Friday, 27 September 1929
Darling Lytton,
We [the Johns] travel so fast that my letters soon get out of date. It is a perfect holiday only I wish you were sitting with us in the car […]
I think the Rhone valley is fascinating, much better than it looks from the train. They are picking grapes in all the vineyards and one passes continuously great waggons loaded with barrels of glistening berries and as one meanders through villages, buffets of wine come out of the courtyards. I am getting quite brave, imitating Augustus, yelling out ‘Monsieur la route pour Nimes?’ Typically when we resorted to a map yesterday we almost instantly got lost and spent hours circling round the country in search of Beaucaire!
I have never seen this country look so beautiful as it does now, everywhere these amiable wine activities. Viviers was a perfect town, and quite a good hotel, although very small. We climbed through the town after breakfast and saw the cathedral and peered down on a vast vista stretching up the Rhone valley. Whilst we were watching at some pressing, the owner came out, and begged us to taste his grapes, and with incredibly dirty fingers fished about in huge tub of shining wet grapes, (also covered with wasps, and flies) for a special bunch of muscatels for the Princess Dorelia. At last he found a worthy bunch! I must say they were delicious. He then showed us over his house which was 16 cent covered with curious Renaissance stone carvings. Perhaps I sent you a card. There were old Renaissance frescoes on the walls. But the whole place was incredibly dirty and only used for wine pressing. ‘My brother he is cook in England at the Langham Hotel’ he told us in French. You would marvel at my long conversations in that language! Dodo is the most perfect companion. I shall never forget the dreamy way she said in Dijon, ‘Let’s go down to Provence. I am sure it would be very nice down there. I’ve a hankering to see some olives’. She is longing to buy an old Roman villa in this country, outside Martigues. We passed it yesterday, a divine old ruin, with cypresses, and pines and old columns at the gate way. But infested by mosquitoes, which rather damped Dorelia’s enthusiasm. Martigues is an extraordinary place. Filled with fisherman, I have never seen such beauties of both sexes. Paul Cross would look positively plain here. They are enormously strong and brown and, in the evening, flanne up and down under the plane trees, the men walking in threes and fours arm in arm and the girls walking in threes and fours separately. Just laughing and talking and then walking on again. The cafes are filled; Arabs, Spaniards, and fishermen. So far on our whole journey, we haven’t heard a single word of English spoken, or seen any English or Americans. Rather a triumph. I drove the car the whole day yesterday till we reached Salon. So I shall come back a very proficient French driver […]
We drink half a bottle for lunch every day with cheese, and a salad at some small inn. Then another half bottle and a brioche for tea and a whole bottle of very grand wine for dinner. This letter was interrupted by an expedition yesterday to our darling Aix. It was a lovely drive round the edge of the lake and across great red ochre hills with burnt Roman pines on them. When we reached the Negre Coste what do you think? A charming Negro in buttons rushed out, and piloted our car to the side of the road. ‘Tout c’est change ici!’ Indeed you would hardly recognize the hotel without our old friend, the waiter. The new waiter is a brisk little Italian, with two under waiters. Lunch served outside under the planes. Old Madame recognized me and was charming and asked after ‘Monsieur’ and the lunch! Hare pate, grilled red mullet, a marvellous salad and delicious coffee, and Chateau des Papes Telegraphe, a whole bottle; our resolutions for a cheese and salad lunch faded away! […] We had tea in our old tea shop. Just the same and went to the picture gallery, and saw the Rembrandt, and Ingres. Aix was looking very beautiful. It was an absolutely still day with a hot sun. I drove the car all the way back, and we reached Martigues about 7 o’ck, and had a grand dinner at Pascals, an Italian place where Dorelia is adored, on the edge of the quay. It was pleasant sipping Marsala in a little bamboo hut over hanging the water, listening to the lapping water, and watching the sky grow dark, and dark fishing boats moving across the water with ripples after them […] I feel slightly depressed at not having heard yet from you. I’ll send a wire, if there isn’t a letter today […]
My love trés chère
Votre devoutee Mopsa
To Julia Strachey
Ham Spray House
October 1929
My Dearest Julia,
You have no idea how much I enjoyed staying with you. You are a charmer to be so kind to votre tante. Oh dear I see I am all wrong. I care far too much for Ham Spray. I am weak in body, and soul because ever since lunch I have been in ecstasies over the beauty of the fields, the sunlight on the top of the stairs, the beech grove, faded and already tinged with brown, and my family of cats.
