Very much love.
E.R.M.
10, St Andrew’s Mansions, Dorset St, W.1
10 November, 1928
Dearest Jeanie,
... The Well of Loneliness case yesterday was quite amusing.38 Half literary London had turned up, by request, as well as social workers, clergy, teachers, etc. to say what they thought of the book, but the magistrate39 ruled out their evidence as inadmissible, as he said it was his business alone to decide whether or not the book was immoral. So only a Police Inspector gave evidence, and Desmond MacCarthy, the first literary witness called, wasn’t allowed to speak, and all the talking was done by the lawyers and the magistrate. I enclose what I had written,40 when asked my view of the book by letter. They sent me this copy of it, so that I should remember to say the same in court, but I was glad I didn’t have to. For one thing, with the author sitting in the court, it would have seemed rude to say this, but I should have wanted to say it, so as not to seem to be supporting the book at all on literary grounds. No-one but the lawyers for the defence (and the author) admire it as literature, I imagine. My only reason for consenting to give my opinion was that it is definitely not ‘obscene’ in any sense, and that it is rather important that the police should not be able to destroy books on their own ill-considered judgment. I mean, there is pornographic literature, and pictures etc., I believe, which are watched for and destroyed continually in England (though unfortunately they do a free trade in France); and it is absurd to confuse with these an ordinary quite respectable book, merely because it deals (quite without impropriety) with the subject of unnatural relations. So little is it indelicate that one lawyer41 took the line (though he abandoned it later) that the friendship between the women was merely intellectual. However, obviously he had been better instructed by the author over lunch, for after lunch he retracted this.
The book doesn’t mention any physical harm coming from the relationship. Does it actually? I wonder why. I know nothing about these people really, or what kind of terms they are on with each other—extremely silly is the only thing it seems to me, but no doubt they lead some kind of queer life outsiders don’t know anything about, among themselves. Anyhow, I do feel this book is a warning, as I said in my Opinion.
Julian Huxley, as a scientist, is to be allowed to witness. He quite approves of the book, I believe.42 So does the Rev. Mr Fry, the rather nice little clergyman who married Sheila Kaye-Smith.43 But it is a silly and tiresome book. I wish they didn’t go on in court as if it was a great piece of literature.
People are silly about books.44 I am reading a paper to-morrow at Cambridge45 about Literary Tastes and Standards, from the earliest times up to now.
I have obviously roused a hornets’ nest by my Daily Mail article on ‘What I Dislike’.46 I enclose two angry anonymous letters. How wonderful people are, aren’t they. They must think I have a lot of influence. I like the pink one best, the opening is so good. She obviously thinks not liking cats is an Unnatural Vice. Also I enclose an explanation by someone of why I don’t like cats, which may be correct…
Very much love.
E.R.M.
10, St Andrew’s Mansions, Dorset St, W.1
23 November, 1928
Dearest Jeanie,
... I was quite hurt about your thinking I don’t attend in church. Of course I know there is religious teaching in church services, but what I mean is, it’s not definite or detailed enough. I mean, talking about new hearts and clean hands and love and charity etc. is not enough. What my ideal church would have is explicit teaching about what we are to do to express these things, and would suggest lots of ways, such as visiting so-and-so in the parish who is ill, giving money to this or that cause, being honest in business, kind to relations, avoiding unkind gossip, parents not nagging children, children being considerate to parents, telling the truth, working hard, not being vulgar or nasty, etc. etc. I mean, all detailed and concrete, instead of leaving general admonitions to people to interpret for themselves which may be all right for educated and intelligent people, but is too difficult for the simple and unimaginative. If you have prayers about these things in your new church, I shall approve, and I hope the lantern slides will point the morals,47 and not be just Bible pictures, which I feel sure are quite out of date as moral instruction. Here is a little book I got about the Church by Dr Major,48 but it seems rather commonplace. Don’t send it back…
Very much love.
E.R.M.
