MAURICE BARING (continued 3)

Thursday, June 23rd.

Went to Aunt Ruth's after dinner. The Caryls were there, and Gertrude and Edmund came after dinner. Heated arguments were going on about the situation in Russia, Edmund taking the ultra-conservative point of view, much to the annoyance of Aunt Ruth and Uncle Arthur, who felt even more strongly on the matter because he thought they were discussing the French Revolution.

Friday, June 24th.

Dined with Lady Jarvis; she was alone. She said Mrs Housman was coming up again to-morrow. The fact is, she says, Staines is intolerable now on Sundays. Mrs Fairburn comes down almost every Sunday. She overwhelms Mrs Housman with her gush and her pretended silliness. Housman thinks her the most wonderful woman he has ever met.

Saturday, June 25th.

Went down to S—— to stay with Riley. Riley lives in a small villa surrounded with laurels. A local magnate came to dinner, who is suspected of being about to present some expensive masterpieces to the public gallery.

Sunday, June 26th.

Riley went to Mass in the morning. I sat in his smoking-room, which is a litter of books and papers and exceedingly untidy. A geologist came to luncheon, Professor Langer, a naturalised German. When we were walking in the garden afterwards, he said he could not understand how Riley reconciled his creed with plain facts of geology. But Riley's case surprised him less than that of another of his colleagues, who was a great authority on geology, and nevertheless a devout Catholic, and not only never missed Mass on Sundays, but had told him, Langer, that he fully subscribed to every point of the Catholic Faith. It was true he was an Irishman, but politically he was not at all fanatical, and not even a Home-Ruler.

In the afternoon we had tea with the magnate, whose house is full of Academy pictures. I now understand what happens to that great quantity of pictures we see once at the Academy and then never again. An art critic was invited to tea also. He had, I believe, been invited here to persuade the magnate in question to present some very modern piece of art to the city. He seemed disappointed when he saw the pictures on the walls, and when the magnate asked his opinion of a composition called A Love Letter, he said he did not think the picture a very good one. The magnate said he regretted not having bought Home Thoughts, by the same painter, which was undoubtedly superior.

We dined alone, and I told Riley what Professor Langer had said. He said: "Most Protestants, whether they have any religion or not, attribute Protestant notions to the Catholic Church. What these people say shows to what extent the conception of Rome has been distorted by their being saturated with Protestant ideas. Mallock says somewhere that the Anglicans talk of the Catholic Church as if she were a lapsed Protestant sect, and they attack her for being false to what she has never professed. He says they don't see the real difference between the two Churches, which is not in this or that dogma, but in the authority on which all dogma rests. The Professors you quote take for granted that Catholics base their religion, as Protestants do, on the Bible solely, and judged from that point of view she seems to them superstitious and dishonest. But Catholics believe that Christ guaranteed infallibility to the Church in perpetuum: perpetual infallibility. Catholics discover this not at first from the Church as doctrine, but from records as trustworthy human documents, and they believe that the Church being perpetually infallible can only interpret the Bible in the right way. They believe she is guided in the interpretation of the Bible by the same Spirit which inspired the Bible. She teaches us more about the Bible. She says this is what the Bible teaches."

He said: "Mallock makes a further point. It is not only Protestant divines who talk like that. It is your advanced thinkers, men like Langer and his colleagues. They utterly disbelieve in the Protestant religion; they trust the Protestants in nothing else, but at the same time they take their word for it, without further inquiry, that Protestantism is more reasonable than Catholicism. If they have destroyed Protestantism they conclude they must have destroyed Catholicism a fortiori. With regard to Langer's geological friend, it doesn't make a pin's difference to a Catholic whether evolution or natural selection is true or false. Neither of these theories pretends to explain the origin of life. Catholics believe the origin of life is God." He had heard a priest say, not long ago: "A Catholic can believe in evolution, and in evolution before evolution, and in evolution before that, if he likes, but what he must believe is that God made the world and in it mind, and that at some definite moment the mind of man rebelled against God."

Monday, June 27th.

A. telephoned for me. I saw him this afternoon. His room was full of flowers. He will not be allowed to get up till the end of the week. As soon as he is allowed to go out the doctor says he ought to go away and get some sea air. There is no question of his going to Canada. The Housmans have asked him to go to Cornwall and he is going there as soon as he can. He asked me when I was going. I said at the end of the month, if that would be convenient to him.

