I see what you mean about Transubstantiation—that our feelings about it make it what it is. I mean, the feelings and associations of the whole Church and our prayers and hallowing. I believe that myself. I suppose we are less objective about it than the R.C.s. It is a mystery, and one can’t really define it —certainly ignoramuses like me can’t. All the sacramental life I at present get is from following Mass from bed and in imagination … you understood so well about the bedside table, the bottles and the books! But if I can’t get out early by Easter, I must, I think, surmount all that. However, I hope to be able to go quite soon now. Deprived of the chief means of grace, I feel graceless.
There were one or two questions in your last air letter that I hadn’t space to answer. Conybeare rhymes with on. (At least our Conybeares do.) I feel that once it must have been un, because I think nearly all the on and om words used to have the u sound. But I never heard of any Cōnybeare with it—I don’t know why it isn’t Coneybeare, since we think it comes from coney burrow, from the Devonshire moors whence the family derives and the coneys who make their homes there—but I daresay it is nothing of the sort. Then you ask how I think of a novel. That depends on the novel. Keeping up Appearances had its genesis in the reflection how manifold is human nature, and that it might be fun to present one person as two, as far thro’ the book as was possible. After that, the characters create themselves. They were Defeated developed from brooding on Cambridge life as it was about 1640; I had always read a great deal of 17th c. letters and memoirs. I got a group of people, most of them real, some half real; I took Herrick and re-imagined him as a live person, how he would talk and feel; then I built up round him the Yarde family, and Dr. Conybeare and Julian (Dr. C. was rather like my mother’s cousin, F. C. Conybeare of Oxford). Then I thought up the Cambridge milieu—and what fun it was! The Wilderness was a meditation on Ruin, physical and material, with a lost waif for its central character. Now I have one at the back of my mind—two distinct characters, but not, so far, much of a plot. This will arise when I give it my attention. So, you see, it’s sometimes one thing first, sometimes another. I wish I was now on my next.
I now await my travel companion, to discuss plans; he is coming in this afternoon. Now I must poach my egg for lunch. “Demeanour”—yes—that reminds me of how, on the rare occasions when we 3 little sisters, attending the local convent school for 6 months at Varazze, joined in a school walk, led by a nun, and met fishermen. But no space for this, or for more than my love.
R.M.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
7th April [1952] †
Dear Hamilton,
Thank you for your letter of 31st March, in which you hadn’t yet got the earlier of my two letters (I think posted 29th?) in which I told you I was laid up. I wrote again on 2nd April, telling you I was getting on nicely. I still am; but am still in bed, as this Undulant Fever is a v. slow and tedious business—it goes away and comes back. So I am spending Holy Week and Easter in the flat, as well as I can….
What you say about [the] Passion and Holy Week is very helpful to me just now, and just how I am trying to look at it (necessarily from a distance). I won’t get to Duckett for that book, till I am about again; I shall then. It’s not a book anyone can choose for me, even if I could ask anyone to get so far. But I can use all kinds of prayers, and try to follow the week, and the great proclamation of the Church’s faith. And I try to get more and more into it, and to understand. Thank you very much for what you say of it.
That story about Fr. Gibbs1 is very impressive. Surely an admirable way to die. And what presence of mind on the part of Fr. Pedersen! What did the congregation do? Wouldn’t they naturally go home, if the celebrant was taken ill like that? But I suppose Fr. P. carried on almost at once. They must have been very anxious. Can a deacon administer the Ciborium, or only the Chalice? I suppose only the Chalice. The whole thing must have been a great shock to everyone. But much better, really, than a long, painful illness. And such a splendid moment to be taken.
