I’m so glad you are interested in that novel.3 You ask about the people in it. Ernie I knew slightly; he worked in a garage; but he was a Durham man and I made him Worcestershire, so he probably talked wrong. Dr. Marlowe was based on a woman doctor I knew, but only externally really; internally she was like a number of ardent public-spirited liberal women I have met. Ellen I invented entirely; I never knew a mermaid, or even a part-mermaid. All her conversation, such as it was, is such as I supposed a part-mermaid might utter, in such circumstances. The Frenchman too I invented. Hugh is rather like a man I know. The others are out of my head. Except that Guy looked rather like Guy Burgess, one of our two vanished diplomats of whom you may have read (vanished for good, it now seems).
I’ll see if I can find Farewell to Spain1 in a Penguin. Mary Lavelle is Penguin’d, so I dare say the other is too. I am sure, by the way, that Mary Lavelle is under much stricter duress at the libraries than any of my books—and rightly, I think, don’t you?
Very unfair of the American soldiers to chalk your name on the bombs they dropped on Berlin. Anything more unsuitable! To drag the S.S.J.E. into the dreadful affair was very wrong.
I looked up those articles2 again, together with the comments on them in the American P.B. Commentary that Fr. Pedersen gave me. It says “It is in articles 9-18 that the influence of Lutheranism shows itself most clearly.” I suppose they are translated literally from the Württemburg Confession of 1552 (or the Augsburg of 1530?) and embody the Lutheran Doctrines of original sin, original righteousness, etc., that I find so improbable and groundless and opposed to reason. The whole theory seems to have been taken from Adam’s imaginary career; it does seem time that we dropped it? I think it must be an intellectual stumbling-block to a number of people, who can accept original sin, in fact they know it in themselves and everyone else, and it isn’t involved at all with any theory that man was once better than he later became; it is just “the law of sin which is in my members,” and has been so all through the history of the human race, warring against the laws of God. Well, I suppose it doesn’t actually matter much, but I have a feeling that that kind of thing (like “predestination,” and “election”—St. Paul’s fault, I suppose) is so much dead wood, that should be cut out of the living tree. Do you think there is enough revision of our current religious formularies, in the P.B. and elsewhere? As to the merits of the saints (relying on them to help us, I mean), I suppose it is a purely Roman doctrine. I do agree with Fr. Palmer about that! St. Dunstan, I am sure, had many merits; when invoked by school boys about to be flogged, he would cause the flogging master to drop to sleep, so that the boys got away. And didn’t he throw an inkpot at the devil? But what it means to “rely on his merits” I can’t imagine. Oh dear; all this jargon; away with it. I can imagine relying a little on the merits of St. Luke (his day is to-morrow, for this letter has stretched over 2 days, owing to overcrowding of jobs) in the sense of trying to emulate his gifts of tending the sick, etc.—but is that what it means? No; I feel such notions belong to a different climate and age, and that it is useless trying to get back to them; perhaps worse than useless. I’m glad you feel rather the same.
I am sorry I didn’t see Fr. Pedersen again before he went. I rang up St. Edward’s House, but by then he had just sailed. I would like to have said goodbye to him, heard a little about his travels and Italy, and had another talk. But I think he was mostly away from London after his return from abroad. I hope by now he is safely back, and has related to you his saga.
Here is a second instalment of Johnny’s Diary.1 What a devoted friend he was. I don’t quite understand about the “tin tube” and “comfortable sounds,” but I hope they comforted poor Mr. C[owper], A pity he hadn’t a radio.
Now I must really stop this drawn-out letter, to which I sit down at intervals to refresh myself between less pleasing labours. We have just emerged from a dense fog; it came on again last night, when I was driving a friend from Hampstead to the Old Vic to see Tamburlaine, and got so thick that I left my car outside my flat on the way to Waterloo and we took a taxi, which also groped its way with some difficulty, but I felt rather he than I. The play (which no one living has seen before) is a fantastic performance of sound and fury, spectacle and blood, and fine mouthed speeches, which I expect the Elizabethans enjoyed more than we do. One never sees an Elizabethan play without marvelling at Shakespeare—stupor mundi indeed! A kind of splendid miracle. The others, such as Marlowe, had no such thoughts, no such poetry, except here and there in snatches (I mean poetry: they never had the thoughts).
