Collected Letters Volume One: Family Letters 1905–1931

I must begin my letter this week by heartily apologizing for some foolish remarks which I thoughtlessly directed against a book for whose merits your approval should have been to me and to all who enjoy the honour of your friendship a sufficient guarantee. As you very properly remind me, I am profoundly ignorant of the scientific side of music in which you specially excel, while my aesthetic judgements on the subject are modelled upon the sane and temperate example of your own criticism. What amends I can make by studying with diligence the admirable work which you commend, shall immediately be made: for, believe me, I am not insensible of the kindness and indulgence which a man of your education has displayed in such musical discussions to a boy so ill informed as I.

Your verdict upon Macdonald’s tale was worthy of so shrewd and serious a gentleman as yourself: I can well understand that the puerilities which attract a schoolboy may indeed seem [a] waste of time to an experienced business man. I am not a little ashamed of my own lightheadedness, and am resolved to turn my attention to that excellent study of history with which you beguile your leisure. Here may I take the liberty of expressing my ardent and continued admiration of those qualities which make you the ornament of the society to which you belong: first and foremost the practical nature of your character which enables you to relinquish in a moment those trivial fairy tales and such like useless inventions: then your habits of economy and regularity, your sound knowledge of the Lord’s Word, your unaffected piety, your knowledge of modern thought, the perfect control of your temper, the justness of your sentiments and–above all–the elegance of your language.

Well! we’ll drop it now, as I want some room left for a chat: but honestly thats the sort of answer your last letter seemed to expect. Goodness!, you gave me an awful dressing down! And all because I dared to make a joke on a book of yours that has been a recognised subject for fooling this year or so. Perhaps, however, you just happened to be in bad form when you wrote, so I needn’t take it too seriously. Or, what is more likely, J. M.

(#litres_trial_promo) has been annoying you and I come in for the aftermath. Anyway, language such as I have just read is not pleasant, and I was on the point of writing a very rude letter. But I remembered, what I do hope you will remember old man, that real friendships are very, very rare and one doesn’t want to endanger them by quarelling over trifles. We seem to be always sparing now a days: I dare say its largely my fault (tho’ in this case I really don’t know why you’re so angry) but anyway do let us stop it. Perhaps my nerves are a bit on edge as I get nearer to this abominable exam., and that makes me irritable. But I’ll try to do my best if you will.

So I may imagine you this evening just about now coming from dinner at Lily’s with Mr. Thompson, with the memory of Aida’ from last night and the prospect of the ‘Magic Flute’ tomorrow! I would give much to be in your place, and more to be in the same place with both of us there. I am very interested to hear what you think of the ‘Flute’, so mind you give me a special account of it–and accounts of the others also. Aida, of course, if well sung and staged must be enjoyable. I do hope you found them all three so, for that matter.

It must be lovely to really appreciate music (I am not fooling now). My taste for it was always that of a philistine and I am afraid even that is leaving me now. Perhaps it is as well I was not with you, or I might just have sat eating my heart out because I couldn’t enjoy what I would have enjoyed in those delightful days when we first ‘discovered’ one another. But even if music fails I still have books!

And talking about books I am surprised that you don’t say more of the ‘Golden Key’:

(#litres_trial_promo) to me it was absolute heaven from the moment when Tangle ran into the wood to the glorious end in those mysterious caves. What a lovely idea ‘The country from which the shadows fall’! It is funny that we should both have the same idea about the Temple Classics. I was almost sure they were out of print and only wrote on the off chance for the Pilgrims’ Progress (did I mention it? I have read it again and am awfully bucked) and then for the ‘Grael’. I wonder would Mullan’s tell you a thing was out of print just because they didn’t think it worth while to get you the few we’d want At any rate, for paper etc they are far the prettiest cheap books I know, and if you still think of getting ‘The Com-pleat Angler’

(#litres_trial_promo) I should advise you to try this edition. The ‘set’ of the print and the notes in the nice broad margin are what I particularly like–Also the frontispieces–in some. My ‘Grael’ has a lovely one (in the extreme mediaeval style of course) in each volume by Burne-Jones & a title page design that reminds me of the Goodfridaymusic. I envy you, having your Letters of D.O. to W.T. in the Wayfarers–a very nice series except for the end leaf if I remember right–mine is only the 1/-Everyman and rather shop-soiled at that!

