Villa "Les Violettes"

Saint-Jean-de-Luz

Wednesday, 8th June

Sir,

Your letter has astonished and troubled me. My mother did not comprehend it, either. First, it is based on a great misunderstanding. I am not "a frequent and lavishly-remunerated guest of well-heeled universities," nor do I know "all the smart fiddles and gimmicks" for easing my way into them. My position in life is that of any Basque poet and translator, quite modest. Surely the experience of an obscure Maurice Ravel can be of little help to a C.L. Dodgson of Christ Church, Oxford, one of the leading avant-garde composers and musicologists of our time – a little too avant-garde for me, I am afraid; permit me to say that after hearing your Sacre du Printemps I had to ask my mother to play some Edouard Lalo on her Bechstein for a full hour before the blood of my poetic vein, congealed, could begin to circulate again. Please do not take this to be criticism.

Receive, Sir, my distinguished respects.

Maurice Ravel

Member of the Saint-Jean-de~Luz Folklore Club

Villa "Les Violettes"

Friday, l st July

Dear Dr. Dodgson,

Thank you for the score of Ballade de la Reine Morte d’Aimer. I’m afraid I am not much of a singer, but my mother and I are both touched by your thoughtfulness. An unexpected invitation from the University of the Thursday Revolution at Monsoon is about to take me far from "Les Violettes." (Apparently Gabriel d’Annunzio let them down at the last minute.) My mother and I are looking forward eagerly to the cultural opportunity offered. I can well understand your feeling restless at Oxford, of which I hear poor reports, particularly concerning the breakfasts. For your information, I shall be sailing third-class on a comfortable tanker flying the Liberian flag, while my mother follows with her Bechstein on a Norwegian trawler. (Monsoon has been kind enough to see to arrangements.) Forgive my mistake about Sacre du Printemps: to the profane, Dodgson and Debussy sound somewhat alike. (My mother had believed it to be an act from a little known Seventeenth Century masque.) She joins me in sending distinguished thanks.

Maurice Ravel

University of the Thursday Revolution

P. 0. Box 88, Monsoon

Sunday, 20th July

Good Dr. Dodgson,

A nightmarish Gordian knot brings me before you, kneeling, hands clasped: it was not a Basque poet Monsoon required, but a composer, musicologist, conductor and piano virtuoso. (The new regime is closing down the hemp plantations and recycling the workers into symphony orchestras.) Could you send, by return of post, such rudiments of musical knowledge as may permit me to glide through my stay with an appearance of serenity? In the meantime, I shall plead bursitis and tone-deafness brought about by tanker-lag and change of climate.

I pass on a nugget obtained from a friendly (not actively hostile) colleague: the University of Labrador is looking for a combination drummer and glass-blower. Might this not be good for you?

My mother is stranded in Tasmania with her Bechstein. My despair knows no frontiers.

Maurice R.

Monsoon,

Saturday, 2nd August

Noble C. L. Dodgson!

My mother, her Bechstein and your L’Enfant et ses Sortileges arrived by airlift via Panama. Marnan performed beautifully at a gala in the new President’s palace, while I delivered the text in Basque – the original seemed to us to be confusing and arbitrary. It went over quite well. We are distributing copies to the wives. I thought it simpler to place the copyright in my name.

I have mastered Solfege, Harmony and Composition, thanks to the little books you sent. I made out your handwriting quite easily.

I am sorry you did not find the Labrador idea "reliable." May I put forth another? Monsoon is starting a Multiple Writing Crafts Department – too late, alas, for me: I have accepted a sympathetic invitation from the Conservatory of Music at Arkhangel’sk. However, I have taken the liberty of recommending you for a Multiple post. Submit a sample of your prose, preferably under another name: "Dodgson" may strike a familiar musical note to some. I am sure you can do it easily; you write a fair letter.

From Maurice, who never forgets a good turn.

Arkhangel’sk Conservatory of Music

Monday, 9th September

Dear Dodge,

There is no such thing as "I can’t." Enclosed is a copy of an old Basque folk song my mother taught me. Work it over into English and send it to Monsoon along with your application. (Brillig means "feather boa," morogoves stands for "public prosecutor," and mome raths is a hung jury.) My mother is working her passage north on a freighter. "Lewis Carroll" sounds all right. It could be anything.

Lots of luck,

Mau

Arkhangel’sk,

30th September

Dear Lew,

I liked Chansons Maddcasses and Maman did too. We are looking for someone to hum the flute part. I am sorry Monsoon has not lived up to your expectations. I realize, now, I had failed to explain they were planning to turn the campus into a hemp plantation. Why not try Rangoon? A playwright who knows something about family quarrels in Oslo would stand a good chance. I doubt if you will get any satisfaction from Harvard. They grant tenure only to candidates’ mothers. (Have you a mother, by the way? You’ve never said.) My musical prowess waxes.