My love and thanks. I keep on giving thanks for you, in my prayers, you know. As well as praying for you. As I feel you do for me sometimes, and how much better.
Your always affectionate
R.M.
Let me know when those old photographs reach you.1
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.I
24th October [1951] (Feast of St. Raphael)
Dear Father,
Thank you very much indeed for your air letter posted 15th, saying that mine of 22nd Sept. had just come, taking 17 days— disgraceful! Since then you will have got other letters, and I hope with more expedition. Your air ones, of course, manage pretty well as a rule. I enjoyed the last one very much, with its account of the visit of your young relations, your stories of J. C. Powys, your reassurance about Canon Hood and talking … I went to the Rally of the Church Union Progress Week campaign last Sunday; a number of priests who had helped in it spoke—including the American Father de Bois, who spoke for the American Church Union. They seem to have had great meetings, and to be much encouraged; they said they drew more people than the party election meetings in the same places, which is perhaps not always saying much.
Since I last wrote I have read The English Heritage,2 or most of it, and found it interesting, and some of J. C. Powys’s new novel Porius, about the Britons after the Romans had withdrawn, and the Saxons invading. I found it rather confused and confusing, to say the truth—too many Britons, and not enough diversity of character or speech, and I didn’t really feel he had caught the Ancient British mentality quite—but perhaps I haven’t either! This business of writing about people of whom we know so little, owing to their unfortunate literary unproductivity, is rather tricky. It is very long. I wonder if any American publisher will risk it. If I can get hold of the paper jacket, which has an interesting picture of J.CP. walking among Welsh mountains and looking like a prophet, I will send it you. I didn’t like to steal it off the library copy when I had it, as I always regard this as dishonest but I may persuade one of the kind Times Library young ladies to give me one. I think you would like to see it. Yes, he is certainly a prophet, and I dare say sometimes a dangerous one. He shouldn’t influence people to live on writing poetry alone; no one, scarcely, can. I am on the committee of the Royal Literary Fund, and we are always getting applications for money from poets who either can’t or don’t want to do another job while they write. When they are young or youngish, this seems quite wrong. Of course we are mostly concerned to help old and elderly writers, or their widows; they aren’t usually very good writers, though sometimes they are; but they are pathetic, having outlived whatever market they once had, often in ill health, with children to bring up. It is a difficult business.
I didn’t feel anything “cheap” in what you said about J.C.P.; it seemed to me interesting and sympathetic. You indicated that he was a great personality, intensely genuine and prophetic and real. Does every one (who self-analyses at all) see their own personality as a “collection of poses,” I wonder? I certainly do. But how does one distinguish between pose and genuine character? “Literary, comic, theological, sacerdotal” (no, not senile!)—you are all these things, in different moods, surely, and it is absolutely genuine; one would feel the difference if it wasn’t; I mean those who know you, or who write to you, would feel the difference. Perhaps one couldn’t really assume personalities alien to one, it would be too difficult, though I suppose one can stress
and exaggerate them. It reminds [me] of that novel of E.M. Delafield’s, Zella sees herself—did you ever read it? Probably J.C.P. would say the same thing about himself, wouldn’t he? I must read his autobiography.1
10 p.m. I was out to dinner, and came in to find your letter of 20th Oct. arrived. How nice to have it in time to answer it in this. You mention two letters of mine which took respectively 16 and 15 days, so about that seems now the norm. I am thankful to hear that you feel fairly well now again; but I am glad you have handed over the Teas for a time. I think you ought to hand them over for a long time. They sound much too hard work. Your job should be reading aloud to them while they eat and drink; I suppose you sometimes do this, but probably not often enough. Think of all the lovely things, Latin and English, that you could read—Ovid, Virgil, Horace, modern novels…. [sic] They would have a lovely time over their tea.
