Artistic inclinations

Saturday, November 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

Gale, rainy windy showers early. Rain all day until 8 o'clock.

I drove in the driving rain to the Tate Gallery in order to think over my novel, and saw some good English pictures. There are indeed some fine ones. The elder of the two Tate lecturers was very good on both Blake and Rossetti. He pointed out the humour in Rossetti's watercolours, and he very well explained their origin. Then I wrote some more notes for my novel - to be called, pro tem., "Accident". Also I found names for two of the characters.

I have been reading "The Woman in White" by Wilkie Collins which is widely praised but never before read by me. It is good so far, improving after a slow start. Better than I expected. I particularly like the characters of Marian Halcombe, unattractive but intelligent, resourceful and strong-minded, and Count Fosco. He is an excellent creation - fat, fascinating, cultured and coldly evil. Of course the book is of its time, mannered and over-long, but I am enjoying it and hope the characterisation will carry me through to the end. It is a tribute to the author that I really cannot imagine how the plot is likely to proceed or what will be the denouement.

At the Lyceum for the first night of the Russian Ballet the other day. The whole high-brow and snob world was there, with a good sprinkling of decent people. The spectacle was good. 

Going out

Saturday, November 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

Gale, rainy windy showers early.

I drove in driving rain to the Tate Gallery, in order to think over my novel, and saw some good English pictures. There are indeed some fine ones. The elder of the two Tate lecturers was  very good on both Blake and Rossetti. He pointed out the humour in Rossetti's watercolours, and he very well explained their origin. Then I wrote some more notes for my novel - to be called, pro tem., "Accident". Also I found names for two of the characters. Interesting that I use the word 'found', because that is what it feels like. As if the names have been lying around, just waiting for me to come across them. I suppose they have in a way, somewhere in my head.



We drove, still in the rain - or had the rain just stopped? - to the Lyceum for the first night of the Russian ballet. The whole high-brow and snob world was there, with a good sprinkling of decent people. The spectacle was good. I liked "Petrouschka" as much as ever, and "The House Party" more than ever. I begin now to understand the latter. It is all Sodom and Gomorrah. "The Swan Lake" had much applause: a fine old-fashioned example of Petipa's work. Orchestra better than usual.