24 March, [1929]
Dearest Jeanie,
I am just back from Petersfield, and keeping Margaret’s birthday. We read the poem about ‘Seven times’,49 as she was 7 times 7 to-day, but the lady in the poem had been very unfortunate, and had lost her husband and all her children and was bewailing an empty nest and looking towards her end. M. is luckier. But I always thought that woman had a discontented nature. She was happy at 7 x 1, but at 7 x 2 was pinning all her hopes on the future instead of enjoying her birthday; she was tolerably cheerful (being excited by love) at 7 × 3, but more or less worried by 7 × 4, and a miserable widow at 7 × 5, and at 7 × 6, when she was getting a daughter married, she could only think how she had given up all and was now losing her child and getting no thanks...
I’ve just written, to oblige Mr Duncan-Jones, an article on ‘A Church I should like if it existed’, for his new magazine.50It has wheels, and roves about the countryside from one beautiful scene to another, according to weather and seasons, so that it always commands a nice view and attractive sounds and scents from outside (besides the incense inside). Don’t you think this is a good idea? And really stimulating preachers, lay and clerical, not allowed to refer to early Jewish history, but always dealing with ethics and problems of the present moment and the individual person. And lovely music, and very good windows and Early English (i.e. lancet) architecture, about 1250 in date.
‘The Leaders of Thought’ (including me) have been writing in an Evening Paper51 on Hell. Shall I send you the Series? They are not very enlightening, I fear.
26 March, [1929]
Dearest Jeanie,
… Here is… my article in the Hell series.52 The Ideal Church one isn’t out yet. You are wrong about your preachers being so absorbing that you wouldn’t notice what the church was like; they wouldn’t be preaching (I hope) all the time, and you would have a lot of the prayers-and-reading-aloud-time to look about in. It would be no good finding a car outside, as this would take you away from the church, whereas my moving church would provide changing scenes of beauty while you worshipped. I believe in sensation as a stimulus to religious feeling: hence incense and music. You provide the food for thought, and then the emotional stimulus to make
people more inclined to act on the thoughts they have had. I have laid great stress on first-rate preaching in my church. I am inclined to think that bad and stupid and useless preaching is one of the worst faults in all churches as it is. My preachers (clerical & lay) would be a carefully trained body of thoughtful and intelligent and eloquent people, all morally keen, and all trained to use the voice skilfully…
Very much love.
E.R.M.
Heathlands,53 Petersfield
5 May, 1929
Dearest Jeanie,
I came here on Friday, and am staying till Tuesday… I am quite recovered. Dr R——54 took me on Friday morning to a heart specialist, to be examined and electrocardiographed—i.e. you have your heart’s motions photographed by an electric machine. The specialist examined my heart and said it was a poor kind—‘a low-grade, C3, tubular heart with a rough patch’, probably damaged by past bronchitis. All I can say is that if mine is like that, what must a high-grade, A1, globular heart be like? I should probably, if I had that, be like Grandpa in the Kruschen advertisements, leaping over pianos. No doubt it is as well to know what kind of heart one has, but I don’t feel it makes much practical difference to me. Dr R. said that when I come back they would give me a Rule of Life, but I expect it will be a very foolish one and
not to be taken much notice of. Really I can do all I want with my heart as it is, so I shan’t bother about it. The specialist said don’t get tired except when necessary. I shall take this as a pretext for not doing things that tire me, except when I want to. Doctors have their uses…
10, St Andrew’s Mansions, Dorset St, W.1
24 July, 1929
Dearest Jeanie,
Very many happy returns of the day. The day we turn 47 is a very significant day in our lives. So is the day we turn 48, I believe, but shall know more as to this next week. I am making a lot of new resolutions, such as to organise my life better, thus getting more done that I really think is worth doing, and not to mind being rude by leaving letters unwritten. It has taken me nearly 48 years to learn that both to answer letters and to do anything else in life without too much strain is impossible, so the letters (outside 3 or 4 people including the family) must go, and postcards take their place in future. Heaven grant me strength of mind to pursue this course! Or else I must keep a secretary, who will deal with correspondence. I hope you have made some equally useful plans…
Very much love,
Your loving twin55, E.R.M.
