Part 8
_Those new rich! So new, so rich, so drearily unostentatious! Young new richard bald, pan-snayed, ill-dressed; young new wife and sister-in-law dowdy; young new secretary without a dinner-jacket to his backside; young new baby and young new nurse all over the place; young new Rolls-Royce, careering over the island, the only sign of wealth._
_If only there were a few diamonds, a few banded cigars, a few h’s dropping on the floor with a dull thud, one could at least laugh. But the drabness, the gloom of these particular new rich: O my lungs and O my liver!..._
Thursday, 27 January.
_It is terrible, the number of people who come to this hotel; and I regret the pleasant, non-“paying” days when we were six visitors and three musicians, with a full staff of servants to wait on us. There are now over thirty people at meals, one uglier than the other. And as soon as one goes two others take his place...._
Sunday, 30 January.
_... To bed at 5, with my “special dinner” at 7, John Francis Taylor’s meal: “Give me some milk; and let the milk be hot. And give me some bread; and let the bread be inside the milk.”_
Monday, 31 January.
The Insurance herein contained is not valid until your name has been registered.
_I don’t care. Yer can ’ave the insurance._
_The new rich have some business visitors._
Tuesday, 1 February.
_... Departure of the new riches’ little thyndicate of friends._
_Arrival of the dividend on my Benson & Hedges’ 10% 2nd pref., the only shares wherein I have ever invested that have ever paid any dividend whatever. Lord, how I have moiled and toiled to sink money in stumer companies! Shrewsburry & Talbot Hansoms! Galician Oilfields! Rubber substitutes! Cork substitutes! Tampico-Panuco Deferred! United Transport Co.! In the three last I still have holdings: about £250 in all. And the things that I have inherited: thousand of dollars’ worth of Mexican (and Turkish and Hungarian and Russian) rubbish, which would barely fetch a tenner, all told!..._
Thursday, 3 February.
_... The new arrivals include a long, lean man ... and his wife. His hair is dyed to suggest 55; he is probably a cadaverous 77. He comes down to dinner in a white tie and tails. His digestion is of the weakest. He refuses soup, leaves the fish, refuses a cutlet, leaves the goose and seems to dine mainly on ~crême Beau Rivage~, which is a ~crême carmel~ decorated with a blob of whipped cream and angelica. His conversation with his wife consists purely of whispered smiles._
Friday, 4 February.
_I received letters from Stephen to me and from Stephen to his mother. I have still to receive a letter from Stephen to Lady D...._
_On his return he will borrow from me Frank Harris’ second series of ~Contemporary Portraits~, just arrived from New York._
_There is no bridge at the Home-Sweet-Homes. I go to the club, play with P. the local solicitor; Dr. W., of Harrogate; Mr. S., of the same and win the sum of £——2½ d._
Saturday, 5 February and Sunday, 6 February
_An episode of “And oh, the children’s voices in the lounge!” was followed by my going to the office and saying:_
_“I am going to bed lest these children be the death of me. May I have a special dinner, please?”_
_“Certainly. What would you like?”_
_“Send me some milk and let the milk be hot. And send me some bread and let the bread be inside the milk.”_
_Next morning, having slept eight hours and fifteen minutes, I went to the manageress and:_
_“People,” I said, “are far too proud of their children and too fond of displaying them in public.... There is nothing wonderful about parentage and nothing clever. Most people are parents. I have been one myself.... Children should be seen and not heard.... If they raise their voices in the public rooms, they should be sent to their bedrooms. Some would suggest the coal-hole; but I, as you know, have a gentle heart.... Remember that we live in an age of reprisals. The privilege of screaming and yelling is not confined to children. Adults enjoy equal rights. Next time a child raises its voice in my presence, I shall in quick succession bellow like a bull, roar like a lion, howl like a jackal, laugh like a hyena. If you drive me to it, I shall copy all the shriller domestic animals.... The matter is now in your hands.”_
Monday, 7 February.
_Peace reigns at Ventnor...._
Wednesday, 16 February.
_... I start my sock-and-tie stunt, which consists in “copycatting” daily, Austin Read seconding, an absurd young man of half my age. Thus do the elderly amuse themselves for the further amusement of a limited circle...._
Tuesday, 22 February.
