Uplifted

Tuesday, December 4th., Cadogan Square, London.

Bad night. Somehow or other I have strained my back and it seems to be having some sort of sympathetic effect in my legs when I lie down. Must have pinched a nerve or something. So when I returned to bed at about three this morning I could not get comfortable enough to get back to sleep. Tossed and turned for an hour or so and then gave it up, and got up, and stayed up. Sat in my study (standing up periodically to stretch) browsing. I read my story "The Matador of the Five Towns". It is good, but not as good as "Simon Fugue" which is, I think, the best I have written. "Matador" hasn't quite got the balance or cohesiveness, though it is full of good things; perhaps I put too much in it? Interesting that I used the epithet 'matador' because I have been reading some of Hemingway's stories recently, and Jos Myatt is just the sort of taciturn, declining, complex sort of character that Hemingway might have put in a bull ring.

To liven myself up after my nap I walked by roundabout ways to the Garrick Club. En route I met and was stopped by four people, including one who didn't know me but thought he would like to be sure that I was I, and an old lady whom I had met once at Monte Carlo about seven years ago, just for a few minutes. Met Geoffrey Russell at the Club and he suggested I should go with him to Bach's B Minor Mass at St. Margaret's. I did. I ate oysters with him at the Reform hastily first. Church full. The whole thing marvellous. 

It seems that the Mass was not performed for many years after it was written and delivered, and Bach delivered it mainly as proof to his sovereign that he was fitted for post of capellmeister! Good performance. The effect was terrific; also uplifting, despite dowdiness of every woman in the congregation

A great success

Sunday, November 21st., George Street, London.

Dress rehearsals of "Milestones" on Thursday and Friday. They were a great success, in fact very great - except the song-singing which was rotten. I took a rug and a hot-water bottle with me but the theatre was warmed so not needed. St. John Ervine was there for the Observer, and sat next to me. There is no doubt that he was profoundly impressed. Of course he remembers it from the first incarnation, but he vouchsafed that he considered it as pertinent to 1920 as it had been to 1912. The first performance was last night. I took Bertie Sullivan and Legros. Much real enthusiasm. But by last night I had got tired of the play and went home gloomy. Gloominess seems to be my regular state at the moment.

Marguerite is away in Scotland at the moment on a recitals tour. Apparently her 'focus' is on Baudelaire. I should think this may be the first time that Baudelaire has been heard in Scotland. Of course I have been encouraging her in her declamatory efforts, and indeed she has some ability, but I honestly doubt enough to stimulate a paying audience. We shall see. She has some idea of a tour to America, but I doubt it will survive Scotland.

I introduced Legros to English clubs yesterday and he was immensely struck. "Quelle la vie charmante!" he said at the Garrick, where all the members chaff each other.

 

A most deplorable case

Friday, January 18th., Cadogan Square, London.

The Garrick Club

Emerging last night with Duff Tayler from Garrick. A very damp and chilly night. A lazy wind - it went right through you, not around. Stopped by a farly well dressed man of fifty or so.. A woman with him walked on. She was very soberly dressed. Too dark to see properly. Verbal exchange something like this (Duff left the talk to me):

Him - Excuse me speaking to you, but are you a member of the Garrick?
Me - I am.
Him - I hope you won't be offended by my speaking to you. Needless to say that if you are a member of the Garrick, then you are a gentleman. You won't be angry? You're looking very serious. 
Me - I'm a serious man.
Him - You're an author or something?
Me - No, I'm just a man.
Him - But all you Garrick fellows are celebrities of some sort ...? Now that lady there (indicating) is my wife. She is my wife. We're ina deauce of a hole. Really in a hole. I'm a gentleman. Public school man. My brother is a general in the army, that is to say he is really a brigadier-general. I must introduce you to my wife ....
Then various prefatory remarks, and me getting colder and colder, and Duff putting in a word or two now and then.
Him - Now if you could oblige me with a little - just until the bank opens tomorrow morning. Give me your name and I will leave the money for you in an envelope. I'm a gentleman. You can trust me ...? Otherwise my wife and I are in for night out.
Me - I'm afraid I can't do that.
He didn't seem to be very disappointed.

Strange how these people can hope for success in cadging, but I suppose it works occasionally or they would give up on it. He probably haunted the entrance to the Garrick all evening. Duff said that his object in wanting to introduce his wife to me was to get hold of my name. The man had a weather-worn face. Spoke quite well and was undoubtedly what is known as a gentleman. It was a hell of a nasty night though not actually raining at the time. The wife was waiting about 100 yards up the street. I could see she was dressed in brown. A most deplorable case