Lunched with Sinclair Lewis at the Shoreham. He is full of imagination.
One of the few Americans I have met who is not submerged by
domesticity, although he is married.
He tells me he wrote four or five novels before he wrote “Main Street,”
but they were not successes. I asked him why that had not discouraged
him. He laughed, he said it was no use being discouraged, that writing
novels was all he could do, he might starve at it, but he was incapable
of any other form of work. (Truly an artist!) He had expected some
people would like “Main Street,” but he had not expected it to sell. It
was a great joke being famous, though sometimes a great bore. He was
extremely funny about it.
I went to tea with Mrs. McCormick, then on to see Mr. Justice Brandeis,
who expected me at his chambers. He was very nice, though rather shy.
He certainly is extremely like Lincoln, but a Lincoln who has not
suffered. Certainly a fine head to do. I am told he is one of the
big brains of the United States. He is a friend of F. E.‘s[5] and of
Lord Reading. He said things about England and the English that made
me proud--we talked for quite a while, but one does not talk at ease
when both are strangers confronting each other for the purpose of
conversation. The best thoughts and talks I elicit from people when I
am working on them, and when it is only necessary to speak if the idea
comes, and where a gap of silence is possible and restful rather than
embarrassing. Under these conditions I get people to give of their best.
I dined with X---- and we talked about the future. But I am like a
nun who, when tempted to run away from her vocation, reflected that
her lover would no longer love the nun with short hair and no veil.
My work is my veil--I must work and keep working, though it entail a
sacrifice. I remember years ago a man, (and he was an American) said to
me, “Choose your path; either the path of companionship and love, or
the path of a career with all it entails of purpose and of loneliness.”
And he is right--.