It makes it much worse for me now, coming up to London. I long, and long for you to talk to. Everything they say jars so terribly. They are so commonplace and material. This morning I just longed to run away from them all, and escape to London. You can never know what it is to have a Mother and a family, and surroundings like those people in The Way of all Flesh.fn13 Like ‘Ann Veronica’s’ parents.fn14 The only thing to do is to make up your mind not to be irritated by it all, but to love the country, the trees and the good hot sun. Soon I will pick you some flowers but there aren’t any out just now. I had a long letter from both my brothers which made me happy. I have a beautiful little bantam cock and hen now of my own; a farmer gave them to me. They look like a lovely Chinese silk painting.
I hope you are keeping well. I am glad you are so happy working at your picture now. You will write again soon, will you not please! I am glad you like Strachey so much. Does he talk more when you get him alone? Thank you especially for the photograph of your cottage. I do like it very much. I expect you will have Brett back soon. She is with that terrible Zenafn15 in Paris. How can she endure being with people like that. But she said she was going to see the Puvis de Chavannes which I would like to see. It’s just like being in a bird cage here, one can see everything which one would love to enjoy and yet one cannot. My father is in another cage also, which my mother put him in, and he is too old to even chirp or sing. I am sorry to give you such an outburst of self-pity but I didn’t quite realize until I saw you again how much I miss not being with you more. The little green stream still flows swiftly through the meadows.
My love to you,
Carrington
To Christine Kuhlenthal
Hurstbourne Tarrant
Wednesday [spring/summer 1915]
Dear Christine,
I was so sorry also I couldn’t come. Especially as the moon was particularly bright that night and the day seemed so hot […] I am still depressed. I cannot really make out why. Mostly because I am longing for something which I cannot have, accentuated by the joy of spring everywhere. I hoped that this country could cheer me, but I feel so much further away now, & even more unhappy. This evening mother said ‘How the evenings are drawing out’ & I was thinking so far away, and then I realised how stupid it is to long for other things when one always comes back to one’s home, & the long dreary evenings … I feel I want to escape myself to the world. Really, tell everyone what I feel & what I am. Do you realize that perhaps 3 people love you for what you are and the rest, if they even think of why they do, love quite an imaginary character, a fake idea which you give them?
Is getting irritable & nervy a malady which all young females suffer from? But I hate these people so much sometimes, especially the middle aged ones. Just because they say stupid remarks & are narrow minded that I want to scream.
All this isn’t because I want to love a man, as Havelockfn16 would probably tell me. I never felt less disposed. I just feel always melancholy, & haunted by the idea that I am hypocritical.
But enough. Why burden you with all this … In the end who does one like? That is what one has to find out. I suppose.
I bought a beautiful dog in London, at the Battersea dog home. He would have made me happier here. But I had to leave him with a friend whilst I went to the Nashs & they lost him in London. I am sure the best thing would be to have to work so hard all day that one hasn’t time to think of all these dismal thoughts. That is the worst of painting, one cannot sit down & do it like one makes shoes, & feeds cattle, with a blank brain […]
The garden looks really very lovely. But I hate it almost because mother thinks it lovely too. Fortunately she doesn’t really know why she does. But what is the good of all this when one is alone. Christine I apologise for all this. But I felt I must overpour somewhere. Write to me soon. Here is a photo of me in my bridesmaid dress, now you know all about it! the check is green & red, the coat & hat tête de nègre as they in Selfridges catalogues.
Well goodbye. What would I not give to come & live in your £5 cottage. A little riches would procure much freedom for one. Do not sympathise with me I pray you. I shall survive it unless I lose my appetite then I will communicate with you for it would be serious.
