Odd!

Wednesday, January 4th., Cadogan Square, London.

In the early brightness of yesterday morning fate led me to Downing Street, which is assuredly the oddest street in the world, at least in my experience. Everything in Downing Street is significant, save the official residence of the Prime Minister, which, with its three electric bells and its absurdly inadequate area steps, is merely comic. The way in which the vast pile of the Home Office frowns down upon that devoted comic house is symbolic of the empire of the permanent official over the elected of the people. Good job too. God knows what would happen if politicians had charge of things!

Today I corrected typescripts for one hour, and then walked up to Piccadilly Circus and back, thinking further over my scheme for a play for Ruth Draper. I got the scheme into order and wrote to Ruth about it immediately after lunch. I find that I can think best when I am in a street of shops now. I like more and more looking at shop windows. Bit odd that when I come to think about it. I suppose it is a bit like walking in the country, which I now do rarely, in that the eyes are occupied without really seeing, so the mind is free to work. I rarely remember details of my walks and it seems probable that properly alert pedestrians are constantly getting out of my way.

I couldn't get off to sleep this afternoon owing to the noise of workmen next door. I arose and did a further installment of my World-Today article, about the Riviera, writing it with zest and ferocity. I am reading "Peter Simple". It has apparently no form but is very good indeed otherwise. It does give a picture of naval life and its moral backbone is excellent. 

I was very gloomy this morning, reflecting that life ought to be give and take, but that I gave without taking. Especially in my relations with women, which have not been fortunate. However at night I was cheerful again. Odd!

Out of place

Thursday, March 10th., 1928. 
75 Cadogan Square, London.

I recently made the acquaintance of Waldorf Astor, 2nd Viscount Astor. I had met Lady Astor's sister, Mrs. Phipps, at Ruth Draper's in December and was later introduced to the Viscount. I was a little surprised by the invitation to Temple Place, one of the grandest houses in London by all repute. It is just across from the Victoria Embankment, in the Temple area and deserves its reputation. It is as if a country mansion has been set down in the city, and I suppose that was the intention. They have a very interesting collection of Egyptian curiosities there at the moment which I was able to examine.

Built by William Waldorf Astor, then the richest man in the world, in 1895 it has a distinct Arts and Crafts feel - lots of wood panelling, carving, stained glass and hanging lights. The central staircase, with glazed roof is very grand indeed. To be honest I felt myself to be rather out of place - there is nothing like this in the Five Towns. But the Viscount and his wife were very welcoming and she especially seemed genuinely interested in my writing; I don't think the Viscount is a reading man. My impression is that the couple do not use the place very much now, preferring their country place at Cliveden. Nancy Astor is a rather lovely woman, and of course the first woman to take a seat in the Commons. Quite how she reconciles this with the sort of life she leads I have no idea and felt it inopportune to inquire.

I sometimes wonder if my marriage would have been better served had I had a London house instead of Comarques. Marguerite was never really happy there and was always nagging me for us to live in London. It is ironic that I have lived here since I left her. But on balance I don't think it would have made much difference. She would still have met and become infatuated with Legros, or if not him then some other young spark. I don't seem to have the gift of making women happy, though I like them and get on with them very well in a general way. Dorothy isn't happy though she puts a brave face on things. It may be that I am so set in my ways and tend to be perhaps too particular, not to say obsessive. My sister Tertia when she lived with me sometimes called me 'an old woman'. Maybe she had the right of it.

Mixed response

Wednesday, July 21st., Cadogan Square, London.

We went to the Ruth Draper matinee. A packed and putrid matinee audience at the Garrick, nearly all women. Laughing in all the wrong places - giggling, whispering. Tea-drinking. Ruth is very clever. She is a wonderful imitator, but not much of a creator. Some things however, such as the Englishwoman showing her garden were splendidly cruel. Others feeble and formless. The observation seems to be exact but superficial. She is highly skilled and looks nice.