Tuesday, June 28th.

Finished Renan's Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse. He says: "Je regrettais par moments de n'être pas protestant, afin de pouvoir être philosophe sans cesser d'être Chrétien. Puis je reconnaissais qu'il n'y a que les Catholiques qui soient conséquents." Riley's argument. Dined at the Club.

Wednesday, June 29th.

Dined with Hope at a restaurant in Soho. Quite a large gathering, with no one I knew. We had dinner in a private room. Two journalists—Hoxton, who writes in one of the Liberal newspapers, and Brice, who edits a weekly newspaper—had a heated argument about religion. Brice is and has always been an R.C. Hoxton's views seemed to me violent but undefined. He said, as far as I understood, that the Eastern Church was far nearer to early Christian tradition than the Western Church, and that by not defining things too narrowly and by not having an infallible Pope the Greeks had an inexpressible advantage over the Romans. Upon which someone else who was there said that the Greeks believed in the infallibility of the First Seven Councils; they believed their decisions to be as infallible as any papal utterance, and that dogma had been defined once and for all by the Councils. Brice said this was quite true, and while the Greeks had shut the door, the Catholic Church had left the door open. Besides which, he argued, what was the result of the action of the Greeks? Look at the Russian Church. As soon as it was separated it gave birth to another schism and that schism resulted in the rise of about a hundred religions, one of which had for one of its tenets that children should be strangled at their birth so as to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven without delay. That, said Brice, is the result of schism.

The other man said that there was no religion so completely under the control of the Government as the Russian. The Church was ultimately in the hands of gendarmes. Hoxton said that in spite of schisms, and in spite of anything the Government might do, the Eastern Church retained the early traditions of Christianity. Therefore, if an Englishman wanted to become a Catholic, it was absurd for him to become a Roman Catholic. He should first think of joining the Eastern Church and becoming a Greek Catholic. The other man, whose name I didn't catch, asked why, in that case, did Russian philosophers become Catholics and why did Solovieff, the Russian philosopher, talk of the pearl Christianity having unfortunately reached Russia smothered under the dust of Byzantium?

Brice said the Greek Church was schismatic and the Anglican Church was heretical and that was the end of the matter. Hoxton said: "My philosophy is quite as good as yours." Brice said it was a pity he could neither define nor explain his philosophy. Hope, who was bored by the whole argument, turned the conversation on to the Russian stage.

Thursday, June 30th.

Dined with Aunt Ruth. After dinner I sat next to a Russian diplomatist who knew Riley. He said he was glad he had become a Catholic—he himself was Orthodox. He evidently admired the Catholic religion. He said, among other things, how absurd it was to think that such floods of ink had been used to prove the Gospel of St John had not been written by St John. He said, even if it wasn't, the Church has said it was written by St John for over a thousand years. She has made it her own. He himself saw no reason to think it was not written by St John. Uncle Arthur, who caught the tail end of this conversation, said the authorship of John Peel was a subject of much dispute. Gertrude wasn't there; they have gone to the country.

Friday, July 1st.

Dined with Lady Jarvis. Cunninghame was there and a large gathering of people. More people came after dinner and there was music, but such a crowd that I could not get near enough to listen so I gave it up and stayed in another room. Lady Jarvis told me Mrs Housman is going down to Cornwall next Monday.

Saturday, July 30th. Grey Farm, Carbis Bay.

Arrived this evening after a hot and disagreeable journey. The Housmans are here alone. Housman goes back to London on Tuesday. A. is coming down here as soon as he is fit to travel. He is still very weak.

Sunday, July 31st.

The Housmans went to Mass. Father Stanway came to luncheon. He said he had been giving instruction to an Indian boy who is being brought up as an R.C. I asked him if it was difficult for an Indian to understand Christian dogma. Father Stanway said that the child had amazed him. He had been telling him about the Trinity and the Indian had said to him: "I see—ice, snow, rain—all water."

Monday, August 1st.

Housman played golf. Mrs Housman took me to the cliffs and began reading out Les Misérables, which I have never read.

Tuesday, August 2nd.

Housman left early this morning. We sat on the beach and read Les Misérables.

Wednesday, August 3rd.

