Wednesday, March 28th., Rue de Calais, Paris.
I only keep this journal sufficiently to prove that I am still not keeping it. Sometimes it just seems to be too much of an effort. I ask myself who I am writing it for? But at others the words flow and I find that writing down what I have done, and especially how I feel about people and places, helps me get my mind in order. I will persevere.
I finished the seventeenth instalment of "The Sinews of War" today. Three more to do. This evening on my return to Paris from Moret I received in a letter from Phillpotts an adumbration of the plot for our next serial in collaboration. I am not at all sure that I can face another one. Not that it is hard, but I don't feel it is the sort of work I should be associated with. I am concerned that if I get a reputation as an author of 'potboilers' then my serious novels will not be taken seriously.
Lately, besides having the influenza, I have been occupied in putting my Moret flat into an artistically habitable condition. It is an activity I truly enjoy. How wonderful to have rooms of one's own! Growing up as I did in a large family, privacy was more or less unknown which is why, I think, that I value it so much now. Even when I marry I will insist on an inviolate study where I can arrange my books and furniture just as I like.
Yesterday morning in a second-hand shop in Moret I found a Louis XV commode in carved oak in excellent condition, and bought it for 45 fr. without bargaining. I also bought a rather worn Empire bookcase for 20 fr. Impossible to keep my journal while I am so preoccupied with the serial and with questions of cretonnes, carpets, and the arrangement of old furniture and purchasing of fresh.
Showing posts with label Moret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moret. Show all posts
Wednesday, 28 March 2018
Wednesday, 22 November 2017
Forest sounds
Tuesday, November 22nd., Les Sablons, near Moret.
Yesterday I finished the second act of "An Angel Unawares". The third will be very easy to do. So today I began to plan out in detail the first part of "Sacred and Profane Love". The first part is going to be entirely magnificent. I outlined the plot to Davray. I don't think he was very struck by it, and he asked whether the British public would stand it. I think he has the idea that the British will be shocked by the heroine 'giving' herself to the pianist, whereas the French would, of course, take it in their stride. However from a crude outline he had nothing upon which to judge.
I walked all about Moret this morning, and got somewhat lost in the forest this afternoon. Then I read Swinburne.
I noticed in the forest yesterday afternoon that the noise of the wind in the branches was indeed like the noise of the sea; but always distant; the noise never seemed to be near me. I got lost once and took one path after another aimlessly until it occurred to me to steer by the sun. The moonrise was magnificent, and the weather became frosty. I noticed how large the moon seemed, just having risen. Why should it look bigger when it is low in the sky compared to near the zenith? It is the same distance away.
After leaving Davray's at 10 o'clock I went as far as the forest again, but the diverging avenues of trees did not produce the effect I had hoped for; there was too much gloom.
Yesterday I finished the second act of "An Angel Unawares". The third will be very easy to do. So today I began to plan out in detail the first part of "Sacred and Profane Love". The first part is going to be entirely magnificent. I outlined the plot to Davray. I don't think he was very struck by it, and he asked whether the British public would stand it. I think he has the idea that the British will be shocked by the heroine 'giving' herself to the pianist, whereas the French would, of course, take it in their stride. However from a crude outline he had nothing upon which to judge.I walked all about Moret this morning, and got somewhat lost in the forest this afternoon. Then I read Swinburne.
I noticed in the forest yesterday afternoon that the noise of the wind in the branches was indeed like the noise of the sea; but always distant; the noise never seemed to be near me. I got lost once and took one path after another aimlessly until it occurred to me to steer by the sun. The moonrise was magnificent, and the weather became frosty. I noticed how large the moon seemed, just having risen. Why should it look bigger when it is low in the sky compared to near the zenith? It is the same distance away.
After leaving Davray's at 10 o'clock I went as far as the forest again, but the diverging avenues of trees did not produce the effect I had hoped for; there was too much gloom.