During the winter of 1929 Rose and Margaret visited America.
They joined their brother Will on the West Coast, and then
shared in a motoring holiday to the South-West and Mexico,
returning by way of Florida and the South.
Nearly at Portland [Oregon]
8 December, [1929] 6.0 p.m.
Dearest Jeanie,
We are in the last lap of our train journey, and shall meet Will and the car at Portland, Oregon, at 7.35. Wonderful thought, to have all converged on Portland from so far and actually to be meeting there. The train journey has been splendid—such marvellous scenery ever since we got up into the Rockies, and across the Divide and down the western slopes, where the snow & frost has changed to mild English rain, which I hope won’t go on after today, though they all say the North-West is perishing of drought, and needs it. I expect Margaret has told you about our crossing (rather trying, on the whole, tho’ not too bad) and New York, where we spent one night; what I liked best there was the beautiful Jamaican hotel-boy, who told us he was a British subject, and about the ‘tropic splendour’ of Jamaica. We didn’t have time to see anything of N.Y., as we got there very late, and were kept hours by the Immigration Officers questioning us all as to why we had come, how much money we had (he didn’t think much of what M. and I had, but said he supposed we should help each other out) etc. etc. Luckily we passed the judgment; some were turned back and told to go to Ellis Island. Fortunately all his searching enquiries failed to reveal any reason why we shouldn’t land (we said we did no work, which disarmed him and prevented his suspecting us of competing with American workers in any field). I didn’t feel safe till we were off the boat. The train journey has been very agreeable; the people are very charming, and the black Pullman porters delightful. Our Pullman was rather Fundamentalist on the whole; it had a loquacious minister, who once, it seemed, had ‘lived in sin’, but now quite the contrary, ever since the Lord had spoken to him while he was getting theatre tickets at a box office and said ‘Touch not the unclean thing’. Since then he hasn’t. He and his wife were having a dispute about dancing with some other passengers, who thought it comparatively innocent. The minister condemned it utterly, and said that 90% of the criminals in the U.S. gaols attributed their downfall to dancing, according to a recent questionnaire. It must obviously be prison etiquette to put that, when asked such a foolish and impertinent question.
Anyhow, they were all most religious & scriptural; the very porter (a black) had found the Lord. In fact, I expect the only passengers who hadn’t were us and a couple of Japs who played cards all day; and one negro waiter who told M. he was Episcopalian. Everyone is very much interested in M.’s clothes56; the porters and waiters etc. ask what she is. The man who sells candy on the train asked me this morning; he thought we must be coming out to do mission work, and tried to sell us religious books, though I told him we had only come motoring. They are also interested in where we come from, because of the way we talk. I like the western voice—it is attractive, especially the negro. They are very friendly people everywhere…
New Orleans
23 January, [1930]
… We got here to-day, after a very interesting few days across the old negro sugar-plantation country. It is fascinating watching the changing panorama unwind itself, as if we were seeing a film. We left Spain behind us about three days ago, in Texas; ever since San Antonio the people in shops and restaurants and streets have stopped speaking Spanish and looking Mexican, and negroes abound everywhere instead, with their nice soft southern drawl. And now we are in the old French part, of course. New Orleans is mixed French and Spanish, and American from 1803 on. We are staying in the old French quarter, but haven’t seen much of it yet. It’s not French in the sense that Texan & Californian towns are Spanish—I mean one doesn’t hear it talked much—but one sees houses with green shutters etc. and I believe the market is very French. It is a fine city, a good deal modernised, of course.
Mexico was wonderful—I do wish we could have had longer there. If only they had let M. in,57 and if only the roads had been better. Still, we have been in it and seen it. My heart still pants after it, and I feel almost moved to take a step across the Gulf of Mexico to Tampico. However, Florida will be lovely too…
The Southern people are very frank about their attitude towards negroes—they say they can’t help it, as they are Southerners. Quite an intelligent woman talked to us about it, also a nice farmer. They quarrel with their Northern friends about it, they say, so don’t raise the subject. It is very queer in such nice kind people.