Lady Jarvis arrives to-morrow. We continued Les Misérables in the afternoon and after dinner. Mrs Housman said that some conversations and the reading of certain passages in books were like events. Once or twice in her life she had come across sentences in a book which, although they had nothing extraordinary about them and expressed things anyone might have thought or said, were like a revelation, or a solution, and seemed to be written in letters of flame and had a permanent effect on her whole life; one such sentence was the following from Les Misérables: "Ne craignons jamais les voleurs ni les meurtriers. Ce sont là les dangers du dehors, les petits dangers. Craignons nous-mêmes. Les préjugés, voila les voleurs; les vices, voila les meurtriers. Les grands dangers sont au dedans de nous. Qu'importe ce qui menace notre tête ou notre bourse!" She said: "Of course this has never prevented me from feeling frightened when I hear a scratching noise in the night. That paralyses me with terror."

Thursday, August 4th.

We continued our reading. The weather has been propitious. Lady Jarvis arrived in the evening. We continued our reading after dinner.

Friday, August 5th.

A. arrived this evening. He was exhausted after the journey and went to bed at once. Housman arrives to-morrow—he is only staying till Monday.

Saturday, August 6th.

A. sat in the garden and Mrs Housman read out some stories by H.G. Wells from a book called The Plattner Story, which we all enjoyed.

Housman arrived in the evening. A. is not yet strong enough to walk. He sits in the garden all day. The weather is perfectly suited to an invalid.

Sunday, August 7th.

Housman invited Father Stanway to luncheon. He and Housman talked of politicians and popularity and the Press and to what extent their reputation depended on it. Housman said it was death to a politician not to be mentioned. A politician needed popularity among the public as much as an actor did. Father Stanway said it was a double-edged weapon and that those who lived by it risked perishing by it. Housman said Gladstone and Beaconsfield had lived by it successfully. Father Stanway said it depends whether you want to be famous or whether you want to get things done. A man can do anything in the world if he doesn't mind not getting the credit for it. Father Stanway said nobody realised this better than Lord Beaconsfield. He said somewhere that it was private life that governs the world and that the more you were talked about the less powerful you were.

A. is a little better. I went for a walk with Father Stanway in the afternoon. I asked him a few questions about the system of Confession. He said the Sacrament of Penance was a Divine Institution. I asked him if the practice did not lead to the shirking of responsibility and the dulling of the conscience on the part of those who went to Confession. He said Confession was not an opiate but a sharp and bitter medicine, disagreeable to take but leaving a clean after-taste in the mouth I gave him a hypothetical case of a man being in love with a Catholic married woman. If the woman was a practising Catholic and faithful to her husband, and if she continued to be friends with the man who was in love with her, would she confess her conduct and, if so, would the priest approve of the conduct? Father Stanway said it was difficult to judge unless one knew the whole facts. If the woman knew she was acting in a way which might lead to sin or even to scandal—that is to say, in a way which would have a bad effect on others—she would be bound to confess it. If a woman asked him his advice in such a case he would strongly advise her to put an end to the relationship. I said: "You wouldn't forbid it?" He said: "The Church forbids sin, and penitents when they receive Absolution undertake to avoid the occasions of sin." He said he could not tell me more without knowing more of the facts. Cases were sometimes far more complicated than they appeared to be, but however complicated they were, there was no doubt as to the attitude of the Church towards that kind of sin and to the advisability of avoiding occasions that might bring it about.

Monday, August 8th.

Housman went back to London. Cunninghame arrives to-morrow. A. walked as far as the beach this morning. In the afternoon Lady Jarvis took him for a drive. Mrs Housman went into the town to do some shopping.

Tuesday, August 9th.

We all went for a drive in a motor to a village with a curious name and had tea in a farm-house. Cunninghame arrived in time for dinner. He has been staying at Cowes.

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

CARBIS BAY, Wednesday, August 10th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I arrived last night from Cowes. I found Mrs Housman, Lady Jarvis, George and Godfrey.

George is very much better, but he is still weak and can't get about much. He is not allowed to play golf yet. He sits in the garden, and goes for a mild walk once a day. Lady Jarvis says that Mrs Housman is very unhappy. In the first place, her home is intolerable. Mrs Fairburn makes London quite impossible for her. It is a wonder that she is not here, but as Housman is in London there is nothing to be surprised at. In the second place, Lady Jarvis thinks that Mrs Housman would much rather George hadn't come, but she couldn't help it as Housman asked him.

