by T. S. Eliot
I received everything, chessmen, and pocket chess also, for which I thank you very much. I should very much like to have the bath robe – mine is very worn and also I should like to have father’s very much indeed: I should like to have it with me. As for Rollo books. I was anxious that they be preserved; I cannot see that I have any claim upon them beyond the fact that I was the last in the family to make use of them. If there is anyone else in the immediate family who would treasure them as much as I (for I think very highly of them) let them have them. It seems a small matter, perhaps, but there might not unnaturally be some feeling against their going out of the country. The only things I want are
Things I value and others don’t.
Things (i.e. certain books) which I could make better use of than anyone else. There it is in brief.
I have still been very busy. Besides the A. I have found myself involved in various literary schemes and intrigues, as I seem to get involved nowadays. For one minor thing, Ezra Pound has gone to France, and I am the only person he can depend upon to look after his forthcoming book, and one or two other things.1 All sorts of literary affairs seem to claim at least my counsel, and there are often jarring interests to be reconciled by diplomacy. It is gratifying in a way but distracting.
My connection with the A. seems to have given me a critical notoriety I did not have before. It is pleasant that I find the editor so congenial. I am writing now about a cousin of ours, who has written a very interesting book which you would like to read: The Education of Henry Adams.2 There is a chance of my placing articles at times with the Quarterly Review, which would be a triumph, as it attacked me so ferociously two years ago.3 My lectures come to an end tomorrow, for which I am very thankful; I hope I have done with education; the pay is not bad, but it seems such a waste!
I am very sorry you have had so much trouble in disposing of the houses: I should think that E. Point at least ought to realise very handsomely. It will be very valuable property in time if not too many cheap houses are built.
No more now.
With infinite love. You are much in my thoughts –
Your son
Tom.
1–EP corrected proofs for Quia Pauper Amavi (London: Egoist Ltd, Oct. 1919) in Toulouse, but was planning further ahead. He had written to RC-S (22 Apr. 1919): ‘I am leaving for the continent this afternoon, shall not return before October at earliest; so I shall be unable to talk with you, or to enquire what kind of publisher you intend to be. My Instigations will run to 400/600 pages, prose. It is the most important prose work I have done; you can, if you like, discuss terms of publication of it with T. S. Eliot.’ However, Instigations appeared only in America (Boni & Liveright, 1920).
2–TSE, ‘A Sceptical Patrician’ (review of The Education of Henry Adams: An Autobiography, 1919), A., 23 May 1919, 361–2. TSE was a ‘cousin’ of the author, Henry Brooks Adams (1838–1918), in that his grandmother, Abigail Adams Eliot, was a niece of John Quincy Adams, the sixth US President, who was Henry Adams’s grandfather.
3–Arthur Waugh, in the Quarterly Review (Oct. 1916), had described ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ as ‘the reduction to absurdity’ of ‘unmetrical, incoherent banalities’. TSE never contributed to the journal.
TO Brigit Patmore
MS Beinecke
4 May 1919
from Hotel Constance,1
23 Lancaster Gate w.2
Dear Brigit,
That is settled for Wednesday then. V. is to get tickets tomorrow. You will dine with us, please, at the Restaurant Español, Dean Street, Soho (it is just opposite a theatre, I forget which, but the only one in Dean Street). You cannot ask us to dinner, as I have asked another man to come (we are not in evening dress), but if you like you may pay for your ticket.
I am distressed to hear of your nervous prostration, though I suspect it may be digestive prostration as a result of the meal we gave you on Tuesday. V. is also on the verge of collapse in consequence of the horrors of moving.
In case your collapse continues so that you can’t stir afoot on Wednesday, please communicate with one of us – Vivien is at 39 Inverness Terrace W.2 and as I could not get in there I am at address above.
Points in this letter:
Address of Restaurant p. 1. 7 p.m. Wednesday.
Our addresses in case of collapse (which would not be forgiven).
You can pay for ticket but not for dinner.
Do get well.
Sincerely
T.S.E.
1–The Eliots moved out of Crawford Mansions while their flat was being decorated.
TO Brigit Patmore
MS Beinecke
Wednesday [7 May 1919]
Hotel Constance
Having no ink
Dear Brigit
This week has been a fiasco altogether – here is the sixth letter I have written (to say nothing of a wire and any number of telephone calls) about apparently a very simple matter, and all for nothing. The only thing to do is to start quite afresh. Please don’t consider us hopeless and please be kind – we tried hard!
If you will be gracious will Tuesday do? Don’t say you are leaving town at once.
I have got hold of my man finally, and he can come on Tuesday.
Sincerely
T.S.E.
You will be thinking that it is I who am muddleheaded. However, I prefer to argue the point of your neutral state later, if the chance offers. I stick to the point that it is fundamentally a question of mental laziness.1
1–Patmore records that while dining with the Eliots and the Hutchinsons, she had murmured ‘Melancthon’ while beginning her melon. When TSE asked ‘What do you know of Melancthon? … Why drag him in?’, she replied she was ‘Just playing with words. We Irish all do it. Joyce didn’t begin it.’ To which TSE responded: ‘Do you know what you are? … You’re mentally lazy’ (My Friends When Young [1968], 87).