My love dear fawn
Carrington
To Christine Kuhlenthal
Hurstbourne Tarrant
May 1915
I owe you for two letters now. So I will write before my debt increases […] Oh such excitement this week! On Wednesday 2,000 soldiers arrived on manoeuvers from Salisbury Plain, & were billeted in our village! We had four officers dumped on us. Only one was interesting. He was Irish the son of a linen manufactor in Ulster, with a plain red face, & greenish moustache & hair like stubble after the wheat is cut, only greenish brown stubble. But – he played the piano marvellously. Everything I asked him to play, good Bach & Beethoven, Chopin, & the Hungarian Dances by Brahms & the Appassionata Sonata, which nearly made me weep because I loved Brett’s studio & Gertler thumping away on the Pianola so much, and it seems much a long time ago, and I know it will never be again. He played all one evening & the next day. Mother got so cheerful – ‘at last I am going to get Dora married’ – & she encouraged the young man & hoped he would come over again. & would I take him round the garden. She didn’t know that it was Brett’s studio, the windmill at the Cannans, and so many other things which made me happy. Why should she know? They all went away on Friday evening. In the dust, over the little bridge, the evening sun shining on their hot red faces, the big wagons, & gun carriages lumbering along. The soldiers cheering & singing. They have all gone further to another village & forgotten all this, and we are all stationary behind. It seemed so strange to have sleeping on my little landing upstairs two men, in the attic opposite my female bedroom. Men who had never seen me, or me them before, whereas people who I have known for so long & love so much I am not allowed to ask here to stay […] It must be contentment to so arrange your life that only one person matters […] I keep on waiting for something & letting the year slip by. Yet I do not know what I wait for. I suppose it’s the war. It is such a surprise to suddenly see a rose out on the side of the house, & realize it is nearly June. Do you feel like this? often I wish I could wake up & be more alive […]
Carrington
To Mark Gertler
37 Carlisle Road, Hove, Sussex
Saturday morning [n.d.]
Dear Mark,
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry they did not accept your ‘still life’ at the New English. But then you cannot expect men whose whole aim in life you disagree with to like your work. Do not be depressed about it … Did you see in the paper that Eddiefn17 has been made Asquith’s private secretary!!!fn18 Yesterday I went a wonderful ride over the downs. Lovely grand big shapes! I did enjoy it. Brett is good – without her encouragement, I would often despair – I hate this cold weather & my feet are all chillblaney, which hurt awfully. But really, Mark, it doesn’t count because they don’t appreciate your work. As long as you are happy over it, & know it to be as good as you can do, & really sincere. Why it doesn’t matter a bit what they think. I bet Cezanne’s landscapes weren’t appreciated like they are, or pretend to be, by so many people when he first showed them. I saw some pictures down here the other day, a Sloane exhibition. Sickerts, & all the N.E.A.C.fn19 pictures which didn’t sell!fn20 […] As you say nicely matched mauves & greens. So artistic so as not to hurt the eye, or wake people up, like a drapers shop ‘soft’ coloured materials. And such bad drawings. Everything rotten. Did you have a good time with Gilbert in London?
I am reading Roderick Random by Smollett.fn21 It is so good.
It will be good to see you again, & be happy! You were happy this summer weren’t you. Down at the cottage? Let’s go again when I come back to London. How glad I shall be to see the spring again, & the hot days […] Dear, don’t be unhappy because it makes me unhappy also, & remember I do care so much for you, & your work. And after all in this insince
re world is something if only a few people appreciate one truly. Be happy, little onion.
Love from Carrington
By the end of 1915, Carrington had met Lytton Strachey. She described the encounter to her two closest friends.
To Christine Kuhlenthal
87 Carlisle Road, Hove
Monday, December 1915
My Dear Christine
[…] Well last week the Clive Bellsfn22 asked me to stay with them near Lewes, just about 8 miles from Brighton where we are, so I went. It was indeed a romantic housefn23 buried deep down in the highest & most wild downs I have ever seen. Duncan Grantfn24 was there, who is much the nicest of them & Stracheyfn25 with his yellow face & beard, ugh! I used to walk along the ridge of the downs every morning early when the sun was just rising, and the wind on the top was more fierce & powerful than anything you could imagine. It roared in my ears, and I had to lie flat down on the wet grass in order to look at the land below & the sea beyond Newhaven which shone all silver. We lived in the kitchen & cooked & ate there. All the time I felt one of them would suddenly turn into mother & say ‘what, breakfast at 10:30! Do use the proper butter knife!’ But no. Everything was behind time. Everyone devoid of table manners, & the vaguest cooking ensued. Duncan earnestly putting remnants of milk pudding into the stock pot! They were astounded because I knew what part of the leek to cook! What poseurs they are really.