I shall be glad when I get a letter from you, saying you have got mine of 29th or so. I am not meaning to worry you about my health, only I like to keep you au fait with my doings. I am really much better, and am hoping to be up after this week. Meanwhile, I am reading and thinking (rather incompetently). You know, really no spiritual reading can better the Imitation. I am reading, too, a good French book about Holy Week. Do you see Theology?2 The March number has some interesting articles; one about a French community in Paris; another (called “Difficult Cousins”) about our relations with the R.C.s. Do read it, if it is published in America. I haven’t got it, or would send it you! I rather hope Mary B[arham] J[ohnson] won’t turn up just yet, as it would be a bad moment. She didn’t say just when she would be in London. Now I am expecting someone who is going to do my shopping….
My love for Easter,
Your affectionate
R.M.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
Easter Monday, 1952 †
Dear Hamilton,
Thank you for 2 splendid letters (posted 4th and 7th April?) which cheered my sick bed very much. I was up (though not out) for 3 days, but had a return of this cursed fever in the night of Good Friday and am in bed again. That is the way of Undulant (or Maltese) fever—it comes in cycles. But I take an excellent drug (Chloromycetin) that gets it under, and will, I hope, kill it very soon. Did you, I wonder, meet it in Malta much? It is a frightful nuisance, tho’ in no sense dangerous. Meanwhile, everyone is wonderfully kind….
I can’t answer your good letters adequately, being reduced in wits just now. But how good and timely are your observations on watching the great Paschal rites of the Church (which I have been doing from the wings). It is all very supporting and reviving and glorious, even to one dulled by Maltese fever. I follow the 8.15 Mass as best I can. I wish it were possible to get small copies of that large Altar Book we use (I think a Cowley one?) but it isn’t. And the P[rayer] B[ook] doesn’t contain a lot of it, of course, and The English Missal is really just the R.C. missal translated, and contains too much, and not all of the kind I want (I am not much good at the B.V.M. and the Saints, nor at all that Roman “enthusiasm,” too Tridentine and sentimental). The American P.B. contains more (a collect for each day of Holy Week, e.g.) and Hours of Prayer a lot, and you supply me (thank you) with continual additions to my Brief Prayers, so I am really well supplied.
Now for a few points in your letters—Howards End. I think his [E.M. Forster’s] philosophy of life is one of affection in personal relationships and sympathy and comprehension—not a bad one (though not technically Christian, but with many Christian elements). I agree, I never believed Margaret would have married Mr. Wilcox. I suppose he supplied the complement to the Schlegel aesthetic and unbusinesslike attitude towards life. But I have seen enough odd marriages not to be surprised at any of them. As to Helen’s affair with Leonard—no, I don’t really believe in that. She didn’t love him—and surely her emotional reaction and pity wouldn’t have driven her into that, particularly reared as she was. I always agree with a dear old lady I knew who said, disapprovingly, “I don’t think Helen would have forgotten herself like that with that young Mr. Bast.”
Delajield1—I knew her, tho’ not very well; I liked her much. I think her mother (Mrs. Henry De La Pasture, a novelist who became Lady Clifford) was R.C. and sent Elizabeth to a convent school. Elizabeth threw it off young, I think, and was never R.C. when I knew her; one gathers she didn’t much admire or like the convent school.
Donne was certainly “Dun”; there is every evidence, and I grew up so calling him. I expect your Donnes, like my Conybeares, were once un too. A losing battle is being fought between the old and the new—as in Romford that nearly everyone now rhymes with Tom. The change can happen very quickly—the O’Donovan family comes over here from Ireland—or one of them does; always called “O’Dunovan” in Ireland, he soon found that he couldn’t get it done here, so gave up the stru
ggle, and his children now call themselves on, and scarcely know they were ever un. A change in one generation. Just as nearly everyone calls the Trevelyans “Trevelyan” (they call themselves “Trevillian”) and the Cecils not “Cicil” but “Cecil”. As to Cowley, he lost the battle long ago, so the Fathers aren’t “Cooley”; it is surprising that Cowper has kept the oo. I suppose his fame preserved it; I dare say there are modern Cowpers so debased as to rhyme themselves with how….
I was much interested in your further account of Fr. Gibbs’ death, and Fr. Pedersen’s prompt action, and the beautiful burial. And in your account of the dehghtful-sounding Mrs. Paine….