Monday, 25 September 2017
At Moret
Saturday, September 25th., Villa des Nefliers
I went to Moret again this afternoon with the others. Exactly the same weather and conditions as on Thursday. I searched all the river from St Mammes to Moret for a subject, and couldn't settle on a good one. Then I began to sketch an old man in a punt fishing. Blackish brown rats (not very big) kept coming up out of the bank to drag away at a large crust of bread that someone had tied to a string by a chain. Half tame. Not being able to carry off the bread they would nibble and eat off it insitu.
We saw a wedding procession preceded by three musicians - a fiddler, a silver instrument and another. Working people. men in silk hats and short semi-frock-coats. the men had obviously drunk about as much as they could manage. Only one or two girls in white - the bride and another. perhaps 30 people altogether, including quite young ones, aged 15 or so. Bride about 25 or 26, certainly not a virgin - so much was obvious!
As the procession approached the town the musicians began to play, and some of the people danced along. One couple stayed lingering behind, the man ran behind a tree while his girl waited for him; then he rejoined her and they walked on slowly after the procession - call of nature I expect; the French are rather more relaxed about theses things! nearly all the people had a brutish and very stupid look. In towns only as big as Fontainebleau, these marriage processions have ceased to occur, but they continue in villages.
Bad sleeping for a week or two. I waste 2 or 3 hours a night in useless bed. So I am trying to stay up later. This morning I didn't sleep after 4.30. I got up at 6.15. i went out at 8 to think about my play, and returned at 10, having done two hours walking in hot sunshine, and two hours thinking. And I was exhausted for the day. I could easily have gone to sleep before lunch. I notice that I almost always sleep more soundly when I have had a good, brisk walk during the day.
I went to Moret again this afternoon with the others. Exactly the same weather and conditions as on Thursday. I searched all the river from St Mammes to Moret for a subject, and couldn't settle on a good one. Then I began to sketch an old man in a punt fishing. Blackish brown rats (not very big) kept coming up out of the bank to drag away at a large crust of bread that someone had tied to a string by a chain. Half tame. Not being able to carry off the bread they would nibble and eat off it insitu.We saw a wedding procession preceded by three musicians - a fiddler, a silver instrument and another. Working people. men in silk hats and short semi-frock-coats. the men had obviously drunk about as much as they could manage. Only one or two girls in white - the bride and another. perhaps 30 people altogether, including quite young ones, aged 15 or so. Bride about 25 or 26, certainly not a virgin - so much was obvious!
As the procession approached the town the musicians began to play, and some of the people danced along. One couple stayed lingering behind, the man ran behind a tree while his girl waited for him; then he rejoined her and they walked on slowly after the procession - call of nature I expect; the French are rather more relaxed about theses things! nearly all the people had a brutish and very stupid look. In towns only as big as Fontainebleau, these marriage processions have ceased to occur, but they continue in villages.Bad sleeping for a week or two. I waste 2 or 3 hours a night in useless bed. So I am trying to stay up later. This morning I didn't sleep after 4.30. I got up at 6.15. i went out at 8 to think about my play, and returned at 10, having done two hours walking in hot sunshine, and two hours thinking. And I was exhausted for the day. I could easily have gone to sleep before lunch. I notice that I almost always sleep more soundly when I have had a good, brisk walk during the day.
Saturday, 31 May 2014
In France
Tuesday, May 31st., Rue de Calais, Paris.
I went down to Moret on Saturday morning to see Davray and nearly missed the train owing to my servant. I was astonished how, during the journey on the Metro, the apprehension of missing the train at the Gare de Lyon got on my nerves, though it was a matter of no importance as there are plenty of trains. My nerves were all raw when I arrived at the Gare, and I was physically exhausted through urging the Metro train to accelerate its movements. So simple it is to lose one's sense of perspective.
In the afternoon I saw the ceremony of the annual Revision des Chevaux which takes place all over France at about this time, every horse in France, except certain mares, being at the call of the government for military purposes. It occurred under a tree in the open space between the Mairie, the church and Davray's garden. As each horse of the commune was brought up, the vet looked it over and described it very briefly for the captain to write down. At the last moment a young man galloped up on a black draught horse, and in answer to some query replied as he slipped off the horse: "C'est un etalon, comme mois."
Later Davray and I walked down to the banks of the Seine which to my astonishment was close by. A beautiful stream, broad, and surrounded by fine scenery, and not a pleasure boat in sight. Everywhere the most superb acacia trees with their aphrodisiac smell.
