, and made it happy by saying I should probably
keep it for another year, since it has been behaving so admirably. "And
will she come again this year?" Olds asked me nervously. --"Who?" -- "The
nice one! But why did they have to give her a dog's name instead of a
car? Why couldn't she be Buick?" -- "She's coming," I said, "and don't
worry about the name; remember how good she was with a roadmap?"

Our little party yesterday afternoon for the seven Japanese
students seemed to please them, and they giggled their way around the house,
exploring each wall and each piece of furniture. New Year's Day is their
big event, and so they went from us to another party, and then on to a third.
Susan and I were pleased to call the one enough.

It seems hard to think it is 1967. Indeed I look up and see I have
typed the wrong year. Who will leave us this year? What lies around the corner.
Will there be just a little good luck for you, and a little too for me? Well,
your letters will be good luck for one thing.

I think I forgot to tell you that the man at Johnson's Point who was
ravishing the landscape by filling in the lagoon and tearing out the trees has
died. On Christmas Day. It presents problems, for we had been negotiating with
him in an attempt to protect ourselves by buying the rest of the land across the
road from us at the shore. We even got to the point of an appraisal, just before
he broke his hip and went to the hospital. Now we shall have to deal with an
estate, and they will have to put things up to the highest bidder. Perhaps
another bit of luck will, however, after all, be the chance to acquire it. For
I should dearly like to keep things at the Point unchanged for Susan's lifetime.
I have urged her to leave the houses directly to the girls if she should die
before me. They should not have to wait to enjoy them, and I shall tuck myself
away in some soldier's home, or else go to join the old men above Kenwin, so that
I can walk down each day and sit by the tree in the mid-day sun, remembering.

All love and happiness

NORMAN

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

3 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Why didst the long New Year's weekend have to come to an end!
Yesterday, alone at the office, I accomplished miracles. Tonight the only
miracle is that I can still stagger home. Nothing but interruptions and
phone calls and farewells and hails.

One of the callers, after lunch, was the lawyer from Bridgeport
with samples of the books he wanted me to testify in favor of. I looked
at them, gazed squint-eyed at the bosomy maidens on the jackets, and even
glanced inside at the text ("Linda felt the firm goodness of him deep within
her, and her body rose to meet him."). I have seen and read worse, but
really I can't get up in court and say any more than that. And I simply
haven't the time to read thirty books of this sort, let alone trying to
remember the identity of each once I did read them. ("Judith felt....";
Peggy felt...."; "Adrienne felt....") How would I ever keep them apart.
The lawyer was deeply disappointed, but accepted the decision with good
grace and then drove back to Bridgeport.

One of the phone calls was from Horace, sad-voiced and unhappy
because Dr Gara had told him there could be no operation, or at any event
not for a long time. Horace had depended on January, believed that closing
the colostomy would be the king's touch. Now it looks like a lifetime of
his present situation. It was hard to console him, for I know what it is
to have fear clutch one's heart. I shall simply have to try to get down to
see him soon. Marya, I gathered, is still not well, and he feels very much
alone; his nice Welch nurse will go away for a fortnight to the Coast,
come back for a fortnight, and then go home to Britain again. Later in
the afternoon I phoned Dr Gara who did not seem very optimistic, not about
Horace's critical position but about his chances to alter the situation by
closing the colostomy. A closure now, with a previous radical operation to
resect the over-length intestihe, would simply leave him open to a recurrence
of the volvulus. Horace's neurological factors also play a role in his
ability to stand the rigor of such a major operation, as well as the fact
that he has twice had renal faliures, both connected with anesthesia. Never-
theless, Dr Gara can only see how things go and try to give Horace as much
confidence as possible. Horace can have the operation if he wants to, it
is elective, but the danger is so great and the odds so much against him
that ara doesn't really like to encourage him to choose it. Meanwhile he
suggests additional therapy to help Horace get more control of his motion.
Horace feels that the colostomy prevents this, but it is of course not true.

Your letters of the 29th and 30th were much pleasanter interludes
in the day. Your correspondence with Eric White will be invaluable as a docu-
mentary, but I think you are wise not to accept the burden of the Stravinsky.
Far better that he should give the money he saves from not having to buy it,
and give the money to struggling young writers like Sassoon. # Your letter to
John Schaffner was nòcely composed; the tone was just right. I wish I were so

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

4 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

This is a late-late note. I thought I had finished with
night work at the office, but even with the help of the holiday behind
me I found myself back here tonight after dinner. I wanted to finish up
the book review I couldn't quite manage to do today, with all the inter-
ruptions. And then I had to get the money into the bank for young Susan
and Lizzie, and even for the older Susan so they could pay their bills.
Fortunately W arrived yesterday as I told you, and all is well. But I
owe the spirit of W an apology, for in going over my actual receipts for
1965 I found that the final 1966 cheque was actually for 500$ more. So
my memory is poor and I apologize. It seems to me that they did all
the more remarkably, considering the year.

As I wrote you, I dare not send a book without consulting
you to see if you already own it. Did I ever send you, by J.A.Burrow,
*A Reading of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight*? If not I will, as for
Annunciation Day.

Your letters of the 31s and 1st arrived in the day's post.
I am sorry you were scorched by the burning of Paris. I had thought
perhaps to go some time. I remember, however, that you did not very much
like the book. Its author worked for Newsweek, and wanted to consult me.
But as I recall I was put of the country. I gather the film was chiefly
a pot-boiler out of the burning.

I agree, the Burton would @xcite no one these days.

Your Times letter marks a blow for freedom and will be cele-
brated by the right authors annually at the Feast of the Immaculate Royalties.
O Council help us now and in the hour of our need.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

5 January 1966

Dearest Fido,

I was so tired last night when I wrote you, that I feel I
owe you a copy of the enclosed simply to prove that I actually had been
at work. Toss it in your wastebasket; I obviously have my own copy to
read proof against. I am not really a reviewer by nature, but when I
do one I have one or two clear objectives. First, to let the reader know
what the book is about. Second, to give an indication of the book's best
qualities. Third, to be polite when showing or hinting at my caveats.
What I do not want to give the impression of, is that the review is
simply an opportunity for me to air my own views and stiffen my ego.
I ought to add that this present review is for _American Literature_,
a scholarly journal.

Your letter of the 2nd came today, for which as always my
thanks. I was of course much interested in Eric White's letter to you.
I had thought from your description that it was an angry one. Instead,
its vice seemed to me that of condensation, as though he were painfully
explaining obvious facts to a nice but slightly stupid audience. He
has rather the stance of a vicar.

_Mostly Mischief_ sounds like fun, and you must put it aside
for me when I come to Kenwin. At the moment I still have an introduction
to a book to do, and the manuscripts of two dissertations to read. Quite
apart from the translation of Dante and other Christmas book already at
hand but whose contents have not been duly noted.

Do you think I should send Kenneth our four hundred odd
Christmas cards? Leader, I mean, not the Rover.

I envied you and Elsie your Escale orgy. I like the idea
of a menu fixe. And of course one is always served better because the
kitchen is less confused. The price was unbelievably inexpensive, knowing
as I do the quality of the restaurant. Your Papa would have been proud of
you for remembering the chef. You did as a great lady should.

We begin to think of the spring trip. I have to go to Texas on
the 5th March to return on the 11th after giving three lectures at the University
of Texas and looking at the William Wetmore Story papers, -- those archives I
sought in Florence with you, only to find in the Great American Desert. Then
on the 12th I fly to Washington for a meeting on the 13th of the Smithsonian
Council and back that night to New Haven, From where we will set out probably
on the 16th for somewhere in Europe, in order to get the cheaper steerage
flight rate which prevents flying on weekends. We would presumably fly back
on the Monday the 3rd for the same reason, with perhaps the previous week with
you at Kenwin if you are not to be in the U.K. Or I suppose it would be
possible to fly directly from here toeneva and see Fido and Fides first.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

if that let you slip off to England for Easter communion. I am not entirely sure where we shall go. We speak a little now of Vienna, where Susan has never been, with perhaps an overnight in Hungary. What fun it would be if you were to show us Vienna as you once knew it. Or of course there is still Spain, though I somewhat fear the fact that Easter Sunday may crowd the hotels too much for us.

At the back of mind is a thought for the autumn. Which would be to fly to Ireland for a week in October if you would join us in a tour. Then perhaps a week in England and back. Otherwise freedom always comes at a bad time for Irish weather. All this depends of course upon my getting my leave of absence. It has been approved, but it is up to the gods whether or not it ever materializes. I still hope so.

Hope you still hold resolutely to your resolutions.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

6 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Time is not too much with me; it just isn't enough. I have
only now discovered that my desk clock has stopped, and instead of a
comfortable interlude in which to write you I have only a few brief
minutes. But tomorrow is Saturday and may be better. It must be.

Your letters of the 3rd and 4th have come, and I am glad
that at least a few of mine begin to creep through to you. My New York
week was not a good one. I hope to render better service. I was much
interested in Ronnie Edwards's letter. He is with you in being suspic-
ious of institutional support of the arts, but for the wrong reason.
He has a good solid bulldog distrust of creative innovation, although
in his own field of electricity he is an effective pioneer. You on
the other hand distrust publishers and institutions because they are
conservative. At least Eric White may not be in his politics, but
in literature he certainly is. He has done well to catch up with
Stravinsky, -- a good composer, but yesterday's influence. In any
event, the arts aside, how good Edwards is with the young, and I take
him quite seriously when he says you have set him the example. Both
of you have grit and go; I think he suspects that Alan is not so
suitably endowed by nature.

Glad you like the Blake greetings.

<u>January</u>? You may have struck English nerves in this and
in <u>Avalon</u>. I think that many of your friends, those who are not invig-
orated by Carnaby Street, feel their England going, going, if not quite
gone. It makes them uneasy to admit it even to themselves. Your two
books admit it for them, and they prefer to turn their heads. How can
one blame them for this. Why should one. You are still English all right,
and all the more so for being out of it and not brushed in every pore by
what has been happening. For them they can breathe only poisoned air in
the atmosphere that surrounds them. I think you are writing not for the
English but for posterity, as one who understands the true contemporaneity.

All love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

7 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I write to you at the end of the morning, since I go home after lunch to be with Papantonimo and his wife who arrive about two to evaluate the Elizabethans for insurance. I doubt they can finish today, since we have to go out for dinner, but they can at least make a stab at it. What a relief it will be to have the job finished after so long a period of procrastination by Stonehill's. I could well use the afternoon at my office but feel I should be on hand for any possible questions.