I hope it has been a nice Easter with you. In an odd sense, it has with me, in spite of this tedious disease. I suppose Mary B.J. didn’t after all get to London, which is probably, in the circumstances, best. I am hoping soon to get hold of the Coulton book you told me of. Meanwhile I am coping with 6 French books, which I have to judge of.
I’m sorry for these illegible letters, but they bring my love and thanks.
R.M.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
18th April [1952] †
Dear Hamilton,
Your letters came in like tonics (10th and 14th April), and I want to send a word in reply, though don’t write much just now, being still in bed and still undulant. This disease goes on far too long. But may end suddenly, killed by Chloromycetin, the new drug. My doctor says there are several cases in London, and all the milk farms should be investigated for sick cattle. I feel good-for-nothing, can’t eat much without bad results, can’t use my brain to speak of. But I like to write to you, stupidly and lazily and with no less affection than when in health. Before beginning to, I rang up Duckett for The Words of the Missal.1 Out of print, and they had just sold their only 2nd hand copy before I rang. They may come by another to-morrow, next year, or never. Isn’t that annoying? But I feel I can get it somewhere, even if the L[ondon] L[ibrary] hasn’t got it, which it doubtless has. It sounds a book to keep….
Do we have those Easter Eve ceremonies in our churches? I have never seen them—but probably All Saints does. It must be a lovely ceremony—the lighting of the candle, etc. The English version of that prayer is good, though, too—“let the temple resound with the triumphant voices of the people “… Next year I must go to that service somewhere. I haven’t got the Missal in Latin (only partly) and ought to have it all really —the Missale Romanum.
There is a lot to think about in your 2 letters, which I like to meditate over, and have plenty of time for that. Oh yes, the coloured photograph is of Lydia Babington, my great-grandmother, who married Joseph Rose; a very nice, benign-looking old lady; I thought I would shew it to Mary BJ. when I see her.
I am missing a lovely little summer—perhaps the only one we shall have this year. Well, it can’t be helped, and I dare say I shall be about quite soon now. I wonder why we imbibe this most perilous liquid, only safe when boiled. Do be careful of it. I send much love for Easter, and every good wish you can want.
Your affectionate
R.M.
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
21st April, 1952 †
Dear Hamilton,
I wrote to you on Friday, three days ago only, but am sending this line to-day because I thought I would like to tell you how much better I am than when I wrote last. I do really now feel as if this illness was nearing its end, and that the last go of it has perhaps been had. I forget what I wrote on Friday, but think I was feeling pretty low. I dare say now I may be up in a few days. How glad 1 shall be! One gets so sick of bed, and of feeling ill, and of not being able to go about doing what one wants, and of feeling so mentally dull. I am now just beginning to be able to use my mind a little….
Meanwhile, it has been nice to have [the Reserved Sacrament] … here; I lie on the sofa in the sittingroom, and feel the room has acquired a kind of lustre it had not before. I admit that I was wrong in my distaste for the idea. But then 1 was envisaging my bedroom with its bedside table so littered with bottles and books, and having to be cleared! The sittingroom, not much lived in now, and lovely with the daffodils that kind people bring, is much easier as a church substitute. On Saturday came the news of the sudden death of my cousin Alfred Conybeare, the Vice-Provost of Eton. A happy life: Eton, then King’s, then straight back to Eton as a master, and there for all these years. He loved his work, and the boys, and had a great number of close friends among them always, and wanted nothing more. His only real griefs were when they got killed in the two wars. He never married, nor wanted to. Certainly a happy life, and fortunate in ending so suddenly, while he was still vigorously engaged in it. But a sad break, of course, in the Conybeare family circle.
No news yet from M[ary] B[arham] J[ohnson], so perhaps she isn’t coming to London this time, and will come later.
Our little summer has fled, leaving behind it the usual damp and chilly April weather. I am glad, as the more summer now the less later, and I do like to have some at the proper time.
My Italy plans are still in the air—I will let you know.
