Authors: Bruce Chatwin
Under the Sun (11 page)
The sight of you at the docks will be worth all this trial.
Love, love love, Bruce
Have a marvellous Hawaiian feather necklet for you.
To Elizabeth Chanler119a Mount Street | London | 30 July 1965
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My Liz,
Would we like as a wedding present, a yacht trip around the coast of Crete next summer with a character called Allen Bole, who is a rather hopeless but highly entertaining American living in Chania. I think so, don't you? Also the nicest letter from Henry Mac.
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We are invited to Glenveagh for the stalking in Oct. Or would you prefer Sir James Dundas's
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fishing lodge opposite Mull which is ours whenever we like in the autumn. Cheque from New Zealand cousins.
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Am much cheered this morning by your telephone call, the host and the weather. No houses on the market. Chairs, blinds, etc all arriving soon, must shampoo carpet.
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We are invited to Glenveagh for the stalking in Oct. Or would you prefer Sir James Dundas's
87
fishing lodge opposite Mull which is ours whenever we like in the autumn. Cheque from New Zealand cousins.
88
Am much cheered this morning by your telephone call, the host and the weather. No houses on the market. Chairs, blinds, etc all arriving soon, must shampoo carpet.
A million hugs!
B
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On 21 August Bruce and Elizabeth were married at a Nuptial Mass in the Chanler family chapel at Sweet Briar Farm, Geneseo. David Nash was best man. Elizabeth's aunt Maria gave her this advice for their wedding night: âDon't forget to cut your toenails.'
The Chatwins honeymooned off the Maine coast in a 42-foot yawl chartered by Elizabeth's father, who had not consulted either of them but had heard that Chatwin liked sailing. They were joined by Cary and Edith Welch on another yawl, spending much of the week fog-bound in the lobster harbour of Cape Split.
To Derek Hill119a Mount Street | London | 15 October 1965
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We
long
to tell you about it â every succulent detail â the admiral's jig â the Holy Water flicked in my eyes â my drunken sister-in-law doing karate on the lawn â the stove
89
that exploded during the wedding feast and covered the house in black smoke â those brothers-in-law who put fire-crackers in the car â the honeymoon (dreadful word) in Maine, stuck in the fog in a small yacht . . . And we think you have something to tell
US
of balls (?) in Donegal. Longing to have the picture
90
but we have no house to hang it in. What are we to do? Love B
To Cary Welchlong
to tell you about it â every succulent detail â the admiral's jig â the Holy Water flicked in my eyes â my drunken sister-in-law doing karate on the lawn â the stove
89
that exploded during the wedding feast and covered the house in black smoke â those brothers-in-law who put fire-crackers in the car â the honeymoon (dreadful word) in Maine, stuck in the fog in a small yacht . . . And we think you have something to tell
US
of balls (?) in Donegal. Longing to have the picture
90
but we have no house to hang it in. What are we to do? Love B
119a Mount Street | London | [1965]
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What I have omitted to tell you is the PARTY
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for Teddy Millington-Drake.
92
Having been squared and explained to about it in Geneseo, the Admiral becomes terrified of missing something, and the day before down they come to New York, specially (ostensibly to see us off). Teddy sends round a huge quantity of flowers and that is considered very strange. Twenty or thirty people expected. The admiral puts out twenty-five glasses of all kinds. Twenty-eight people come all of whom I know except for two of Teddy's friends and a host of Elizabeth's. The Admiral glowers as Michele Morgan's daughter arrives in a glittering pants suit. He then takes up a position at the front door, and glowers to each and every person who comes through the front door, leaving me to do the drinks, and saying to each in turn âI am Admiral Chanler; I don't know who you are; but then I don't know anyone here and this is my house.' By this time he had had far too much to drink having started at four, and started to make such observations as âThere are many people here who, under normal circumstances, I would regard as of questionable honesty,' singling out in particular a friend of mine called Tristram Powell, ex-Eton, son of the novelist Anthony Powell, as a âvery suspicious man with a beaky nose'. My mother-in-law's curiosity was aroused into grilling me over dinner about the marital status of everyone present. âAre they married or living together?' âHe's not married, is he?' âNo, I thought not' and so on, and I would love to have invented so bizarre a sex life for each of the characters in turn that they would have a whole-dark-Geneseo-winter-full of conversation and speculation. THEY NEED IT. The Admiral also claimed that no less than seventy people arrived.
91
for Teddy Millington-Drake.
