Surely we too should be cooking up a quadrocentenary for the 1552 P[rayer] B[ook]. As Fr. Palmer says, it is the one we use. I forget if we celebrated the ‘49 book three years ago? And in 10 years we shall have to do the ‘62 one. But surely the ‘49 was the most important; no doubt we did do it honour, but I didn’t notice, or have forgotten.
I suppose Pax is the magazine I remember being started by Donald Attwater1 a good many years ago. Does he still edit it, I wonder? I liked him. He was (is, no doubt) a liberal kind of R.C. No, I suppose it couldn’t have been the kind of paper it is, fifty years ago. I think the Unreformed Ch[urch] is looking up a little, I must say. Let us both—both churches, I mean—look up a little more, and who knows but we may meet? I read that life of Von Hugel;2 it is quite good; but some critics complained that the writer played down Von H’s modernism too much, as I thought too. After all, he was a modernist, and might easily have been in trouble with the Vatican; like Acton, he just avoided this, and settled down.
There is no case for “persue.” Dom Gregory Rees must have been reading it in Middle English; they did sometimes spell it that way. But not, I think, since about 1500.
Well, I did ring up your nieces,3 encouraged by your message, and, after several failures to make contact, owing to their being out, got on to one of them, who proved to be Catharine, and we had a nice chat; I gave your love, and she said she had been thinking of writing to you, so perhaps she has now done this. She knew I knew you, as you had spoken of me in letters to her father, so I wasn’t quite out of the blue. One day we must meet. I liked the sound of her. I expect she and her sister are both very busy. I gather their father is visiting S. Africa, is he? Anyhow, it pleased me to speak with anyone of your name and kin.
How good of you to send Tudor England. I shall read it with interest. I have little time off from this book which I am resolved to finish in 2 months from now, but have made a little to rummage about among old prayers and devotional readings, in case I ever do tackle that compilation. I have been reading Law—Mystical Writings, the selection is called;1 it is not the same as one I remember [best] of all, called Liberal and Mystical Writings, selected by W. R. Lilley, and introduced by Wm, Scott Palmer, I think;2 but it has a lot of the same things in it; both contain “The Spirit of Prayer.” I do think he is so good, don’t you. I wish I had more time just now for such reading.
I must stop this and go off to the Library to hunt up some travel books about Sicilian ruined temples.
This time last year comes back to me. I sometimes wonder if any one ever had a better friend, in every kind of way, than you have been, and are, to me. Epiphany again, and it goes on and on.
My love always,
R.M.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
19th January, 1952 †
Dear Father,
Miracles increase! Returning this afternoon from the library at 5, I found your letter posted 10 a.m. on 17th (which means 3 p.m. Greenwich time?). So I now believe the 27th-29th postmark. Our air service is speeding up. I like getting a letter written by you only the day before yesterday; it brings one closely into touch with your current doings and thoughts. The letter before this last was written 7th Jan. (postmark vague); it didn’t make quite such good pace as the last. As to my mysterious Xmas air paper “from Romford,” I think it was the same one that I began before midnight Mass, and which I suppose I took down to Romford on Xmas Day and finished there, and posted it in London on 27th after I got back. I don’t remember, but this does seem possible. Did I mention in it that I was finishing it at Romford, I wonder? If I had finished it here I should, I suppose, have posted it here, before going to Romford. Anyhow, this is what I seem to remember.
I am glad if I have brought you to look with more favour on watch night services. What I feel is that the beginning of the year (as we have for so long made it to be) is connected with something very fundamental in our spirits, thoughts, and even bodies; we must take notice of it, even if we didn’t want to; people always have. So why not cause us to take the best kind of notice, and use it for good, and let us start our year in the right spirit? This doesn’t in any way detract from the greater importance of the Christian feasts and events and dates; they link together, nature brought into alliance with Grace. By the way, I was reading something the other day about the French word “alliance,” used in the French Bible for our “covenant” or “testament,” being better; but it doesn’t seem to mean quite the same, surely? (Yes, I have just looked it up in the French diet., and “covenant” is one of the meanings it gives.)