Goodrich Street still keeps busy with repairing. I think your fervor and Elsie's have spurred me on. At Christmasts there was a slight leak in the roof, so that water came thru into the living room, and we have had the two broken slates replaced. When they built the drawers for the eskimo things they inadvertently forgot to close one side, and yesterday they fixed this so that no dust will gather. Our attic has always been jammed with overflow paintings (Susan's family portraits and the like) so I am having racks built to keep them off of the floor. This had been insisted on by the man who always hangs our heavy paintings. It should make for greater tidiness. Susan's first husband, who fancied himself a great athlete -- he actually was a good cross-country runner-- and kept himself fit with long runs since after all he didn't hold any job-- put a shower into the cellar which was never used but took up an awkward amount of space. I used to roll off-season auto tires into it, but got the idea we could gain much space by having shelves put in. We ended by ripping it out and are putting two closets in its place. Susan is delighted for she will have one for her flower stands and things of that sort. Then this morning it occurred to me that the moldings which walled in the furnace really made no sense now that the furnace made no noise. So I will have them torn down, additional shelves put along the sloped wall behind them and perhaps even some additional bookcases for volumes of casual interest (travel and the like) which I keep for occasional consultation and frequent lending.

Yesterday the enclosed letter came by registered mail from Romaine. She must have forgotten to mail it, and so it crossed with the one I wrote her last weekend asking her if she was agreeable to having the book privately printed, and if so how many copies etc. I had not realised she was staying on so long in Fiesole; I should have thought she would prefer the warmth of Nice. Alas, she really grows older. I think I must make every effort to give her this last satisfaction of knowing the book will be available. I wrote also to David Bruce, asking if he thought Natalie Barney really wanted to chip in. And to return the ms to me. I had forgotten he sent it along to the Smithsonian, really a fryitless gesture. They are interested in anthropology, but I don't quite type Romaine in that way. The Smithsonian people, or rather the Art Director, spoke of it to me when I was at the last Council meeting. I told him not to worry, it wasn't for them.

Thursday evening we went to a Shakespeare reading by Gielgud and Irene Worth. Susan liked it immensely; so did the audience, except for me whp thought less well of it. They make a wrinkled Romeo and Juliet which even WS's

golden words do not refreshen.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

8 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

A day of pounding away at the typewriter, and the doing of
odd desk jobs. For example packaging four bundles of books on Greece to
send to my sister and her husband who are planning a trip there in April.
Their two children are now in college and so they are freer. Also a
letter to my brother to say it was not a smart thing to send me in a
cheap large envelope with my uncle's U.S. senatorial frank on it (1906)
his financial accounts from the store for last year, for the use of my
tax man. The envelope arrived completely opened on three of the four
sides. Only the account of the real estate and his letter and the senatorial
speak of my uncle on the Isthmian Canal were left. Lucky to get even them.
My uncle was chairman of the senate committee investigating the proper
canal. He dissented from the choice of Panama and wanted Nicaragua for the
same reasons most people today wish they had built a lockless route. But
he did settle down with the legal difficulties involved with the route
in Panama, and his brief of the tangled affair with the French and earlier
companies has never been questioned legally.

Yesterday afternoon proved to be fascinating as I sat in the study
and listened to Papantonio dictate appraisals to his wife who dutifully served
as his secretary. They worked like fiends and managed to do about two-thirds
of them -- all the dramatic works -- before they left at 6:30. It only shows
what Stonehill might have done if he had chosen to get the job done at all.
I was impressed by Papantonio's knowledge. He sped off the bibliographical
descriptions os replaced leaves etc as though he had been studying the books
for months. I of course have no idea what the eventual total will be, but
the amount should be considerably higher than the last time. It would be
impossible, he said, to put such a collection together now. The B&F's, as
we have added to them, is certainly, he also said, the finest anywhere in
private hands. The Tamburlane he thought was the most exciting of all the books,
even though an imperfect copy. He apparently knew the sales from which many
came. They plan to return in a fortnight to finish it up. What a relief
that will be.

While they worked I read in the book on Pound that deNagy had
dedicated to me and Hilda. It is a good job, although he hardly sparkles
as a stylist. I have ordered a couple of extra copies from Basel for myself,
but did not think you wanted one except as to look at here. In the series
however I discovered another analysis and interpretation of Gawain, and asked
to have it sent to you. The bill is to come to me, so don't pay any invoice
that may accompany yours.

The enclosed clipping from today's Register I thought might interest
you. Now we can speak of the "school of Bryher". I knew nothing about her.
When the FIREDRAKE comes out in paper, I will send you a copy. I know nothing
about her. There is a Woodbridge Holland in the phone book, and papa seems
affluent enough to have a separate phone listed as for "Children's phone." If
after reading FIREDRAKE you want to write her I will check on the address.
The town is next door to us, and it might be fun to see her sometime when you

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

on this side. What with this, a trip to "antucket, and a month alone
in Maine (without me, I gather) as you paddle with Mary and Leslie, you
should be fully occupied.

Mary's Christmas letters seemed happy but subdued. I am glad
she is amking a little group up of neighbor's children to take the place
of those in the church. We send cards but did not hear from them. Nor
last year; I shall not presume again. But the worst is, I do like them
and enjoy being with them. I am only sorry it is not reciprocated.
A yellowback came yesterday, tho no letter, and must have travelled airmail
even if you didn't send it that way. For it had Pup's thank-you letter in
it written after Christmas. Susan and I once entertained the Ravi Shankar
the boys are mad about at dinner once in New Haven, on his first trip to
the States.

I thought the winter's issue of THE AUTHOR particularly interest-
ing. I liked their reference to the "impression of unctuous loftiness given
by some of the Council's officials." It does catch at a little of Eric's
tone. "Looking for the Nazis" I also found interesting. And althoether
they take a good stand for authors to watch out and protect themselves
against the publishers. One does still snigf at the Council's idea.

All love,

Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

9 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

There really wasn't much left of yesterday by the time
I wrote you, and there hasn't been much left of this one either. I
got to the office late, and have been behind hand ever since. Not that
much gets accomplished, alas; I only wish it could.

Your letter of the 5th arrived this morning, and two others
came in the mid-afternoon mail. But the latter I have not been able to
open, and hurry chiefly to send love and acknowledge the first.

Glad you approved of my stance with "I, a Woman." You
say "love is private." Of course it is; but this isn't love, this is
copulation. One doesn't wish for whipped-romanticism, but the younger
generation have put sex on the level of shredded wheat. Sex is of course
healthy, and dogs simply go crazy about it. Oh well, I am getting too
old to rut.

There was an interesting article about what the Beats are
now reading. Chiefly hobbitry. You are in style.

It's curious about Reresby, but I suspect he may write you
later about the cheque. If he doesn't, and it's cashed, I should think
there was no point in continutng simply in the form of a tribute. But
my hunch is that he wanted to distinguish his greetings from his thanks,
as though he would not have done the former had it not been for the latter.

Yes, Consie's husband is a Congregationalist, as I remember
because I was brought up as one, and I suppose still am. A Congregation-
alist is in a sense a refugee from the established church, drive out from
the pure religion. He would understand _January_.

I was moved by Marianne's letter. It was a real gesture, a
matter of will power in writing you. I told Yale, in recommending her for
an honorary degree next June that it was now or never. I feel even more so.
I did not send her greetings this year; it would only add to her sense of
frustration in not being able to reply.

What a marvelous Christmas Timesule from the couple who could
think of nothing cheerful to wish their friends in this age. They would like
<u>January</u> too, or rather <u>January</u> follows December.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

10 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I am really exhausted, and since I have to take Susan to the symphony tonight, with dinner at the Lawn Club beforehand and a party for Artur Rubenstein (the soloist) afterwards, I am really going home to try to get a quarter hour's nap before we leave.

I need it. I didn't lunch until 3:00 p.m., and then only a milk shake and a cruller. Not having had any x-rays of my hip etc for nearly 7 years, both my physician and I thought it would only make common sense to get them taken and have an orthopedic checkup. The great one in this section, a Dr Southwick, is like all great ones -- ungetatable. At least I have waited for an appointment with him since last October. It was down in my books as for 10:30, so I came to the office early, got three reports written, and just managed to find a parking space by the hospital at the deadline. Only it wasn't. My appointment was listed for 10, but I was told to go up anyhow because they usually ran a little behind schedule. A little? At a quarter to twelve I was ushered in to a cabinet to wait for him some more. The apologies were all theirs, but the wear and tear on the nerves were mine. By the time he had finished and I had the x-rays done, it was two-thirty; I rushed to the bank with two checks for Hilda's account, this being the last day for them to draw full interest for the month, and having missed my first afternoon appointment had just enough time for a bite without keeping my next appointment too long waiting. But going without food tires me. Fortunately I took de Nagy's book along, and so did at least nearly manage to finish it.

Southwick I took a great fancy too. He has a natural way of
giving confidence and this is of course most important. Quite by chance
he is seeing my Chicago surgeon tomorrow in San Francisco. Hatcher is an
older friend of his -- Southwick seems like a child to me -- and they are
giving examinations together. He of course did not know of the connection
except when I told him my surgical history. When asked why I had been in
Chicago, I explained I had been visiting Dr William Sweet, the neuro-surgeon,
then a resident surgeon. He knew Sweet well. With that I mentioned my
undergraduate roommate at Yale, Dr Franz Ingelfiner, the gastrointestinalist,
and he knew him well too. I think all this gave me a little identity to him.
He seemed quite intrigued with my body, and thought it a miracle it had hung
together so long, said what a pity it is that I am an old man, and ponders
all sorts of remaining possibilities. But obviously he must see the x-rays
first. He first suggested the end of February for a meeting, and then said--
no, why not early February, late in the afternoon so we can go over the x-rays
together and talk a bit. He will catch up on my medical history tomorrow.
It was all extremely pleasant, but nervously exhausting.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

11 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Today's chief contribution to the state of the union is the enclosed clipping from this morning's New York Times. No doubt you will be flooded with variants, but your nerves must have been directing me when at breakfast I noticed it buried obscurely in the very back pages.

I was a little sleepy otherwise, and barely read the President's own state of the union address at the opening of Congress. He is asking for a raise in taxes. But if spends as much as he does then surely he must tax in order to get it. We were, unusually, up until one a.m. The Rubenstein concert was not over until 11, and we then went to a friend's house (her son, the Yale chaplain, married Rubenstein's daughter) for a small party in his honor. Mme Rubenstein and I have become quite buddies over the years, and she wants to lend us their house in the south of Spain for the Easter holidays. I said no, and can only imagine she was relieved at not having her generosity taken literally. The maestro himself is quite amazing; he is 80 and enjoys a party as tho he was a pup. It was still going strong when we left. But of course he sleeps by day. One remarkable thing about him is that he continues to work up other composers than those he has mastered, and he keeps fresh by just this.

I trust you did not get alarmed by my visit yesterday to the orthopedist. It is, as I wrote, just a Prutting in your manner. He agrees that someone should keep an eye on me just as a precaution. I doubt that he would feel he could soup up an old jaloppy, but he could at least keep it greased. This morning I made appointments with the doctors who test breathing capacity and that sort of thing. I shall be well diagnosed. Would someone could give me pills for my addled brain.

