To Virginia Woolf
Tatchley, Prestbury, nr Cheltenham, Glos.
21 August 1918
My Dear Virginia,
I did enjoy that weekend with you very much, so that I must try and write a letter now to thank you and Leonard for having me. I tackled Lytton about the [Henry] James letters. You were quite wrong. He was strongly in favour of them being brought to light and refuted any idea of intrigues on his part. There was a vast gathering at Gordon Square in the evening: Clive and Mary, and all the others. Sheppard came in very decrepit and broken about 10 o’ck, and gave a ghastly account of his medical Board at Cambridge. He’s been classified Grade 1. But it was impossible to gather whether the danger of Khaki really is as he made out it was. I saw Lytton off as the cock crew nine at Kings X. H. B. Irvingfn60 got in the same train, with an actor manager. Lytton was certain they also were destined for the party at Headlong Hall!! Jack Hutchinson who wrote to Mary from some other castle in Northumberland said that Heinemann,fn61 and many other Jews and dagoes were staying at Lindisfarne, and that all the food that one could get there was bad crab, and foul lobster. So what has become of our Marquis of Tidmarsh amidst such spiritual and corporeal horrors? I dread to think.
I have been so excited ever since I saw those artists at Charleston, and their work. I would not have missed that one day for any attractions you literary people could offer me!
It’s extraordinary to be back here with my people again and the old mahogany furniture of my earliest youth. So respectable, and so highly polished. My mother’s long conversation about dividends, and relations has gone on without a pause since I first entered the house yesterday afternoon. But I’ve a great deal of work to do, and there are Cotswolds Hills just across the lane to explore. So I expect I shall hold out for a week. We are going to Wooler [in Northumberland] first. I’ll write you a long letter from there. And when we come back in September I’ll come down, and dig the garden for Leonard like an old mole.
Virginia, I did enjoy staying with you so much. Please give Leonard my love.
Yrs Carrington
To David Garnett
The Mill House
Tuesday evening [2 October 1918]
Dear Bunny,
You wrote such an amusing letter from the Globe, Exeter, that I am sorry not to have answered it before. But when we returned from Gordon Square here, Mrs Legg announced brightly that she was going away the next day for a week’s holiday. As if I hadn’t enough already of looking after the old gentleman in London! So nearly all my time has been taken up preparing food for human consumption and cleaning rooms which I with much greater speed make dirty again […]
Last weekend Madame Bussyfn62 came. I like her. She is so sympathetic and very entertaining. Mrs Legg is worse than a traitor as she promised to be back last Thursday and now it’s nearly Wednesday and there is no sign of her. Lytton went up to London this morning to attend his various affaires. So I am all alone today and have quickly become a slut. I am writing to you in the kitchen with a black cat purring on the table. And I’ve just eaten a huge supper of coffee and marrow jam tartlets. Now how do you enjoy yourself?
Please write me a letter about the Boxesfn63 and the country. How happy I was there last summer. The doe [rabbit] is going to have a family next week. We have started eating the cockerels as they consumed such vast quantities of food. I shall have 7 hens this winter. Last Friday I went up to London and Mr Partridge took me to the Ballet and we saw The Good Humoured Ladies. It was good. I had seen it before with Alix but right from the very back of the upper regions and Mr P. had seats in the front of the stalls. It was too exciting seeing all their faces so close – and every gesture. Brenan had been in London with him last week. Mr P. asked me if I had read Despised and Rejected and also made a louche joke about Lytton and Buggery.fn64 But I don’t think all the same there’s anything between him and Brenan. By the way, the man who wrote Despised and Rejected is being prosecuted by the censor of morals!!! I just had a long letter from Alix this morning – seemed very happy. This is a dull letter but I feel like you do after a hard day’s work at Charleston, as stupid as a cow and quite as boring. Please give Jenny and Rebecca Ann and Mrs B[ox] my love and a more intimate variety of the same to you.