They were dreadfully hungry and pleased to see me so I am glad I came back. My lovely Belle recognized me across the field, and came to be patted, so I feel very happy to be back in my animal kingdom. I ran about the garden looking at all the trees and flowers. I found I had forgotten the extraordinary beauty of the Downs, and the garden. Lytton has just sent a wire to say he has been seduced by Dadie and isn’t coming back tonight. It makes me a little melancholy to be here alone in this paradise of beauty with no body but the dumb animal kingdom to share it with. Olive is still ill with a cold, so there isn’t even her to discuss the beauties of nature with, only my 7 dumb cats and the talking horse. Julia I wish I was a young maid and not a hybrid monster, so that I could please you a little in some way, with my affection. You know you move me strangely. I remember for some reason everything you say and do, you charm me so much. This letter is rather distrait, but I am worn out with going into too many internal ecstasies – and then I was too excited all day to eat anything but some lettuce. I hope you will come on Sunday. Lytton would be delighted to see your beaux I am sure, and I should be to see my Belle.
Forgive me for being one evening, rather ponderous. But you are very long suffering. Now I shall go over all my conversations, the plays, the dances, the proposals, sitting with my cats over the log fire.
My loving darling Julia
Yr most loving Carrington
Around this time Carrington suspected that she was pregnant by Beakus Penrose. She knew she did not love him, nor he her; she had always had a horror of childbirth and shared Lytton’s dislike of children (‘le petit peuple’). Yet there is no reference to her suspicion, which was correct, in her journal and only hints in her surviving correspondence.
To Lytton Strachey
Ham Spray House
[Monday] 4 November 1929
Darling Lytton,
I feel rather tongue tied always about telling you how much I love you, and incapable of thanking you for all you do for me. But it does you know, make all the difference, in the world. You give me a standard of sensible behaviour which makes it much easier to be reasonable. R[alph] has been so kind also, (I really don’t see why such foolishness should be rewarded!). I’ve been working in my studio all this morning. The rain beats down outside in a most dismal fashion. It’s a pity you weren’t an actor. I couldn’t secretly help watching (split infin.) your ivory hands last night, and thought no movements ever conveyed as much feeling as yours did, on any stage. The rain has washed my brains away I can’t write a letter this afternoon! Truly, I am quite happy here. If I feel gloomy I will motor over to Julia, and Tommy for a visit.
I hope you will enjoy London this week. Do ask Dorelia to your Bust Cocktail Partyfn51. She would like to see the head. I love you so much, and I shall never forget your kindness lately to me.
Your devoted, loving C
To Lytton Strachey
Ham Spray House
Wednesday, 6 November 1929
Darling Lytton,
The rain pours down and the Downs are obliterated by clouds. Je pense je suis perdu. I took a very violent ride on Belle all yesterday afternoon along the top of the Downs, mais, sans effect. It is a little difficult to keep one’s spiri
ts up, and preserve a sense of humour. Especially with thick grey clouds hanging over one’s head and obliterating all the light! I say, I have just been inspecting the cellar and putting away my 1929 slow [sic] gin and I see there is no whiskey, or light sherry¸ or brandy in the spirit department. I thought perhaps you would like to order some.