Your letter of the 9th came this morning. I wish mine reached you as quickly. Horace called again yesterday, to moan a bit about the postponement --I doubt he ever will be operated on again-- and to ask if the continued bills put any strain one me. He genuinely worries, but what can one say? To deny it does would be to open the door; to emphasize it would only be inflate the sense of guilt. I answered in friend-Latin whose only meaning comes from the tone. # Many thanks for the list of Gawain books. I shall try to add as I can. # Sorry I had confused Hilda's acquaintance with Vienna and your own. For us the appeal would be chiefly theatre and opera and symphony, none of these your cup of tea. #I don't at all reccommend your reading or re-reading either Pilgrim's Progress or Little Women, tho possibly the latter might fall into your category of girls in crinoline. I can give you a copy of the latter to read in the bar at the Sesame. That wuld help to restore the confidence of the members in you. I like to think of the Queenwood gala on the day of my birthday. What a gift God could give me if He would arrange things so I could cross-dress into crinoline and go to the bang as your girl friend.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

12 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

How I long for tomorrow to be over, and for a day when no one will come to the office. At least I hope no one will. I must be slipping slowly into a decline. Each day I accomplish less because of the streams of visitors who come for an appointment to talk about almost anything conceivable. More pressing has been the completion of the catalogue for next year. Naturally I think of it as a legacy, and only trust there will be an heir. At the moment the heir is still not apparent.

Yours of the 10th arrived, and I managed to find time to read it in. How I envy the boys. How I wish we both could be there with them. The New Year's Eve party sounded like material for an Islayet. We will perhaps be reading it soon. # I shiver for you, thinking of your temperatures. We have been colder than that here, but of course the houses are warmer. Anyhow you are better off than before, can at least be soft-boiled like an egg in a tub, and your library is always comfortable if one sits in the right spot.

What a good idea about the Smith Cornoa. Of course I can bring one with me, and use it to advantage en route. I take it that it had better not be an electric this time anyhow. Wouldn't you like to have me at least put the French accents, the pound sign, and the umlaut on. Or just have it simple american. The pound note, at any rate would I think (£) be useful. Give me the signal and I will go ahead. I will take the money for it from your savings account. Unless you will permit it to be a gift from me, as I should most prefer.

Do give me the title and page reference for the Browning letter you read as from the London Library. I will have it xeroxed here and send on to you for your records. E easy to do; I will have it performed by the bursary aide.

The problem of Elisabeth seems like a real one, and must have some sort of conflict behind it. Perhaps I can stop in and perhaps they will open up as from their point of view. Or Susan can.

I tried at the Co-op to get your Gawain book, but they had sold out. Apparently there was a run on it, but it is being reordered. You will have to be patient. I have suggested to Roysce Smith that the next time you come over we can have you and your protegee (the historical novelist) meet in front of the t.v. camera. This might be rather fun. There is an article on her, and her picture, in this week's *Time Magazine*. Watch out for it. A good break for her, as this sort of article in *Time* and *Newsweek* do help sales.

Had a nice note from Andre Schiffrin of Pantheon, saying they had sold nearly 1000 copies last year of the paperback *October*. No, I mean hardcover; it is *Roman Wall* they issued in paperback. So he wants a larger reprint now "of 2000 or perhaps even 2500 copies." I will of course agree. You are rapidly becoming a classic.

The early morning went into having my photograph taken for the

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Yale News Bureau. The last one, a hideous phiz, was taken five years ago, and they like a fresh map every two years or so in case of sudden death. They are also re-writing my obituary, which also has to be kept fresh. I am to be allowed to see the copy and perhaps balloon-up the adjectives. It is a rare chance. After all, as a good Puritan I always regard life as a preparation for dying. And "died after a long illness" would read more specifically "died after a long illness of 58 years" or however old I should live to be. But it is rather curious to sit here, looking out the window into the dark, and wonder what one would like to be remembered for. If at all.

Tonight I must sort out my various paid bills etc in preparation
for the man who makes out my income tax. I should _not_ like to be remembered
as the man as the man who forgot to pay it.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

My right cheek this morning is a little more like Victoria's in late middle age. But it still is in the chipmunk fashion, with the efficacy of the pills still to be proved. I really felt rather knocked out yesterday, and the pills made me and still make me a little dopey. It slows down my efficiency, and as a result of Friday with the dentist and Tuesday with the orthopedic surgeon my week was not bountiful in accomplishment. Even a good part of this morning has been spent with the Dean of the Graduate School while I tried to re-impress him with the need for the administration to get going on my replacements (two, since I hold down two administrative jobs.)

Your two letters of the 11th did arrive today; I only wish mine did not come to you in clumps. They must hold them at the airport on this side. I am puzzled about the missing clipping, since I remember so distinctly putting it with pride into last Sunday's letter; perhaps it stuck to the envelope. At any rate, Mrs Sherman brought me in a duplicate which I enclose. I agree about the skimmed reading of today, and do so alas because I find myself forced into the same practise. As a child, one used to have few alternatives to reading. It was what one was allowed to do on Sunday; it was what one did after one's lessons were prepared, since neither radio nor t.v were available. Not even a phonograph in any meaningful sense. I read of course because I liked to, but my liking was bolstered at every moment.

Apparently nothing was lost from the opened envelope. But the envelope was from the 1890's and had deteriorated with old age. I thought my brother had included the statements for the store too, but he says he sent only that for the real estate.

I shall go to the travel agency early in the week, when my cheek calms down. But as of the moment I think we will fly directly to Vienna on the 16th (night of), and back to New Haven from Geneva on April 3rd, having spent the last week with you. Easter is the 26th, so we would fly to Zurich on the 27th and have the week with you with Easter's problems behind you.

Many thanks for the advice about the Christmas cards. I shall write the Brigadier and ask him. They are so attractive, these Christmas cards, that it seems a pity to waste them; and perhaps some from the States would add variety.

I am impressed by your dedication to jigsaws. My own time-span is approximately ten minutes. But in another sense I spend all the hours of my life putting pieces together, life itself being such a jigsaw.

I took a new yellowback home last night, one with Christmas letters to you in it. It was like being with the whole circle of friends. Margery Hicks seemed in better spirits than lately. # Ethel's idea of a possible year at Cornell

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Bryan might be a very good one. Do have him look us up if he comes to the
States this summer. # A nice letter from Aurelia. I have not heard for some
time, but this is natural because of my own silence. I did write at Christmas
and may perhaps hear. # Rose Odle, too, seems to be better settled. I agree
that he own memoirs could stand a little fleshing up of her descriptions of
Dorthy R and Alan O; as she says few have described them in detail. I am
much hoping that you will do something with them in your next volume.

This promises to be a full weekend. This evening we have young
Susan and her children plus her mother-in-law for supper. Everything
becomes complicated, and young Susan is anxious not to have apparent fights
between the children and their paternal side. Probably a good idea. But
we had been asked to her for dinner, since Mrs Addiss comes up from New York,
and I suggested to Susan they all come to us as providing a new scene and
source of conversation. Mrs A takes a train back to New York after dinner.
I pray all marches. Tomorrow evening we have to go to a dinner before the
vernissage of the exhibition of colonial silver made by New Haven silversmiths,
at the Colony Historical Society. Black tie. Susan is a trustee, so we must
appear. I only hope my cheek is reduced -- I guess I mean socially as well
as physically.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

14 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

It draws toward the end of the day. I wrote you this morning, tho the letter remains to be posted with this one, but having just read a morning's yellowback as part of the daily cleanup I might as well comment on it.

I had not heard news of 'rudy Szillard for many months and had presumed she was still in the hospital. It must be a miracle for her to be released. # John's letter, with Elizabeth's horse, was pleasant. I do however wonder if she won't want eventually to draw another kind of horse. I remall how the Gregory girl used to do the same ballet dancer year after year. Pup was obviously fortunate to have escaped the mumps. At her age they can be seriously dangerous. # I like to think of Rose Odle being able not only to pay her bills but buy herself a dress. She does seem to be bucked up in spirits. # Annie Reich obviously liked January, though I was a little surprised she didn't catch the exile theme more strongly. But under the circumstances perhaps she has never looked back. # Your Christmas rugs to Marjorie and Hilda were smashing successes. I must say I wonder if I really could do Priglis now in winter?

Each day I have forgotten to say that as Susan and I walked in to the Rubenstein recital, I saw the back of a gangling highboy ahead of me and suddenly realised it was Valentine. He and fifteen other boys had come down by bus from Choate for the concert. 'He was pleased to be greeted and talked pleasantly for a bit in the half-shy way that schoolboys have. He has a case of acne such as I have seldom seen on anyone, but one knows that Choate gives him whatever advice may be necessary. I was fortunate as a boy and never suffered from it. In my day one was supposed to eat yeast as a cure, but I could never rise to the occasion.

I forgot too to enclose the clipping which I thought might interest Elsie, since she liked the other one. It can give a bit of inside information for her to retell sagely.

What a day of shifting personae this has been for me, in my correspondence. I have been a consultant to the National Portrait Gallery on the choice of a new associate director; a member of the Smithsonian Council in answer to another letter from the Secretary; the agent for Romaine Brooks, and H.D; the friend of Mme Bryher in a letter to Pantheon; a Chancellor of the American Academy of Poets; and adviser to the honorary degree committee of Colby College, in Maine; agreed to be the supervisor for a candidate for the doctorate at the University of Cambridge, in England; written to the New York lawyer in answer to his discovery that they were not reprinting Cname Up but only selling a complete set for $785.00; and finally, after writing a series of recommendations and matters related to American Studies, been the repairer of a gross injustice to you. For I discovered in going over your monthly account from the Co-op that I inadvertently used your co-op card rather than my own in charging a $23.00 bill. It had been paid against your credit, but I have sent a further check to be deposited in your credit. I do apologize, but in these declining years my mind is fading.

All love, as always,
L. Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

15 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Anti-biotics may be splendid as a weapon against germs; are hell on one's disposition as one grows groggier and groggier in consequence of them. My cheek is still swollen, but I am no longer cast a Victoria. Instead I look like an old soak with a hunk of chewing tobacco in his jaw.

Last night's supper went off pleasantly, and it was a great relief I think to young Susan not to have responsibility for the entire day. They had gone to Lizzie's for luncheon, so that focussed one part of conversation; the various curios scattered about Goodrich Street make for topics at night. And the two grandchildren seemed actually comfortable by the fact that they were not deposited in an absolute Grand Canyon.