Yrs affec Carrington
To Virginia Woolf
The Mill House
Tuesday [October 1918]
Dear Virginia,
Lytton (like some King whose name I forget, but I learnt a long poem about him when I was a child) went to bed and never smiled again until your letter came. Then he laughed outright very loud five times. And the second time he read it, ten minutes later, he laughed seven times.
So will you write again? If only you knew his state of complete despair, as only a Strachey can despair, and utter misery, your pen would not remain idle. His hand is a little better today. But much too swollen to write with yet. Where did Goldiefn65 have his shingles? My conversation is now entirely on that subject. Unfortunately to Lytton’s chagrin, only innkeepers, charwomen and chemists’ assistants seem liable to the foul disease. So your news of Goldie’s suffering raised his spirits a little. For horrid thought; he believed it was a complaint of the lower classes. He is going to Glottenham to stay with Mary next Monday. D.V. your words did indeed came true, for this morning hardly had the loathsome shingles quitted its hold on his frame, when a bilious attack seized the stomach and now he cannot even eat his meals which up to now had been his one form of recreation and amusement. And you say the mange will follow? Well. I only hope it will attack him when he is at Mary’s, not here. But to come to business. How can I do woodblocks when for the past month, ever since in fact we left Northumberland, I’ve been a ministering angel, hewer of wood and drawer of water? Honestly Virginia since I came here I’ve only been able to finish a picture which I sent Monty Shearman. Yes my ewe lambs are now in the market place and so one small woodblock. So you mustn’t bully me. I go to Cheltenham next Monday for a week. And I’ll work very hard down there. By the end of this month I will try and send you some. Roger I hear is cutting wood all over the carpets in Gordon Square. What fun life in London seems, parties, Ottoline, and feathers flying. Here it is overflowing jordans, milk puddings, poultries and then, overflowing jordans again next morning.
My love to Leonard and please write to Lytton again. If you had heard the torrent of affection and admiration which flowed over your letter, well, you would write again.
Yrs affect Carrington
To Lytton Strachey
Tatchley, Prestbury
Thursday night, 10 o’ck [31 October 1918]
Not that there is anything to write about to night dearest, – But that I am thinking of you, and wondering how you passed your day and seeing the old hand as I last saw it, and speculating if any more wrinkles can now be seen on those two fingers. I don’t think I shall ever forget the vision of that hand! And when I write to your life as an old lady, I shall draw for the preface a shingled hand […]
I can’t help feeling it’s wretched to touch the money that he [her brother Teddy] saved probably through being a soldier in the war. You know it was just two years ago this October. At the very place where they are shooting now. I hate coming home because everywhere in the house I see his things and in my rooms all his school books, the queer boxes, and his carved things he made, old chemistry jars, boats, and in the drawers his note books, drawings of engines, and frigates. You remember in that poem the room with the quick silver. It was all so like him. He wasn’t a bit intellectual, only so charming. Really like one of those south country people, or a sailor. But mostly I think I loved him for his exquisite beauty and strength. I cannot forget one of the last days he was at Hurstbourne. In the afternoon I found him lying fast asleep on the sofa, curled up. His dark brown face, and broad neck, the thick black shiny hair and the modelling on his face, like some chiselled bronze head.
You don’t mind me talking now. But it’s been so heavy inside lately. Those leaves l
ying on the lawn at Tidmarsh, and the cold smell made me remember Hurstbourne so vividly. And here, with all his things, I cannot forget hardly for a moment in this house.
When we passed Box Hill an incident came back. How up a certain white quarry he slipped down backwards down the loose clay and hurt his side. We ran on, and left him behind and afterwards he came running up very red and crying. And then long after when he rowed at school, he told me how the ribs were bent, and still hurt. You comforted me once when we came back from tea at Dorelia’s. So I write now. You would have loved him if you had seen him. It is blessed to know you. Such a comfort. Take great care of yourself and if you want me to take you to London and do anything, you will write?
My love, goodnight.