You should tell the Father who complains of the English misuse of “expect” that the Oxford Diet, says “The misuse of the word as a synonym of’ suppose,’ without any notion of anticipating, is often cited as an Americanism, but is very common in dialectal, vulgar, or carelessly colloquial speech in England.” Also, it might have added in ordinary educated speech. We all use it so, and know it is wrong, but don’t care. So that really usage has made it right; after all, what makes a word right but ordinary use by educated people? But the Father might be interested to hear that it is “often cited as an Americanism”! One of the examples quoted is from Jefferson. I wonder why we dropped “I guess,” and why the Americans didn’t. English use of it is quoted from Locke and others; but by 1814 Byron wrote “I guess (as the Yankees say) …” We seem to have no precise alternative to “expect” in that sense. “Suppose” isn’t the same; nor is “think,” which is too definite. So we must go on using it, I expect.
The Bishop of Exeter at that Albert Hall Rally said he didn’t care for, or use, the name “Anglo-Catholic,” because all C. of E. members are necessarily this: they are Anglicans, and belong to the Catholic Church; so he prefers “High Church.” I think I do too. At that meeting I sat next to a woman who told me her husband went to Grosvenor Chapel, but that she didn’t, it wasn’t high enough for her, it allowed mid-day communicants (it has always had these) of which she obviously disapproved. She goes to St. Cuthbert’s, Ennismore Gardens1, which is on the highest peaks … She was rather a spiky … lady, I thought. I much prefer Mr. Sam Gurney, also on a high eminence, to whom I was introduced by John Betjeman in St. Augustine’s, Kilburn, and with whom we lunched afterwards. We all three went to see a Catholic Apostolic church, which is slowly dying because all the Angels and Deacons are dead, and nothing can carry on the tradition, but the verger thought, indeed fully expected, that the Second Coming would occur in time to save it. It is a fine church, built by Pearson; when the Catholic Apostolic dies, it will pass into Anglican hands.
Yes, I think that would be a good plan, to divide my Preces Privatae into parts for each day of the week; I will do that; and, as it grows, can add things on to each day as they seem to fit in. A different group of thoughts and prayers for each day, linked by a common approach. No, I won’t try to emulate Fr. Benson; I couldn’t, anyhow. All I can do is to come as I am, and this I do, and it seems to get better all the time. I suppose—I expect—that God just takes what each of us can give, so long as we try to make it as good as we can, with our limitations, and doesn’t demand what is too high for us. I like All Souls’ and All Saints’, which we shall so soon be entering into. In Italy they lit the graves in the cemetery with little lamps, to cheer “nostri cari defunti” on All Souls’ night. I wish people still went souling, as they used to when my father was a boy, singing “Soul, soul, an apple or two; if you haven’t any apples, a pear will do.” But they no longer even go maying, I think.
Did I tell you about Noel Annan’s interesting book on Leslie Stephen, which I was reviewing for The Times Literary Supplement? I think you would be interested in it. I won’t suggest sending you my copy of it, as you say you don’t like to get books; but I will send you sometime my review of it, so that you can see what kind of book it is.
To-morrow is polling day; and all to-morrow night the results will be coming in; I shall be out at an election party to hear them, and shall probably only just get home in time to change into day clothes and dash off to 8.15 Mass. So now I expect I had better go to bed, and sleep while I may. Goodnight, dear Father, and my love.
Your affectionate
R.M.
November
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
All Souls’ Day, 1951
Dear Father,
Thank you so much for air paper of 28th Oct. The last I wrote to you was on 24th, which you won’t get for ages. But you ought to have got (when you wrote) my letter of 9th; I am afraid they are settling into their Christmas form (did you get the photographs safely?). I look forward to your sea letter of 25th, which I may get in about 10 days, with luck. I wrote to you again on 15th (I think), and I think I said I would send you a paper jacket of Porius, with a coloured picture of j. C. P[owys] among the mountains. I succeeded in getting hold of one of these, and enclose it in this; it may interest you to see it. I think I told you I didn’t get very far with Porius, for lack of time; it is a book to take away on a long holiday, and read slowly and with care; it is too crammed with ancient Britons, and rather confusing. But some people have enjoyed it hugely.