Being groggy I have not properly been the scholar but picked up two of the several books I acquire from time to time for no valid reason. One I had ordered from England because I thought it might be fun on the Greek Islands. Someone named Brenda Chamberlain, a British spinster, did *A Rope of Vines* as a journal. Actually her line drawings were charming; her philosophizing about how important it was to give one's loyalty completely to another-- in this case a Greek fisherman named Leonidas-- was a little incomprehensible. He killed an Englishman on the waterfront, and she went to a Greek convent to eat cheese and pray for him (not the Englishman). The book was dedicated

AS A GIFT TO YOU
THIS BOOK WITH PRAYER AND CANDLE
I CAN OFFER

But why should a publisher accept the offering, unless it was meant for Leonidas. Do Englishwomen "go" for Greek fishermen?

The second was by an American named Ronald Kirkbridge, and was called *An Innocent Abroad*. It was a first-person narrative about how he married a Japanese girl by mistake. What an incredible mishmash. I was fascinated by the awfulness of it and kept on and on. But now I have reached an important step in life's progress. I have two books absolutely to be thrown away. In years past this would have been a sin; now it is a redemption.

And now! You must not say I am not a good provider for you. I try to give you what every woman, every human being, needs. I have forward news of a perhaps protegée. Now I give you an enemy. It takes a good provocation an attack, and I hope you will revel in the clippings from New Haven paper. I bought an extra copy just for you, on my way to I don't know who the man is; I think he is a reporter named Armstrong writes with uninhibited prejudices. I repeat: Only a powerful book can give strong feelings. I place the review as a rose in your crown.

16 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I went to the dentist this morning; he took off the crown that capped my poor back tooth, and loosed the mortuary stench of dying nerves. He poked happily around for nearly an hour but still could not penetrate to the abscessed part of the inner flesh in my jaw and so now I ache a little more than before and have a jagged tooth edge to lacerate my tongue, and must develop a rugged patience until Thursday morning when he will try again to see what can be done.

Yesterday morning I worked at the office, as you know; went home for a late lunch, dragged out the ladder and replaced the bulb in the driveway lamp, napped to make up for missed sleep the night before, and then watched the first half of the championship football match between the leader of each of the two professional leagues. After which I solemnly put on my black tie and went with Susan to the Lawn Club for dinner before the vernissage of the silver show by New Haven makers of colonial times. I must say the Historical Society had done a splendid job in moutning the show, or at least so it seemed to me, though in fact the halls were so crowded that one could hardly see a thing, and I will have to go back again to savor the salvers.

After the dentist this morning I went to the eye-glass man to have my reading glasses prepared, a screw having been lost from one of the bows. Fortunately I had a duplicate pair which I had been using meanwhile, and took them along to be straightened. I bending the bows, he cracked the duplicate pair without being able to replace the parts (which must be ordered) so the score is even: I have the broken pair back repaired, and the unbroken one was broken and now waits to be repaired. This is called a balanced trade.

Then I went to the travel man to arrange for my air tickets to Wisconsin and to Texas, and then to you. As it now stands, though of course I shall confirm finally, we fly on the evebing of Thursday the 16th to Vienna, changing at Frankfurt and arriving in mid-morning of the 17th. On the 27th in the morning we fly from Vienna to Zurich and then change to Geneva, arriving at the latter just after lunch so that we will have time to entrain to Lausanne and Vevey, or be met by the car if that is possible and come to you. I would suggest a blow in Zurich but Easter Day is no time for that, and I shall need some time in Lausanne, perhaps even two visits with Fides. Then we take a noon Swissair plane back to New York on Monday April 3rd. All this, naturally, suiting your convenience.

I thought the enclosed clipping might interest you, and have been missed by you. perhaps you might eventually yellow it back for the files. I hand't realised it still had been going on.

Your letters of the 12th and 13th were in the day's mail. Poor Helen! She should not have burnt the hand that feeds her. I like to think of Elsie and Put-zell, as well as Elsie and new stove. The lack of infra-red will not harm either of you. It does some things well, but is not so good for others. Kenneth's letters are splendid fun. He is obviously enjoying himself and wants to share it.

The queries about Congregationalism and taxes I shall have to put off until tomorrow.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

17 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I punched so many wrong keys that I tore the sheet out and have started anew. Perhaps it is the pills I have been taking for my tooth that make me groggy. At any rate it seems better to start a bit earlier today on my letter, since we have an English Department graduate faculty meeting later in the afternoon.

To return to yesterday's letters from you, and their queries. Ruegg is, I think, correct in feeling that the American market will continue to strengthen for awhile. Actually it is already much stronger than one's instincts would lead one to believe. In my own case, only two stocks are still markedly down from last year's height. The reason for Texas Instruments decline I don't know; Roper, however, is due to a prolonged strike and a bad fire. The rest are either higher or within one point of the highest. The greater return of Republicans to Congress has calmed the fears of many businessmen who disliked the openended spending of the purely Democratic Congress. That sort of spending did not boost the economy; businessmen do not so much dislike spending for war, since that aids industry no matter what else may be the consequence.

Now as to the difference between Congregationalism and really Low Church Episcopalianism. Basically the difference is organizational rather than theological. Congregationalism is based on the separate institution of individual parishes or congregations. That is, separatism. Theologically, Puritans only wanted to purify the Church of England. A congregation runs its own finances, chooses its own ministers, does not heed to a church-state union or being bossed by a bishop. A truly low church is pretty low on everything except bishops and the Virgin. Congregational churches also used to be opposed to ritualism, set prayers and the like; but each congregation could pretty much do what it wished to.

Two letters from you came also today, for the 14th and 15th. Our minds now follow the same tracks, for I had sent you about the BOY'S OWN and you sent me. For a moment I thought, reading your letter before the clipping, how swiftly my letter must have reached you. You are kind to send the money, and it will more than pay for the typewriter; I can deposit the rest in your savings account. # Obviously our papers here (i.e. the Times) have said little about Prutting, you you know much more dirt than I do. I sent you the only one I have seen, which appeared on the same day as President Johnson's State of the Union message to Congress. # Glad you found the *Firedrake* clipping, since it relieves my sense of guilt. I had sent you a second. I have ordered a copy to be delivered when it appears in paper later this month. The *Kyksos* was ordered for you, but the Co-op's order system sometimes gets askew. I will check. About Bonnet Brigades I will check. Yours on the Geats is also still missing. I do have a fine surprise for you but that must wait until I come to Kenwin. # Was much interested in Rover's letter from the Ashoka, where Susan and I stayed. With another tower it will be colossal. It is far and away the best, but (alas) rather far out of town. I like being able to walk out from a hotel into the midst of things.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

In today's mail were the Random House reports on royalties for the last
six months. Oddly the paperback Roman Wall has not done as well as the hardcover
Beowulf, and only twice as many copies of RW in paper as in hardcover. Here is
the summary:

| | | |
| :--- | :--- | ---: |
| **Roman Wall (paperback)** | 334 copies | 48.85 |
| **Hardcover** | | |
| Beowulf | 650 | 709.19 |
| October | 662 | 749.89 |
| Ghandaran | 14 | 89.65 |
| Players Boy | 214 | 227.09 |
| Roman Wall | 121 | 164.40 |
| Freud | no sales | |
| Gate to the Sea | 343 | 150.06 |
| Ruan | 453 | 179.52 |
| | | **2,374.05** |

I shall get it all safely in the bank and then you can plan an orgy.

You must by all means look at last week's *Life* before you send it on to a protegee. It has a long long article on Marianne Moore, pleasantly full of her quaintness and her greatness. I had not realised that she had even gone, masked, to Truman Capote's ball -- the biggest press agent "do" of the decade. Apparently she goes everywhere else too. One naturally thought of her as having a cultivated individualism, even a nice dandyism. But I had never before realised how quickly and easily she had stepped into Robert Frost's place as America's Poet. When I was a boy this was Carl Sandburg, with his wavy lock of blond hair and his guitar, singing of prairie grass and brickyards. In the 19th century it was Longfellow or Whittier. Now it is Marianne.

I forget so much these days. I forgot, for example, to mention that in last Sunday's N.Y. Times Book Section, Edward Dahlberg had a rambling, querulous memoir, ending up with a long section of praise for Bobby McA. (It was for this, although I didn't know it) that the Times wanted the two photographs of McA and Ethel Morehead which I lent them). In it, I pass it on for your own edification, — Dahlberg says; of McAlmon, "He had married the heiress of an extremely rich manufacturer of perfumes in England...." Now, where do you suppose he got that!

All love and whiff,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

18 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I wasted a bit of the end of the afternoon by going to a poetry reading given by graduate students of their own poems. Not wasted really, except for work I might have gotten done, because they were reading to each other and the sense of camaraderie was splendid. The girls have certainly become uninhibited but they projected in a completely natural and appealing way. What a difference there is between now and the day when eyebrows lifted at Amy Lowell's "Christ! What are patterns for?" (I forget the precise punctuation, which does after all make a difference, as I realise in typing.)

The morning I wasted too by beginning to work on my income tax, going thru my checkbook to list in separate columns: office expenses, doctors' bills, my few gifts to charities, and the like. What columns of figures there would have been were I allowed deductions for what I paid out for Horace and Marya. I still have had no word from the New York lawyers about the insurance claims.

Last evening's supper party was pleasant. We asked a visiting professor, Rosalie Colie who is teaching Milton here this year, doubles in the history of science, and has a donship in one of the Oxford dames' colleges for next year. Also a Professor Grayson, in Italian, who has been a visiting member of the faculty the first time and returns in a week to Magdalen College. By the way he does completely agree that "Open to Members of the College Only" on the &airway to the Hall really did include me as an old boy. With just the four of us altogether there was a good chance for talk. At least they must have thought so for they didn't leave until eleven-thirty, which was somewhat later than I had expected. As a result it was half after midnite before I got the dishes done.

Your letter of the 16th arrived today. What a bore it is that my letters bunch up on you. They really must put them aside until they get a sackful. One doesn't know really what the orthopod may suggest. I don't think he does, although I agree he gets a gleam in his eye, and might enjoy holding me up on the shelf like a piece of mended porcelain. We shall have to see. There are problems and one must face them. # The Prutting affair, as I have said, has been very much in the quiet except for the one clipping I sent you. I suppose the idea of naming a test tube as correspondent in a divorce case excites the public imagination. # No, no. Alcott is not for you, or even for the young ladies of this morning. # I note about the typewriter and will order so that we can surely have it. Do you have preferences in color. Any psychiatrist will tell you it does make a difference what color you finger. # Helen is, in a way, right about Pantheon, and Schiffrin has more or less gone over completely to a sort of sociological non-fiction. Zwischen uns I find his choices a little on the study side, too awfully sincere. # The tooth goes about the same but is perhaps tonight just slightly better. I hope so. One goes again to the dentist tomorrow morning at 9. I wonder what he will decide to do. 'robably nothing, and I will have to continue wondering.