Carrington
To Lytton Strachey
Tatchley
Monday afternoon [4 November 1918]
Isn’t it good news about Austria!! Oh we shall have peace before the end of next week! You must be well by then. For think of the wine cups and the pavement-tapping, boy-accosting days of London. Very dear Lytton how are you this morning? What lovely creatures lay on your shingly beach last night? I drew a picture all last night of figures in the Roman Bathfn66 at Tidmarsh. For an oil painting I intend to do when I get back. Had a hot bath & crept lonely to bed. My very dear one. I do hope you are better […] This letter’s only cause is to convey my love to you and give you many hugs and kisses. You do believe in peace this morning don’t you? Or will you deny its existence even years after it’s declared. It would be just like you – you old crag of a Tory. Give Clive & Mary my love. And there will be Italy next spring! Oh gollywops! Goodbye and 1 thousand kisses. (GLS. ‘Thank God the creature is at Cheltenham & not here’ – ‘alright, you monster.’) – I wonder how many I have given you since – you first kissed me. That was an indiscretion on your part wasn’t it …
Your most charming Mopsa
To Lytton Strachey
Tatchley
Thursday night, 9.30 [7 November 1918]
Pray worthy Poet do not laugh at this somewhat curious scarf
… For with Loving hands I made it, and even if it’s not successful as a sling, it will, to use my favourite phrase, ‘come in’ for something else. I couldn’t write this morning, there was so much packing to do. And this afternoon I accompanied my mother to a concert. Mark Hambourg, at the piano. There was one good piece by Bach, but for the rest, Il ne me plaisait pas. Chopin, and numerous minor exercises to show off his great skill at playing trills. But next to my mother sat the most exquisite creature that my eyes have yet lighted upon. He had the loveliness of a Boticcelli angel. I should think he was sixteen, slightly of the lower classes, with masses of black hair, and a very narrow fragile face – with dark brown eyes and a short curling upper lip, altogether more romantic and Italian than one could conceive possible. What he was doing in that congregation, God knows. For it might otherwise have been a Kensington High Church assembly. There were a few odd characters like Saxon, enthralled by every note. But for the most part they were the dullest most provincial, ill mannered people I’ve ever seen […] This hasn’t been a good looting visit. Only one small silver cream jug, and some vegetables, and eggs for Alix!
But the fur coat this morning was the greatest comfort. For it’s icy cold in these regions now. I’ve not had a word from Legg re that empty envelope which arrived and about the ration book which did not come. Rather a nuisance. I only hope you’ve got yours alright.
Dearest I shall be glad when you can write again. Perhaps the wine cups and Geoffrey’sfn67 arms will make me forget a little how much I miss you and your letters. You can’t deny you aren’t excited about Peace now. I say, you must come up to London and make merry, shingles or no shingles, next week. Dear Lytton I send you all my love tonight and remain
Votre jamais charmant maîtressefn68
Mopsa
To Lytton Strachey
45 Downshire Hill, Hampstead
Monday morning, 9 o’ck [11 November 1918]
What an angel you are! I was never so glad of a letter before! You need never write again (not to be taken literally) for I shall remain happy for weeks because you tell me you are better and, oh Lytton, it is too good to believe that the old hand can write again. It’s just as good as Peace, only I wish I could hug you hard this morning because I love you so much. And Jack [Hutchinson] can, that’s the peculiar thing about life. Well there’s Sunday to describe. I had lunch with A. Waleyfn69 again, at the Isolabella and oh joy a brimming cup of Zambalaoni! [sic – zabaglione]. He was rather amusing, and talked a great deal; also read me some Piers Ploughman which I like immensely. After, in Shaftesbury’s Avenue, we saw Dorelia looking amazingly beautiful. She asked after ‘Strachey’ which she says in a curious voice which sounds as if it must be Strakey but just avoids it at the last moment. She leaves London next Tuesday for Dorset. Boris [Anrep] is going to decorate their walls in Chelsea with a fresco of the first women taking their seats in the Houses of Parliament! Waley tells me he [Boris] has a theory now that all art should have a great underlying motive, and at present the greatest symbolic movement to him is the freedom of women! […] Then tea at Gordon Square. Only Harry [Norton] visible when I arrived. He appeared in excellent spirits, and asked with great feeling after your condition. Then, my dear, who should come in, but Bluff Major Bell [Clive Bell’s brother] just home on leave from France, thinking to find Clive at Gordon Square. You couldn’t imagine the scene. It was too extraordinary. He evidently had no idea of what Harry was like and roared with laughter like a bull at every remark Harry made! ‘Well I can’t say I think much of this armistice now we have them on the run. I think we might as well finish the job and enter Berlin.’ ‘Of course I wouldn’t trust Boche. But I suppose they’ll take care he isn’t allowed to have the chance of turning,’ and many more appalling statements. Harry was a perfect gentleman, and never even looked at his watch.