Puss came clambering in my bedroom window last night mewing piteously in the rain. He has learnt a new trick of climbing up the verandah ironwork. No interesting letters this morning; I send you yours. I sat, listening to the wireless, sewing last night, and felt very middle class and suburban. London was so boring, I was reduced to trying to get foreign stations in the end. I read George Moore in bed last night, the Celibates, I found it rather too old fashioned.fn52 I think Virginia is fascinating. But I still don’t agree that poverty and a room of one’s own, is the explanation why women didn’t write poetry.fn53 If the Brontes could write in their Rectory, with cooking and housework, why not other clergyman’s daughters? Have you read it yet? I’ll bring the curtains tomorrow with me. Perhaps you’ll be in after lunch? Ach. But I am in rather a rage with myself! Better buzz this letter away. Tiber sends his love and so does his mistress dismal-eye erray erray.
To Lytton Strachey
Ham Spray House
3 December 1929
Darling Lytton,
Thank you for the nicest letter that a Mopsa has ever received […]
R was charming all yesterday, we went a walk before lunch along the terrace and in the afternoon had a great argument for, and against, constancy! I denied the existence of such a quality. Ralph upheld it, as being the foundation of true love […]
No, I really cannot buy a ‘set of books showing God’s mission to men and the circulation of bible in foreign lands’ from a sweet faced Christian female. So after a painful five minutes the grey lady departed with her little bag of books from the front door […]
My fondest love
Your very loving C
PS Really, I foresee I shall stay here and won’t move, out of sheer laziness this week.
A discreet abortion was arranged and paid for by Ralph. Beakus told him he had been ‘damn decent’. Afterwards, Carrington entertained at Ham Spray as usual. The sporadic affair with Beakus continued. She appeared to have taken the abortion in her stride.
1930
To Lytton Strachey
The Mill Cottage, Swallowcliffe, Wiltshire
Thursday, 23 January 1930
Darling Lytton,
No time for a letter, as life is so rushed and whirling – as you rightly guessed we dash about the country to Fryern, and Coombe Bissett and drink and talk like magpies without a pause. I painted a picture for the Lambs, in a panel in their passage, which seemed to please them. Julia and Tommy are in very good spirits and we have had a lovely time together. I paid two visits to my rustic dressmaker in her little thatched farm. My new dress is very grand. I loved your letter, thank you so much for writing to me. I will see you tomorrow at 6.20 at Hungerford. I go back early tomorrow morning. Tommy and Julia send their fondest love. And so does your very loving
[C]
To Sebastian Sprott
Ham Spray House
23 April 1930
Darling Sebastian,
I am sorry to have been such a long time answering your letter but what with one thing & another – time flies – & no letters are ever written. You can’t think how much I loved seeing you again … I tell you more than I tell anybody else which proves in a way how much I care […]
It was rather a grim time last Christmas but Lytton & Ralph were so kind, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it might have been. I rather enjoy my love affaire. We have great fun boozing in Southampton pubs & playing the gramophone in his trawler-cabin & eating sailor’s ‘hashes’ (?) cooked by a sort of Caliban old salt who lives on Board with him. The only terror is if it wasn’t for that particular sword of Damocles that hangs over my head every month, life would have no thorns, or the thorn would have no prick or the prick(le) have no sting. I can’t for the moment hit on the exact quotation […]
Do come here again. It would be nice if you came alone, or at any rate in the middle of the week when there weren’t visitors. I shall have 2 servants soon & hope to have more time for painting. Lytton comes back tomorrow from Rome. I’ve missed him rather a lot. I had a lovely ride on Belle yesterday along the Lanes. It was a miraculous beautiful day. Do tell me how you are, & about your intrigues?
My very fondest love
Your loving C
To Julia Strachey
Ham Spray House
Monday evening, 10 o’ck [n.d.]
[This letter was never posted]
Darling Julia,
[…] There was so much I wanted to talk to you about the other day that I feel breathless to see you soon again! I painted 150 tiles. The weight of them in a box nearly kills me. But they are now all packed up ready to start off tomorrow. I feel rather lonely this evening. There is so much beauty strewn about, hay fields, birds singing and the warm evening breeze stirring in the oak tree and nobody but a mad cuckoo to talk to, except the cat, who has gone off chasing moles.
‘To have a craving
for a bird
Is but raving
I’m afear’d.’
And now I must go to bed. I only felt I didn’t tell you, darling, properly this afternoon how much I’d like to see you again.
