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#1407: Willa Cather to Zoë Akins, June 4, 1938

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⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ My dear Zoe1:

I won't wait any longer in order to write you by hand. Some rough-neck smashed the door of the a Liggett's Drug Store on my right hand three weeks ago, and it is still stiff with the bruise. I haven't yet thanked you for the little image of a saint (I think Saint Catherine3) which you sent me a long while ago. The orange blossoms you sent by mail came when I was down at Atlantic City4. When I got back and opened the box they were still fragrant, but of course faded. But let me tell you that the orange marmalade you sent me from your own kitchen has enlivened my afternoon tea all winter and spring. I never tasted any so good. But this does not mean that I am asking for more — not this year at any rate,for there is just enough left to see me through until I go away. I shall go toward the latter part of this month — probably soon after the Menuhins5 leave town2. They will arrive here tomorrow.

Now, as to how I feel about these many marriages: at first I was rather bewildered. But letters from the children themselves have greatly reassured me, and letters from my old friend, Isabelle McClung Hambourg6, have entirely reassured me. She is leading an invalid's life, you know, in Sorrento7. Ten days before Yehudi's marriage, the whole Menuhin family and the two Nicholases8 went all the way down to Sorrento in a body, to see Isabelle and take her enlivenment and cheer. Hephzibah's eighteenth birthday was spent there. It was a lovely thing for them to do, and just the sort of thing they do do for the people they love.

Now, Isabelle is critical to a point which sometimes exasperates me. She will damn a man forever because his ears stick out, or because he rolls his ⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ r's too much. But all Australians roll their r's, and this lad's ears stick out a little—but she absolutely loves him. She says there is something extraordinarily charming and truthful about him, and she thinks the sister a desirable match for Yehudi. Says she is attractive (in spite of her published pictures) and that she is at the same time sweet and gentle and very decided. I am so glad Isabelle wrote me, because, you know, I often meet new people in the mood of a prickly porcupine.

As to Thornton Wilder's9 play10, I think it very fine, though I have not had time to write him11 and tell him so. It deals with that part of New Hampshire12 under Monadnock, where I have spent most of the autumns for years and years — I remember I was up there when "Declassé"13 was first put on at the Empire14. Wilder's play seems to me to be the very heart of all the little towns up there that I know so well. It seems just as true to the New England15 country as Eugene O'Neill's16 plays are false. Life in New England hasn't much romping gaiety about it, you know. But I always find a good deal of quiet happiness in the people up there. And the friends "laid away" in the graveyards remain a part of the villagers' lives; a little remote and mutted muted (MUTed), so to speak, but still present in the affairs and thoughts of men, just as they are in Wilder's play. I am not often a friend to changes in the traditions of art, and I shall go on liking the good old fashioned theatrical plays when they are good. But this time a fine poem, with no "poetic" language in it, has got onto the stage successfully. It couldn't happen often, but it happened this time.

I wish I could have written you all this and much more by hand, dear Zoe, but my bruised fingers have kept me even from doing any writing on my book17.

With love and my warmest greetings to you, Willa 2 mag
& send
to Miss Cather
Evans[illegible]
[illegible]