Vivien Eliot TO Mary Hutchinson
MS Texas
Thursday [8 May? 1919]1
39 Inverness Terrace, W.2
Mary,
What are we to do about this? You know what you were telling me on Sunday? Well, since then I have found out that Tom has for a long time been very much worried, puzzled, and annoyed at the Woolfs’ behaviour about his poems which they were, as you know, printing. It seems that when we went to dine there, which was about a month ago [Sunday, 6 April], the poems were all finished, and Tom was asked to choose the cover. I remember we did choose the cover. They then asked Tom for a list of people’s addresses for them to send out a circular to, about the book. Tom made the list, and wrote a letter (very nice) with it. Well, that is quite three weeks ago. Since then he has never heard a word, and we know that no one has received a circular about the book. This is very awkward for several reasons. One being that he gave them several poems to print which are not published elsewhere, and has been counting on this book of the Woolfs’ for showing them. I mean, certain people are asking to see these poems in order to publish them, and Tom has been waiting and waiting for this Woolf book, to show them.
Now Mary, do you think that, out of revenge,2 the W.’s are actually going to shelve the whole of those books of Tom’s which they have printed? If they do, what a humiliation for Tom! Because of course a great many people knew that the Woolfs were printing his poems. Now I think the whole thing is sure to come out, because I believe Tom actually wrote to Leonard Woolf last night, about it. I feel awful. I do not know what to do. But I feel very unhappy and angry. I almost wish that Tom would get out of this country altogether, and he will too, if this sort of thing goes on. If a man is sensitive, and an artist, he can’t stand these people – I can’t say more. But we will talk when I come. Will you please now suggest what is to be done? Because if the Woolfs are really going to do as I say, and throw up Tom’s book, I really believe I shall go there and have it out with them. Yet, if I did, I believe that Tom would never speak to me again. He would hate me. He hates and loathes all sordid
quarrelling and gossiping and intrigue and jealousy, so much, that I have seen him go white and be ill at any manifestation of it.
Joyce is lucky to be out of it. Wise man.
Pound was ruined by it. See what he has become. A laughing stock.3 And his work all bad. Only a person of coarse fibre, a Wyndham Lewis, can stick it and remain undamaged.
If I were you Mary I would write to Tom and tell him what happened.
Do not attempt to say anything more to Clive. If you do the whole matter will end in a complete estrangement between us, I know it. Leave Clive out of it. Do not let him know that his conversation has had any results. If you do not do what I say about this – I will never be a friend of yours again. I will not.
Goodbye dear Mary I am not angry with you, but I am very much worried.
Write to me please Mary dear
[unsigned]
1–Dated 1 May 1919 in the first edition of these Letters.
2–VW wrote to her sister Vanessa Bell on 4 Apr.: ‘By the way, Mary rang me up yesterday in great agitation about Eliot, imploring me to say nothing, denying the whole story, and insisting that he only abused Bloomsbury in general, and not me, and that Clive had completely misunderstood!’ (Letters, II, 344). Clive Bell was MH’s lover. Still suspecting a personal attack, VW began to disparage the Eliots. See also TSE to Eleanor Hinkley, 17 June 1919.
3–VW had written to Roger Fry (18 Nov. 1918), decrying TSE’s cult of EP and WL: ‘Not that I’ve read more than 10 words by Ezra Pound by [sic] my conviction of his humbug is unalterable’ (Letters, II, 296).
Vivien Eliot TO Mary Hutchinson
MS Texas
Saturday [10 May 1919]
[en route to Garsington]
Here I am in the train going to Garsington.1 It is very hot. I don’t know how I feel, I have suspended my feelings until I get there. I got your lovely long letter this morning. You were quite right because Woolf did answer T’s letter, and sent him the copy of the poems which T. had asked him for (to send to a man called Schiff2 – have you heard of him? the Sitwells’ ‘Holy Ghost’) Woolf wrote very curtly – I saw the letter. It could not have been curter. He said they had lost the list of names T. had sent them, and would T. send another. I really always rather hate a man who takes up his wife’s feuds, don’t you?
So that’s where we are at present. I shall certainly keep you posted. Also tell you about this weekend. Everyone seems to be hanging on my experiences at G! I have an appointment with Edith [Sitwell] at 4 o’clock on Monday to give her my report.
I believe we are actually going to bring Jack [St John Hutchinson] and ‘Brigit’ together on Tuesday night. Last time it did not come off.
You interest me about Virginia and Ottoline. I am going to throw out a few feelers while I am at G. [and] try to trap O into saying something to V’s disadvantage.3 I like to go about collecting evidence, which I may not use for years perhaps never.
Dear Mary – I cannot leave town until I go to Bosham. I have so much to be here for and if it were not for you I should never dream of going away in June at all. But we must have all the joys you write of while I am there, (between June 12 and July 12).
But I think, Mary, that if you were to ask Tom to come to you for Whitsun, he would. In fact I am nearly sure.