All love,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

19 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Unless I can manage to get more done in a day, I shall ask
only for you to send flowers to place on my empty tomb -- for I shall have
been too busy and confused even to climb into it. But at least my beginning
of the morning with its visit to the dentist rproved me to be in better shape
than before, and I now hope he can save it. It will have to be recapped,
but I don't mind that. On my way afterwards to the office I stopped at
the drive-in teller of the savings bank and deposited the checks for your
royalties, plus one for Hilda, so I need not worry about their being mis-
laid. And then to the eye-glass emporium to pick up the repaired frames
from my last visit. But this left very little of the morning for anything
else, and indeed the first part of the afternoon was taken up with the
morning mail and with signing the various stacks of documents that required
my signature. I have just finished an hour's conference with the team
of teachers who are to make up the comprehensive examination for seniors
next May. One doesn't really have much of a present to live in.

There was nothing in the mail from you today. Perhaps it was too
cold. It was still 10°F in mid-morning and I doubt that it has reached 20°F
all day. This afternoon it snowed a little.

I forgot to say yesterday that much to my surprise a calendar
arrived in the mail as a gift from Melitta. She had sent a card with a note;
I answered with a note, and now comes this. It was very kind of her. I
think she is reaching out again towards both of us, and regard this as a
part of what seems to be her increasing good health.

I was saddened to read in the papers of David Bruce's missing
daughter. She and her husband were lost in a small plane in the Caribbean
while on a holiday. They have three small children, from 10 down. Fortu-
nately money is not a problem, but the lack of parents may be. She was the
daughter of David's first wife from whom he was divorced just after the War.
So there might be difficulties about his taking the grandchildren on.

It was reassuring this morning to be stopped by the Associate Provost
and told that no matter how long the delay might be in naming my successor as
Chairman of American Studies, they would guarantee there would be one. And that
I could count on my leave of absence. So perhaps we will all have an Irish jig
in autumn anyhow!

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

20 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

The validation meeting at Fairfield University was over sooner
than I had expected, so I could stop in for a moment at the office before
going home. Alas, there was no letter today either. But perhaps that will
mean that I have a weekend's feast tomorrow when the dam breaks.

We went dutifully off last night to the meeting of the Connecti-
cut Academy, but really needn't have gone since there was an unusually large
audience to hear the talk of bird migrations: myth and reality. It was
pleasantly given and we found it interesting, but left before the collation
so that I could read over the preliminary papers I had been sent for this
morning's meeting. It was scheduled to begin at 8:45, so we were up shortly
after six, and I left at a quarter to eight. Fairfield University has begun
a Center for the Advancement of Human Communications, and it had to be OK'd
by the State Commission of Education. The advance brochure was full of
gobbledy-gook in the most pretentious language of the media, and I had been
filled with alarm before I went. So, I gather, were the other four members
of the examining committee-- no, other five, there were six of us in all.
The Dean of Trinity College, in Hartford; a Catholic priest who was president
of a junior college near Hartford; some one from the Brookings Institute in
Washington, D.C.; a representative of the Commission; and a professor of
Anthropology from Southern Connecticut State College. We spent a preliminary
hour going over our queries, and all agreed with me that it was difficult to
know what was meant by studying the "Alienation syndrome of group to group
and national bloc to national bloc", and what could possibly be the rationale
behind a course on "Communication of Ideology without Cultural Context." But
then we called the high muckamuck priest (Fairfield is a Catholic college) in,
along with his assistant. And we drilled them until the priest was sweating,
and found that when they talked more simply they made more sense. After lunched
we assembled in committee again and dictated the basis of the report which will
be drafted by the committee representative and sent us for our changes (Thank God,
I don't have to originate the report). We left it that the program could be
registered for two years and then examined again, since it had only been going
for four months and they were not quite sure about what procedures would be.

And so back here.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

21 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Today I felt as though the floodgate had been opened. Three letters arrived for me: that of the 17th, and two of the 18th. What a nuisance about your vaccination endorsements. They seem on this side to move back and forth with the requirement. And how incredible that you should still not have gotten so many of the Christmas gifts from England. I am glad there is some place other than the States where the mails are equally slow. Actually things are going a little better on this side, but the rates are to go up first for overseas and then for domestic. Still, postmen must live and they have always been underpaid.

About the new orthopedist: I was told years ago that things would get more difficult as I grew older, and indeed I carelessly do not stand as straight as I once did, and this pulls both muscles and bones out of place. My g.p. wanted me to go, so did Susan. And I felt it to be as with you and Prutting that I should be checked up on occasionally. He did not know what could or ought to be done, and we discuss the matter on the 2nd after he has seen the x-rays. He probably will do nothing, but then I will be satisfied that doing nothing is a positive decision rather than a procrastination. Naturally I am not keen on giving up the time; on the other hand my muscles often do ache. We shall see.

I will get a copy of Marianne's new book for you. I enjoyed it more than some others of her recent ones. Actually I went to the Co-op this morning and did find the Hyksos book published. I had asked for one to be sent you on publication but they had not remembered to. I brought one back to the office and will mail to you tomorrow.

You did indeed ring the bell for Isobel. She is as happy as a child. I bless you for waving your wand.

I know just where the Boys had their picture taken en camel. At the Jaspar Palace. Everyone does. We did. It is great fun teetering up to the palace like a rajah.

Not much to report, although I was given a bonus last night when Susan decided she did not want to go to the ball. So I napped on the couch and then read a little.

Horace phoned on Thursday about permissions to quote from D.R. I told him Rose was the arbiter. He does not read the Sunday Times Book Section now, but had been told about Ahlberg's article. Marya made the brilliant suggestion that he had confused Robert McA with Valentino who married the daughter of Richard Hudnut. I think she may be right. Last Sunday's Tribune Books had huge praise for their newest anthology for children, *The Silver Swan*. I have not seen it, tho it was out several months ago. But they tell me not to buy it as they plan to give me a copy. Did they send you one? The review was by Richard Howard, a poet and great friend of Pat's.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

22 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Last night's celebration of the 50th anniversary of the N.H. Neighborhood Music School turned out to be very pleasant and not too late. We were home a little after midnight. The school is a charity affair which gives music lessons for nothing or nearly nothing to unaffluent and poor families. It has become quite a force. We went a little after five to a cocktail party in Woddbridge (near where the Ingholts live) and then just managed to make a dinner party given by friends in Hamden, before going on to Yale where the dancing and entertainment was held. The entertainment was of all sorts: opera stars, folk dancers, and a jazz combo in which they played no set music but only happenings. That is, each man was off on his own. The effect was extraordinary.

This morning I came, rather latish, to the office and worked until lunch time on letters of recommendation, reports, and things of that endless sort. Mrs Sherman has a pile to ype out on her desk, but I can never get the time to think them out during the week. After lunch, it being a balmy 500-ish day I drove Susan to the shore to pick up some books from her mother (to go into the new bookcase in the cellar), and also to look at the layout of the new house her sister, Barbara Hoblitzelle, is building at the end of the point where the big house stood. The outline as shown by the posts climbs out all over the rocks, almost to the flagpole. One was used to the old way of using space, it will take a while to become accustomed to this. Anyhow, I think for me it is better to winter in town than to spend all year at the edge of breaking waves

I had a letter from the Swiss firm saying that Schnyder's Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" is entirely out of print." I am sorry for that.

I don't think I told you that Susan now has the emerald pin, you gave her, back from the jewelers where it was valued for insurance and cleaned. How it sparkles and shines.. You would be astonished. Susan is completely happy, and grateful to you for giving it to her. It really did mean a lot, I assure you, to both of us. The book she leaves I look forward to filling and juggling and re-juggling. How I wish you were here to help me decide what is to go where. We can do it all over again when you come. # I now have my notes all put away from Friday's meeting with the priests at Fairfield University. Did I tell you they all ate meat; I was the only one to observe Friday's fast with fish. They smiled. The other evidence of Catholicism in practise was a young member of the faculty who already had eleven children. He was the grandson of Stanford White, the famous American architect who was slain by Harry Shaw for fooling with Thaw's wife, an ex trollope. The trollope died on Wednesday (Evelyn Nesbit) and her funeral was on Friday. But we did not bring it into the discussion at the luncheon table.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

23 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Your letters of the 19th and 20th in today.

This is terrible news about Kenneth. I am completely startled.
But I agree, there is really nothing you could do if you went out. Had
there been a crash and both he and Islay disabled, the situation would have
been quite different. Then it might have taken both of us. I suppose it
really proves I ought to keep up my yellow fever shots and other rarissima.
I must go to New York, for example, for any tropical innoculations. I
suppose they will not feel inclined to go on with the trip, and as you say
Japan slips from Islay's fingers again. My real fear is that this will
pull Kenneth even more into his shell, so that he will not want to make
trips. I wish he could get to Prutting, but this no doubt would be
unwise at this moment. Actually of course we know very little about
his actual condition, and I daresay it will be some time before Islay
will know enough to be able to write intelligently.

My hunch, like yours, is that the strain of rapidly moving
from climate to climate, plus the ardor of travel itself, must have been
too much for him. I remember what it did to Susan on our way back from
Japan. We left India in really boiling heat, and landed in Istanbul in
a snowstorm and cold. She is strong, but this was too much for her and
she caught that awful flu which lasted throughout the winter even after
we got home again.

Still, they did have some wonderful days to remember.

Thank you for saying you would meet us at Geneva. It would
be a great help with the luggage and of course give us hours longer with
ypu. I shall soon know the exact timetable even from Vienna to Geneva
(via Zurich); this is the only part not yet confirmed by the travel agency.
My lips already smack at wine-tasting with Elsie in the Valai. We shall
come back loaded, tho hopefully not in slang sense of the term.

I was most grateful for the further B.O.P. clipping. What
with the combination of the one I sent you, we will have a good file on it.
I can't quite see myself buying all of the copies up until today, but
the earlier volumes I have long been trying to put together. Do you think
there would be any point in having John Maggs get in contact to see if they
have early correspondences or mss of some of the better known dusty diamonds
who contributed in early issues? You remember they were effective with
Blackie's on the hunt 66r Henty.

I spoke with Helen on the phone yesterday, and she told me of
the splendid review of January in the New Republic. She is sending me a
xerox and said she had sent a copy to you. This is a real coup in an unex-
pected spot.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

24 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

No letter from you today, but of course you will have known
no more to write about Kenneth than what the cable said. I do hope all
goes well with his mending. I judge it must have, or one would have
heard again. I shall be eager for the news.

The check from Chase Manhattan did come, however. This was
most kind of you. As to the typewriter, I had meant to ask what type
face you wanted, pica or otherwise. Let me know. Otherwise I shall
simply have your present typeface duplicated.

I forgot to say yesterday that Ines Christmas card had just
arrived. Will you tell her and thank her. It was mailed December 16th,
just a month in coming. Perhaps, not to disappoint her, you should say
that I had forgotten to ask you to thank her.

I had also a nice letter from Petrie about the possible
visit in October. She says this is a good season and hopes you can
join us. This is of course almost a condition, and might come on
the way back from your visit to the States, or you can return with
us. Or come, this year, in November. There are innumerable possibil-
ities.

