News from Egypt

Tuesday, December 3rd., George Street, London.

My health is in the main very good, with slight stumbles. After much searching and disappointment I have taken a house in Cadogan Square (No. 75). It is not so central as this but it is the best I could get. There were no flats that would suit me. It is a large house and I am subletting the top floor (4 small rooms) to my secretary Miss Nerney and her mother. It will be an immense advantage to have my secretary on the spot, and the arrangement seems to suit them as well. Miss N. is much attached to me and, frankly, I would be lost without her. She has been with me for eight years now and I often reflect that it a good job she is not an attractive woman (sexually speaking) as we are thrown a good deal together. As far as I can tell she has no sexual interest in men at all.

Much excitement in the press about the discovery of a Pharaoh's tomb in Egypt - name of Tutankhamun apparently. It seems that Lord Carnarvon and a Mr. Howard Carter, professional archaeologist, have been searching for this tomb for several years and are at last successful. The Times seems to have the best source of information, apparently Carter himself. As I understand it much work has been undertaken to clear a way through to the sealed tomb which was entered by Carter just a couple of days ago. Though it has been entered in antiquity by tomb robbers it seems that there is a great deal relatively undisturbed, and, particularly, an inner chamber where they hope to find the mummified body of the pharaoh himself.

All very exciting. Just the sort of thing Haggard would write about, though his protagonists would only have come to the tomb after surviving immense challenges in an alien landscape and would probably make their entrance at dead of night with only a flickering candle for illumination. I jest! The whole business has stirred my imagination and I feel that I would like to see some of the marvels of Egypt myself. In fact, given my changed domestic situation, this would be a good opportunity, but I am commited to the new house with its attendant costs and responsibilities. Oh to be at liberty!

 

Self belief

Tuesday, March 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

Pleasant spring sunshine. Strolled about this morning and spent some time talking to a longtime resident of the Square. He told me that it was built between 1877 and 1888. The west side has the greatest variety of houses, all variations on the same Flemish-influenced theme. 54-58 were designed by William Young in 1877 for Lord Cadogan himself, and the architect J J Stevenson was largely responsible for the south side, built in 1879-85. The east side was built in 1879. The Square is formed of a garden (restricted to residents) surrounded by red-brick houses, the majority of which have been converted into flats or apartments. It is a very fashionable location and so expensive, but it suits me well. Marguerite would have liked it, but I would not have liked it so well with her.
I had been feeling rather gloomy but the sunshine cheered me. Struggling to get good ideas. Neuralgia has been bothering me, and of course I am dyspeptic as usual. Feeling my age. Somebody asked me the other day, during dinner, what I believed in. Sets one back a bit that sort of direct question. I think they meant from a religious point of view and I passed it off with a jocular remark, but it has been on my mind. What do I believe in? I am an atheist, though I don't go around saying so in public. I am amoral but I doubt if anybody would use that term in describing me. I believe in the value of art, but I would be hard-pressed to say what exactly I understood by 'art'. Mostly I believe in myself. I have always had a sort of inner confidence in my ability to cope with things and essentially I think that is what life comes down to. I suppose most people must have self-belief or else what do they have?

Other people's business

Tuesday, September 16th., London.

Constance Duchess of Westminster's furniture being sold up today at Cadogan Square. I went to look at it yesterday morning. There is no reason why the furniture of a Duchess should not be showy, or ugly, or dull, yet it shocks one to find it so. I was surprised at the smallness of the house, too. A policeman in the hall.

Cadogan Square, SW1.

Dealers and go-betweens in the porch. One of them asked me if he could do anything for me. I said I'd see; but I saw nothing I wanted. When I came out he gave me his card and he told me he could get me anything I wanted anywhere at any time. He said he knew my face but not my name; he said: "We never forget a face - except those who owe us money."


Erskine told me yesterday that on Friday a young gardener came to him. He stammered terribly - terribly. But he was a 'lovely subject'. He got him to sleep at once. And when he came out he scarcely stammered at all. The man was dazed. He couldn't believe it. He said: "My wife won't know me." He was to return on Saturday morning to be finished off. He never came. Nor did Erskine hear from him. Why didn't he come? Was he scared of a second experience? Or does he think that he is sufficiently cured for practical purposes?

The Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, popularly known as Brompton Oratory, is a Roman Catholic church in South Kensington, London. It is situated on Brompton Road, next to the Victoria and Albert Museum, at the junction with Cromwell Gardens. 

I went into the Oratory yesterday morning to think out characterisation of "The Dance Club" play. Men were tuning the organ and calling out to one another monotonously. Cleaners sweeping an dusting (11.30 a.m.). I chose what I thought was a quiet place in the nave. A cleaner came up behind me and said, "You're getting the dust here, sir. But I'll be as quiet as I can." very polite. I then noticed that the air was full of dust. He had somehow crept up behind me without my noticing it. So I went off into the transept.