Ruth Draper (1884 -1956), American monologuist and monodramatist whose art was acclaimed throughout the United Statesand Europe. Draper was of a well-to-do family. Her career grew from a habit of writing sketches about persons she knew or had observed and performing them at parties. In 1911 she began performing professionally at clubs and schools. In 1917 Draper made her New York debut as a monologuist in a programme of one-act pieces, all of which were failures except for the one she had written entitled The Actress. She thereafter performed only her own material. Her London debut in 1920 in a bill of her own works was a great success and established her as the pre-eminent practitioner of her art. Draper’s monologues and monodramas were delicately crafted works that revealed a deep understanding of human character, which she conveyed with great skill and deft suggestion. She used a minimum of stage props, no scenery, and little in the way of costume change, yet she could people the stage at will. Her repertory eventually grew to 39 pieces with such titles as Three Generations at a Court of Domestic Relations, At an English House Party, The Miner’s Wife, A French Dressmaker, Opening a Bazaar, In County Kerry, The Italian Lesson, At an Art Exhibition, and Vive La France. In them she conjured up some 58 principal characters, endowing each with full individuality. A command of languages and dialects played a large part in her characterizations as well. 

I am still reading "Sous le Soleil de Satan". It is definitely not good, but I mean with Gods' help to finish it. Unintentional irony there, as the devil is a character in the book which has caused a stir in France.

"Under Satan's Sun", by Georges Bernanos is a powerful account of intense spiritual struggle that reflects the author's deeply-felt religion. The work develops a theme that persistently inspired Bernanos: the existence of evil as a spiritual force and its dramatic role in human destiny. This haunting novel follows the fortunes of a young, gauche, and fervent Catholic priest who is a misfit in the world and in his church, creating scandal and disharmony wherever he turns. His insight into the inner lives of others and his perception of the workings of Satan in the everyday are gifts that fatefully come into play in the priest's chance encounter with a young murderess, whose life and emotions he can see with a dreadful clarity, and whose destiny inexorably becomes entangled with his own. A film based on the novel won the Palme d'Or prize at the 1987 Cannes Film Festival.

Dissatisfied

Wednesday, July 21st., Cadogan Square, London.

We went to the Ruth Draper matinee. A packed and putrid matinee audience at the Garrick, nearly all women. Laughing in all the wrong places - giggling, whispering. Tea-drinking. Ruth is very clever. She is a wonderful imitator, but not much of a creator. Some things however, such as the Englishwoman showing her garden were splendidly cruel. Others feeble and formless. The observation seems to be exact but superficial. She is highly skilled and looks nice.

Ruth Draper (1884 -1956), American monologuist and monodramatist whose art was acclaimed throughout the United States and Europe. Draper was of a well-to-do family. Her career grew from a habit of writing sketches about persons she knew or had observed and performing them at parties. In 1911 she began performing professionally at clubs and schools. In 1917 Draper made her New York debut as a monologuist in a programme of one-act pieces, all of which were failures except for the one she had written entitled The Actress. She thereafter performed only her own material. Her London debut in 1920 in a bill of her own works was a great success and established her as the pre-eminent practitioner of her art. Draper’s monologues and monodramas were delicately crafted works that revealed a deep understanding of human character, which she conveyed with great skill and deft suggestion. She used a minimum of stage props, no scenery, and little in the way of costume change, yet she could people the stage at will. Her repertory eventually grew to 39 pieces with such titles as Three Generations at a Court of Domestic Relations, At an English House Party, The Miner’s Wife, A French Dressmaker, Opening a Bazaar, In County Kerry, The Italian Lesson, At an Art Exhibition, and Vive La France. In them she conjured up some 58 principal characters, endowing each with full individuality. A command of languages and dialects played a large part in her characterizations as well. 

I am still reading "Sous le Soleil de Satan". It is definitely not good, but I mean with Gods' help to finish it. Unintentional irony there, as the devil is a character in the book which has caused a stir in France.

"Under Satan's Sun", by Georges Bernanos is a powerful account of intense spiritual struggle that reflects the author's deeply-felt religion. The work develops a theme that persistently inspired Bernanos: the existence of evil as a spiritual force and its dramatic role in human destiny. This haunting novel follows the fortunes of a young, gauche, and fervent Catholic priest who is a misfit in the world and in his church, creating scandal and disharmony wherever he turns. His insight into the inner lives of others and his perception of the workings of Satan in the everyday are gifts that fatefully come into play in the priest's chance encounter with a young murderess, whose life and emotions he can see with a dreadful clarity, and whose destiny inexorably becomes entangled with his own. A film based on the novel won the Palme d'Or prize at the 1987 Cannes Film Festival.