Susan had her cold shot yesterday -- though we both have not
benefitted much from them this year--I now have a fearful nose cold --
and the g.p. said he had talked with the orthopedist who gave a good report
on me. But he did not elaborate, and I realise that in the strange world
we live in I do not know what a good report means: whether it is good because
they feel they can do something, or good because they can't and don't
need to. I will know on the 2nd of February when I see Southwick.

Do you recall the graduate student we first had as a nun?
She surprised me, as you know, by leaving her order and bloding her hair.
Then last summer she again surprised me by bringing in a husband to intro-
duce. Yesterday she startled me a third time. Her husband has had some
dental surgery done on his jaw in connection with some extractions, and
she has been late with undergraduate papers she was to correct but put off
while she took care of him. I asked after his health; she said he was
now better. "But," she said, "I'll tell you something: he was a real son-
of-a-bitch!" The cloisters seem far behind her.

Yesterday, too, I had a letter, as of the 18th at Nice, 6 from
Romaine. "Dear Professor," it began:

Many thanks for your letter and all the efforts you have made
for 'No Pleasant Memories.' I always knew that these would be
hard to place, and so gave up the idea ages ago.

At the time I was exhibiting my work in New York the publisher

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Pnopt [sic] seemed indeed interested and he wrote to the effect that he wanted my love affair with d'Annunzio (at that time Mabel Dodge & Lawrence were making a great racket). Having nothing d'Annunzian in my character (too much sense of humor) it was impossible for me to invent the flourishes so I left K's letter unanswered.

Now dear Professor will you send me back to above address
my MS. 'Verona' sounds rather wrong for my kind of writing.
Don't you think so? & I have 3 o4 4 friends at the most. But
we must meet in March. Greetings to Susan.

I didn't want to surprise her with the publication and so had asked her permission. But I am going to try once more, sending her a copy of the book you so wonderfully did for me at the same press, and explaining that certain books like certain paintings have to be available for the right people, friends or not yet friends. She probably will still say no, but I simply don't believe any longer that we will ever find a commercial publisher to take it on.

Petrie said she had had no luck with her own ms, but was still trying.
But she did say, and I think correctly, that the present economic situation
in the U.K. made publication commercially almost impossible. I wish she
too would be willing to have it published as a souvenir of the anniversary.
There is nothing infra dig in that.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

25 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Your two letters of the 21st and 22nd and the cable were on
my desk after lunch. I read the cable first, thinking it was one I ex-
pected from a man in the south who wants an interview on Friday. My
first instinct was to wire you back, my sympathy and offer to help in
any possible way. Then I said, No. If she goes to the phone to take
a cable she will inevitably think it's a third one from Madras. And
you know you have my love and sympathy and offer to help, without my
frightening you to say so.

I am rather frightened, as you are. Somehow when I received
even the bad news of the first attack, several days had elapsed newsless
between the time you wrote and when I was reading the letter. So I assumed
that all went well, although I now realise that this is just about the
usual interval. But of course the fact that there have been two does
not necessarily mean the worst, and our Rover may soon be whisking about
again. I am afraid all the work in restoring the palazzo, plus the
nervous tension and energy that has to go into writing novels (who
knows this better than you?), and then finally the care of Islay's
Mummy, may have been too much for him, or too much when the extra
burden of intense heat is added. We can only wait patiently and see.
But how I wish I could be with you to hold your hand and say nothing.
Anyhow I am sure things will be smoothly handled by Islay and all will
be done that can be done. I hope you won't have to go out.

I shall be interested to hear your news of Jacques Beney.
Naturally I can't help but be curious and so rry that I shall have to
check my curiosity for a couple of months longer. It is a little much
to have this put on you too, just at this moment.

My only corresponding upset is a letter from New Mexico in
today's mail from my brother's wife, who is obviously off her rocker again.
The letter is half Elizabethan in style, and ends up by wanting me to
consult her x-rays in Boston, since her doctor in New Mexico has been
locked up for insanity. Poor Al! All legal documents for her separate
maintenance have been signed, and he is technically free. But only last
week while rejoicing in this he said too that he supposed one never would
be, really.

I am airmailing the paperback historical novel to you this
afternoon. Amd after lunch I went to the Co-op and ordered a copy of
Marianne's book sent to you. I looked at Bonnets and thought it seemed
to be great fun indeed. So I had that sent also, charging both the latter
to your account as being simpler. The paperback and the Hyksos are as
from me.

Oddly I have never thanked you for the clipping on the quiet and
unquiet America. It was really very well done indeed. I envied the man's
skill. Thank you for remembering me when you see such things.

All love, and sympathy — Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

26 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Only the clippings in your today's letter of the 23rd
restores my faith in the world's sanity. I too want a stuffed white
horse. I too wand, suddenly, to surprise the bus driver by ghostily
appearing when the bus arrives. But maybe it will be Bourke, the
Irishman whom the police search for in vain.

Otherwise I sit, between visits to the dentist (I began
the day with another one; he thinks he can save the tooth) and meetings
with Graduate School officialdom on policies for admitting next year's
graduate students and on the promotion of faculty members, and wonder
how Kenneth is doing. We had a letter from Pup yesterday, thanking
for Christmas oranges which we had ordered delivered from Florida in
mid-January when the Temples ripen. Prutting had called them and
read them Islay's letter. "He thinks K. should go home to Italy when
he can travel. Was gravely discouraging about any American detour."
I imagine Prutting will be all the graver after the second attack.
One does feel frightfully remote from Madras.

How rotten it is that you should be bothered with these
new legal matters. I shall be ager to hear whatever you feel you can
write. More pleasantly, I wonder how your visit with Gisele Freund
went, and if indeed she took another snapshot of you. Did you ever
get an extra set of Islay's last pictures for your archives? If you
did, I can of course bring them back with me -- a safer mode than mailing.
#I shall save the article on Marianne and bring with me if no copy was
sent you; or post. I should have given anything to see Marianne in a
black mask. Only a black bikini could make her naughtier. # Poor Chester
Page! I imagine even three-masters fail to tickle after a while. How
lucky I am never to have had time enough to be bored in. # I rather gather
they have quite given up hope for David Bruce's daughter. They haven't
found even a chip of the plane. I feel sad for the three little ones.

Not much mail otherwise, only a Christmas card from Romaine
mailed from Nice. When? It is impossible to read the date. I wonder if
she will change her mind after my yesterday's letters reaches her? I
suspect she fears favors.

Horace's letter was pleasant, as was Marya's. Life is pretty
boring for both of them. I can't blame them; one floats hope like balloons
but the facts of life don't rise.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

27 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Your morning cable much cheered me. I am really comforted
by the news that Kenneth is better again. I am sure this time it is for
keeps and that before too long he can return to Italy. By the time he
gets there the worst of the winter will be over and he can be his old
self again in surroundings he has created as a part of himself. One
part will help to heal the other.

Naturally I am relieved too that it is not necessary to
go out, under the circumstances. There is really not much you could do,
and the East is no place for even a fearless Fido to wander around by
yourself while I slay devoted himself to K. Under the circumstances, too,
it was probably the gods who kept you from going in the first place.

Not much to write about since yesterday's missive. I went
home and rather flopped for the evening, being drugged up while I try to
fight a severe nose cold. My shots seem less effective this year, but
perhaps I am simply tired. In any event almost everyone seems to have
caught something.

I go later in the morning to have my various cardio-pulmin-
ary tests at the hospital. These are wonderfully complicated, and I
breathe into a wild assortment of machines. I doubt that the cold in the
head will help much, but it may make for more interesting results. The
tests begin at 11:30; my appointment with the Chief of the section is at
one p.m., presumably when the results of the tests are known. The more
important meeting with the orthopedic surgeon isn't until next Thursday.

Snow threatened for today, or, more likely, rain. It feels
a bit raw.

All love,

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

28 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

A curiously static day, in which I have spent the hours mostly in reading a sixty-page chapter of a dissertation on a 19th century American scribbling dame, and then toiled through the course cards of the graduate students in American Studies, making little lists of who was enrolled in what courses so that I can check on their mid-year grades to help us determine what fellowship money to offer next year. My spirits rise only at the thought that, with luck, this is the last time I shall be doing it. But I had an extended and pleasant luncheon with the Dean of the Graduate School; it is at such times that I indulge in propaganda warfare and pick up the little scraps of goademic gossip that I can forge into defensive weapons.

Last night we tried dining at the top of Yale's new science laboratory, where we must take you when you are next here. The restaurant is good and the view superb.

Your three letters-- of the 24th and two of the 25th came in the morning mail. I shall report duly after my interview with the orthopedist on the 2nd. I can not even guess what he may say. Yesterday's visit to the cardio-pulmonary lab was equally inconclusive. I huffed and puffed into recording devices in the morning, while the laboratory girl kept crying out: "Harder, harder, harder" as though she were encouraging a football team kicking a bladder. After lunch I saw Dr Gray, who had a South American apprentice with him. There was much talk of whether I was shorter breathed than before, when I was going to the arctic again (I asked him how he remembered: he replied because it was extraordinary six years ago). He of course said I should give up smoking in order to preserve lung resiliency, and then after ordering off my shirt listened to every square inch of my torso while he bugged my heart and lungs. From the front he thought it was fine, from behind he remarked that the lower fringe of my right lung was dim-- a remark which made me feel as though I had a Spanish shawl draped over it as though it were a piano. The South American enthusiastically went over the same square inches, and then Dr Gray said the morning reports had not come as yet so he could tell nothing but would discuss it all with Dr Southwick. It took only a short time, and I had the gift of an unexpected two hours in the afternoon before the oral examination of the Japanese girl who was the Jesuit's mistress. She passed, I am glad to say. She has worked hard, and in a foreign language.

I am much encouraged that Fides and Coigny seem to be putting affairs into better shape. How extraordinary that the bank should have let the accounts slump. I think the older B became perhaps too possessive in his friendly way. But what a pity that you should be put to all this extra strain, especially at this moment.

I can only repeat that I am glad you did not have to go out, for there is really nothing you could do. Nor is there any reason for going out just to be company. Kenneth could not have much company, and it is better for Islay to cope. As you say, I hope if he is to recover that he really will. He will be desperate as an invalid.

I loved the story of your Mama and the White-Thaw case! I suspect that Miss Nesbit must eventually have become bored by her naughtiness, even though she

had to live off it. Or more likely, because she had to.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

29 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

Sunday morning and I have spent the hours at the office in
paying bills, balancing my cheque book and the like. I sometimes weep
for the lack of uninterrupted time, and this makes the weekends at my desk
a matter of pure joy. Naturally when I am finished with administration,
fewer people will need to see me, and so my pattern of living may change.
It will be a change difficult to get used to.