92
Having been squared and explained to about it in Geneseo, the Admiral becomes terrified of missing something, and the day before down they come to New York, specially (ostensibly to see us off). Teddy sends round a huge quantity of flowers and that is considered very strange. Twenty or thirty people expected. The admiral puts out twenty-five glasses of all kinds. Twenty-eight people come all of whom I know except for two of Teddy's friends and a host of Elizabeth's. The Admiral glowers as Michele Morgan's daughter arrives in a glittering pants suit. He then takes up a position at the front door, and glowers to each and every person who comes through the front door, leaving me to do the drinks, and saying to each in turn âI am Admiral Chanler; I don't know who you are; but then I don't know anyone here and this is my house.' By this time he had had far too much to drink having started at four, and started to make such observations as âThere are many people here who, under normal circumstances, I would regard as of questionable honesty,' singling out in particular a friend of mine called Tristram Powell, ex-Eton, son of the novelist Anthony Powell, as a âvery suspicious man with a beaky nose'. My mother-in-law's curiosity was aroused into grilling me over dinner about the marital status of everyone present. âAre they married or living together?' âHe's not married, is he?' âNo, I thought not' and so on, and I would love to have invented so bizarre a sex life for each of the characters in turn that they would have a whole-dark-Geneseo-winter-full of conversation and speculation. THEY NEED IT. The Admiral also claimed that no less than seventy people arrived.
The Chatwins returned to London in October and immediately started house-hunting.
To Gertrude Chanler119a Mount Street | London | [23 October 1965]
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Dear Mrs C.,
I'm sitting propped up in the flat because yesterday we went to stay with a friend called John Hewett
93
whose prize ram escaped. I needless to say came off worst and cut my leg right open on a barbed wire fence. The ram of course was unperturbed, was at length recaptured, only to escape again, this time for good. It later that day walked into the local garage.
93
whose prize ram escaped. I needless to say came off worst and cut my leg right open on a barbed wire fence. The ram of course was unperturbed, was at length recaptured, only to escape again, this time for good. It later that day walked into the local garage.
No luck with houses so far. The market is apparently depressed at the moment and we may have to wait till spring because that's the time people put them on the market. Patience is the great thing. Just when you give up, the right thing comes along.
94
I've been going to board meetings for the first time
95
and more often than not they're long and tedious, but sometimes they are very funny especially when all my own contemporaries stand on their dignity and get all pompous and silly. There was a marvellous piece of nonsense the other night when they held that big sale in New York. There was a black-tie audience in London and an additional auctioneer to relay bids from London through an amplified two-way telephone connection. Unfortunately something went wrong and the New York audience heard Cockney swearing, and the London audience heard a few new bits of New York slang. All that could be heard were the operators rather than the auctioneers.
94
I've been going to board meetings for the first time
95
and more often than not they're long and tedious, but sometimes they are very funny especially when all my own contemporaries stand on their dignity and get all pompous and silly. There was a marvellous piece of nonsense the other night when they held that big sale in New York. There was a black-tie audience in London and an additional auctioneer to relay bids from London through an amplified two-way telephone connection. Unfortunately something went wrong and the New York audience heard Cockney swearing, and the London audience heard a few new bits of New York slang. All that could be heard were the operators rather than the auctioneers.
Did Lib tell you we're probably going to Russia for eight days in December? John Hewett and I have always wanted to see the archaeological stuff in the Hermitage and so we've cooked up an expedition. Then we are going to Donegal to Derek [Hill]'s for Christmas, and I think that the chances are that we'll be able to come back to America in the Spring because there's a sale I shall have to catalogue which is scheduled for June. All rather in the air at the moment though.
So it won't be too long before we'll all be back. Lib says to tell you that a friend of ours called Allen Bole may look you up.
With love,
Bruce
To Elizabeth Chatwin119a Mount Street | London | [November 1965]
Â
I now feel at liberty to forget your birthday present
xxxx B
PS do you normally keep your stockings in the 'frig?
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96
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In January, after their visit to Russia, Chatwin took Elizabeth as his secretary to Paris to catalogue the Helena Rubinstein collection. This would be his last major sale for Sotheby's.
To Gertrude ChanlerHotel de L'Université | Paris | France | 7 January 1966
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I have you horribly on my conscience because I didn't yet write to thank you for my Christmas present. I tried to send something but it was of a highly perishable nature and I hated the idea of it mouldering at Rochester airport. The odds are even that we'll both be able to come over for about a fortnight in February, but I'm not yet counting on it. Helena Rubinstein
97
wore a lot of people out during her long life, and she retains that capacity in the grave. We work from 9.00 till 8 in the evening and we still get nowhere. Then we go back to this peculiar hotel which has now become less than a joke (bathwater from midnight to 5am). Paris is wonderful for holidays but horrible to work in. I'm going to insist that E. gets paid a fortune.
98
We are sitting in an Italian restaurant and the woman next to me is a blonde with a khaki face. E. and I are speculating how it got that way because she is not a negress. E. has eaten an enormous pizza, half a chicken, and is now proposing to embark on an elaborate sweet. Nobody would say she doesn't eat! But what really irks me is that she doesn't appear to get any fatter while I blow out like a balloon [Elizabeth: that's because he eats candy all day long . . . It's not my fault that this letter's all full of spots either. David [Nash] and Judy
99
are here and we think the affair is all washed up but we're not sure]. Bruce again: We rather hope so secretly because it would be very limiting for David. E and I put different interpretations on the whole business [E: the whole thing started at Uncle's
100
party for us!]
97
wore a lot of people out during her long life, and she retains that capacity in the grave. We work from 9.00 till 8 in the evening and we still get nowhere. Then we go back to this peculiar hotel which has now become less than a joke (bathwater from midnight to 5am). Paris is wonderful for holidays but horrible to work in. I'm going to insist that E. gets paid a fortune.