Your nice story about “swayvighter” and “fortighter”1 does bring dear Fr. Cary back. He was so full of good stories, as I remember him. My cousin who is now a Roman … reminded me of one the other day—[about] some very extreme Cornish parson whose Bishop remonstrated with him for imposing so many out-of-the-way saints and feasts on his rural congregation, telling him that “all this nomenclature” was a mistake. The parson, who was rather vague as to the meaning of this word, preached next Sunday to his flock, telling them to “drop all this nomenclature; just get up and come along to Mass.” I went, with this R.C. cousin, a Portuguese friend (also of course R.C, and a most delightful man) and Fr. Irvine, to the opening of Church Unity week on Thursday at the Central Hall. I was disappointed, because no speaker made any concrete proposals for greater unity; they all spoke of good will, tolerance, courtesy, friendliness, co-operation between the churches, but got no further than that. They all spoke well, however; the Bp. of Oxford was in the chair, and as usual v.g.; there followed a Presbyterian, Dr. Maxwell, who was really excellent, and spoke very well for his church, saying how they valued their Orders and their Sacraments, and how much they would like union if it could be had without sacrifice of principle, which, he supposed, was what the other churches felt too. The R.C., Fr. Dwyer (who said he spoke with the full approval of his hierarchy) was a cheerful, friendly priest, full of fraternal good will and good jokes, deprecating inter-denominational sniping and desiring mutual peace and friendship. But did he even hint that any concessions from the Roman side might ever be forthcoming? He did not. Well he knew that he mustn’t suggest any such thing. So we got no further; the plate came round and we were exhorted to put into it money to pay for this Unity, but how much it would cost we weren’t told. I thought perhaps 2/6, though it wouldn’t buy unity, would be suitable; if I had been given reason to think that Unity was really round the corner, waiting for the price to be collected before it materialized, I would have given more. But I am not at all clear what we are bidden to pray for this week. Inter-communion, perhaps…. Inter-communion would be nice, of course. So would fair play. My sister, who has worked, as a mission nurse, in S. Africa, says the R.C.s dorit play fair, either there or in India; they persuade the natives to come into their church and desert the Anglican mission, telling them it is the same thing but better. (Gallant but untruthful men, as you say of the Jesuit missionaries of past years. I like that description!) Well, so much for Unity week. I saw Canon Hood on the platform, and a lot of Anglican Fathers (Cowley and Mirfield) and an abbot or two. So I suppose they hope for some result, not merely increased good will.
Yes, how bad those translations of Latin hymns nearly always are. The Cultor Dei trans, is very prosy and poor, compared with the Latin, out of which it should never have been taken.1 Then, look at the hymn for Saturday Vespers for the Epiphany octave—the one we are saying now—Deus Creator omnium;2 I don’t know the Latin, but the English is very cumbrous.
“Nor envious fiend with harmful snare
Our rest with sinful terrors scare”—
what language! Who makes these translations? The Latin is probably very dignified. As to Cultor Dei, I am glad you discovered Gaselee’s totum version; it is so much better than rorem which sounds foolish and weak.3 What a pity you can’t get it altered in Hours of Prayer. You might make an English trans, with totum and get the S.S.J.E. to adopt it. “Totum subisse sanctum” is very good.<
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I don’t know if I could be much use to these young ordinands and ecclesiastics, though I suppose discussing things may be of use to both discussers. The Cuddesdon young man has now gone to Majorca for a holiday, and then will I suppose return to Cuddesdon; but I may very likely meet him again with his friend Fr. Irvine, and should like to pursue the acquaintance; I liked him. As to young Fr. Irvine (who began to call me “Rose” quite early, in the modern manner, so I call him Gerard), I have plenty of chance to talk to him. I am driving him to Herts soon—to see an artificial ruin he knows of,4 and then on to see Howards End, which is the house in that novel of E.M. Forster’s which I read aloud lately to my friend at Moor-fields. You ask about that book; if you haven’t ever read it, you should. It is quite delightful. It was published in 191 o. I think you’d like it; the characters are so real, the style so excellent, the humour so delightful, the problems so serious. Do you not know any of his novels? He is one of my best friends, and I see him often when he is in London; he lives now in Cambridge, at King’s. Next week I have promised to drive him to Abinger, which he likes to visit, as it was his home when he lived there with his mother, on his mother’s birthday. He is a person of very strong and continuing affections. If you’d like to read Howards End, I would love to send it you.
If a new novel, My Fellow Devils, by L. P. Hartley, comes out in America (I think it is sure to) I wish you would read it and tell me what you think about it. I found it interesting; a good situation. It is one of those novels I spoke of in which the central character goes R.C. because it seems to her the only religion, and she needs one. The author isn’t himself one, but probably thinks it would be the only thing to be if he did turn religious. Talking to him at a party lately, I said, if I had known his heroine I would have advised her to try Grosvenor Chapel. He didn’t know about that; but he had heard of Rome! He is … C. of E. but never, I imagine, particularly interested in it, or in religion in general.1 But, as I say, he has heard of Rome. So when he needs religion in a novel, as a deus ex machina, in comes Rome. Pity we can’t spread news of the C. of E. like that.