_Stephen’s letter of 20.1.21 to his mother arrives. ~[I again varied my itinerary and had decided to make my way to Valparaiso through the Straits of Magellan rather than across the Andes.]~ So he is travelling in the wake of H.M.S. Beagle and the late Charles Robert Darwin! He’ll be perished with cold; but he’s more likely to get a fish or two to eat...._
Sunday, 27 February.
_Stephen’s birthday. His health shall be drunk in brimming barley-water; and, though I believe he has already had a birthday-present, he shall have a copy of ~The Tour~ the moment it arrives. Good luck to him!_
_P.S. Absolutely a good notice of ~The Tour~ in the ~Sunday Times~. My wife says that the critic must have been drunk._
Monday, 28 February.
_Arrival of a terrible Yorkshire group, two men and a woman.... They foregather with ... a man who appears in carpet-slippers, like Kipps, and talk of nothing but food, in broad Leeds._
Tuesday, 1 March.
_... “Ah had hum-und-eggs to my breakfast this morning. Ah was always partial to hum-und-eggs for breakfast.... Ah had new potai-i-toes ut the dinner. Ah said to McKanner, ‘These are too good to pass.’ We had summon with ’em, summon und new potai-i-itoes.”_
_They seem to be bank-managers and to have dined with Reggie at some London City and Midland Bank-wet...._
Thursday, 3 March.
_T. takes me to East Dene, the childhood home of Swinburne, now a convent of the Sacred Heart. I am shown over the entrancing grounds by the Mother Superior. Before taking me into the chapel:_
_“You are not a catholic, I suppose?” she asks._
_“Indeed I am.”_
_“I mean, a Roman catholic?”_
_“Reverend mother, are there any others?”_
_“Oh, they all call themselves Anglican catholics nowadays!”_
_Then on to Craigie Lodge, where Pearl Hobbes pesters the tenants with trivial spirit-messages._
_Home, feeling cold as death...._
Saturday, 5 March.
_... I am correcting proofs of ~The Three Eyes~ for Hurst & Blackett. Altogether I shall have four books out this spring._
_~The Tour~, Butterworth._ _~The Three Eyes~, Hurst & Blackett._ _~Majesty~, Dodd._ _~More Hunting Wasps~, Dodd._
_Not so bad for an owld, infirm mahn!_
Sunday, 6 March.
_It is pleasant to see the sun gain strength daily, with every sort of flower appearing, almond-blossoms in full swing, cherry-blossoms hard at it and pear-blossoms making a beginning._
Monday, 7 March.
_Departure of ~[the married Yorkshire visitors]~._
_“Thank God, they’re gone!” the survivor is heard to say._
_Arrival of the survivor’s women-folk. He sees them to their rooms and comes down to gloat over some woman. When his wife returns to the hall:_
_“Hullo, Helen!” he says. “Are ye dahn olready?” And repeats the bright question: “Hullo, Helen! Are ye dahn olready?”_
_What a people, the men of Yorkshire!..._
Wednesday, 9 March.
_I begin a collodial sulphur treatment ... for that picturesque right leg of mine. Irving’s left leg was a poem (Oscar Wilde); my right leg is a money-box, adorned with three patches the size of a shilling, a sixpence and a groat, all very nice and silvery. I asked ~[the doctor]~ whether it was leprosy or dropsy. He said it was soriasis, scoriasis, scloriasis: I don’t know which and I don’t care._
Thursday, 10 March.
_The ~[other Yorkshire visitors]~ are to go on Monday, when I can say:_
_“Thank God, they’re gone!”_
_And I pray that the table next to ours may not be given to people with provincial accents. Let it be noted that the friend of “McKannar” is manager of the—branch of the L.J.C.M. at Leeds, so that, when I go to live at Leeds, I may bank elsewhere...._
Friday, 11 March.
_At the club, I win 1861 points at bridge in 90 minutes._
£. s. d. _In money, at 2½d the 100, this represents_ _4_ _0_ _At the Cleveland it would have represented_ _9_ _12_ _0_ _At the Reform Club it would have represented_ _2_ _8_ _0_
Sunday, 13 March.
_John (“Shane”) Leslie’s book on Cardinal Manning seems to me very good. Leslie is very nasty to Purcell, who no doubt deserves it._
Monday, 14 March.
_Departure of ~[the last Yorkshireman]~, leaving his women-people behind him. He asked for it and he shall have it:_
_“Thank God he’s gone!”_
_He used to stare at me till I devised the retort: closing my eyelids and yawning at him like a lion._
_I think I must talk to Reggie about him some day._
Tuesday, 15 March.