98
We are sitting in an Italian restaurant and the woman next to me is a blonde with a khaki face. E. and I are speculating how it got that way because she is not a negress. E. has eaten an enormous pizza, half a chicken, and is now proposing to embark on an elaborate sweet. Nobody would say she doesn't eat! But what really irks me is that she doesn't appear to get any fatter while I blow out like a balloon [Elizabeth: that's because he eats candy all day long . . . It's not my fault that this letter's all full of spots either. David [Nash] and Judy
99
are here and we think the affair is all washed up but we're not sure]. Bruce again: We rather hope so secretly because it would be very limiting for David. E and I put different interpretations on the whole business [E: the whole thing started at Uncle's
100
party for us!]
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On 4 March 1966 Chatwin bought three paintings of nineteenth-century Indian fruits at £25 a piece.
To Sven Gahlin101
Wasn't it lucky that E found some little cheques in her handbag? Otherwise!
Bruce
Since his return from the Sudan, Chatwin had been unable to focus on Sotheby's. He told Robin Lane Fox how he explained the matter to Peter Wilson: âI don't want to go on perched on the podium having sham orgasms as I knock down another lot.' His disillusion over his degraded partnership added to his growing frustration with antiquities. Elizabeth communicated his malaise to Leo Lerman. On 13 July 1965 Lerman wrote in his diary: âElizabeth Chanler says she was looking at some antique jewellery in the showroom. And one of the porters said she shouldn't touch this Egyptian jewellery, because some fifteen or twenty years ago a man brought in a mummy in a case. Then he didn't call for it for about five years. It was put on a top shelf. Finally he wanted it. When the porter tried to get it down, it broke open, and a mess of “black” matter fell on the porter, who became sick immediately, went home, and died that evening. Ever since, porters believe that “antiquities” are cursed.'
Only part of Chatwin's dislike was aimed at grave-robbers. Closer to home, he found himself becoming tangled in a scheme to disperse the Pitt-Rivers collection. This unique collection of ethnographic art (including 240 works from Benin retrieved as bounty by British troops during an expedition in 1897) was stored at the Farnham Museum in Dorset. Still mired in secrecy, the deal which saw their dispersal involved the tight circle of gentlemanly rogues who were Chatwin's immediate bosses. On 27 August 1988, six months before he died, Chatwin focussed his rage against John Hewett, John and Puntzel Hunt in Ireland, and the Sotheby's chairman, Peter Wilson: Chatwin claimed that he left Sotheby's because he was being forced to sell the Pitt-Rivers collection âfraudulently' to American and other collectors.
In June 1966 Chatwin shocked colleagues at Sotheby's by announcing his resignation to read archaeology at Edinburgh. The idea had been simmering ever since he had decided not to go up to Oxford. It had presented itself again in December 1965 on a visit to the Hermitage when he stood before the embalmed body of a Pasyryk chieftain who had been brought back to Leningrad in 1933 by the archaeologist Rudenko. On his return to London, Chatwin had borrowed Rudenko's report from Robert Erskine, once an archaeologist at Cambridge, and began to look into archaeology degrees.
Archaeology had interested Chatwin since his schooldays when his great-uncle Philip Chatwin, a force behind the Birmingham Archaeological Society, had taken Chatwin on his excavations at Weoley Castle. From Sotheby's, Chatwin would visit Hugh at Marlborough, especially to revisit West Kennet Long Barrow, Silbury Hill and the Avebury stone circle. âIt was in his bones,' says Hugh. âHe was looking for absolutes, for why we are as we are, and shifting from Anglo-Catholic certainties to pagan rites.'
Cary Welch tried to discourage him â âI know, from experience, that you are too alive for the academic world' â but agreed to write to Stuart Piggott, Professor of Prehistoric Archaeology at Edinburgh. Their meeting at the end of May decided Chatwin. Thereafter, Welch backed him. âYour decision to study archaeology is very exciting . . . it may be that you MUST prove yourself to yourself in the THING area. Inasmuch as its rewards can be predicted, it is a wise, safe choice. Stuart P[iggott] could not be a better sort, to my mind, and I think you are to be warmly congratulated.'
On 24 June 1966 Elizabeth wrote to her mother: âBruce has finally decided to leave Sotheby's. He is going to go to Edinburgh University to get a degree in archaeology and this will take about 4 years. Sotheby's is having fits of course and are trying everything they know to make him stay another year, but it just won't work. He's been accepted at Edinburgh and is quite determined to go now, especially as we have geared ourselves up to it . . . He said he is going to write to you himself about it all, but I thought I'd just tell you in case you found out some other way. Anyway it's nothing to get alarmed about so don't worry. He's been thinking about this for ages, but couldn't find out how to start, and where to go and it's taken quite a while to get it all organised, especially finding the people to talk to, as most of them were out in the desert digging or something. The mechanics of his leaving Sotheby's have not been worked out yet as he only told them a week ago, but I expect they will make the arrangements for him to sell his shares back etc.'
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