A writers' dinner

Saturday, December 14th., Yacht Club, London.

Interview with Lillah McCarthy and Drinkwater at Adelphi Terrace at 12.45. I promised to write "Judith" by the end of January, and they promised to produce "Don Juan" also. In the afternoon Captain Basil Dean came to see me about his London theatrical scheme. He said he could get and control £20,000. I definitely promised to write a play for him, too. This with Goodall's, Vedrenne's and Lillah's makes 4 plays!
Also see 'Indecent exposure', April 11th. -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/indecent-exposure.html

Ada Galsworthy

We dined at the Galsworthy's, Grove Lodge, Hampstead, and the Masefields were there. Mrs. M. and I got on excellently. Masefield gloomyish, and very precise in diction. Fine voice. diction of a public speaker. Galsworthy very nice. Ada Galsworthy adorable. Speaking of Masefield, there was a time when people desirous of being in the movement could not neglect their contemporary poetry. That time has passed. Then, conscientious persons, after accepting an invitation to dinner, if they had not read the latest poetry, would run out and buy it. Masefield's first long narrative poems made people ignore the fish at dinner. Not now. The reason in my opinion is that modern poetry has been revolutionary. The old material was scrapped and the old forms stretched until they snapped like elastic bands. The British public is not partial to revolutions. It believes that your revolutionary, be he a poet or a socialist, is most effectively dealt with by leaving him alone.

John Galsworthy OM (1867 – 1933) was an English novelist and playwright. Notable works include The Forsyte Saga (1906–1921) and its sequels, A Modern Comedy and End of the Chapter. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1932.

John Edward Masefield, (1878 - 1967), was an English poet and writer, and Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1930 until his death in 1967. He is remembered as the author of the classic children's novels The Midnight Folk and The Box of Delights, and poems, including "The Everlasting Mercy" and "Sea-Fever".

Additionally for December 14th., see 'A little decadence' -

http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/a-little-decadence.html

Davaray told me that to have de Regnier dangling his legs from a corner of a table and talking obscenities in his calm exquisitely polished way, was a delightful experience.

A cogitating day

Sunday, December 13th., Rue de Calais, Paris.

After buying papers and tea yesterday I lunched at the little creamery in the Place de la Trinite. Then I came home and read various papers and periodicals and "Casanova", and fell asleep, sleeping uncomfortably. Then I tried seriously to find the ideas for Chapter II of new novel; I had been more or less asking for them all morning; no success. 

Then I went out for a walk, and felt tired even in starting. I walked through the St. Lazare quarter to the Madeleine and turned along the Grand Boulevard to the Grand Cafe. I like the interior of this cafe. it is as much like the respectable ugliness of an English club as anything in Paris. I ordered a cup of chocolate because I felt empty. I thought steadily for one hour over this chocolate and I seemed to leave the cafe with one or two germs of ideas. 

I walked home, cogitating. When I arrived there was a telegram from Whitten requiring my weekly article two days earlier than usual. This upset my plans somewhat. I felt so tired - I had taken a chill - that I lay down under the eiderdown on the bed and went to sleep again, reading "Casanova".

When I awoke it was dark. I made tea and felt better. A leading notion for the chapter had now formed itself. I went to the Comedie Mondaine to book a seat for Brieux's "Berceau" and then to the Duval to dine, where I read Le Temps all through. Then I bought a cigar and had coffee in the Place Clichy. I cogitated at the cafe for an hour, and then I had the whole chapter clearly outlined in my head. This is a fair specimen of one of my cogitating days.

Additionally for December 13th., see 'Military manoeuvres' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/military-manoeuvres.html

He told me how he had been sent to some golf links with a big mobile gun, and had put gun into a good spot where it interfered with play on first hole, the officially indicated position being a bad one. The affair was urgent as a raid was expected that night. He successfully repulsed various complainants from golf club; but next morning an Infantry officer came specially down from War Office, with instructions (positive orders) that gun must be moved. 

Brutish behaviour

Thursday, December 12th., Cadogan Square, London.

If a set of young men from the East End or from some provincial centre of Association football had gone in mass formation to Twickenham Football ground last Monday and by force and rowdyism rendered impossible the playing of the inter-Varsity match, there would have been a loud outcry in the newspapers, and in all polite circles, against their ill-mannered lawlessness; the police courts would have been densely populated next morning, and the non-payment of fines imposed would have ended in many doses of imprisonment.

Yet such conduct would have been no worse than the conduct, on that same day, of undergraduates from our ancient universities, which conduct began with processions on the tops of dining tables in fashionable restaurants and ended in the breaking up of a performance in at least one West End theatre; and which conduct occupied only a few inches of space in the papers and was forgotten by the enlightened public in less than twenty-four hours. It was generally understood that university rowdyism in London had been finished for ever by certain outrageous, destructive antics last year. Not so. 