We do things mostly altogether now. I am staying a fortnight, then I go to Worsel for a week and to Edith's till the end of September; then London. Lady Jarvis says that she is sure Mrs Housman will not spend the winter in London.

Write to me here and tell me about the Mont Dore. I have been there once and think it is an appalling place.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Wednesday, August 10th.

A. has been doing too much, the doctor says, and he is not to be allowed out of the garden for a few days. Mrs Housman and Lady Jarvis take turns in reading to him aloud. We have finished the Wells book and we are now reading Midshipman Easy.

Thursday, August 11th.

I went for a walk with Cunninghame. He said his favourite book was John Inglesant and was surprised that I had not read it. He has it with him and has lent it to me.

Friday, August 12th.

It rained all day. We spent the day reading aloud.

Saturday, August 13th.

A. is much better and went for a walk with me this morning.

Sunday, August 14th.

Housman was coming down yesterday but telegraphed to say he was detained. Mrs Housman went to Mass. In the afternoon we received a visit from an American who has come here in a yacht and met Cunninghame and myself in the town this morning. His name is Harold C. Jefferson. When I was introduced to him he said he did not quite catch my name. I said my name was "Mellor"; he said: "Lord or Mister?" Cunninghame told him where he was staying and he said he would call—he knew the Housmans in America. He asked us all to go on board his yacht to-morrow. Mrs Housman, Cunninghame and myself accepted. Lady Jarvis said she would stop with A. who is not up to it.

Monday, August 15th.

We had luncheon on board Mr Jefferson's yacht, a large steam vessel. It has on board a piano and an organ, both of which are played by electricity, which is in some respects satisfactory, but the tempo of the Meistersinger Overture which was performed for us was accelerated out of all recognition.

Tuesday, August 16th.

A Miss Simpson called in the afternoon to ask Mrs Housman to help with some local charity; she lives at the Hotel. She said she found it very inconvenient not being able to go to Church. We wondered what prevented her doing so, but she soon gave us the reason herself. She said that the local clergyman was so low—no eastward position.

A. is much better and went for a walk with Lady Jarvis.

Wednesday, August 17th.

Housman has written to say that he will not be able to come down until late in September. Carrington-Smith is unwell and he is overwhelmed with business. He, Housman, may have to meet a man in Paris.

Thursday, August 18th.

A rainy day. Cunninghame and I went out in spite of the rain.

Friday, August 19th.

Cunninghame played golf with General York.

Saturday, August 20th.

Lady Jarvis, Mrs Housman and myself went for a drive. A. played golf with Cunninghame. I began John Inglesant last night. Mrs Housman has never read it. After dinner we had some music. Mrs Housman played Schubert's Prometheus and hummed the tune. She says it is a man's song.

Sunday, August 21st.

A. says he is going to have his yacht sent up here—he will be able to sail back in her. Mrs Housman went to Mass. In the afternoon we sat in the garden and read out aloud Cashel Byron's Profession, a novel by Bernard Shaw. A. enjoyed it immensely.

Monday, August 22nd.

We drove to the Lizard in a motor and had luncheon at the Hotel. A. misses his yacht very much but he has sent for her. After dinner we played Clumps.

Tuesday, August 23rd.

Cunninghame was going to-morrow but he is staying till Saturday. Mrs Housman went to Newquay to the convent for the day. Lady Jarvis took A. for a drive.

Wednesday, August 24th.

This morning A., Cunninghame and myself walked down to the town. We met a friend of Cunninghame's called Randall, who is yachting. He has just come from France.

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

GREY FARM, CARBIS BAY, Thursday, August 25th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I am stopping here till Saturday, then Worsel, then Edith's. You had better write to Edith's. Yesterday morning we were in the town, George, Godfrey and I, and we met Jimmy Randall, who has come here in the Goldberg's yacht. They had been to St Malo and other places in France. When we said we were staying with the Housmans, Randall said there was not much chance of our seeing Housman for some time as he was having the time of his life with Mrs Fairburn at a little place near Deauville.

This came as a revelation to George, who had no idea of Housman's adventures. He has scarcely spoken since. We are having a very happy time and I am miserable at having to go away. George is quite well. He has sent for his yacht, but he is not staying on very long as he has got to go to one or two places before he goes back to London. The weather has been divine. Godfrey is quite cheerful.

I shan't write again till I get to Edith's. I shan't stop more than a night at Worsel on the way.