_... The hotel is filling up madly for Easter. There will be more here then than at Christmas. Help!..._
Thursday, 17 March.
S. Patrick ☽ First Quarter, 3.49 a.m.
_Well, I went to church to pray for Ireland: what else was there to be done?_
_Stephen’s return seems to be unduly delayed; and I’ve forgotten the name of his ship._
Friday, 18 March.
_The sun shines in the morning._
_The rain falls in the afternoon._
_I play a little bridge._
_The sun shines all day._
_Thank God, a letter from Stephen and an end to this beastly diary!_
XIV
Teixeira continued to live at Ventnor until the beginning of May, with spirits, health and powers of work all steadily improving. He returned to London in time to welcome Couperus, who arrived in the middle of the month and was entertained privately and publicly for five or six weeks.
_I don’t know exactly when you’ll be back, ~he writes, 11.3.21~, but I welcome you home with all my heart ... and with an S.O.S._
_The title of ~[Couperus’]~ ~The Inevitable~[20] has been forestalled, in a novel publishing with Holden & Harlingham. And I want another good title in a hurry. Can you help me?_
_There is always:_
Cornélie.
_Wilkie Collins would have called it:_
Could She Do Otherwise?
_George Egerton would have said:_
The Woman Who Went Back.
_(But that’s giving the solution away too soon)._
_Is there a possible title with “Doom” or “Fate” in it?_
_Henry James:_
How Cornélie Ended.
_Stephen McKenna:_
The Reluctant Plover.
_George Robey:_
Did She Fall or Was She Pushed?
_The Bible:_
_(unquotable)_
_Tex:_
_Anything on the Wilkie Collins lines overleaf._
The Lure of Fate.
Could She Avoid It?
It Had To Be.
_And, as I said, there’s always:_
Cornélie....
_Welcome home, my dear Stephen, ~he writes, 19.3.21~...._
_I look forward, with pleasure, to receiving your diary and soon you may look backward, with disgust, to having received mine._
_My health has made very reasonable progress and my wife is exceedingly well. Frank Dodd visits us for two days on Thursday: how we shall be after that ... well, how ~shall~ we be after that?..._
On 27.3.21 he writes:
_Dodd arrived on Thursday: I say, he arrived. He arrived by travelling from London to Southhampton in a luggage-van with a first-class ticket (what’s the penalty for that?); by running his boat into the mud 10 minutes from Cowes; by missing his connection; by changing at Ryde; and by repeating his offence “thence” and “hither”: ~i.e.~ travelling with the same ticket in a second luggage-van. At 9 p.m. he arrived, greeting me with the words:_
_“I’ve had nothing to eat since breakfast.”_
_You should have seen the poor fellow torn between two longings, with a plateful of soup before him while waiting for a Ventnor cocktail, consisting of 98% Plymouth gin and 2% orange bitters._
_We motored him on Friday to Blackgang, to Chale, to Carisbrooke, to Newport, to Brading, to Bembridge, to Sandown, to Shanklin and back. Having already familiarized himself with Cowes and Ryde, he declared that he had now seen every city in the Isle of Wight except Freshwater._
_I lay low about Yarmouth, but yesterday I walked him back from Bonchurch, after my doctor had motored us “thither.”_
_We did a lot of talking in between, but he did not sap my vitality.... He left after tea for France, ~via~ Southhampton and Havre; and I was able to sit up, take nourishment and even stand and watch a ball-room full of people dance Lent out on what the festive programme called “Easter Saturday”: Christians, you may or may not be aware, call it Holy Saturday...._
And on 31.3.21:
_... I booked a seat on a four-in-hand this morning to go to certain point-to-point races; cancelled it; received an invitation from my young doctor to take me there in his car; declined it, feeling too weak and sulphurous.... I have a leg, like Sir Willoughby what’s-his-name; but this leg is covered with patterns (Sir Willoughby Patterne, was it?) and to cure it I am covered and lined with brimstone. It is not curing; and I am just tempersome, that’s all...._
In answer to my question what he would like for a birthday present, he replies, 3.4.21:
_This is one of the days on which I feel like nothing on earth. Yet I must answer your three letters to the best of my enfeebled power.... I want a ~Catholic Dictionary~_
or
_Drummond’s ~Life of Erasmus~_
or
_a second-hand copy of either will be quite acceptable: the second is an old book and probably out of print._