For more on Davray see 'Rumours of war'
On Sunday we messed about and in the afternoon went to a river restaurant where the amoreux of the district forgather and amuse themselves in swings. A partie carree of two brothers and two sisters diverted and interested me much: they were so human, and so French, and so naive; and the fleeting charm of the girls (neither of them pretty) was so soon to fade, and the men were so soon to become mature and bete.
For more on Moret see 'French excursion'
We then walked along the canal and inspected the life of the canal people. The hovels on the bank, where they live when they are in the district, were disgusting. The general landscape, viewed at large, and ignoring many small blots, was simply superb.
An English couple (a Liverpool merchant aged 32 and his pretty wife aged 24, on their honeymoon) were arrested on Saturday for having, or attempting to have, sexual intercourse in the Place de l'Archeveche. This struck me as one of the funniest examples of crass 'Englishness' and contempt for foreigners that I have ever come across - the funniest.
Additionally for May 31st., see 'A rural retreat'
We are staying here for a few weeks. The cottage is small but the landscapes and food are excellent, and I am working. Occasionally I have to go up to town. I went for a walk at 10.10 along the straight Storrington Road., and sat on stiles while thinking out my next chapter. I am making very good progress with "The Vanguard".
I went down to Moret on Saturday morning to see Davray and nearly missed the train owing to my servant. I was astonished how, during the journey on the Metro, the apprehension of missing the train at the Gare de Lyon got on my nerves, though it was a matter of no importance as there are plenty of trains. My nerves were all raw when I arrived at the Gare, and I was physically exhausted through urging the Metro train to accelerate its movements. So simple it is to lose one's sense of perspective.
In the afternoon I saw the ceremony of the annual Revision des Chevaux which takes place all over France at about this time, every horse in France, except certain mares, being at the call of the government for military purposes. It occurred under a tree in the open space between the Mairie, the church and Davray's garden. As each horse of the commune was brought up, the vet looked it over and described it very briefly for the captain to write down. At the last moment a young man galloped up on a black draught horse, and in answer to some query replied as he slipped off the horse: "C'est un etalon, comme mois."
Later Davray and I walked down to the banks of the Seine which to my astonishment was close by. A beautiful stream, broad, and surrounded by fine scenery, and not a pleasure boat in sight. Everywhere the most superb acacia trees with their aphrodisiac smell.
For more on Davray see 'Rumours of war'
On Sunday we messed about and in the afternoon went to a river restaurant where the amoreux of the district forgather and amuse themselves in swings. A partie carree of two brothers and two sisters diverted and interested me much: they were so human, and so French, and so naive; and the fleeting charm of the girls (neither of them pretty) was so soon to fade, and the men were so soon to become mature and bete.
For more on Moret see 'French excursion'
We then walked along the canal and inspected the life of the canal people. The hovels on the bank, where they live when they are in the district, were disgusting. The general landscape, viewed at large, and ignoring many small blots, was simply superb.
An English couple (a Liverpool merchant aged 32 and his pretty wife aged 24, on their honeymoon) were arrested on Saturday for having, or attempting to have, sexual intercourse in the Place de l'Archeveche. This struck me as one of the funniest examples of crass 'Englishness' and contempt for foreigners that I have ever come across - the funniest.
Additionally for May 31st., see 'A rural retreat'
We are staying here for a few weeks. The cottage is small but the landscapes and food are excellent, and I am working. Occasionally I have to go up to town. I went for a walk at 10.10 along the straight Storrington Road., and sat on stiles while thinking out my next chapter. I am making very good progress with "The Vanguard".
Monday, 24 September 2012
French excursion
Friday, September 24th., Les Nefliers,
Lee Mathews came on Wednesday night.
Thursday morning Lee M. and I walked in the forest. He said that he had got Tree to come to his flat, and his wife read to Tree the scenario of my "Don Juan", and Tree said he was afraid he hadn't enough dash to carry it off. He took the MS away with him, and Lee M. has heard nothing since.
