Ready for anything

Monday, February 17th., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

I am chiefly occupied with the stage. I give a considerable amount of time to the Lyric, Hammersmith, where money has been lost in my absence owing to the lavish expenditure. And I am also being drawn into the production part of "Judith". I say drawn in, but in fact I am happy to be involved though I feign reticence. For a start Lillah Mc Carthy is taking the title role and I very much look forward to close observation of her in a state of undress (as much as we can get away with - she seems keen) in the climactic scene. Lillah is much taken with the play and on Tuesday last we had a three hour meeting with Eaton and Drinkwater about the rest of the cast. I think Marguerite may be a little jealous of Lillah, which isn't a bad thing.


I finished Professor Arthur Keith's "The Human Body" (Home University Library). A thoroughly sound little book, rottenly written, even to bad syntax. It is strange that these experts, such as Keith and Sidney Webb, do not take the trouble to be efficient in their first business, the vehicle of expression. I was amazed, but shouldn't have been, as to how ignorant I am about the workings of the body. We simply take it for granted, until it goes wrong, and then all we want to do is to get right again. At the moment I feel well-informed but I know that the knowledge will soon fade and become faulty.

This morning though I was feeling very well indeed. We have had quite a storm over the weekend - heavy rain and high winds. Significant flooding in some places. So, out walking I stuck to the roads and made paths and breathed deeply, and cleared my head of the various problems and aggravations, professional and domestic, of life. It was good. I strode out and covered the best part of six miles in two hours. Tired and hungry when I got back, and slept well after lunch. Ready for anything (almost) now. 

Confused

Friday, February 8th., Cadogan Square, London.

Last night, first performance of "The Way of the World" at Lyric Hammersmith. I have seen two rehearsals and the performance of this play, and still do not know what the plot is, nor have I met anyone who does know. Further, the balance of the play is astoundingly neglected. There is a very long (and good) scene in the first act preparing for entrance of Petulant, and of course preparing the audience to believe that Petulant is the chief character, whereas Petulant does nothing whatever in the play, and might, so far as the plot is concerned, be left out. All extremely puzzling and confusing. Presumably that was the intention?

The last act drags terribly, and is enough to kill any play. It seems to me that Congreve had something of the superior and really snobbish artistic intelligence of Wilde and Byron. Anyhow his play suffers. It is celebrated but it cannot hold the stage because of its crude and inexcusable faults of construction. Were it well constructed it would easily rival Sheridan and Goldsmith. If it were put on in Hanley the audience would be throwing things, but we all applauded politely at the end. 

What liberty was allowed to unmarried girls in that period. If Millamant was not a widow, and I never understood that she was, they must have had a great deal of licence. I am betraying my 'Victorian' morals by making that statement. Strange to say that I am often shocked by current feminine bahaviours, because they are not what I was brought up to expect, and at the same time approve of femininism in principle. I am very glad that I have no daughter as I should be all at sea!

The performance and production last night were admirable. The play will fail, but it must add to the prestige of the theatre. Edith Evans as Millamant gave the finest comedy performance I have ever seen on stage. I went behind afterwards and told her so. "How exciting!" she said.

Passionately interested

Monday, March 3rd., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

On the 1st. I began my book on women but I only wrote about 100 words. I think I may call it simply "Our Women". I meant to go on with it yesterday but couldn't. After muddling about nearly all day I began again at 5 p.m. and wrote 600 good words before dinner. The book is now really begun. I must admit to some misgivings and I expect to get a fair amount of criticism when it is published, but something needs to be said about the changing role of women and if not by me then who?

I have written to Max Beaverbrook today about theatrical matters. I need some advice. For a man who has two telephones in his office he is singularly difficult to get at. It is all to do with the affair of the Hammersmith Theatre lease. If I don't get hold of the lease Horne will assuredly sell it to one of the theatrical rings, who, I think, would give him an appreciable profit. At the moment he is prepared to sell to me for the amount he paid originally. I don't want to miss the chance. I have now, to my immense chagrin, become passionately interested in it. People have told me this is what happens when you get mixed up in the theatrical business - it gets hold of you.

The theatre has been closed for over a year, and before that it had a bad melodramatic reputation. We have undoubtedly put it on the map, and unless the wild sensationalism of the Daily Express, the Daily Sketch and the Daily Mirror plunges this millionaire-ridden country into anarchy, we have an excellent chance of accomplishing something permanent and valuable. The artistic credit will be Nigel Playfair's. The credit on the practical side will be mine and Alistair Tayler's. The press has been exceedingly kind on the whole, and already our prestige is unquestionable. So much so that we have been invited to take sole charge of the Shakespeare Memorial Week at Stratford.

A few ideas

Monday, November 15th., Cadogan Square, London.

Duff Tayler and I lunched together yesterday and discussed his sick leg, and the future of the Lyric, Hammersmith. Duff (Alistair) is a short agreeable Scotsman of means, devoted to the theatre. He has relied on my support in his battles with Playfair. He has an idea for burlesquely producing one of the old melodramas, such as "Sweeny Todd". So we walked at once to French's and bought six old melodramas, of which we each took three. I drove home, slept, and read "Sweeny Todd" and "Black-eyed Susan". I decided "Sweeny" would do but "B.E.Susan" would not. Eliozabeth L. came ot dinner and we took her to the first night of "The Would-be Gentleman" at the Lyric. This was rather less awful than I had feared: but it was pretty amateurish, and the recommendations of Duff and myself had not been carried out with any thoroughness. Anstey appeared and looked charming, and aged, and naif. He looked far younger at rehearsals. Dorothy did not care for the production, nor did Tertia. Elizabeth did, but Elizabeth is not discriminating.

Today I finished an interesting book called "The Man in the High Castle". The author's name is P. Dick, an American. There were four things I liked about it. Firstly, it is an 'alternative history', which I always find interesting. Not only that but there is an alternative history (a book) within the alternative history - clever idea and well executed. Secondly the characters are well-drawn and all are conflicted in their lives. Authentic. Thirdly, the plot is gripping, and I was keen to keep reading to find out what would happen. Always a good sign. Finally, running through the novel is a sort of philosophical strand relating to the Chinese I Ching. Clearly this is something of real importance for Dick. The whole novel was imbued with a sort of dark fatalism. The ending was strange and a bit disappointing, but it has left me thinking. It may do well if properly promoted.