_five fumable cigars “from stock”; but a present I must have because I am working a stunt about the immense number of birthday gifts which I am sure of receiving. The Cleveland Club is being canvassed with this intent and the members urged to make canvass-backed ducks and drakes of their money: oh, how like nothing on earth I feel after being brought to bed of this joke! I am to have a cake with 56 candles in it from my doctor’s wife, which her name is Phyllis Twigg; so let no one send me an other. If I ate more than 56 candles at my age, I should have to go in cossack-cloth and ashes for the rest of my life; oh, like nothing on earth, Stephen, like nothing on earth!..._
The acknowledgement of the birthday present had to be delayed while Teixeira described his effort to observe an eclipse:
_I ordered a pail and some water (“and let the water be inside the pail”) to be placed on the lawn this morning, so that I might observe the eclipse of the sun. The eclipse was over before I got down; as the pail was bright white that made no difference. Things looked very uncanny from my bedroom window and I tried to tremble like a Red Indian: they tremble, as you know, like Red Indianything...._
It was written on the morrow of his birthday, 10.4.21:
_Many thanks for your letter of the 8th, for your good wishes and for a noble ~Catholic Dictionary~, with which I was mightily pleased. It will be of great value to me if I live (a) to edit ~The Autumn of the Middle Ages~, by Huisinga and (b) to translate The Land of Rembrand, by Busken Huet, two monumental tasks which I have been discussing with Dodd...._
_You have presumably bought ~Queen Victoria~, by the side of which ~Eminent Victorians~ is quite a dull book. And I read that, on Friday last, eight gentleman were seen sitting in a row in Kensington Gardens, all reading Strachey’s book. If, however K. G. were closed to the public on Friday, then the story is mythical...._
_Your birthday-stunt worked wonders. Miracles never cease: R—— sent me an Omar Khayyam! R. a round or circular photograph-frame of a precious metal known as silver. N. F. 25 cigars of the por Laranaga flavor. B. 50 of the flavour known as Romeo y Julieta. P. 100 cigarettes of the snake-charming flavour, which, being manufactured from the finest high-grade selected Turkish leaf tobacco, must be exchanged for the cigarettes of Ole Virginny when I am next in hail of one of Messrs. Salmon & Gladstone’s famous establishments._
_This exhausts your list. Over and above these gifts, I received from S. an Umps, ~i.e.~ a biscuit-ware naked doll, with wings, practicable arms and a heart in the right, non-commital place, in the middle of its chest. Also, a neat black and grey tie. From Mrs. H. a tie.... From my wiff a tie and a pair of mittens, for elderly early-morning wear. From the manageress of the hotel, a knitted canary waistcoat with sapphire buttons to cover the nudity of the Umps. From an anonymous admirer, a smaller naked doll, made, I venture to think, of celluloid-georgette. From a lady staying at the hotel, a box of Sainsbury’s chocolates, which are the most toothsome in the world. From G. H., aged 80, and F., his wife, age 75, a box of other chocolates, and 50 De Reske cigarettes. From A. T., aged 6, bought with her own money, a bottle of ink and a ball of twine. From her mother, P. T., neé McKenna—nay, Mackenzie—two blue-bird electric-light shades._
_The T’s, who belong to my local doctor, in the proportion of one wife and one daughter, also gave me a birthday party. To meet me were invited Dr. C., Dr. F., and Captain Cave-Brown-Cave. It opened with an ode or oratorio about fairies and happiness, intoned by Anne and Dr. C. to an accompaniment by Mrs. T. Then Anne put her arms round my neck, embraced me tenderly and told me not to mind what Mrs. Teixeira said about my touting for presents: Mrs. Teixeira didn’t mean it, couldn’t mean it; and Anne didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. With the tears streaming down the knees of my cashmere trouserings, I was led in to tea to see my name spelt in letter-biscuits and my birthday-cake surrounded by 56 pink, green, white and red candles. Then we played bridge and I won eight shillings. And I doubt if Queen Victoria ever described a birthday more fully._
_No, she would not have forgotten, as I nearly forgot, that F. E. W. also sent me a tie...._
In the middle of the month, Teixeira began to make preparations, for his return:
_Should you happen, ~he writes, 14.4.21~, to buy a steam-yacht, in addition to a motor-car, before the 5th of May, you might send her for us: we would as soon travel that way, land at the Temple stairs and lunch with you while the yacht takes our luggage up-river to Chelsea...._