I may come up next weekend, if I hear of a job before then. But I will tell Brett & then we can have a party. But these escapes are matters of a moment. Nothing can ever really be decided before hand […]
Noel goes to London today to have his arm treated. I shall miss him. You would love the country here. I found a good cottage in the downs where they take people for £- a week. Shall we go one day next summer? This I mean in all earnestness. My love to you.
Carrington
To Mark Gertler
87 Carlisle Road, Hove
Friday, December 1915
Dear Mark,
[…] I have just come back from spending three days on the Lewes downs with the Clive Bells, Duncan, Mrs Hutchinsonfn26 and Lytton Strachey. God knows why they asked me!! It was much happier than I expected. The house was right in the middle of huge wild downs, four miles from Lewes, and surrounded by a high hill on both sides with trees. We lived in the kitchen for meals as there weren’t any servants, so I helped Vanessa cook. Lytton is rather curious. I got cold, and feel rather ill today. They had rum punch in the evenings which was good. Yesterday we went a fine walk over tremendous high downs. I walked with Lytton. I like Duncan, even if you don’t! What traitors all these people are! They ridicule Ottoline! even Mary H[utchinson] laughs at the Cannansfn27 with them. It surprises me. I think it’s beastly of them to enjoy Ottoline’s kindnesses and then laugh at her.
I am sorry that you have been ill and worried lately. I am still amazed at them chucking your still life. I can see no reason for it. Except a personal dislike for you, because you do not pander, and pay them homage.
I got up every morning when I was with them very early at 8 o’ck and went for long walks by myself over the downs. It was grand. The huge sun rising upon the edge of the down. So near and so powerful that one felt like a small moth compelled to draw near to it, blinking in its brilliant light. I have never been so near the sun before and then when one did reach the summit the wind was terrific, it shouted in one’s very ears, and pushed and pushed till one was perforced to lie down on the wet morning grass, and then what a sight greeted the eye: way over to Lewes in the north with huge distant downs, and then Newhaven and the shining sea in the south, and far below behind the deep deep basin, the little house surrounded by the trees and all the time the mighty rushing wind, and glaring sun. They never got up till about ten o’ck, so when I returned they were still in bed. I am going to get some job soon in London. And then I will come up and stay […] Goodbye now for a little while. I will send you the end of Gilbert’s bookfn28 soon.
My love to you.
Carrington
To Mark Gertler
87 Carlisle Road, Hove
Monday, December 1915
Dear Mark,
Thank you for your letter. But you really are annoyed without cause! For the Bells were only 8 miles from here, so naturally it wasn’t very difficult to get over to them. Whereas London costs nearly 10/- to get up to. But I hope to come quite soon now. Possibly next week. Now will you be happy? But you make me unhappy, surely it was you who left me after this summer for nearly three months without a word […] and then you reproach me for not seeing you now for a few weeks! I do not love you physically, that you know, but I care for you far more than I do for anyone else.
I have written about a job, and hope to hear this week. Probably it will mean working all day. But we can see each other in the evenings and at the weekends. But it will be good to earn my own living at last! Your letters of course excited me terribly. I am still always excited about motor cars and duchesses!!! So you are famous, and also infamous to judge by the critics! I hope you will sell your pictures. That is most important when one has to do with these idle rich. We leave here on Friday I think, at least I hope so. Yes, I’ll go with you to Gilbert’sfn29 but it will be nearly Xmas by then. But I really will try and come.
What a damned mess I make of my life and the thing I want most to do, I never seem to bring off. My work disappoints me terribly. I feel so good, so powerful before I start and then when it’s finished, I realise each time, it is nothing but a failure. If only I had any money I should not be obliged to stick at home like this. And to earn money every day, and paint what one wants to, seems almost impossible.
