I am just back from the country. But first I must tell you about my
dinner. I had asked the Housmans, George, Eileen Hope, and Madame de
Saint Luce who is staying in London for three weeks. Just before dinner
I got a telegram saying that Mrs Housman was laid up and couldn't
possibly come. Housman arrived by himself. George was evidently
frightfully annoyed and hardly spoke. Madame de Saint Luce was amazed
and rather amused by Housman, and after dinner Eileen sang beautifully,
so it went off fairly well except for George.
Saturday I went down to Staines. Housman had got an elegant villa on the
river. Very ugly, with red tiles, photogravures, and green wooden chairs
and a conservatory, full of calceolaria. But I must say his food is
delicious. George was there, Lady Jarvis, and Miss Sarah.
After dinner on Saturday there was a slight fracas. George asked Mrs
Housman to sing. She didn't much want to, but finally said she would.
Miss Sarah, who is a brilliant pianist, said she would accompany her
(she evidently hates being accompanied). She sang a song of Schubert's,
_Gute Nacht_. Miss Sarah played it rather fast. Mrs Housman said it
ought to be slower. Miss Sarah said it was meant to be fast, and that
was her conception of the song in any case.
Mrs Housman said she couldn't sing it like that, and didn't, and then
she said she couldn't sing at all. Afterwards she did sing some English
ballads and accompanied herself.
She sings most beautifully, her voice is perfectly produced and you hear
every word. There is nothing throaty or operatic about it but her voice
goes straight through one. George was entranced. Sunday afternoon George
and Mrs H. went out on the river and stayed out all the afternoon. I
spent the afternoon with Lady Jarvis, who is most clever and amusing.
She told me all about the Housmans. Mrs H. is not Canadian but Irish.
She was brought up in a convent in French Canada. Directly she came out
of it her marriage with H., who was then in a Canadian firm, was
arranged by her aunt (her aunt was an imbecile and quite penniless).
They lived several years in Canada, California and other parts of
America, and came to England about three years ago. Housman was
unfaithful from the first. Lady Jarvis knew about Celia Russell. I asked
her if Mrs Housman knew. She said she--Lady Jarvis--didn't know, but it
wouldn't make any difference if Mrs H. did or not. She said: "There is
nothing about Albert Housman that Clare doesn't know." Then she said
that unless I was blind I must of course have seen George was madly in
love with her.
I said I agreed. She said she thought Mrs Housman was madly in love with
him. I said I wasn't sure. Lady Jarvis said she was quite sure.
They came back very late from the river and Mrs Housman didn't come
down to dinner. She said she had a headache. We had rather a gloomy
dinner although Miss Sarah and Lady Jarvis never stopped talking for a
moment, but George was silent.
You know he sees nobody now except the Housmans.
Yours,
G.
_From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor_
_Monday, May_ 3_rd. Gray's Inn_.
A. returned to London a day sooner than he was expected. His Secretary,
Tuke, had not returned. He had left his address with me. He spent his
holiday in the Guest House, Fort Augustus Abbey, a Benedictine
monastery. He returned this morning. A. asked me on Saturday where he
was. When I told him, A. showed great surprise. He said: "He has been
with me six years and I never knew he was an R.C. It's extraordinary
when a thing once turns up, you then meet with it every day. I seem
always to be coming across Catholics now."
_Tuesday, May_ 4_th._
Alfred Riley telegraphed to me to know whether I could put him up
to-night. I have answered in the affirmative, but he will be, I fear,
most uncomfortable.
_Wednesday, May_ 5_th._
Riley arrived last night. He has been in Paris for the last three months
working at the _Bibliothèque Nationale_. He told me he had something of
importance to tell me: that he was seriously thinking of becoming a
Roman Catholic. I was greatly surprised. He was the last person I would
expect to do such a thing. I told him I had no prejudice against Roman
Catholics, but it was very difficult for me to believe that a man of his
intellectual attainments could honestly believe the things he would be
expected to believe. Also, if he needed a Church I did not understand
why he could not be satisfied with the Church of England, which was a
historic Church. He said: "Do you remember when we were at Oxford that
we used to say it would be a great sell if we found out when we were
dead that Christianity was true after all? Well, I believe it is true. I
believe, not in spite of my reason, nor against my reason, nor apart
from my reason, but with my reason. Well, if one believes with one's
reason in the Christian revelation, that is to say, if one believes that
God has uttered Himself fully and uniquely through Christ, such a belief
has certain logical consequences." I said nothing, for indeed I did not
know what to say. Riley laughed and said: "Don't be alarmed; don't think
I am going to hand you a tract. For Heaven's sake let me be able to
speak out at least to one person about this." I begged him to go on, and
he said he thought Catholicism was the only logical consequence of a
belief in the Christian revelation. Anglicanism and all forms of
Protestantism seemed to him like the lopped off branches of a living
tree.
I asked him what there was to prevent him worshipping in Roman Catholic
churches if he felt inclined that way without sacrificing his
intellectual freedom to their tenets.
He said: "You talk as if it was ritual I cared for and wanted. One can
be glutted with ritual in the Anglican Church if one wants that."
As for giving up one's freedom, he said I must agree that law, order and
discipline were the indispensable conditions of freedom. He had never
heard Catholics complain of any loss of freedom, indeed Catholic
philosophy, manners, customs, and even speech, seemed to him much freer
than Protestant or Agnostic philosophy, and what it stood for. He asked
me which I thought was freest, a Sunday in Paris or Rome or a Sunday in
Glasgow or London.