Sunday. I looked up “Deus qui nos redemptionis,”2 and certainly think the Latin is better; though there is a case for identifying the occasion as Christmas Day, no doubt. The English Missal, which I sometimes use, has “the yearly expectation of our redemption.” I miss a great many good prayers, I suppose, through never attending Mattins or Evensong in church. It struck me the other day how beautiful many of those prayers are, whether in English or in Latin. Of course I read them, or many of them, in the offices; but never now join in them in church, of the psalms either. Perhaps I will take to sometimes going to Sunday Evensong somewhere; there is none at my Chapel, but All Saints isn’t far off, and it is very beautiful there. I like those prayers; going to no service but Mass rules out too much. Did you mean, when you spoke of “Absolutiones et Benedictiones” at the beginning of each Breviary vol., those headed “Ante Divinum Officium” (one beginning “Aperi, Domine, os meum”)? I can’t find any others just there.
Yes indeed, what marathon religious arguments John Gerard did have with his long-suffering (and apparently delighted, or so he thought) Protestant acquaintances! I wonder they stood it. But I suppose they were ready for conversion, or they wouldn’t have gone to see him, or consented to the conversation at all. And no doubt he was an eloquent talker. What do you suppose he told them about the Faith? He doesn’t tell us of any Protestant who remained unconvinced; but perhaps he preferred to forget these, if any. You are right: our modern country gentry wouldn’t stand any such thing!
I must certainly try and see those young women your nieces; I would like to very much, if they would. I shall wait till I am a little less pushed for time, and then try and arrange it. At present I am so badly overdone with work that I find I am being impolite, if not unkind, to all sorts of people; one friend rang up the other evening to ask if she had offended me, since I had left her last two letters unanswered, in which she proposed a meeting. The fact is I looked at the letters in despair and simply put them aside till a chance seemed to offer of meeting, and then they slipped from my mind. Of course she hadn’t offended me; that never happens; but perhaps it is worse to crowd people out simply from lack of time and the trouble of making a plan. One gets very inconsiderate, I fear, when behindhand with work one has to get done. Perhaps one should work in the country, away from everyone, but then there would be no books at hand to consult, and that is vital for my present work. To-day I lunched with people, and had tea somewhere else, and now it is evening, and the day is almost wasted as far as work goes. I suppose my neglected friend would say, if you can meet those other people, you can meet me—and of course she would be right. How difficult it is to be considerate and nice and courteous and painstaking about every one, in this bustle of a life, and oh how badly I do it.
You ask about Macaulays, Babingtons and Conybeares—so here they all are, in a genealogical table. As you see, though my parents were cousins, we weren’t so intermarrying as your family. How very odd of J. C. Powys not to mention his fraternal relationship with his sisters. I wonder why. But of course he has a most odd mind. An interesting case of self-dramatisation, it seems like? I wonder how you will get on with Porius. Slowly, I guess. It is very long, and doesn’t grip the attention; perhaps too remote from us. If ever I meet the author over here, I shall be much interested to talk to him. He is a good deal respected as a writer, and deservedly.
I was talking this evening to Stephen Spender, the poet. He rather interested me by saying that, though he couldn’t believe much of what Christianity taught and held, he was an Anglican, because he thought it such a good “framework for moral aspiration,” so that the Church should be supported. I believe he is right here; it is a good framework. I think that if people who can’t really believe much of it held to it on those grounds, it would be very profitable. A great many do, I think. And no doubt some of them grow to believe more as time goes on. Apart from its other aspects, to be a framework for good actions and aspiration is a fine thing. And we aren’t so cluttered up with devotional deviations as one sometimes feels the Roman Church to be.
Now I must go to bed. Do send me those family papers sometime; I should be interested, and would send them back with care. I am, as you know, interested in all you send or tell me, always. Because (a) it is always interesting (b) because you send it. My love,
Your affectionate
R.M.
That 2nd snapshot you sent isn’t so good as the other, which I like greatly.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.I
30th January, 1952 (feast of the lamentable King Charles I) †
Dear Father,
Lovely to get your air letter of 22nd, posted 25th. I do enjoy your letters. No one else writes such good ones. And, talking of letters, before I forget, I didn’t get a letter from Fr. Pedersen at Christmas, but a v. nice Christmas card. I expect that is what he meant when he told you he had written to me. I was delighted to get it, because I liked him so much, as you know. And he was so kind to me; that American P.B. he gave me, in particular, I find of value and interest almost every day. I don’t think I sent him a Xmas card (do you object to that shortening? Some do) in return, because I was living in a rush and was practically non compos with work, cards, gifts and everything combined; we have inflated Xmas to a mistaken size, from the external and material angle; it gets us all down. What would He have thought of it? But I love hearing and getting greetings from the people I like, even if I don’t always return them. Did I send you my private Xmas card, of the swimming flautist? I hope I did, because I liked it. I should have sent it to Fr. P. too, only ran out of them. But, dear Father, you are inverting the facts when you say you wear an aura for him because of me; on the other hand, the only aura I had for him was because of his great devotion to you, which induced his kindness to me.
