Users of words

Monday, March 15th., Chiltern Court, London.

I am myself a chronic user of words and, I like to think, have acquired some reputation for using them well. But there are others more adept than I, and I give way willingly.

C.E. Montague

Among the major modern experts and virtuosi in writing must be counted the late C.E. Montague, a man with a passion for the proper use of words, a man who turned leading articles into literature. A few years before the war, being acutely intrigued by the literary performances of this Manchester man, I went up to Manchester to make his acquaintance. A temeraraious excursion, rather like going over the top! He was just about the most reserved man I ever met. He had the air of a secondary school teacher or a Wesleyan preacher, but when he talked, he did talk. I soon perceived that he knew a hundred times more than I knew, and had an infinitely more complex taste. He did not traffic in simplicities. His reputation was that he was 'cold'. Well, he was, but he had a heart which he carried in a padlocked secret pocket, never on his sleeve.
 

Another fine user of words is Edith Sitwell, one of the most original poets of our day, who now stands forth as a literary biographer and critic. Her "Alexander Pope" (illustrated and with designs by Rex Whistler) has the qualities one would expect from her. It is brilliantly written, it is challenging, and it is ruthless. She sets out to prove that Pope was a lovable and kindly man as well as a great writer and, by and large, she succeeds. The final chapter is criticism of a very illuminating, unusual sort. If you would see what a vitruoso can see in a given collocation of words, read this chapter. It is revealing and as fresh as the dawn. The plum of the book to my mind is the tirade in the opening chapter upon the "general blighting and withering of the poetic taste" during the first quarter of the twentieth century. She uses strong words, and good words. Her book would be much admired and appreciated by Montague.

In Manchester

Saturday, January 25th., Midland Hotel, Manchester.

C E Montague

I came here from Burslem yesterday at the invitation of Haslam Mills and G.H. Mair of the Manchester Guardian. I was entertained to lunch by them and also present was the renowned C.E. Montague their chief leader writer; also A.N. Monkhouse. Quite a gathering. I felt honoured. Montague's hair is quite grey. He has a tight, prim way of speaking and when he disagrees, or is not convinced, he is sometimes silent with a slight working of the muscles in his face; probably due to sloth. I was told afterwards that he lives in a shell; but yesterday he came out and people were surprised. Monkhouse is a large grave man, slow speaking, with an extraordinary sedate and sincere charm. 


In the afternoon I was taken to look round the Municipal Art Gallery of which they are very proud, and with good reason. A lot of good solid paintings. Best of the lot, in my opinion, was "Work" by Ford Madox Brown. This is a very impressive piece of work which bears close inspection. I can see why it suits the Manchester character alright. Brown has shown in this picture that there is nobility to be found in the commonplace and, not content with that, has filled his painting with social references. In the Hogarth manner. You really need to get up close to see all the detail he includes and I should think there will be new things to discover whenever one returns to the picture. It is clearly in the Pre-Raphaelite mould in terms of its colouring, attention to detail, and narrative content, but I think it goes further, and may be the best of the lot. Thinking about it in the night I felt my work has something in common with it, in fact quite a lot. I feel proud of that realisation.

Woke up with a headache at 10 am. caused by too many strong cigars. But yesterday was one of the most agreeable days I have ever spent in my life. I could live in Manchester. The whole atmosphere of the place suits me and I can imagine a good novel or two germinating here.