The proof of the pudding is in the eating. If years of education at public schools and universities result in exhibitions of loutish violence which have no equal in Great Britain, what are we to think of the real value of such education? Whatever young men are taught at universities, they are not effectively taught either decency, or good manners, or self-control, or self-respect for the elementary social rights of others. They are taught to behave like savages - and to be proud of it. The immediate cause of these disgraces is, of course, simple drunkenness, senseless and brutish indulgence in alcohol. The excuse offered for the youths is that they are young. Which plainly implies a theory that we ought not to expect citizens to be decent, civilised and law-abiding until they have reached the age of at least twenty-one. Is this a tenable theory?

Additionally for December 12th., see 'On modern poetry' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/on-modern-poetry.html

T.S. Eliot is arguably the most influential of the 'modern' poets, though I have never been able to understand why. I have read I don't know how many times his celebrated poem, The Waste Land, at the mention of which every younger poet bows the head in awe, and I simply cannot see its beauty. I don't say it has no beauty: I say merely that I can't see its beauty. I once asked Eliot whether his explanatory notes to The Waste Land were not a pulling of the public leg? I seriously thought they were. He seriously assured me that they were not. I bowed the head!

A national responsibility.

Saturday, December 11th., London.

Yesterday lunch with Thomas Vaughan, partner in god knows how many theatres, Marguerite and Gilbert Miller also. This lunch must have cost Tommy £10. The beefsteak was a failure.

Last night a dinner, organised by Albert Rutherston to Nigel Playfair, to mark his departure to U.S.A. to produce "The Beggar's Opera" there. Milne was in the chair, and made a brilliant sort of speech full of jokes proposing Nigel's health. The speeches were too few, and too short, and after them there was an anticlimax.

This morning at 12.30 I finished the writing of my first film. I have temporarily called it "The Wedding Dress". It has taken 25 days, out of which I was ill on 7 days and did nothing whatever. I should estimate that the MS. is about 10,000 words.

Arnold Bennett’s daughter discovered the manuscript of "The Wedding Dress" in a drawer at her Paris home in 1984. This lost work has now been published for the first time. Bennett wrote "The Wedding Dress" in 1920 as a film scenario, for a major American film company, but it never went into production. It is a sparkling tale of the romantic entanglements of four lovers, set amidst a grand country house and its grounds, a departmental store, hotels and hospital wards in the immediate aftermath of the First World War. Bennett uses all his characteristic wit and inventiveness to tell the tale of how the confused lovers come to realise their true feelings. Whilst lively and vastly entertaining, "The Wedding Dress" does not neglect the post-War social scene and some of the harsh economic realities of the time.
http://www.arnoldbennettsociety.org.uk/?page_id=353

I have for some time been concerned about the plight of disabled soldiers. In 1917 I wrote a pamphlet entitled "A National Responsibility". It was apparent to me then that every day disabled and otherwise unfit men were being discharged from the army, and thrown on the world, not because the state had done all it could and ought to do for them, but because the army had no further use for them. After being called heroes in the newspapers they were dismissed from the service of the state while the nation was still in their debt. And the nation is still in their debt. I am seeking to interest Lord Rothermere in this issue as it is vital for the success of any scheme to aid ex-service people that a powerful daily be involved, and the Mirror is indicated.
http://newspapers.nl.sg/Digitised/Article/straitstimes19170813-1.2.62.aspx

Additionally for December 11th., see 'Potteries politics' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/potteries-politics.html

Having been occupied with politics more or less for two days, I quite forgot to take current notes. I pulled myself together and began again this morning.

On being drunk

Saturday, December 10th., Rue de Calais, Paris.

X----- described the general sensations of being well drunk as magnificent, splendid, "But", he says, "you mustn't set out to get drunk. It must take you unawares." He told me that when sober he frequently lost umbrellas, but when drunk never. He made a special point of retaining his umbrella then in his hand; it became his chief concern in life. Once he got badly drunk at Maxim's. He just had sense enough to take a cab to the rooms of a mistress he had then. She received him and undressed him and put him to bed. But he would not 'leave go' of his umbrella during the process. He passed it from hand to hand as she divested him of his coat, waistcoat and shirt, and he took it to bed. And he said: "She became very angry with that umbrella."

I was extremely pleased with what I did yesterday of "S. and P. L." but when I read part of it this morning my enthusiasm was a little dampened.

I have been invited to visit the Phillpottses again, and hope to get there by the 30th., or 31st., though I would like to arrive on the 29th., if at all possible. However my movements at this time of year depend on the caprices of about 153 blood relatives. Emily writes that they intend to close Eltham and to "wander abroad". I am distressed by this news in the sense that Eltham is the most perfectly appointed house I have ever stayed in. But, if they wander I may see more of them because they cannot wander without touching Paris, and I will regard it as an unfriendly act if they do not then come to visit me.
Also see 'In the West Country', September 21st., -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/in-west-country.html

I am looking forward to going down to Les Sablons tomorrow.


Additionally for December 10th., see 'Ideas and arrangements' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/ideas-and-arrangements.html

This morning I walked 5 or 6 miles through Roehampton and Barnes. Impressed by the cleanliness, order and sober luxury of all the dwellings I saw.
I found most of the plot for a humorous novel; I hope to find the remaining part of the plot tomorrow.

Interesting people

Sunday, December 9th., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

Better arrangements must be made for keeping this damned journal! 