Very much love.
E.R.M.
1 June, [1930]
Dearest Jeanie,
... I quite agree about Time. Dorothy Brooke58 rang me up this morning and said she was wanting to start a League about it. The first rule is that no-one is hurt when told that a friend has no time to see them at present. She thought of this independently, I mean I hadn’t mentioned it, so it looks as if it was in the air. At present only she, I and you belong, I believe. I expect Margaret would join. Her second rule is that we speak the truth to those who want our time, whether they are prepared to keep Rule 1 or not. (In fact, if they didn’t belong to the League, I suppose they wouldn’t keep Rule 1.) I must make all my correspondents join it, if possible. Shall I write an article about it? But at present I have no Time for that…
Did you hear Dr Gann on Guatemalan ruins he had found, the other day on the wireless?59 Very thrilling. He is organising another expedition this year to excavate further. There may be treasure hidden there, it seems. How I wish I could go & see!
Very much love.
E.R.M.
18 March, [1931]
Dearest Jeanie,
… Last night I went to a party at Maisie Fletcher’s,60 and saw crowds of the young generation of Fletchers, Aclands, Trevelyans, Ritchies, etc. etc.—I felt like a mother myself. Eleanor Acland61 was also there—very handsome still. She and her husband and her son Dick62 are going to stand as Liberals in 3 Devon constituencies next election. It would make a very nice family party if they all get in, but, being Liberals, they no doubt none of them will. I like these gatherings of relations and primeval friends and their offspring. But, dear me, what a sadly sterile family we have been ourselves! I do think it is rather a pity. I do wish Will would do something about it before it is too late; it is so much more interesting to produce some young and see what they will do. I felt quite ashamed of my egotistic, aloof life, with nothing to show for it. I think it is quite different for you, who are busy doing things for people all the time. But still, I expect it is all fancy that it is better to continue the race; anyhow, there are plenty of people doing it, and it doesn’t always work out very well, so perhaps we have acted for the best.
Much love.
R.
7, Luxborough House,63 Northumberland St, W.1
29 May, [1932]
Dearest Jeanie,
… Here are two Quandaries,64 in your line. The answer to both is obvious; only in the case of the baby, I should wait till the nurse was out of the room, for fear of gossip.65 I wonder if anyone will say they would let the baby live. It would have been more interesting if they had made it a less extreme case—paralysis of all arms and legs, as well as deformity and imbecility and straitened means, seems rather piling it on…
The Sunday Films Bill debate is very interesting to read.66 It always surprises me how many people there still are who consider Sunday occupations quite apart from the question of forced employment for workers. It reads very medievally when people like Sir Basil Peto begin to talk about it. He thinks the secularization of Sunday has led to our economic evils, which were sent the world as a punishment. How interesting people are!
Very much love.
R.M.
Are you near Birchington-on-Sea? If so, you should take a trip to the Mysteries House, where veiled women have lived unseen for 13 years, and the Sunday Express man could get no answer when he called.67
11 June, [1932]
Dearest Jeanie,
... I will enclose to-day’s Quandary and answers... Do be a Mr Johnston when you retire.68 M. should drop her ‘Sister’69 and be merely ‘X’, as the non-religious would fight shy of a sister…
Very much love.
E.R.M.
P.S.… Here is a quandary which I met when out at lunch in a shop to-day. I sat at a table with an unpleasant looking woman, who took and ate 3 cakes from the dish before her. She then, instead of waiting for the waitress to come and give her her bill, as is usually done, got up and went a little way off (so that I shouldn’t hear, I think) and told the waitress in a low tone, which however I heard, that she had had one cake. The waitress gave her her bill accordingly, without coming to look at the plate, and she paid it and went out.
Letters to a Sister Page 4
