[No surviving envelope]
Your lovely letter of the 6th arrived yesterday afternoon – and surprised me yesterday afternoon – only a few hours after I had despatched mine – and'Possibilities of the Chorus in the Modern Theatre, The'stimulated by EH;a2 found me in the pangs of preparing my paper on ‘The Possibilities of the Chorus in the Modern Theatre’ – so that your remembering that I had to speak tonight to the Group Theatre group was a great stimulus – and I wrote it out with less difficulty than any address I have ever prepared – easier partly because I was dealing with practical technical devices rather than general ideas. It'Possibilities of the Chorus in the Modern Theatre, The'reception;a3 was favourably received this evening – in the same room and on the same chairs that you will remember – byGroup TheatreTSE satirises;a6 a small but earnest group of Groupers – discussion afterward, but (as I expected from the nature of the subject and its treatment, no theology or politics being directly involved) altogether friendly – the usual eager young man with bright eyes fixing me while he made a long harangue – the usual elderly lady who spoke at length with her eyes closed – cool coffee and warm lemonade flowed afterwards. I feel an alarming growing sense of responsibility towards these young people. ‘Doris’ turned up with a fox terrier who sat quiet and never barked throughout. I may gather up courage to send you a copy of the discourse on appro. Not just yet.
Buttravels, trips and plansEH's 1934–5 year in Europe;b4a month which TSE reflects happily on;c3, madam, there are two points in your lovely letter that I must take up. When I said, quite simply and innocently, that I ‘thought I knew you better’ I did not underline ‘thought’ as you do in such dubiety – I meant nothing so complicated as fitting in a (quite) new picture with an old – IJames, Henryinvoked as labyrinthine;a9 meant nothing twisty labyrinthine or late Henry James. I only meant a gradual progress. Partly I meant that I appreciated your confiding explicitly things that I had observed for myself in a general way, but without of course knowing what your conscious feeling about them was – andMcPherrin, Jeanettecauses EH difficulty;b5 I admit that the Jean complication was something quite unexpected and came as a shock – but apart from that, one feels that one knows another person better when that person gets to the point of telling one things which cost an effort to put into words. And I think that getting to know anyone means getting deeper, and getting deeper means getting to the simpler. But there was no question of fitting a new portrait to an old – of any violent readjustment – quite the contrary, everything fitted in of itself. If there had been anything surprising, I should have thought ‘I don’t know her as well as I thought I did’. On the contrary, everything fitted in, just as I believed it would and wanted it to. Don’t you see – I have had to wait to fit in various pieces of my life together, in order to make sure that they belong to one real world. So that your being in London for that month, and especially happily, so close at hand, meant everything towards putting things together – and they did fit! AndHale, Emilyrelationship with TSE;w9potentially richer for meeting TSE's friends;d8 having you meet my friends made my friends so much more real to me! That was a great service you did me.
As for being self-conscious, you no doubt see that it was easier in London, where there seemed to be something I could do – even in the mere gross way of gastronomy – for you – than it was in Campden where I was a mere visitor. [five lines crossed out] <Nothing personal here! Only futile carpings about villages like Campden!> But do not fear – I shall be much more at ease in Campden on the next occasion than I was on the last.
But I started by protesting at your having been ‘a little troubled and anxious’ so unnecessarily while we walked through the drizzle and the Mall. My other query is about your peroration. When I said ‘holding your own’ I didn’t mean to suggest a battle – or that you were ‘scared’ (did I not say that if you were frightened at least no one would know it?) and certainly I did not mean that you had anything to fight. I only meant (again quite simply and innocently) that in whatever company, you appeared to be at ease, quite in control of the situation, and able to deal gracefully with whoever turned up.
You don’t know what it means to me to have you say, twice, that you have missed me. But all I intended for your visit to London was that you should learn as much about it, and get as much of the lilies and roses, as possible in the time; and have as much of the butterfly life as was possible in the time and circumstances. I admit that I was enjoying myself intensely, and no doubt that was the main motive.
One must stop one[’s] letter at some point. AHutchinson, Marytakes TSE to see Francis Birrell;b5 tiring day, first lunch with good Mary alone, which is tiring, thenBirrell, Francisdying;a4 she took me to see Francis Birrell, who is dying of a tumour on the brain,1 then back to evensong, hasty supper, and the Groupers, and then home, and now end.
1.Birrell was to die on 2 Jan. 1935, aged 45.
4.FrancisBirrell, Francis Birrell (1889–1935), critic; owner with David Garnett of a Bloomsbury bookshop. He wrote for New Statesman and Nation, and published two biographies: his life of Gladstone came out in 1933.
3.MaryHutchinson, Mary Hutchinson (1889–1977), literary hostess and author: see Biographical Register.
2.JeanetteMcPherrin, Jeanette McPherrin (1911–92), postgraduate student at Scripps College; friend of EH: see Biographical Register.