Plenty of material

Saturday, March 10th., Cadogan Square, London.

George Doran came to lunch, and after lunch, in my study, he began talking about the idea he had given me last year for a novel based on the tragic life of Ernest Hodder-Williams. I said I liked it but couldn't handle it yet, as I was more attracted by a scheme for a realistic novel about a big luxury hotel. I have had this scheme in mind for years now and it is a ghost I must lay before I am much older. All the material is in my head. I shall probably begin it as soon as I have finished my play. Doran was disappointed but accepted the inevitability of my decision.

An interesting novel by a young Irish (Northern) writer has come into my hands. Nick Laird. I think we will be hearing more from him. The book's title is "Modern Gods". Essentially the story concerns two sisters, one of whom is an academic anthropologist but has rather 'lost her way' professionally and emotionally, and the other has married a man who turns out to have an unfortunate past. Very unfortunate - he has killed several people in a sectarian act and served a sentence. The first sister, Elizabeth, has, and takes, the opportunity to go off to New Guinea to investigate and report on a new cult that has arisen there. The second, Alison, has to cope with being bound to a man she feels she no longer recognises. Tribalism is at the centre of the narrative. Also the chronic hypocrisy of religion and professedly religious people. Also elements of a daughter's relationship with her mother, misunderstandings and betrayals. Laird is good at dialogue which is very authentic to my ear, and he handles the juxtaposition of the parallel stories well. Good also at creating a sense of menace which unsettles the reader. The ending is poor. In fact it seems to just stop as if the author had run out of time. I also felt that there was so much material that Laird had failed to write the much longer and more interesting book that was available to him. Definitely a writer to watch out for.

I was at a big dinner at the Savoy last evening, given to Capt. George Nicholls ('Quex' of the Evening News). He insisted that I sit next to him, for moral support, which I thought a great compliment. Birkenhead was in the chair and made a most brilliant and impudent speech. Champagne was bad and so I have a slight headache today. But I have spent time with Virginia and have taught her to negotiate the stairs with only minimal help. Dorothy will be surprised when she returns.

Moral messages

Saturday, December 22nd., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

Rickards came on Christmas Eve. Doran came on Sunday morning. Doran left this morning to spend the weekend with Ernest Hodder Williams. He said that while he was ther he didn't have to go to chapel, and Ernest didn't go either. I said that if he had any backbone he would decide for himself whether or not to attend religious services, and not rely on moral support from others.. He said: "It's all very well for you!"
 
In the three days up 'til yesterday I wrote 4,500 words of a short story, in spite of guests and eating. 

I am now re-reading "The Way of all Flesh". It stands it. There is very little wrong with this book, even technically. But the trick of reading a piece of the narrative to the hero himself and then writing down what the hero's comment on it was, is a mistake - especially when it is repeated. It is a brave book which could not have been published when it was written, and I'm not so sure that some of the messages it contains are not just as relevant today. In fact I know they are.

Doing one's duty

Monday, November 28th., Cadogan Square, London.

Doran, Jules Godby, Ellery Sedgwick and daughter Henrietta, Humbert Wolfe and Mrs. Belloc Lowndes came to tea, and baby. Baby and gramophone do nothing whatever to promote high-brow conversation. 

I dined at the Piccadilly Hotel restaurant with Harry Preston, to meet the Prince of Wales. Very affable. Normally I would go out of my way to avoid any contact with 'royalty' as I regard the institution as an anachronism. I was simply humouring Harry who is an old-fashioned monarchist, and would be deeply wounded (and offended) if I told him my views. I got away with a bare minimum of obsequious behaviour, the merest hint of a bow. To be honest I felt rather sorry for the man who must have been putting on a show since he was first displayed in public. As a public person myself I have some idea of the strain involved. There must be times when he wishes to just throw it all over.

Finishing things

Friday, November 11th., Villa des Nefliers.

Still unwell all week. Can't quite say what is wrong with me. Occasional light-headedness, unsettled stomach, urinary frequency. All minor symptoms, but contributing to my lack of well-being. Nevertheless I finished "The Great Adventure" this afternoon at 4.30 p.m., four days in advance of time. Actual dialogue 20,300 words. I shall doubtless cut it to less than 20,000. There are now two complete plays of mine - this and "The Honeymoon", renounced by Trench - for sale. 

At last completed and posted a letter to a cousin of mine who lives on the Isle of Man. We are occasional rather than regular correspondents. It was one of those letters which one never quite 'gets around to'. But today I exercised self-discipline, wrote, and enjoyed the writing. As well as family news, I told her of a plan I have for some creative biography; a relationship which might have happened, but didn't. A sort of 'what if'. Just for fun!

The two American reviews of "Clayhanger" to which I looked forward with the most interest (Boston Evening Transcript and Chicago Evening Post) are both absolutely satisfactory in their enthusiasm. Doran wrote me, in response to my query, that he had sold about 12,000 of "Old Wives' Tale" to date, and that the demand seemed likely to continue. I must say that it is something of a mystery to me why my books are so popular in America. The Five Towns must seem a very alien and outmoded place to modern Americans. Perhaps it is the contrast or perhaps, as I would like to think, I have touched upon some universals in Human nature which appeal to any thinking person.

Streets of New York

Tuesday, November 7th., Park Hill, New York.
 