Was Mr. Thompson as nice as ever last night? He is a man I should love to meet again–but here too you have all the luck. Are you still reading ‘The Antiquary’ and does it still please you as much as ever? Here I am at the end of my letter and I had meant to give you a long jaw about some beautiful frost & mist effects I saw on Saturday evening (like Oldbuck’s article on Castrametation) but you will have to pine without it. I must say I heartily agree with your remarks about autumn. There are some lovely colours here, & though I fancy there are finer ‘cold’ looking afternoons at home, the woods here are perhaps even richer.

Time to dry up now. My head is splitting, & my feet are like ice so I suppose if you were here you’d explain to me how & why I was in for a cold. Well I’d be glad to have you even on those terms. Good-night & do be indulgent to my many failings. There’s a frost–

J.

TO HIS FATHER (LP V: 145-6):

[Gastons]

19th Nov. 1916.

My dear Papy,

It is Sunday–though not very early in the morning–and so I am afraid this letter will be late: but yours did not arrive until yesterday and this is really the first time I have had. I have heard of the failing of my spelling in many places, at many seasons, and from many sources (even the ‘for a boy of your age it is scandalous’ or sometimes ‘ludicrous’ has a familiar ring) and I am only too well aware of the truth. However, we must hope for the best. As to the other little episode, we must record ‘marker, one up!’ But you have forgotten to say what the word was: I should like to know.

In spite of the tutor’s obliging promise to find, or to use the safer form ‘discover’ lodgings, a letter arrived from him two or three days ago with a form for entrance in which, among other things, he wants ‘your adress during examination’–but no word of advice. I accordingly wrote at once to my Malvern friend, who replied saying that he could not tell of any place, but that candidates as a rule write and ask the college. I did this and got an answer saying he would let me know of some place ‘presently’ and in the meantime I am to fill up the rest of the form and send it. This I am doing today, putting down the colleges in the order we arranged. He also asks for my birth certificate, which is rather a nuisance. Perhaps you had better see about that exemption business.

I was very sorry when I read the letter from my friend Cooper. His people have gone bankrupt and he has come through a very rough time, although he does not say anything about leaving the Coll. It must be very hard lines on him and he was a thoroughly good fellow. I had asked to be remembered to Smugy and the old man has wished me every success and advised me to read my ‘Little Thompson’ via Cooper.

It is snowing fast as I write, and has been since yesterday evening. Kirk is actually in bed this morning ‘with a cold’. This is so very rare with him that I confess it makes me a little uneasy. Thanks very much but I think your suit case or Warnie’s will do very well for the present trip, and we can talk about the other later on.

your loving

son Jack.

TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W):

[Gastons

22 November 1916]

My dear Arthur,

I quite agree with you and hope we shall have no more controversies at any rate for the present: for, as you say, it is too much to hope that we should live in peace and good will for more than a few weeks continuously. In passing I must explain that when I said your ‘language was not pleasant’ I only meant the general tone of what you said–‘diction’ or ‘sentiments’ as Jane Austin would have delighted to put it. I wasn’t using ‘language’ in the slang sense of the word meaning swearing–for of course I don’t mind ‘language’ of that sort in itself. However, this is only a lesson in English & has nothing to do with the argument, which we will consign to the swarthy mere of Acheron!

Which reminds me I am no longer in a position to take your advice about ‘Letters from Hell’ as we had a jumble sale for the red cross or something in ‘our village’ last week and I contributed this. A mean enough offering indeed but they tell me it sold for 1/6! I am at present enjoying the malicious pleasure of expecting that the buyer will be as dissapointed as I was.