Yes, it is a shame about those Latin errors. Even the English printers made some, which I listed in my errata list at the end, but the book was never reprinted unfortunately, so they remain. And the Americans expanded the errors, of course. No, American publishers don’t send proofs to England. I can only hope that most American readers don’t know the difference. The Latin in the English edition used to annoy me a lot; I had forgotten about it.
What a lovely Mass for All Souls! We use that altar missal compiled by a Cowley Father some time ago; it is extremely good…. [The] whole is a wonderfully beautiful service. Of course our P[rayer] B[ook] ought to have it; so should the American. I went to the 7.30 Mass this morning, in darkness and rain, which, when the lit altar shone out, seemed right for All Souls, and for “Lucem tuam, Domine. …” All Saints yesterday, too, was good; “the solemnity of all the Hallows.” Do they still keep All Hallows e’en in America? It always seems rather odd that Presbyterian Scotland should have been the great celebrator of this festival and its rites. I think it has almost died out in England (?) but the Scots keep it with vigour. When I was at Oxford, it was the Scotch girls who used to give Hallow e’en parties. I wish these festivals didn’t tend to die out. It’s many years since I saw, for instance, the Christmas actors going round doing St. George and the Dragon. Or perhaps they still do it in the country; London is the killer of such gambols; though Guy Fawkes is still celebrated with ardour and fire. How about New England, the home of Puritanism? Did they leave such vanities behind them in the popish old world when they fled from its wickedness? One good thing which has increased greatly is the Christmas crib, now I suppose to be found in nearly all English churches, in varying degrees of magnificence. Not, however, in the Church of Ireland; I was told of an Anglican family living there some years ago who went into the R.C. chapel to look at the crib and was told next day by their butcher that he couldn’t serve them any more, as they had been seen entering the popish church. I suppose he was probably Presbyterian (it was Ulster) but the C. of I. don’t like cribs either. What a lot they lose.
I am now for a few weeks on the BBC Critics, who meet every week to broadcast a discussion on contemporary arts— a book, play, film, radio programme, and picture exhibition. It takes more time than I can afford, actually. Last week we had to see A priest in the family, which is an Irish play, a kind of domestic tragedy, in which the wicked old mother comes between the young couple, determined that her son should enter the priesthood, so tells him slanders about the girl. Unconvincing, but interesting; the young man does become a priest, discove
rs too late that he was deceived, wants to resign his orders, but doesn’t, and goes off to Africa with a mission. All rather unlikely; but the acting very good and amusing, with dear old Maire O’Neill as a tipsy gossip. The Irish do act so well. I liked the play better than most of my colleagues did; at least it was about something important, a psychological and moral and religious problem, not merely an emotional one. I saw it with a R.C. cousin, who thought it excellent. Had it been going on when Fr. Pedersen was here, I would have suggested going to it rather than the play we saw.
What you say about the 1549 and 1552 P[rayer] B[ook]s set me reading again in the American P.B. Commentary. Have you that book? It really is excellent—so full of information, and good in comment. I suppose they did want to get right away from the medieval abuses connected with the idea of the Sacrifice; but after all, they didn’t get away from it except in name. “A repetition of Calvary”—that was what they took against. I don’t feel it matters much what they called it, do you? The offering is the same. Perhaps in time I may grow to grasp and understand it a little better; I hope so. But not fully understanding it doesn’t hinder its working. Being allowed to take part in it daily seems one of those incredibly good things: just to go to church, and get all that.
Now I must put this letter up, with J. C. Powys and perhaps my talk on Swimming for Pleasure from the Listener, and then I will weigh it all and put on the right stamps, and then, after long long weeks of travel, it will reach Memorial Drive. Rather remote contact, I always feel, when the time runs into weeks. What was the record last winter? About 2 months, I think, for one of my letters—and quite an important letter too. I hadn’t then learnt that important letters which must arrive quickly should go by air. However, we managed somehow, didn’t we. And how well!
Letters to a Friend Page 21