Dinner last night given by the Dutch Treat Club at Kean's Chop House. Over 100. Wallace Irwin gave a good skit on "How to live in New York on 48 hours a day." Amusing. And captures the hectic pace I am obliged to maintain during this visit. In a few words I said I would thank him in print.


I walked down 34th St. to Waterside offices of Italian Lines, saw Duca degli Abruzzi half ready to go. A lot of people on board and a line of third class passengers waiting outside shed for admittance. Nothing but Italian spoken all round me. This swift transition from 5th avenue is very picturesque. Declension of streets sets in immediately after Broadway. 6th Avenue is attrociously paved. After 7th the declension is frank. 10th and 11th are appalling, atrocious, and some of the sidewalks staggering - unworthy of the suburbs of a small provincial town.


This was election day. I saw the sinister but genial fellows bearing openly the insignia of Tammany. Don't, please, think that Tammany is a disease that happens to have attacked N.Y. It is as much an expression of N.Y. character as the barber who shaved me this morning, the pavements, the fineness, the interest in education, etc. etc.

R.H. Davis

Dinner at Sherry's. R.H. Davis, Franklin Adams, Doran and I. Davis told how he interviewed Li Hung Chang for W.R. Hearst. Hearst on it being pointed out to him that bribery would be necessary to get round the whole crowd of Dutch waiters at the Waldorf, where Chang had a suite, said he would give $1000 for the expenses of the interview. Ultimately, after a week of preparing the ground, Chang sent for davis. And Davis entered his suite "with my shoes in my hand". He interviewed him through an interpreter. At the end David asked Chang if he spoke English. He answered "No", in English. Asked if he was rich, he said, "600,000,000 dollars today, nothing tomorrow. All I have is at the mercy of the state." He was very curious about rich men in America. later he sent for Davis as a private man and spoke to him in English. He asked if Davis was married, and Davis said he wasn't because he couldn't afford to be. Chang then said: "Get money. Get a wife. Get a home. Get children." Davis is a writer as well as being a journalist. An interesting man. As a matter of fact he is now married, though he wasn't when he met Chang.

Successes

Sunday, February 26th., Rue de Grenelle, Paris.

Reviews of "The Card" much too kind on the whole. Six on the first day, 6 or 8 on the second. Dixon Scott's in M. Guardian one of the best I ever had, and no effusiveness either.
He writes for example:

• "The Card is genuine Bennett; it flings a happy light on the whole fascinating Bennett problem; and indeed the really fundamental thing to say about it, comparatively, is not that it ought to have 'Clayhanger's' qualities, but that 'Clayhanger' would be better if it had some of the qualities of 'The Card'. 
• And: " ... it is probably true that to enjoy 'The Card' completely you must be lucky enough to be born a little nearer to the centre of things than London. To appreciate Mr. Bennett's art, a purely provincial product, to see all that it stands for and all that it is bringing us, you too must be a provincial ..."
• And: " ... it is the very furiosity of the fun, the element of fantasy and extravagance, that gives the last touch of truth to the tale as a picture of reality."

I did practically no work between Monday and Saturday, but 3,500 words on these two days. In between I was mysteriously ill. I hope to finish the second part of "Hilda" a week today. But tant pis if I can't.
News of edition of "Sacred and Profane Love" with my water-colour cover arrived from United States on Wednesday, together with figures showing that Doran had sold about 35,000 copies of my various books (in about eight months I think). This does not include Dutton's books nor Brentano's editions of "Buried Alive".

Arriving in the New World

Friday, October 13th., New York.

Last night. Taking pilot and (?) health officers aboard. But perhaps they were ship's officers. First we saw some coloured lights which we took for something on land. It proved to be a ship, and then it proved of course to be the pilot boat. We had been burning flares.

Lusitania arriving in New York, 1910

Doran and two Press men came into saloon off revenue cutter. Only I didn't know they had come off revenue cutter. I was interviewed by two journalists apparently on behalf of the crowd. This was while ship was manoeuvring into dock. And at last we were on shore, after I had been interviewed by three other people. Irwin Cobb was part of our group.
Called at two hotels (free lunch counter etc.) and had time at the N.Y. Central to go to Hotel Belmont, which was our second hotel. I had had views of Broadway, 14th Street, 5ht Avenue etc. Lots of sky signs. Roads up. Not very many people but a sensation of grandness, immensity, lights , heights. Streets full of holes. Cable cars long and noisy but fewer at that time of night.
We got into a long train, smoker - rather shabby, and exactly at 11.19 left the station. I had a lot of evening papers, a wilderness to me. We crossed the Harlem, saw the old ship canal, and then skirted the Hudson. very blue arc lights. Through the town a regular succession of lightning glimpses of long streets at right angles to the track.
Cobb said you could see N.Y. and get a good idea of it. I said: "But what about the home life of people to learn?" he said: "There is none. It's a half-way house. Constant coming and going and changing of centres and so on. Only one man in three is American born." He indicated a whole vast quarter as we passed - probably several miles - which he described as nothing but apartment houses and bedrooms ... Arrival at Yonkers. Station being reconstructed. All wood stairs etc. A buggy, on remarkably thin wheels, and two horses, brown and white, ill-groomed, waited for us. And we seemed to drive a very long way. Through an Italian quarter. We passed through a district full of the remains of decorations of Christopher Columbus Day. which is today. At last, after sundry hills and dales, into an obviously residential quarter. her all roads interminably winding curves. Then the house.