New life?

Tuesday, January 1st., Trinity Hall Farm, Hockliffe, Beds.

Taking stock at age thirty three. I am told that today, technically, starts the new century. And a hundred years from now will start the new millennium. So much for my short span!
 
Last year I wrote three plays, a serial of 70,000 words ("The Grand Babylon Hotel"), the draft of my Staffordshire novel ("Anna Tellwright") and part of the final writing, and half a dozen short stories. I also wrote and published 196 articles of various lengths. I collected, revised, and wrote a preface for a series of my articles from the Academy, to be called "Fame and Fiction". It is to be published later this year.

And I  edited Woman magaxine until 30th. September when I resigned and came to live here in the country with my father, mother, and sister Tertia. I also advised Pearsons on 50 MSS books.

From April to the third week in December I was working almost continually at very high pressure, and had no energy to spare for this journal. I am taking it up again today in hope to incorporate it once more into my routine. There is a definite saving of time in dispensing with regular journal entries, but I find it is a useful activity to focus on my achievements, and it is pleasurable now and then to glance back. Though sometimes it is difficult to recall the person behind the words.

Since I came here, on top of work, I have been very much preoccupied and fretted in the superintendence of the repairs to this house. I consistently tell myself that I will never again work so hard, but in future will find time to read poetry regularly, to gather materials for a work on the fiction of the nineteenth century, and - ? - to study Latin.

I made £620 last year; more than ever I made in any previous year. This year, unless something goes wrong with my play "The Chancellor", I hope to make much more.

Today we were out earlyish for a walk. Few people about; probably in bed sleeping off the effects of over-indulgence in New Year celebrations. It was grey and quite cold. A sort of fine mist in the air, enough to feel on the skin, but not enough to make one wet. Everywhere very still. I liked to stop now and then just to enjoy the stillness, as if an invisible blanket had been laid over the world attenuating sound. Amusing incident when we passed through a dispersed flock of sheep whilst walking along a minor road. For some reason they gathered together and began to follow, right on our heels. An odd sensation. Presumably we were mistaken for farmers bringing food. Back home I have been browsing in old journals and imagining a successful future. Happy New Year!

 

Performances

Sunday, February 21st., Rue de Calais, Paris.

Last night "Nana", drama in five acts drawn by William Busnach from Zola's novel, at the Ambigu. First produced at the Ambigu in 1881. Cassive in the title role. A thoroughly rotten and cruel melodrama, interspersed with 'comic relief' of the most footling sort. Yet it made one think of the book. And my admiration for the book leapt out again into a flame. It is not one of the greatest books, but it is superlatively done, a tremendous achievement of colossal and distinguished labour. I think only another author can appreciate the scale of the achievement. How Zola must have felt when he wrote the last lines.

I drank some tea at midnight. And, reaching home, found a telegram from Harrison of the Haymarket, saying that Lewis Waller wanted a play, and might he see "The Chancellor"? The tea and the telegram prevented me from sleeping. God knows why.

This afternoon, Lamoreux concert to hear, chiefly, Richard Strauss's "Life of a Hero". It came at the end of an exhausting programme, but I was much impressed by its beauty. I heard it under difficulties for the audience became restive, talked and protested. One old man insisted on going out. There is a rule about not entering or leaving during a piece, but this old man cried so loud and shook the doors so that the pompiers were obliged to let him through. Applause and hisses at the end from a full audience. One more exhibition of the betise of an audience when confronted by something fresh, extravagant and powerful. It would be absurd to condemn this or any other particular audience, for all audiences are alike. The sarcastic and bitter opposition must be taken as a tribute to the power of the art. Was not "Tannhauser" simply laughed off the stage at the first performance? I liked the piece better than I thought I should - a great deal. The first thing of Richard Strauss that I have heard.

I am rather solitary at the moment which is good for work but not for my nerves. I could do with a little more society, especially female society. Time spent with a 'sympathetic' woman would do me a lot of good. 12,500 words written this week.