My wife is away in Scotland of all places, reciting Baudelaire, of all things. I cannot imagine that in any feat of his imagination Baudelaire might have foreseen such an eventuality. And what about the Scots? What will they possibly make of a middle-aged Frenchwoman reciting to them; will any, in fact, attend the performances? My imagination fails me in this crisis. I only know that there will be a price to pay in terms of my mental harmony when she returns. Marguerite's natural volatility is undoubtedly increasing as she ages. So, let me enjoy my rest now!
I am feeling much better in myself now that the first night of "Milestones" revival has come and gone. The dress rehearsal had been a great success. Professional critics and managers shed tears and wiped their noses to hide their emotion. St. John Ervine was there for the Observer and sat next to me. There is no doubt that he was profoundly impressed; he told me privately that he thought it was as pertinent to 1920 as it had been to 1912. I had a rug and hot-water bottle with me to help with cold in the liver, but I felt myself warming internally as it became apparent that we were to have a success. I later slept 6 hours without a break. And now the play is truly launched and I can relax, at least for a little while.
Today I finished my reading of "The Woman in White". The plot is trivial and hinges on too many coincidences, but the novel is good in total. What a literary creation is Count Fosco. The book is worth reading just to become acquainted with that enormous personage. A pity that Collins didn't have the idea to return to the character in the shape of the many adventures that must necessarily have characterised his earlier life. I for one would have been interested to know how he came by his extraordinary conceit, erudition, titles, and amoral attributes, not to mention his size! Some characters stand out from their context and achieve a sort of independent life in the imagination of the reader. Such is Fosco.