I’m so glad you have such a companion in interests as Fr. Palmer. I always enjoy hearing his comments and info
rmation about things—and anything in my letters that you share with him pleases me that you should. (What a sentence! Forgive my illiteracy.) I wonder what he thinks on the interesting question of the development of English Latin pronunciation. I shouldn’t myself have the bumptiousness to think anything, except that I have been reading a rather good little book called Latin in Church, by F. Brittain (1934), lecturer (then) at Jesus Coll., Cambridge, which discusses the subject of the development of Latin in the various countries, from the break up of the Roman Empire on. According to him, Latin speech was never uniform, but developed very early along national lines in each country. Hadrian, in the 2nd century, spoke it with a Spanish accent. By the 3rd and 4th centuries there were great variations. St. Jerome, writing at time of fall of Rome, said “Latinitas ipsa et regionibus quotidie variatur et tempore.”1 After that the Church, of course, got about greatly, and spoke Latin in its services in the vernacular of each country. Classically pronounced Latin soon disappeared, probably even in Rome itself, certainly elsewhere. The clergy wanted to be understood by their flocks, and adopted the local pronunciation to that end, and also because it came easier to themselves. The liturgy gradually took a fixed and general form (or more than one, I suppose, in east and west?) but its pronunciation never. Latin broke up more and more into regional dialects—the Romance languages in embryo; the liturgies, though keeping the 4th and 5th century Latin, didn’t keep the old pronunciation, but developed as the vernacular did. Italians took to the ch sound of c (before e or f), the French pronounced it like 5, the Germans and English in their respective ways. And so with the vowels. The French u developed (which they use in French churches to-day), though most vowel sounds on the Continent are, of course, rather similar. But whatever the vernacular sounds given to vowels or consonants were in national speech, church Latin used them. My authority quotes from a book (1528) by Erasmus, “De recta Latini Graecique sermonis pronuntiatione,”2 which gives examples of the Latin speech of the various races, and relates a story of an audience given by the emperor Maximilian to the ambassadors of various countries, who all made speeches in turn. The French ambassador was thought by the Italians present to be speaking in French; the German and others caused laughter by their national pronunciation; no doubt the English did so. Of course educated Latin-speakers of different races did manage to understand one another somehow, but it must have been often difficult. The French seem to have been the worst, until the English change of vowels. This change occurred gradually through the 15th and 16th centuries, and no one, so far as one can gather, knows exactly when or why. We know that by the end of the 16th century the English i had changed from ee to ei (long i, I mean) and this seems such a great change that it is odd. The same with long a, which used to be pronounced ah and changed to ay; while e became ee. Of course there are exceptions, and some oddities about it; did you ever notice that though rathe (early) became ray the, as now, its comparative, rather (sooner), kept its old sound? All very chaotic, and what happened to cause it? But anyhow, whatever it was, our Latin sounds followed the changes in English, so had nothing to do with (as is sometimes surmised) the Reformation. Erasmus, in 1528, noticed that Colet pronounced e in Latin as ee. There have been many attempts to discover exactly how Shakespeare’s plays were pronounced; but I think no one exactly knows, about most of the words. As to Latin, the puns of the plays acted by the Westminster boys show that the pronunciation was always English (when did they begin? I forget, and am too lazy to look it up just now). Milton, of course, was very keen on the Italian Latin sounds; but, he wrote sadly in 1661, “few will be perswaded to pronounce Latin otherwise than their own English.” A thing in this book that interested me was the comparison between the English way that the hereditary English Catholics probably pronounced Latin, in their determination to be rather specially English and patriotic, and the Italian pronunciation probably introduced by the seminary-taught missioners (such as Gerard, no doubt) from abroad. The hereditary Catholics here went on steadily with the anglicé church Latin, and in the 19th c. (says Brittain) rather resented and derided the Italianate “chees and chaws” as they called them, of the zealous converts of the Oxford movement, who went to Rome and returned ardently Roman, both in pronunciation and “gew-gaws.” Brittain says the Jesuits in England still use the English sounds; or did til? quite lately. So did the Benedictines till late in C.19. I suppose the Latin used in Anglican churches is given the Italian sound, isn’t it? Which do you use, in saying Latin prayers alone?1 I use the Latin I learnt at school—kylee for caeli, etc. All that about Latin sounds following the vernacular everywhere interests me, and I seem to have written a very long screed about it, but think you are interested too.
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