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Lot 60
A HEARTBREAKING DRAFT OF A JOHN STEINBECK LETTER TO HIS SONS. STEINBECK, JOHN. 1902-1968. Autograph Manuscript, draft of letter to his two sons, 1 p, legal folio, January 5, 1949,
25 October 2023, 14:00 EDT
New YorkSold for US$19,200 inc. premium
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A HEARTBREAKING DRAFT OF A JOHN STEINBECK LETTER TO HIS SONS.
STEINBECK, JOHN. 1902-1968. Autograph Manuscript, draft of letter to his two sons, 1 p, legal folio, January 5, 1949, leaf torn out of another notebook, left margin rough, closed tear at right margin, toning and creasing.
STEINBECK WRITES TO HIS SONS, IN A LETTER LIKELY NEVER SENT, "I HOPE WE CAN DO MANY FINE THINGS...." In part: "My sons—you are little boys now, very little boys. And it occurs to me that by one kind of accident or another you and I will never know one another. It would be silly of me to say that I feel death blowing down my neck, but silly or not it is so. And if it was not so, the chance of my surviving until you are old enough to have some curiosity about your father, is remote. All this being so, perhaps some kind of letter or letters to you might be a good idea—even if you never see them. / At this writing I am in Pacific Grove in the little cottage. Your mother and I were divorced last of last year. I have just come through the first Christmas without you, a dreadful time of sorrow. I do not know why your mother had to go away from me. Some compulsion was on her that I do not understand. I loved her very much and I did not want to leave either her nor you but she felt it necessary. Her happiness was very precious to her. I do not think she will get it but that I cannot help because she would not let me help. You are not to think I blame her. What she did seemed necessary to her and so it was. But I wonder whether anyone in the world will love her as much as I did. / You are funny little boys now and I miss you so. I feel cheated sometimes that I cannot see you growing and be a part of it and even remember my growing. You will come out to me in the summer and I will try to catch up with you. I hope we can do many fine things like camping in the mountains and going down the coast in a boat. Even while I write it I have little faith that it can happen. I'm still pretty much beaten by the events of the last year. The loneliness for my family is still like ice on me. I suppose that will get better. It will have to or my life will go out very quickly."
We don't see evidence that any version of this letter was ever mailed to his sons. It was discovered tucked into one of Steinbeck's journals (lot 61) from the same year.
STEINBECK WRITES TO HIS SONS, IN A LETTER LIKELY NEVER SENT, "I HOPE WE CAN DO MANY FINE THINGS...." In part: "My sons—you are little boys now, very little boys. And it occurs to me that by one kind of accident or another you and I will never know one another. It would be silly of me to say that I feel death blowing down my neck, but silly or not it is so. And if it was not so, the chance of my surviving until you are old enough to have some curiosity about your father, is remote. All this being so, perhaps some kind of letter or letters to you might be a good idea—even if you never see them. / At this writing I am in Pacific Grove in the little cottage. Your mother and I were divorced last of last year. I have just come through the first Christmas without you, a dreadful time of sorrow. I do not know why your mother had to go away from me. Some compulsion was on her that I do not understand. I loved her very much and I did not want to leave either her nor you but she felt it necessary. Her happiness was very precious to her. I do not think she will get it but that I cannot help because she would not let me help. You are not to think I blame her. What she did seemed necessary to her and so it was. But I wonder whether anyone in the world will love her as much as I did. / You are funny little boys now and I miss you so. I feel cheated sometimes that I cannot see you growing and be a part of it and even remember my growing. You will come out to me in the summer and I will try to catch up with you. I hope we can do many fine things like camping in the mountains and going down the coast in a boat. Even while I write it I have little faith that it can happen. I'm still pretty much beaten by the events of the last year. The loneliness for my family is still like ice on me. I suppose that will get better. It will have to or my life will go out very quickly."
We don't see evidence that any version of this letter was ever mailed to his sons. It was discovered tucked into one of Steinbeck's journals (lot 61) from the same year.