Keep in touch,

Mau

Aboard "Star of Lenin"

8th October

Dear Lew,

My mother sends her thanks for the piano reduction of the Ring cycle. It must have been a lot of work, but then, as you say, Sunday is a long day in Monsoon.

Thrilling developments. Maman has been named musical officer on a luxury icebreaker making a leisurely tour of Arctic ports. Could you send along a simple piece, something she can tinkle during the kvass-and-pickle hour, when passengers’ spirits are apt to flag? Mail it to General Delivery, Murmansk.

Marnan embraces you heartily. She speaks of fate. My own feeling is just that we have been programmed by a machine I am prepared to trust.

Maurice

Hôtel de Paris, Monte Carlo

Monday, 4th November

Dear Lewis Carroll,

Adélaide ou le Langage de Fleurs, which we didn’t think much of at the time, has been turned into rather a delightful ballet. I insisted they mention you on the second page of the program: "Based on an Idea by Lewis Carroll." Is that all right?

"Stranded, penniless and without consular protection in bloody awful Monsoon" seems an over-reaction on your part. Counter-revolutions never have been and never will be good for money, but once the first rough bustle is over you may learn to appreciate the advantages. Some counter-revolutionary societies fix everyone’s teeth, for instance.

Heidelberg has a backlog of tenure until 2090, so not much hope for you there.

It was not a handbook on reforestation I sent; it was a critical study of the Marquis de Sade. Try it on Berkeley.

I’m engaged for my first solo concert, a charity affair up at the Palace. Don’t you happen to have anything in some simple key? Maman adds, as a joke, "for one hand."

How strange our fates have been and how capricious our destinies.

Maurice R.

En route to Venice

15th November

Dear Dodgson,

I am writing on my knee, my letter paper firmly in place on the back of the Modigliani I am taking to Venice as a present from Countess Rasponi to her sister, who was, as you know, a good friend of Henry James. We had a nice little run into Switzerland to see Noel Coward, who lent us the Rolls. Maman was pleased with the Alps.

Here’s news: Lubyanka gives tenure on demand. In Ethiopia, you have to promise not to marry anyone in direct line to the throne. In San Marino. they make you sign a pledge not to overthrow the soccer team. You may use my name, if you wish.

We find you depressive. Just keep telling yourself that all you need in your present Monsoon predicament is a large-scale map and a smart accountant.

Cordially,

Ravel

Paris, 8 December

Dear Friend,

My son is rehearsing his speech for the Legion of Honour ceremony. during which massed choirs numbering three thousand will render Daphnis et Chloé; he has asked me to answer your questions in his stead. I can see that your feelings have ceased to be rational, but was it such a good idea to implant yourself in a country on the brink of upheaval? All revolutions eat their young: the trouble with counter-revolutions is that they also eat their old. To think they are blaming you for last year’s hemp harvest! My poor friend, you are like someone paying interest who has never applied for credit! As my son puts it, the creative life is just one big uncut emerald. It’s a matter of knowing where to slice. Such a pity you are not here to advise us; Maurice has become keen on England. How much longer do you think they will keep you. for questioning? Not too long, I hope.

With fond sympathy,

"Maman Ravel"

Christ Church, Oxford

St. Swithin’s Day

My dear Dr. Dodgson,

How agreeable to hear from you.

Yes, there is a shelter for distressed authors somewhere in England, but no one can tell me where. I cannot help wondering if you would not be better off seeking healthy employment while you are still able-bodied. I have been told of a vacancy for a cleaner in the Irish Guards barracks. If you like, I could provide you with a personal introduction to Her Majesty the Queen, making no reference, of course, to your recent incarceration in Monsoon: the Guards are sticky about clean records. Should you prefer to touch on the outskirts of the world of music, as one wistful phrase of your letter suggests, you might study the possibilities offered by a new comprehensive complex, the Asia Minor Musical and Performing Arts Facility, where the post of night watchman is still up for competitive bidding. You will be given the option of tenure without salary, or room and board with agonizing insecurity: the choice is up to you. I am informed that the place is a hotbed of creative dislocation, which should suit someone starting at rock bottom. My mother suggests sending you to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, where a caretaker is desperately needed to keep the Bechstein dusted and tuned. How fluent are you in Basque?

Yours etc,

Maurice Ravel

Apparently you have been writing a lot of nonsense. Why so?