Three yellowbacks came a few days ago, and I have been reading
them -- mostly Christmas letters, but as a result unusually full of news
which I am delighted to keep in touch with. I was delighted to see the
little tribute to Ninon, which will go with her papers. # I was fascinated
by Carrie Jenkins's memoirs, she is one of the sparrows whom God must love.
# It warms me always when I think of how much you have stepped in as God's
lieutenant, in command of the holy corps, to help her and those like
Constance Potter. The point is, you do care and they feel this and so can
be grateful. Life doesn't always work this way. # Lotte R carries on in a
wonderfully self-sufficient way; it must be unusual in her profession to
remain so creatively active. # Catha's letter did not make her seem so
kidnapped by the Russians as I had thought. She seems reasonably under con-
trol, but obviously her marriage no longer really exists except as a
convenience. I can imagine, in France, that it really is a convenience.
Philip certainly could help her with the necessary papers. # Rosemary's
letter was cheerful, as always. I think I told you that we had a nice note
from her at Christmas. Should I keep my eyes open for a jolly pin for her
in Vienna? # The thank-you from Nicholas was a delight to read, in his little
old-man-of-the-world tone as he described his family. I feel reasonably sure
that he will keep on his feet in life. # All of the Dobsons obviously can, and
do. # I was glad to catch up on Phyllis Jackson. It must be a relief to her to
have her daughter settled in. I still remember the fun we had in visiting her,
and that lovely ride back to London through the countryside. # I do remember
Hilda's niece, Helen. It was probably a wise psychological mood to send the
child to visit her Syrian relatives and thus dignify the Middle Eastern blood.
The girl doesn't really appear to have settled her own identity yet. It is a
pity she doesn't finish college. # Rose's admiration for January is obviously
genuine. It indicates her good taste. #I was much interested in the clippings
on the newspaper crisis. One hates to see communications strangled. Here,
the chains become stronger and stronger. # I might add that I am much impressed
by the developing poise in Joan's letters to you. You are better than a therapist
for her, because you are a support without being a professional one. # Young
Devison has settled comfortably into Cambridge, I should judge. He writes like
an old don. His brother Richard, too, seems happy with his music; but I wonder
how he will use it. Probably as a music master in a school. # I take it that
Bryan is now firmly settled on coming to the States this summer. We shall look
forward to seeing him if he comes this way. I am sure John and Perdita will be,
as well. # I forget just who the Phillip from Almouth is, but I rather like
his Christmas suede coat ("I am very fond of suede and leather clothes...") it
sounds very mod.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

Last night we went to Weathersfield, near Hartford, for dinner at Holly Stevens's. We took Gallup and another man with us; there was a poet named Reeve, and his wife, and a female librarian from Trinity College, in Hartford. She has a pleasant small house, lined with books from her father (some 3,000 of them) and the French paintings he doted on (some dozen or more). I was particularly interested in the latter, simply because he talked so often about them, and as the collection shows wrote about them. Mostly they were pleasantly colored impressionist paintings by minor artists, chosen for him by the French dealer with whom he corresponded. Obviously they helped to make up his imaginary France, provided most of its landscape. And they helped too to give him the atmosphere of elegance he craved as he craved blue grapes. I was struck, for example, by the very very elaborately tooled special leather bindings he had done for each of his books. They may not have cost a fortune, but they certainly cost enough to have made a considerable dent in the fortune he didn't have to leave. It was interesting too to see the June books he gave his wife each year on her birthday, written on beautiful special bond he must have scraped for in his early impoverished years. "My poems," Mrs Stevens called them; and when he later published them she was hurt and bitter, though none of them were love poems in any sense but that of tribute layed at her feet. Perhaps the furnishings of the house now has make up too much of a museum for her own psychiatric good. They are her claim to attention, they make an almost incestuous bond between her and the father with whom she quarreled so much as a girl, though he was fond enough of her in his final years. Personally, at any event, I don't resent their elegance. There is nothing ostentatious about them, and they provided him with a secret world he liked better than the insurance headquarters. Requiescat and Requiescant in pace.

I thought the enclosed clipping might amuse you. We must hurry to
get in our trip to the Cape.

<table><tr><td>WAVES ERODE CAPE</td></tr><tr><td>HYANNIS, Mass. —Cape Cod has lost a two-mile strip of sandbar in recent years because of erosion by wind and waves. The whole peninsula will disappear if current weathering continues for 4,000 or 5,000 years.</td></tr></table>

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

30 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I got up this morning feeling so absolutely wretched with my stuffed nose and cough, that in an absolutely unheard of fashion I decided to phone the doctor to stop on his way to his office to take a look at me. He did, and decided it was better for me to stay home on the couch. He is feeding me pills and anti-biotics, and already my nose is more or less cleared and I feel much less groggy. I half dozed most of the morning and again after lunch. But managed to get a little work done in the cellar putting things away, and have just slipped down to the office to pick up my mail at the end of the day and see if major catastrophes had occurred. They haven't. I cancelled my dentist appointment early tomorrow morning, and may well stay home until lunch time. It really does make sense. Yesterday I worked at the office all day like a dog; fortunately I got so much accomplished that this day's treachery to duty should haven't too great consequences.

Three letters were here from you, which I have looked at quickly and will answer more at length tomorrow. Mostly about your liaison with Madras. I really do not think you should have gone and am glad you did not. I still worry about Kenneth, but each day that passes of course makes things better. Or should. But even so, and all the more so, it is better for you to conserve your strength and keep at the center of your own world, which is the center of his and mine also, as well as of so many others who depend on you.

Let me be the Puritan and worry about life and duties.

All love,
Norman

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

31 January 1967

Dearest Fido,

I spent the morning at home, Susan being on one of her hair-raising expeditions to New York, and came down only in time for a luncheon engagement with the Yale librarian and an afternoon solid with appointments. At least I have the consolation that people haven't forgotten me in my day and a half's absence. To the contrary, they seem to have lined up thicker than ever. As a result I feel rather exhausted at the end of the afternoon, but will go home and try to take a nap before dinner. At least we don't have to go out tonight. Actually my various pills may be doing me good, for I don't feel as groggy or dizzy as I have been feeling for a fortnight or so. I may have been carrying a low-grade virus of some sort.

I had one little victory this morning to console me. When I went to see the cardiac-pulmonary specialist the other day, and was waiting for him to appear, I noticed a fine new bronze tablet announcing that the clinic was made possible by the gifts of Sarah Jane Winchester in memory of her son William Wirt Winchester. I gasped a little, for my understanding of what Susan's great aunt had done was to give the original hospital in memory of her husband of that name, that she had had a daughter who died also of t.b. but had had no son. Susan agreed with my memory and we started checking in the records she had but could find nothing. This morning when Dr Gray phoned to say he'd like some additional tests made of my breathing I spoke of my surprise. He said oh no I was wrong but then looked at his copy of the will and had to agree with me that it was indeed her husband. Polotely I said I thought the placque ought to be changed and I would be glad to pay for it. But, horrified, at the error he said the administration would have a new and corrected one made. He was in fact glad to be corrected, because a new hospital building is to be constructed bringing all the pulmonary work together and named Winchester, and the mistake would have been continued. Thus the benefits of scholarship and a memory!

A letter today from the Brigadier about our visit in October, also asking for American stamps to take care of intra-U.S. correspondence he wished to encourage in his genealogical researches, all tabulated and scheduled as to the amount of stamps needed for certain weights of envelopes and messages. A campaign could not have been planned in so orderly a fashion. It took four pages to give the logistics.

Your letter of the 29th came at noon. What an extraordinary story about your evening with the Freund. If it were an investigation then the gods certainly came to your rescue. I am sure that it was at least curiosity that brought the Freund to you, perhaps stimulated by my letter asking her for copies of your photograph. But one never knows. It will be interesting to watch the tone of later letters from her should they eventuate.

I have gone back over the letters I could no more than glance at yesterday on my snatched visit to the office. I had not actually realised you had a reassuring cable from 'slay. I hope all continues to go well with

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

Kenneth. I was much interested too to discover that Heydt had sent <sup>B</sup>elinda to Melitta, and even more so that Melitta had been in regular correspondence with Heydt about it. Melitta must be reaching out for her old friends, an obviously good sign of her increased poise. There seems to be nothing nervously hungry about it. I think I told you that she had sent me a calendar, after earlier having sent me Christmas greetings.

A letter from my brother says that his ex-wife, now in Arizona, had gone off her equilibrium again. Fortunately now she is taken care of by the trust fund he established for her; the last time the agreement for this had not been signed, though the money had been assigned, and so as a result he had to pay her expenses too while the last fund accumulated. It is said, and, as he says, one must expect the attacks to occur with increasing frequency. But at least he will not have to carry the nervous strain of having her at hand. I feel sorry for her but cannot become involved in correspondence with her.

Your clippings were a joy as always. I had not known Palmerston's remark, "God made a great mistake when He made foreigners," -- but how true it is. And it was a joy to read someone with courage enough to back the U.S. policies in Vietnam. One of the Yale younger professors now takes his stand by refusing to give grades in to the university authorities, on the basis that they give the grades to the draft board if (but only if) the student involved requests them to. As to the electric typewriter, I wonder what it would be like to work for a "cute" boss.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

1 February 1967

Dearest Fido,

I put in a full day today, but wonder at the end of it just what I have accomplished. Mostly it has been serving as father confessor. In the morning came the ex-nun to say she had to put off her oral examinations for another four months. The reasons? -- the debts she acquired when she married the ex-sergeant, their tiffs and quarrels and difficulties in adjustment, "Maybe I made a mistake. He doesn't seem able to make decisions." My chief contribution, if I made any at all, was to explain that he too had come out of a situation where all decisions had been made for him, and that to be a sergeant was not much different from being a nun. The mother superior had made her decisions; the captain had made his. To carry out orders, even with a bark, is not the same as deciding what the orders should be. But the truth is what I might have suspected, even though she did not say as much: he may have finished high school; she is an intellectual; his new friends have to be her old ones; obviously there is little in common; she wants to read Yeats, he wants to watch television. Still, it was probably a good thing for her to talk it out.

Then there was the German student who has caused so much trouble about his lodgings and his health. I told him he should learn to smile when things happened, asked why he felt his status so often threatened, suggested psychiatry, said it was not impossible to work just because one worried, and that indeed working sometimes took one's mind off worry, that he was missing his great chance for a successful habilitationsschrift. I talked like an old man, and he said I talked as a father would. Perhaps he respected me, he certainly didn't his father whom he described as a kaufmann. "And what is wrong with that?" I asked, seriously.

And so the day went. My only consolation was in solving the riddle of the Winchester plaque. By a hunch I phoned the cemetery and found that William Wirt Winchester was buried there, and his widow (finally) and their one month old daughter who had died years before he did. I phoned the chief of the clinic to confirm the error on the bronze, and he reported that when he got in touch with the Public Relations Office of the hospital who responsible for error they acknowledged that not one but several similar plaques here and there in the hospital were also wrong. They have promised to make new ones in replacement (the cost to them will be considerable) and that I will be notified when this is accomplished. And he thanked me too because of the considerable publicity that will come with building the new Winchester Memorial, which would have been done in fundamental error.