Your loving
Tante C xxxx
It was into her journal, not her letters, that Carrington put her increasingly melancholy feelings about her life and her unsatisfactory lover. She was often lonely, had alarming dreams and was tending to drink too much. She dreaded approaching the age of 40.
A long entry in June 1930 describes what happened one evening after dinner at Ham Spray.
There was a wireless. I hoped he would sit alone with me or go for a walk, but he insisted on listening. I couldn’t listen. I watched him half asleep in his chair, and thought he was probably after all a figure head. I remembered how all day I’d been looking forward to him coming and now how bored and flat it seemed. And I felt not the slightest interest in me. After the wireless, I suggested going to bed and left the room. F[rances] with what I call the ‘frustration of lover’s movement,’ at once put on the wireless. I told R[alph] that Lytton was longing to go to bed and begged him to put off the wireless. He was cross, in the engine house. I saw Lytton wandering disconsolately in the sitting-room; it was half past ten. I saw F was determined to play the wireless dance music. Then Roger [Senhouse] and B[eakus] started ping pong. I suddenly saw the similarity between Lytton and my position. Both unable to do anything because we longed for our bed companions who were equally indifferent, to put it bluntly, about coming to bed. I couldn’t bear to see Lytton unhappy, so I went out and sat in the moonlight on a stump under the Ilex with Tiber who was prowling about on our lawn […] I thought B has never once wondered where I have gone to […] Lying in the cold grass I suddenly realized that he was completely indifferent to my sensations, incapable of any love. Only quite ready to go to bed if there was anyone ready to go to bed. Probably thought it was expected of him by me.
To Julia Strachey
Ham Spray House
Wednesday morning [about 10 June 1930]
Darling Julia,
Thank you for your very charming letter […] It’s difficult to describe my feelings because they are so illogical. It’s partly the effect of having laid two years in the coffin untouched, so as to speak, that these last months of animal affection rather ruined my moral. It’s difficult to go back to coffin life again and with my numerous complexes not very easy even if one wanted to, to get a transfer ticket onto someone else. Fortunately it’s mostly a matter of bodily lusts I have to deal with in other respects.
‘You are always first, in spite
of strange birds of flight
One, whilst flying o’er the sea
dropt a “something” on to me
&n
bsp; “something” can be wiped away,
But FRIENDSHIP lasts till crack of day.’
[…] To tell you the truth when the Gull said ages ago ‘I wish you’d wear black silk stockings, or dark brown, they show off a leg, so much better than those awful white ones you always wear’ I realized our PATHS lay differently. I shall mourn in secret this week, painting my tiles and then go back to my coffin and enjoy the company of my friends again. Actually I gave up a good deal of my time which I might have spent at Swallowcliffe and Fryern, washing up dishes on board for this unworthy Gull!! So now I’ll wash dishes, and bake pies for my darling Julia, who doesn’t crab my white stockings.
[…]
To Julia Strachey
Ham Spray House
Friday morning [June 1930]
Darling Julia,
I wish a hundred times you were here today. Just to weep tears on your shoulders? No but to drive away the melancholy of the drizzling Scotch mists that envelope the downs and the bitter west wind that batters against the window panes. It’s all very well aiming at being a stoic, but a different matter carrying out one’s philosophy. I woke up in an ecstasy of love this morning very early to find my mouth full of sheets which I was biting passionately. Tomorrow ‘company’ as the servants say, will arrive and I’ll get over my despairs. I feel it dreadfully ignominious to mind living alone. But the difficulty is not to let one’s mind wander off into abysses of gloom that lead but to munching sheets by moonlight in bed.
Your very loving
Tante C
Carrington also suspected Beakus was carrying on with someone else. She wrote several lovelorn poems around this time. One ended:
He to another mistress flies
I listen to the owls’ sad cry
And wish tomorrow would not rise
And I in my grave might lie.
Even so, the affair went on.
To Sebastian Sprott
Ham Spray House
Sunday [July 1930]
Darling Sebastian,
Carrington's Letters Page 42