Monte, California (where a club convention recently took place), she returned home and worked the next night until five in the morning, slept three hours until eight, went to the office and stayed until six, and after all of that was looking as fresh and “raring to go” as a pampered racehorse. Perhaps she wouldn’t appreciate the analogy.
I was very much interested in your remarks about the violin sonata which you had just completed. I should like very much to see it. I would also like to have a copy of your piano sonata. How much would that cost? Couldn’t a copy be printed from that black and white one you have? If so, I would get someone here to work on it, with your permission. Also, could the songs be obtained in a similar manner? Please let me know about these things. We have, for instance, Calista Rogers who sings, very well, modern songs. She sings several songs from Schoenberg’s Book of the Hanging Gardens. We have an excellent string quartet, the Abas String Quartett; and they would certainly be willing to work on either the songs or a quartet. I know them all. They are the ones who performed Schoenberg’s 3rd S[tring]Q[uartet]. Schoenberg’s Suite in Old Style was played by the orchestra under Klemperer last week. It is very beautiful and does not sound “old” at all,—which, of course, it isn’t.
We are having now such beautiful weather that my inclination is to do nothing at all. If I were not so busy, I should just go outdoors and live like an animal. I shall be moving as soon as Xenia comes and we shall live where there is sunlight. At present I use electricity during the day just as though I were in New York.
Which reminds me that Schoenberg’s plans, at present, are, as far as I know, indefinite. Perhaps New York next fall.
Then I should have the great pleasure of seeing you soon again. Perhaps Xenia + I would come to Chatauqua. I hope she plays bridge. We could all play bridge together.
My father’s work is coming excellently. Both he and Mother often speak of you.
I shall write soon again because this is an incomplete letter and doesn’t have any “rumination” in it.
P.S. Very best regards to Mrs. Weiss. I get very lonely not seeing you both.
To Pauline Schindler
May 24, 1935 | Los Angeles
Pauline, dearest,
I love you always; it was in many ways puzzling to me that although you were in Los Angeles, we didn’t see each other. I have not before now had the time, literally, to write; so that you may infer that you were right, if you stayed away because of some feeling that I was “too occupied.” Buhlig said you said something of the sort. I had dinner with him the evening following your dinner; and it seemed strangely unnatural that we shouldn’t have been together.
Possibly I have not told you that Schoenberg teaches me counterpoint now. And I am very happy because my work seems to please him. Today he turned to the two other pupils and said: You see, I don’t even have to look at it (my exercises), I know they’re right. He is a teacher of great kindness and understanding and it is a rich comfort that he gives.
His recent Suite in Old Style was played Saturday and is a marvel. There is nothing old about it. Although it begins with an Overture (Prelude and Fugue) the whole “idea” is basically a new concept of Fugue. There are, i.e., no two relationships of subject and answer identical. His feeling for the variation of idea did not allow of the opposite nor of another “old” idea—that of vagueness. So that the episodes (which are usually built of the latter) are here the development of the prelude. It is fascinating because the prelude is largo and is forever interrupting the fugue allegro.
The work is convincing in every way and proves in a manner understandable to the most sluggish of ears the profundity of the prelude.
And now,—Xenia. All I know is that she will be here early in June; that there was a formal announcement (her sister’s idea) in order that “showers” might follow; and that I am, according to mother, as unprepared as though I were living on the streets (Xenia knows this and says she will accept even starvation with me “gracefully”).
I had a letter from Mr. Poland in which I was offered a position without pay which, unfortunately, I could not accept.
I saw the family doctor today, and he tells me spontaneously that he is amazed at my health which he has never known to be better. He means mentally. No frustrations, etc. He says, if it contines, I will get even fatter.
I ran into a lady who has a daughter in much the same condition as Mark. And she claims that although the injections are necessary that they alone will not do the thing, that diet is of supreme importance. She has taken the whole matter very scientifically. Vitamins. Would you like to get in touch with her? Yeast. A vegetable juicer.
To Adolph Weiss
[early summer, 1935] | Location not indicated
Dear Mr. Weiss:
Your letter just arrived; it was very good of you to write. Somehow I am very sad that you are staying in New York. It is rarely that fine things come out of immense cities. Rather, it seems to me, reality is sucked in there and becomes unreal, meaningless.
In our association, although it was a short time, I came to feel very close to you. It is difficult to imagine a future for me which does not concern you.
With Schoenberg I have remained apart. Although in each one of the class sessions I have “gleaned” something extremely valuable, I have felt disturbed fundamentally by the mediocrity induced by the class members. Including myself, for it seems to me that I am dull at present. Last week Schoenberg asked me after the class if I would come to see him. Perhaps this would lead to working with him privately. But I hesitate to think so.
My direction is towards you. You have been so good to me that I cannot forget.
You have probably received another letter I wrote to you recently. I hereby state again that I will soon be married. This will mean a great deal.
Mr. Hoss is always the same, excellent. I just phoned him and he returns, or rather sends you best regards and good wishes from himself and Mrs. Hoss. John Cave,25 a horn player, was visiting him. He is very much amused because of the near-identity of our names.
He says that he is very enthusiastic over my progress with the instrument. I have taken the beginnings slowly and I hope thoroughly. Now I must begin to “leap” forward.
Henry was down recently and said that he had written to you but had had no response.
I have not seen Dorothy and Grant. My friends who know them too, also do not see them. People seem to like Grant and his former wife, who is now dead, but nobody likes Dorothy. They criticize her inability to work with the dance; and, furthermore, criticize her as being a snob. This added to the distance to Redondo has deterred me from visiting them. Although when I met them with you I felt that Dorothy was fine. Generally I trust to first impressions.
My parents love you very much. My father has hopes of becoming wealthy and instituting every sort of thing for you that you would want. You would have only to whisper a wish and it would be amplified materially.
Have I made clear my position? I want to be with you working. You write to me that I should stick to Schoenberg. (I do not, by the way, consider myself a Schoenberg pupil; that designation is so cheap now that I am not interested in it; it is being bandied about by all those whose ears are vacant passageways for his words.) Synchronously, Schoenberg