There was no letter from you today.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

2 February 1967

Dearest Fido,

I write you now, at least briefly, before lunch. I have a
full house of appointments in the afternoon and must be at the hospital
for a 4:30 appointment with Dr Southwick. Naturally I am curious as to
what he will suggest. Probably nothing, which might be the best solution
of all.

A yellowback came this morning. thinish so I have looked at
it already. It was rather sad to read Islay's letter full of anticipation
for their jaunt. He spoke of the German translation of Kenneth's Rome.
Do you think you should send me a copy for the collection? I leave to you.
#I had not read a Barbara Jordan letter for some time, and it was gay to
listen to her rattle on. I might find her tiring on the spot, but at a
distance she is fun. # You were kind to let me read Helen's letter thanking
for the ms of January you gave her. Did you ever send her the inscribed
copy of the book itself to put in the case to fill it? You mustn't forget
you promised to. No doubt you have, but her letters haven't mentioned
receiving it. # It was good of the Hotsons to invite the Richards. I have
held back because of his phlebitis, but in spring I will be in touch. I
fear she finds Middletown dull; just as your Chester Page found New Haven.
It is too bad I couldn't show him some of the nicer parts. As to his
summer trip, wouldn't he like it best if he were to do Greece, with (if
he flies) a stopover in Rome, with the chance of Hadrian's villa or perhaps
even Florence. He ought to allow two weeks for Greece, with a five day-motor
tour of Delhi and such spots, and an Aegean cruise. # Much interested that
Holly keeps in such good contact with Rinette as well as Princeton. I suspect
she now enjoys being Silvia's sister.

Your letter of the 30th also came. I simply cannot understand
why my letters to you should bunch so. I make a great effort to get them into
the mail each day in time to be picked up, and sometimes (as with one or two
of these) making a special trip to the post office itself. I can only imagine
that the P.O. somewhere stacks them up until there is a bagfull for Switzerland.
I find it frustrating for me, and it must be exhausting to you to have to read
so many at one time. # I do think it would be nice if you can ersuade Petrie
to issue a small edition for the old girls and a few others. It really isn't
the sort that would have a wide sale, and although it is a document in the
history of British education for women it wasn't written to exploit that point
of view. As it turned out it was a half-way book. # I sent Firedrake extrava-
gantly airmail in the hope that it might prove a diversion at a moment when you
needed as much as possible. # Marianne of course dearly loves you -- I mean it --
if one asked her if she had sent the book to you, she would say yes. So I think
eventually you can admire it to her and she will think she did. I don't think
she has remembered to mention January. # It becomes all the more evident that
we went over to Fides at the right moment. The bank might well have wanted to
cover up a bit, quite naturally. I am sorry for Jacques as the incident must

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

3 February 1967

Dearest Fido,

This is a day with neither beginning nor end, and only a thin
middle part. I began with the dentist, then went to the banks (plural)
for business and a discussion about the land at the shore, and then to the
travel agency for my plane ticket to Wisconsin. All this was fine and I
parked in a pay-plot at the end of an alleyway conveniently near. But, alas,
when it was time to go the dual entrance-exit was blocked by a car that
had stalled just as it went in, so that no one could come in or go out for
a half-hour while we waited for a tow truck to haul it off. It was after
eleven when I got to the office, and two were waiting for their appointments.
After lunch I have had to try to straighten out the financial affairs of the
two German scholars, and that takes until now when it is necessary to go
home where the bookdealer from New York is finishing his evaluations. Tobight
there is a dinner party at the Lawn Club for the Bollingen Poetry Prize Committee,
and then the 16 guests come back to Goodrich Street for the evening. Last
night we saw a performance of Volpone. There was to have been a ball tonight,
but we chickened out. Tomorrow is another ball to which we must go. I shall
do well to survive.

I saw the orthopedist last evening, after a three-quarter-hour
wait from the scheduled time. He thought the x-rays looked remarkably good
and showed no major change in the last seven years, and so recommended that
I do nothing. The bones all look sturdy even if somewhat wind-swept. My
only real difficulty is the muscular pain I feel particularly in the early
morning, and there is a possibility of a pinched nerve in my backbone. I am
to keep in touch with him and consult a neuro-surgeon (the one who did so
well with Horace) if this seems advisable. It would mean only a very slight
operation to kill the nerves, or perhaps it could be done by injections. I
am of course pleased that my skeleton proved so photogenic, and pleased too
to have someone to whom I can report every six months or annually in a Prutting
fashion. I have some more cardio-pulmonary tests on Monday, and then should
be cleared for sailing.

Your letters of the 31st and 1st came today. How marvelous that
Kenneth continues to improve. I think the worst may well be over, especially
now that we know he did not really have a second attack. I am hardly surprised
that Islay has had the jitters, but you really could not have helped. # Your
letter to White was calm and dispassionate but firm. My congratulations. #
I suspect you have become an important safety valve for Frances Beney. I can
see why they would prefer to jump back to Zurich. There must be too much of
his father's ghost in the bank, and too much of his step-mother's flesh in
their social life. They are more urban minded.

Yes, the Stevens house is Holly's own, not her parents. She had
it just as her mother died. The other would have been too expensive to maintain.

Interesting that Valentine is reading Boewulf. I wonder if he would
like Pope's reading on the record.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

4 February 1967

Dearest Fido,

This letter may suddenly be cut off by a phone call from Susan saying that the Schaffners have arrived. They brought Timothy to Choate for one of the boy's birthday luncheon and then were to stop off to see us on their way back to New York. The birthday is Nōcholas's, I believe. I hope they won't be too late, for we have to be dressed formally for dinner at seven before the Jonathan Edwards College Ball.

Last night was rather later than we reckoned on, for the guests did not leave the house until midnite after which we had to wash the dishes and glasses and put away the food and drinks. There were sixteen altogether, so there were a good many of everything to clean. But people seemed to have a good time, and that was the main thing. This morning the committee (Richard Eberhart, Reid Whittemore, Richard Wilbur) met and after a three hour debate gave the prize to Robert Penn Warren. For awhile apparently they thought of dividing the prize between him and Elizabeth Bishop (Marianne's protegee), but not being keen on divided prizes I'm glad they didn't. Anyhow, Miss Bishop is only a little over 50 and is sure to get it eventually; Warren is 62 and this is his collected works. The award will be well received, I think, by the public, although Warren hasn't had a very great deal of acclaim as a poet. Shapiro also seems to have been in the running for awhile, although I can't really quite see why.

I went dutifully to my doctor this morning for my cold shot, and went over the various interviews I had had with the doctor. The next time I get my typhus shots.

Papantonio finished yesterday with his re-evaluation of the books. I am to have the list and figures in a week or ten days when it can be typed up. I haven't much idea what the total will be. He wanted to have a slip cover made for the Kelmscott Chaucer, and one or two others whose binds were weakening; so I sent him off with these. I also decided there was no point in keeping the very imperfect bright green second folio Shakespeare that Edith had had, or the much poorer of the two copies of the White Divil. So I told him he could sell on commission, and then give me credit against which I could buy one or more appropriate books for the collection. In other words, really a swap. I hope you approve.

Susan has just phoned to say John had called her from the restaurant, so I shall go back to welcome them.

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

231 HGS

5 February 1967

Dearest Fido,

The visit yesterday from the Schaffners was very pleasant indeed. All six of them filed out from their red station wagon as though at a bus stop. The boys, I suspect, were glad enough simply to be away from Choate; Timothy and Elizabeth were curious about us and by the end had gotten a little restless and ready to be on the road again. But I took them all down cellar and showed them the eskimo carvings, and this was a great success. Elizabeth obviously adores all carvings and little figures of almost everything and responds passionately to their touch. Timothy, who is really most attractive, found the various harpoon heads and weapons most interesting. They all spent much time in trying on the different types of snow goggles.

John had bought pictures of the new house, both outside and interior. This time they really have something; the other house was a suburban stucco mess out of place in the country. I have the feeling that this really will be home for all of them, as New York never could be. It will take a lot of furnishing, but they can do that slowly. Do you think you should offer them the clock from Audley now that they have a proper place for it, and the children and older? There is to be a dark-room for Valentine in the basement, and he likes that idea; but is, I gathered, a little irked by being told they have to be careful about money. John is having a memorial evening in New York for Hubert Creekmore, and Valentine's response was "I thought we all had to be careful." John took it well, explained that he was only paying fifty dollars for the room, and Valentine withdrew his criticism.

Indeed the children all seemed so much more mature that I suddenly thought to ask Pup if Hilda had given the children a copy of her Selected Poems, dedicated to them. She didn't, as I thought, and I had saved a copy of the limited signed edition for each of them. Valentine remembered the dedication, Nicholas had forgotten, and Elizabeth never knew. When she saw her own name on the dedication page she jumped with joy, and hgged the book, and will I hope read it. The two boys wanted theirs for school, and too will read her I think now they have their own. Elisabeth was rather fun. In the basement while I searched out an extra copy of one or two of your earlier works (The Geography and Development) she asked her mother, "Is it fun to have a famous mother?" Pup hesitated. "Yes," she answered, with real warmth I felt, "except having to live up to it."

I shall not try to go down for the Creekmore tribute. It begins at 9 and I would have to spend the night. Besides, I really never knew him that well, though I didn't give that as a reason.

We went as Fellows of the College last night to Jonathan Edwards Gala Ball, going to dinner first at another Fellow's home. Very noisy and much frugging but a gay party. We danced only a little and most sat and watched. I had a longish conversation with a John Simon, another Fellow, who is the guardian

NORMAN
HOLMES
PEARSON

of the three Currier children, David Bruce's grandchildren. He was left
500,000 in the will, but of course will have the complete responsibility.
A very nice man, an associate professor in the Law School. He must take
a year's leave of absence to put the estate in shape, since he has to
take over their charitable foundation also. He said they had searched
by plane up until four days ago, but now felt it was hopeless ever to get
a trace of the parents. Apparently David had seen comparatively little of
his daughter after the divorce, but was very good with arrangements for
the memorial service and with his former wife. She poor thing is distraught
for her daughter was all she had, and she's not the type to be a cuddling
grandma.

Horace had a fine lead article in today's Times on the Australian
poet, A.D.Hope, so he really is back in harness again. I enclose Romaine's
reply to my plea and the sending of *Four Studies*. I have an awful feeling
that she is slipping. The gland treatment was working so well when we saw
her in Nice that it seemed as though she would go on forever.

We have young Susan and the two children for dinner tonight. Tomorrow
morning I go for more breathing tests, and tomorrow night I have to introduce
Louis Auchincloss who will be lecturing on Edith Wharton. Life is a little
full.