With a great deal of love
Vivien
1–TSE and VHE signed the Visitors’ Book on 11 May 1919; Lytton Strachey was there too. According to Miranda Seymour (Life on the Grand Scale: Lady Ottoline Morrell, 1993), it was at this time that OM added VHE to the list of women she liked best.
2–Sydney Schiff, patron of the arts, and, writing as ‘Stephen Hudson’, novelist and translator: see Glossary of Names.
3–Ironically, VW records that during the following week, she and OM‘talked personalities; investigated the case of Mary Hutch. & Eliot’ (Diary, I, 272).
TO Brigit Patmore
TS Beinecke
Monday [12 May 1919]
23 Lancaster Gate, W.2
Dear Brigit,
What you say about mental paralysis is nonsense. It [is] a very poor excuse for not thinking any more about the matter. You are lazier than I supposed.
Yours etc
T.S.E.
1–Together with the Hutchinsons they saw Carnaval, The Firebird and The Good-Humoured Ladies, performed by Diaghilev’s Company, with Léonide Massine and Lydia Lopokova. Brigit Patmore had been invited to make up for her missing their planned trip the previous week.
Vivien Eliot TO Ottoline Morrell
MS Texas
Monday [12 May 1919]
39 Inverness Terrace, W.2
My dear Lady Ottoline
The weekend [at Garsington] was so perfect that when I woke up this morning I couldn’t believe it had happened. I shan’t try to thank you, it would be hopeless. But you were too wonderful. We were both frightfully happy.
You know how rather frightened one feels after having talked unreservedly about a person. About Bertie, you know he was extraordinarily generous to me, I mean in giving things.1 So much so that it will always make me feel very mean for talking against him. I know you understand perfectly. But I think he was more generous to me than he has ever been to anyone. He really made a sacrifice. I shall never forget that, and it makes a lot of difference to everything. I have really suffered awfully in the complete collapse of our relationship, for I was fond of Bertie (I think I still am). But it is of course hopeless, I shall never try to see him again. For the rest, I shall tell everyone who asks me, that we did not mention them at all! It is much the best way! No one believes it, but that doesn’t matter. It would be so delightful to have someone to whom one could talk quite freely without any fear. Don’t you think so? It is so bad for me to be always cautious and mistrustful. I think one often gossips in self-defence, knowing the other person will. But I shall not feel that way about you, if you won’t about me?
If you come to London you will see me, won’t you? This letter is from Tom too, as he has a week of fearful over-work ahead of him. He was so happy at Garsington! I know all the signs. You asked just the right people. The weather too! (and look at it now!)With love and ever so many thanks from us both —
Yrs. ever
Vivien Eliot
TO Brigit Patmore
MS Beinecke
Wednesday [14 May 1919]
Hotel Constance,
23 Lancaster Gate, W.2
Dear Brigit
I have been trying again and again to ring you up, but have found it quite hopeless. I felt that I could not rest until I had spoken to you about last night: I want to apologise to you for letting you go off that way alone. I feel terribly cut up about it, because I had rather it had been anyone in the world but you, and I wish I could hope to make clear that the cause is wholly that I lose my head completely on such occasions, and invariably do exactly the thing I should want not to do. From a purely selfish point of view the worst of it is that your opinion means so much to me.
Nearly the whole evening was a disappointment: I, at least, had looked forward to it very keenly. I won’t say it was all a disappointment, but it was inadequate – and a good deal was jarring.
It would be easier to write this if I had been able to speak to you on the telephone first. It seems merely impertinent to keep repeating how unhappy I feel about it. I simply want to beg for a line from you: I want anything rather than suspense. Of course I shall in any case feel very miserable until I see you again and can talk to you. Please, let me hear from you, but what I really want is that you should consent to dine with me perhaps next week – simply out of tolerance – because I cannot bear leaving anything in the air.
Yours
Tom.1
1–Patm
ore recalls in her memoirs that while they were waiting at the restaurant for the Hutchinsons, ‘there was a queer feeling of nervousness in Tom. He said what unusual people they were, how exclusive, how supremely cultured. Suddenly I wondered if he thought I might disgrace them by some outrageous behaviour … However, all went well at dinner and at the theatre too, until I blotted my copybook by saying I liked Tchaikovsky’s music. That was not done in those days, but it didn’t depress me and when it was time to go, I said goodnight and went home quite happily’ (My Friends when Young, 87). She goes on to describe receiving this letter from TSE, with its ‘worried and self-accusatory apologies’, and wondering ‘Heavens, what did it matter! … In what kind of state can his nerves be?’
TO Brigit Patmore
MS Beinecke
Friday [16 May 1919]
18 Crawford Mansions,
Crawford St, W.1
Dear Brigit
After all I have not thanked you for your letter, which is only another illustration of my imbecility – but the telephone always appals me anyway. I was very grateful for it and you are very kind and generous.
I think I realised how you feel among strangers, before you mentioned it. I am naturally so self-conscious myself that I feel it in others. Perhaps one never conquers it quite, but one must never capitalise! You see I have left the laziness and gone on to something else. However, we shall test the constraint.
Au revoir till Sunday. If that won’t do you must give me an evening when you come back from Marlow. I am very glad you are going: Vivien will enjoy it.