_You have evidently misunderstood my motives in deciding to buy a car, ~I began to explain~._
_Get a neat, unobstrusive disk with “Hackney Carriage” fitted to it, ~he interposed~: you can make a tidy income out of your car then, when the Muse (should I say the Garage?) fails you._
_... If, ~he writes, 19.4.21~, you have not blewed or blued (which is it?) your last fiver, consider whether your library is really complete without the Greville Memoirs. Strachey’s book will probably have set you lusting for them._
_They contain the original story about “speaking disrespectfully of the Equator.”..._
_I send you the second edition of Harris’ life of Oscar. You have already read the first edition. But you will like to see such things, if any, in the appendix as may be new and certainly Shaw’s contribution to the end...._
I had the misfortune to offend Teixeira by quoting a passage from Sir James Frazer’s _Golden Bough_:
_I save my temper, ~he writes, 22.4.21~, by not discussing religion except with Catholics or politics except with liberals. There’s room for discussion in the ~nuances~, there’s too much room for it with those who call my black white. I never dispute the goodness of certain infidels nor the wickedness of many of the faithful. What I hate is the smug-smiling affectation of superiority displayed by the agnostics...._
_Huxley I have proved guilty—at least to my own satisfaction—of intellectual dishonesty and financial turpitude; of Frazer I know nothing whatever. I vaguely pictured him as one of several distinguished compilers of whom I knew nothing; that beastly quotation at the head of one of your chapters came as a great shock to me, which grew into a very cataclysm when I found it followed by another and a longer one._
_I won’t call you an Englishman again. But it is funny that you can’t write about yourself without going into the matter of what you think or do not think about religion...._
_I forgot to tell you, ~he writes, 24.4.21~, that I received y’day, from Jack Tennant, from a house with an improbable name, in a Scotch county which I had never heard of (Morayshire), a salmon—the whole bird—weighing 7½ lbs. and measuring somewhere about 7½ feet. I distributed 3 lbs. to my doctor and 3 lbs. to the heir presumptive to the Cave-Brown-Cave baronetcy (with apologies for the radical source of the gift). My wiff and I ate 3 oz. of it to our dinner; and the remainder was consumed by the manageress, the bookkeeper and housekeeper of the Royal Hotel...._
Ten days later his preparations were complete.
_Unless I ring you up at 11, on Friday, ~he writes, 3.5.21~, I will be with you at 11, as suggested in your letter—the morning is still my best time—and lunch at the club._
XV
In the summer and autumn of 1921 Teixeira enjoyed better health than at any time in the last seven years. He supported without ill-effects the strain of incessant luncheon and dinner-parties during the visit of Couperus to London; he moved from house to house, staying with friends; he completed his unfinished work and laid ambitious schemes for the future.
_I have written to Couperus, ~he told me, 13.5.21~, preparing him to be entertained by the Titmarsh Club and by the Asquiths...._
_You might tell me in an early letter what to do in proposing ~[him]~ for temporary honorary membership of the Reform Club and when to do it...._
_My dear Stephen, ~he writes, 16.5.21~;_
_My dear Stephen, ~he repeats~;_
_The second allocution sounds almost superfluous; but I will not waste a sheet of Ryman’s priceless Hertford Bank. I intended the “M” of “My dear Stephen” to form the “M” of “Many thanks for your letter of the 14th.” However, you may remember that the only difference between Moses and Manchester is that one ends in -oses and the other in -anchester; and there you are...._
_I am calling on the Netherlands minister at half-past eleven this morning.... Bisschop (of the Anglo-Batavian Society) rang me up on Saturday evening.... There is to be a council-meeting at 4 o’clock on Friday at the International Law Association in King’s Bench Walk.... If you are back by Friday and likely to be at home, I’ll come on to see you from there. And I’ll write to you to-morrow about my call on Van Swinderen...._
_P.S. to my former letter, ~he writes on the same day:~ Van Swinderen was most charming. He at once offered to have the Dutch reading at the legation.... I said that, if Van S. would make it an invitation matter, he would be doing a great honour to C. and giving a very welcome reception to the Dutch colony in London...._