Yesterday I walked over to Rottingdean over the downs with Noel. It was lovely country. I am afraid I shall never really get intimate with him; he is so governed by conventions, and accepts the ‘public school’ opinions. It’s a pity, perhaps he will get out of it in time. You would like him, but it wouldn’t be any use now because he’s so patriotic, that I am sure you would hate him, and he you! It’s a good thing Eddie doesn’t know him, for he’s almost as beautiful as Rupert Brooke.fn30 I wonder who all the Baronesses are who you are meeting? It wasn’t Baroness D’Erlanger was it? How pleased your people must be with you at last! Have the Lawrences ever gone to Florida?fn31 Well when I really do come up, I will tell you, and we’ll have a party in Brett’s studio. I hope you are well, and taking care of yourself. Do not think of me bitterly; rather be glad that you are of value to me because I am often so weak, and need you. Goodbye, and soon I will see you now.
Carrington
Do send me your newspaper cuttings to read about your pictures next letter.
The next letter suggests that Carrington had told Gertler that Lytton, despite being homosexual, had tried to kiss her as they walked on the downs.
To Mark Gertler
Hurstbourne Tarrant
Wednesday, December 1915
Dear Mark,
[…] I am sorry I told you about Lytton, I did not mean to. Only I would rather you knew about it from me. Please don’t ever mention it again, as I am annoyed enough as it is because I let the fact make me so miserable. As a man so contemptible as that ought not ever to make one miserable or happy. And so I shall try and forget it. I am going on Saturday to Ottoline’s with Brett so I don’t expect I shall see you until I return on Monday. I had a weary time hunting for a job. It’s fearfully hard to get anything. And they always keep me waiting 2 hours before they will interview me […] I did enjoy our evening so much at Brett’s. I hope you are better now – I am sorry you have been so ill lately.
Carrington
As the last three letters show, Carrington was not especially impressed by Bloomsbury manners or morals when she first encountered them, and nor was she taken with Lytton Strachey. After his unwelcome attempt to kiss her, she learned (apparently from Barbara Hiles, also at Asheham that weekend) he was homosexual, which appears to have shocked and infuriated her. What she did not tell
Gertler was that, determined to punish Lytton, she planned to cut off his beard and crept into his room while he slept; but, as she told Barbara later,fn32 he opened his eyes as she bent over him with the scissors, looked at her and she fell in love. From then on, a mutual affection and attraction began to grow, wholehearted on her part, more guarded on his. Meanwhile she kept the increasingly jealous and suspicious Mark Gertler on a string. She would not sleep with him, but she did not want to lose him; his devotion, and his belief in her as an artist, was necessary to her, but his strong sexuality frightened and repelled her. The more he badgered her, the more devious and elusive she became.
PART TWO
Building Love: 1916–1923
The next stage of Carrington’s life saw her building her world around Lytton Strachey. Her love for him drove her determination to make a home in the country for them both. Over the next eight years, she saw this aim realised, although not without difficulty and some sacrifice. Her interest in art and her own ambitions as a painter remained strong, but her output was small as she struggled to combine painting with her emotional and domestic life. It did not help that her painting was not in tune with, or much appreciated by, the leading artists in the Bloomsbury world, Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell, or the two critical arbiters, Clive Bell and Roger Fry. Carrington admired the French painters presented to London by Fry in exhibitions in 1910 and 1912, especially Cézanne and Matisse, but she was more deeply attracted to the art of fifteenth-century Renaissance artists and her own style was always in the English, naturalistic tradition. Apart from Gertler, she lost touch with her Slade contemporaries; perhaps because, under Lytton’s influence, she became strongly pacifist as the war ground on, and her most distinguished contemporaries – the Nash brothers and Stanley Spencer – all went to war and recorded their experience memorably in their art. The war paintings of the Nash brothers, Nevinson and Stanley Spencer are not discussed in her letters.
Carrington's Letters Page 4