I am reading Père de Caussade (18th century French priest—so good). All this sitting back from life gives one, I find, a rather changed view of it—some things matter less, others more. I am not fussing so much as I was about finishing my book. I hope you are well, even better than this leaves me. My love always.
R.M.
By afternoon post, after I had stuck up this, comes yours of 17th—thanks so much for it. Yes, I shall get a Missale Romanum. I am attracted by your idea of a collection of prayers. But you must help with it: it shall be a joint effort. Permanent chaplain also a happy thought!
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
25th April, 1952 †
Dear Hamilton,
I thought to-day I would write a letter, not a paper, for a change: one reason is that I have none of those air papers at hand, another that a letter is more comfortable and spacious to write on. Your good letter begun on 18th came yesterday. I think I last wrote on Monday, when I was feeling better. Alas, that didn’t last; I have now relapsed into temperatures and weakness. My Doctor is consulting experts in this disease, and may turn up with some fine new remedy. The capsules I have been taking seem to have lost their power to keep the fever down; perhaps I am getting immunized against them! It is all a great nuisance.
I am a poor hand at Latin at present, and not up even to finding my way about the Breviary (or the Missal if I had it) to look for prayers. But I did find that collect for Easter Friday. Better than Fr. Martindale’s version I like the one in The English Missal —” Almighty and everlasting God, who hast bestowed the paschal sacrament for a pledge of man’s reconciliation: grant unto our hearts that what we celebrate in outward profession we may effectually fulfil.” The meaning is a little different, isn’t it, from Fr.M.’s—he says “the covenant that reconciles the human race”—the other makes it the sacrament that does this—I think the Missal trans, sounds better, too. But I like best your interpretation—if you could work that into brief collect form. A thing that I, at present, am quite incapable of even attempting. This illness reduces one to a great stupidity. I can’t even tackle Beeson and medieval Latin yet, let alone translate collects. I wish I had got The Words of the Missal— but I asked Duckett to advertise for it, and it may turn up any time. I haven’t yet got hold of Coulton’s book, either; no doubt it’s in the L[ondon] L[ibrary], but I can’t get there.
By the way, do you use the American or the English P[rayer] B[ook]? I notice you say the Queen was not mentioned, so I suppose it is the American one, as indeed would seem more natural.
I did once, when alone in the Chapel, have a look at that Altar Book. I wish I had it. It would take some practice, finding the appropriate “propers,” etc., for each day, but I do think they are so good and beautiful. I certainly never heard a Mass I liked better…. Certainly from no other church could I have got such good…. (alas, when shall I get there again?
) …
No, it wasn’t Lydia Babington that I said I had a pastel painting of, but her husband Joseph Rose (my great-grandfather) and his mother, Mrs. William Rose. I believe there is a painting of Lydia, that the Conybeares have. She was a handsome old lady. I must show all those portraits to M[ary] B[arham] J[ohnson] when we meet. Milk. I hasten to register a patriotic protest—we do sterilize and bottle all our milk in London. But I suppose now and then an infected drop slips through, and such a drop must have come my way. Do Americans really say Cowper? (You see the connection!) How atrocious! How I hate cows!
Now I can’t post this till someone goes to the P.O. and gets me a shilling stamp.
Oh yes, Paul Revere—how romantic he was! “Hardly a man is now alive, who remembers that famous day and you.”1
I often pause with gratitude to reflect how very fond I am of you.
My love for now.
R.M.
May
20, Hinde House, Hinde St., W.1
2nd May [1952] †
Dear Hamilton,
Thank you for your very nice air paper of 24th April. Thank you for calling my attention to the None hymn in Latin; of course it is very much better. Also I have been reading the “Libera nos” after the Pater Noster—I like this plan of intermixing the Latin and English prayers. One day, when I am well, I may write out a private Missal for myself, with the Latin and English together, so I can use which I like. Who first introduced our version of audemus dicere — “we are bold to say”? A curious wording, which I think I rather prefer to the rather commonplace “we dare to say” (which I have never heard, actually).
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