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This blog makes liberal use of AB's journals, letters, travel notes, and other sources.
And make sure to visit The Arnold Bennett Society for expert information and comment on all aspects of the life and work of AB.
Monday, 25 November 2013
It was a thoroughly wet and rotten day yesterday. After noon the streets became impossible. I did not work at all. Couldn't concentrate in the least. I had to go out and lunch with a companion, and to suffer all sorts of sentimental worries, and to argue closely in French, and to write a long letter in French.
Afterwards I played Bach's Preludes and Fugues till I couldn't play them any longer. I read Casanova, "L'Etui de Nacre", Maupassant's "La Vie Errante", and Le Mercure de France. I went to bed at 10.15 and arose at 8.30 this morning thoroughly well in all ways.
After a sluggish beginning, the ideas for my sixth and last Windsor story, "Lo! 'Twas a Gala Night", came with much freedom this afternoon and evening. It occurs to me that I am almost happy, strolling about Paris, and calling in at a cafe occasionally, working out the ideas for my fiction. Tonight also, I sleep early, preparatory to writing 3,000 words tomorrow.
Additionally for November 25th., see 'A lone and wonderful genius' -
Last night, as I sat alone in the house, reviewing there was a strange knock. I went to the door, and saw old Mr. Boulton in the fog; a hansom was just driving away. He came in, and sat down in my easy chair; a tall, slightly bent figure, with a creased benevolent large face, and the whitest, silkiest hair and long beard: the most venerable and dignified person that has ever sat in this room of mine. I felt proud of the slight connection between us.