What a pity about the ‘Magic Flute’: I particularly wanted to hear your impressions of it. I am surprised to learn that it is ‘comic’ (a horrid word to describe a horrid thing) tho’ of course it may only be nice humour of the fantastic kind. Your description of Aida is most tantalizing, and I would love to have been there. Even if I had found that I could no longer enjoy the music–tho’ I think I am still up to Verdi–I could always have amused myself by talking to you or coughing loudly in the middle of the best passages! Seriously, did they play that lovely prelude well and did the Belfast boors give you a chance to hear it in peace? I daresay I am wrong about the ‘Wayfarer’s Library’: but whatever the end-leaves be like I remember that the whole effect is good. Have you looked at ‘Dorothy Osborne’ yet and do you think you will like her? I am desperately in love with her and have accordingly made arrangements to commit suicide from 10 till 4 tomorrow precisely. I wonder does the ‘Wayfarer’ series publish my latest discovery–the most glorious novel (almost) that I have ever read. I daresay you have read it already or at any rate you must have hearded it praised too often to need my advice. It is Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘House with the Seven Gables’.

(#litres_trial_promo) I love the idea of a house with a curse! And although there is nothing supernatural in the story itself there is a brooding sense of mystery and fate over the whole thing: Have you read it? See if it is in the ‘Wayfarers’ as I want to get an edition of my own as soon as possible.

I am afraid I have really no memories! I had clean forgotten your ever speaking to me about the ‘Golden Key’: tho’ I well remember setting off in the cab that grey, early morning and waiting for L. & G.

(#litres_trial_promo) at the station! How funny Gordon was with his stiff back! That sounds a strange thing to say but you know what I mean. But after all has not Hewlett (or is it some one else) told us that the fairies have the shortest memories of all! So short that they cannot even remember their lovers from one new moon till the next.

I must say I admire your pluck in taking back ‘The Antiquary’ after so many years! But as you say the books we buy or return doesnt make much matter to Macmullans. I was sure you’d like the Antiquary very much. I tried to start ‘Guy Mannering’ on Saturday but some how it didn’t grip me. As to the ‘mist scene’ I am afraid tho’ it was very beautiful at the time it will hardly come to life again,

‘inimitable on earthBy modle or by shading pencil drawn.’

I will leave you to imagine it.

Your imagination by the way has had a long enough rest by now. I have so far purposely refrained from saying anything about further instalments of ‘Papillon’, for fear, since you seemed to have no inclination to go on with it, that it might only hinder you from starting something new. But apparently this is not coming off. Do let us have something–tale, novel, what you will. I am revolving plans for a sort of fantasy much shorter than Bleheris and–which I hope will be an improvement–in modern English. I don’t know exactly when I shall inflict the first instalment upon you, but like the people in Northanger Abbey you may be prepared for something ‘really horrible’.

Talking about ‘Northanger’ I have been condemned during this last week to watch Mrs K. reading it in her own edition–your one. I wish you could have seen it. It is not that she actually dirtied it, but what is almost worse she held it so rudely and so close over the fire that the boards have developed a permanent curve and the whole book has a horrible twist! It went to my heart all the more because it was your copy: at least I couldn’t get that idea out of my head[.] Must stop now sorry I was late starting to night.

Jack

TO HIS FATHER (LP V: 146-7):

[Gastons]

Tues. 28th Nov. 1916.

My dear Papy,

This is not a proper letter–I will write you that later on when I have got yours. Meanwhile I am writing only to ask you to send me either your suit case or Warnie’s as soon as you get this, for the fateful day is next Tuesday. Although the tutor said he would write and tell me of lodgings and also the place of the exam he has as yet done neither of these things: but I suppose its alright. Write soon to your

loving son,

Jack.

TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W):

[Gastons

29 November 1916]

Although by experience I am somewhat shy of recommending books to other people I think I am quite safe in earnestly advising you to make ‘the Gables’ your next purchase. By the way I shouldn’t have said ‘mystery’, there is really no mystery in the proper sense of the word, but a sort of feeling of fate & inevitable horror as in ‘Wuthering Heights’. I really think I have never enjoyed a novel more. There is one lovely scene where the villain–Judge Phycheon–has suddenly died in his chair, all alone in the old house, and it describes the corpse sitting there as the day wears on and the room grows darker–darker–and the ticking of his watch. But that sort of bald description is no use! I must leave you to read that wonderful chapter to yourself. There is also a very good ‘story in a story’–curiously resembling the Cosmo one

(#litres_trial_promo) tho’ of course not so openly impossible. I intend to read all Hawthorne after this. What a pity such a genius should be a beastly American!