On Thursday last I made my debut at the Other Club, to which I was elected without my knowledge. I sat next to F. E. Smith, who is a live companion, inclined to recount his achievements, but interesting and informed. Duke of Marlborough in the chair - merely to propose the royal health. An irritating anachronism, but people dislike change, even for the better.
Also see 'Storm in a political teacup', November 23rd., -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/storm-in-political-teacup.html

F. E. Smith and Winston Churchill

Churchill, who in 1910 was Liberal Home Secretary, and barrister and Conservative MP F. E. Smith had not been invited to join the venerable political dining club known just as The Club. Although both had friends in it, the members thought Churchill and Smith too controversial. So they established their own club, to be called by contrast "The Other Club". The first dinner was on 18 May 1911. Twelve rules were written for the club, mostly by F. E. Smith, and they were, and are still, read aloud at each dinner. Churchill claimed to have contributed the last,12. "Nothing in the rules or intercourse of the Club shall interfere with the rancour or asperity of party politics."  Election to the club depended on Smith and Churchill believing members to be "men with whom it was agreeable to dine". 

Sir Mark Sykes seemed the most interesting man there. He did a very original caricature of F. E. Smith and me. I heard he was the best amateur actor in England. He certainly has brains, and political brains. Lutyens amiably played the amusing fool. I greatly enjoyed the affair.

Colonel Sir Mark Sykes, 6th Baronet (1879 – 1919) was an English traveller, Conservative Party politician and diplomatic adviser, particularly about matters respecting the Middle East at the time of the First World War. He is associated with the Sykes-Picot Agreement, drawn up while the war was in progress, regarding the apportionment of postwar spheres of interest in the Ottoman Empire to Britain, France and Russia. Sykes was in Paris in connection with peace negotiations in 1919. At the conference, a junior diplomat present, Harold Nicolson, described Sykes' effect: "It was due to his endless push and perseverance, to his enthusiasm and faith, that Arab nationalism and Zionism became two of the most successful of our war causes." He died in his room at the Hotel Lotti near the Tuileries Garden on 16 February 1919, aged 39, a victim of the Spanish flu pandemic.

Turkish baths and a little dissipation have lately improved my health and greatly improved my capacity for finding ideas and working.


Additionally for December 9th., see -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/self-examination.html

Instinctively, and all the time, I was comparing it with my own, and in particular comparing Margaret Ogilvy and J.M. Barrie with my mother and myself. Again and again, I had to acknowledge inferiority - inferiority of essential 'character', apart from inessential talent - a lack of bigness, and a presence of certain littlenesses. yet at the same time, I found us sturdy enough not to be ashamed of shortcomings. What we are, we are! "I exist as I am, that is enough." To hold such a creed religiously is in one way to be great.
A proud and self-unconscious self-esteem; that is what few people have. If at times it deserts me and mine, it always returns the stronger for having retreated. We are of the North, outwardly brusque, stoical, undemonstrative, scornful of the impulsive; inwardly all sentiment and crushed tenderness. We are of the North, incredibly, ruthlessly independent; and eager to say "Damn you" to all the deities at the least hint of condescension.

Getting information

Wednesday, December 8th., Waterloo Road, Burslem.

Dawson and dentist yesterday morning. I have been spending time with Joseph Dawson this week acquiring stuff for "Clayhanger". I have made real progress in getting information from him. 

After dinner I went to the Grand Theatre, 9.15 p.m. I was profoundly struck by all sorts of things. In particular by the significance of clog-dancing, which had never occurred to me before. I saw a 'short study' for the Nation in this. Towards the end I came across Warwick Savage and walked home with him. this was a pity because I had got into an extraordinary vein of 'second sight'. I perceived whole chapters. Of all the stuff I made sufficient notes.

The Grand Theatre (Trinity Street/Foundry Street) opened on 22 August 1898, at a cost of £25,000: £5,000 for the site, and £20,000 for the building. The building was constructed from brick, with stone facings and ornaments. The ornamental frontage was built in Renaissance style with a dome surmounting the entrance, and verandah of iron and glass. The principal entrance was at the corner of Trinity Street and Foundry Street, with the upper circle and pit entrances in Trinity Street. The vestibule had marble columns and a floor laid with encaustic tiles, the walls tiled shoulder height. The auditorium had three tiers - dress circle with four rows of chairs; upper circle of seven rows; and the gallery with twelve rows and a promenade. The rear of the grand circle was in line with the front of the upper circle, and the gallery was supported on four iron columns. To the sides of the balconies were four boxes surmounted with domes. The theatre had a sliding roof, and was lit by electricity. The stage could be converted for use as a circus with the removal of the stage and orchestra pit. There were busts of Shakespeare and Goethe.

Additionally for December 8th., see 'Heavyweight literature' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/thursday-december-8th.html

The Bradenham edition is handsome and imposing. It is too imposing. It is almost exactly the size of a volume of the Dictionary of National Biography. Why should a novel be as unwieldy as a work of reference? This book cannot be held in one hand for reading. It could not be read in bed without employing a system of cranes. Why do publishers insist on ignoring the important fact that a book exists to be read in comfort, not merely to be beheld with pride on a shelf?