In the afternoon Mathews and I went to Moret by train, and walked down to St. Mammes and up the Loing to Moret town. Beautiful hot day, with sailing architectural clouds. A great population of barges. We saw a Flemish barge, with white sculpture work on the doors of its cabin, all painted very nattily, with little imitations of the deck of a ship; very clean; a few plants in pots, including a peach tree in full fruit, loaded, in fact; also embroidered lace curtains at the little cabin windows. A delightful object. You never see a French barge like this.
On getting home I found a letter saying that Pinker had sold "What the Public Wants" as a serial to McClures for £100. The U.S.A. is certainly a very strange market indeed.
Yesterday I finished a story "The Heroism of Thomas Chadwick". This makes the third in about a fortnight. One of them, "Hot Potatoes", is just twice too long for the amount of material in it.
Lee Mathews came on Wednesday night.
William Lee-Mathews (1862-1931), a business executive, was from 1905 (succeeding Shaw) chairman of the Incorporated Stage Society Producing Committee.
Thursday morning Lee M. and I walked in the forest. He said that he had got Tree to come to his flat, and his wife read to Tree the scenario of my "Don Juan", and Tree said he was afraid he hadn't enough dash to carry it off. He took the MS away with him, and Lee M. has heard nothing since.
Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree (17 December 1852 – 2 July 1917) was an English actor and theatre manager. He began performing in the 1870s. By 1887, he was managing the Haymarket Theatre, winning praise for adventurous programming and lavish productions, and starring in many of its productions. In 1899, he helped fund the rebuilding, and became manager, of His Majesty's Theatre. Again, he promoted a mix of Shakespeare and classic plays with new works and adaptations of popular novels, giving them spectacular productions in this large house, and often playing leading roles. His wife, actress Helen Maud Holt, often played opposite him and assisted him with management of the theatres. Although Tree was regarded as a versatile and skilled actor, particularly in character roles, by his later years, his technique was seen as mannered and old fashioned. He founded the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 1904 and was knighted, for his contributions to theatre, in 1909.
In the afternoon Mathews and I went to Moret by train, and walked down to St. Mammes and up the Loing to Moret town. Beautiful hot day, with sailing architectural clouds. A great population of barges. We saw a Flemish barge, with white sculpture work on the doors of its cabin, all painted very nattily, with little imitations of the deck of a ship; very clean; a few plants in pots, including a peach tree in full fruit, loaded, in fact; also embroidered lace curtains at the little cabin windows. A delightful object. You never see a French barge like this.
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| Alfred Sisley: Moret-sur-Loing |
Moret-sur-Loing, a medieval town in the Seine-et-Marne, with a little over 4500 inhabitants, has an outstanding location on the edge of the forest of Fontainebleau. By the banks of the Loing, which empties into the Seine a short way downstream, this medieval town has an indisputable charm, drawing visitors both to its fortress and many monuments and its natural surroundings.
Its lively past has bequeathed a rich and varied heritage to the present day: Roman and medieval constructions, pages of the history of the Kings of France, visits from the Impressionists, the unparalleled location on the banks of the Loing... The artist Alfred Sisley, one of the great names in the Impressionist movement, lived in Moret from 1889 to 1899 A friend of Monet, Manet, Renoir and Pissarro in particular, Sisley had a difficult life and his work only gained real recognition after his death. His life story reflects a continual struggle to be recognised in the artistic circles of the time.
On getting home I found a letter saying that Pinker had sold "What the Public Wants" as a serial to McClures for £100. The U.S.A. is certainly a very strange market indeed.
What The Public Wants is Arnold Bennett's sly satire on tabloid journalism -- a lively look at life behind the headlines and proof that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This clever 1909 comedy charts the efforts of media mogul Sir Charles Worgan to boost circulation as well as his social standing. He owns forty different publications and claims to have "revolutionized journalism." He employs over a thousand people and is worth millions -- and yet he wants more -- he wants respect from the "superior people" who look down their noses at him. But is he willing to pay the price?
Yesterday I finished a story "The Heroism of Thomas Chadwick". This makes the third in about a fortnight. One of them, "Hot Potatoes", is just twice too long for the amount of material in it.
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