Then Sheppard entered and the Major roared even louder. I thought it would never end. Finally Alix appeared, very stiff, and immensely solemn. That was too much. I think it flashed across him, we must be the young ladies of these curious friends of Clive. Anyway with a great bellow he left the room! – But it was exceedingly strange. Then until 7 o’ck we discussed: what else can one discuss in Gordon Square, Maynard and his table manners! And a forthcoming party to celebrate Peace. Harry had a great scheme for the party of a charade of Pozzo’s life – all at the table – beginning with Mrs Keynes trying to teach him not to dip his bread in the soup. But Sheppard’s more gentlemanly instincts suppressed the motion.
Fortunately Harry broke it up by taking us all off to the Café Royal for a great dinner, and beakers of wine. Geoffrey bored me dreadfully with more Irish stories. Alix rapidly became very drunk and Sheppard took the conversation into his own hands by relating all of his love affaires since he was four years old. Then Harry talked bawdy – and rather upset little Wolfe. Gilbert Cannan and little Gwenfn70 who sat at the next table became correspondingly gloomier, as our spirits rose. And there was cherry brandy and sloe gin to finish up with! Back to Gordon Square – Alix so drunk she had to leave the company and was violently sick outside. I left her lying on Sheppard’s bed groaning with mortifications and anguish. Geoffrey to my horror I find lives exactly opposite this house in Downshire Hill with his aunt, Mrs Vessey. He’s alright, but oh Lytton such a bore. Bunny is Virginia in brilliance compared to him!
Harry asks me to tell you that next Thursday evening there will be crackers and squibs at Gordon Square and if you are well enough your company would greatly add to the pleasure of all concerned! Perhaps Mary will come up with Clive. I doubt it being a good party. But I always think after talking a whole Sunday afternoon about a party and the guests, one can’t believe it will [be] anything but a funeral feast. I am very well and so happy Lytton this morning because you are better. Such a dull letter from the Partridge this morning. It says Brenan is going to be married soon. Geoffrey tells me that Co
le is now settled in Ireland with his bride and has become a respectable landed gentleman.
I love you so much Lytton. Only sometimes it’s hellish to have you so far away.
All my love,
Carrington
To Lytton Strachey
[no address – Cheltenham?]
[n.d.]
This morning is fine and all the gale & rain of last night has vanished as suddenly as it came. And the great Cotswolds rear up bathed in showers of yellow sunshine. The poet groans at such horrible similies.
A breakfast which would have pleased you.
Porridge, eggs & apple jam.
‘Lloyd George spent the day pacing up & down the magnificent Terrace of Versailles discussing affaires with Lord Reading’ – what a vision!
I expect any paper but The Times has the announcement of an armistice with Germany announced.
The sun is amazing. You won’t change your mind & come here & join my Father in a double bath chair?
I suppose Peace will be nothing like what one imagines it will be. Everybody singing […] and embraces on the village greens with all the musicians in the world playing on their instruments … and you writing a poem to celebrate the rejoicings in the Daily News. I think at least the old order of things ought to collapse. And a July Summer should break upon the world and all the trees burst out onto new leaves. But they won’t. Nature is all dull as stewed cabbage with far less imagination. To hell with your shingles! Oh such a morning as this it was indeed proper that I should have received a letter and sonnet from my dearest Lytton.
Love your Mopsa
To Noel Carrington
1917 Club
Tuesday [12? November] 1918
Carrington's Letters Page 11