Edith is clamouring for me to come. The Caryls are staying there.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Thursday, August 25th.

I went out for a walk with Cunninghame; he asked me whether I had liked John Inglesant. I said I had it read with interest but it gave me the creeps; it had the chill of a dream world; I preferred the character of Eustace Inglesant to that of his brother John. Cunninghame said he had read it five times; that John Inglesant, Flaubert's Trois Contes and Anthony Hope's The King's Mirror were his three favourite books. I had read neither of the others. Mrs Housman and A. went for a walk in the afternoon. After dinner Lady Jarvis read out a story by Stevenson.

Friday, August 26th.

Mrs Housman went to the town in the afternoon. A. and Cunninghame played golf. I went for a walk with Lady Jarvis. She talked about Mrs Housman. She said it was wonderful what comfort she (Mrs H.) found in her religion. As far as she herself was concerned, she had never ceased to appreciate the luxury of not going to church on Sunday, so much had she disliked being made to go to church before she was grown up. I said Mrs Housman had told me that Roman Catholic children enjoyed going to church. She said: "Yes, and their grown-up people too. Clare will probably go to church this afternoon. If I was a Catholic I could understand it." She said it was the only religion she could understand. "Unhappily to be a Catholic," she said, "one must believe. I am not talking of the ritual and the discipline—I mean one must believe, have faith in the supernatural, and I have none." She said that she thought religion was an instinct. Her religion consisted in trying not to hurt other people's feelings. That was difficult enough. She said she had once come across this phrase in a French book: "Aimez-vous les uns les autres, c'est beaucoup dire supportez-vous les uns les autres, c'est déjà assez difficile." Some people, she said, arrived at religion by disbelieving in disbelief. She didn't believe in dogmatic disbelief but that didn't lead her to anything positive. She said she was glad for Mrs Housman that she had her religion. I asked her if she thought Mrs Housman was very unhappy. She said: "Yes; but there comes a moment in unhappiness when people realise that they must either live, or die. Clare passed that moment a long time ago." People often made God in their own image. Mrs Housman had a beautiful character. She, Lady Jarvis, had no stuff in her to project a deity with. She thought that religion seldom affected conduct. She thought Mrs Housman would have been just the same if she had been brought up as a free-thinker or a Presbyterian. She thought her marriage and her whole life had been a gigantic mistake. She ought, she said, to have been a professional singer. She was an artist by nature. I said I was struck by Mrs Housmans strong common-sense and her tact in dealing with people. "That would have made her all the greater as an artist," Lady Jarvis said. "In all arts you want to be good at other things besides that art. Riding needs mind." She said it was no good wishing to be otherwise but she thought it was very tragic. She said: "If I believed there was another life, this sort of thing wouldn't matter, but as I don't it matters very much." I said it struck me the other way round. If one didn't believe in a future life I didn't see that anything could matter very much. I asked her if she positively believed there wasn't another life. She said: "I don't know. I only know I don't believe in a future life." I asked her if that wasn't faith. She said very possibly, but she at any rate hadn't the fervent faith in no-God that some atheists had. In any case she was not intolerant about it. I asked her if it had not often struck her that agnostics and free-thinkers were still more intolerant than religious people and that they had least business to be. She said that was exactly what she had meant. The religion of other people irritated them; they wanted people to share their particular form of unbelief. She never did that. She thought dogmatic disbelief intolerable. She had the greatest respect for Catholics and would give anything to be able to be one. Mrs Housman never spoke about her religion. We talked about reading. I said I always read the newspapers or rather The Times every day. I had done so for fifteen years. She said she never did except in the train but she knew the news as well as I did. We talked about what is good reading for the train and about journeys. I told her of a journey I had once taken in France in a third-class carriage. She said it was lucky one forgot physical discomfort at once unlike mental discomfort. She said something about the appalling unnaturalness of people when they had to deal with death, and then of the misery in seeing other people suffer, of the hardness of some people, and of a book she had just been reading, called Katzensteg, by Sudermann, and then of Germans, and so, to music, of Housman's great undeveloped musical talent, of Jews, how favourable the mixture of Jewish and German blood was to music. I said something about Jews being rarely men of creation or action. She said they were just as persistent in getting what they wanted as men of action, so she supposed that it came to the same. Disraeli was a man of action, she supposed, and all the great socialists, Marx and Lassalle, they got what they wanted. "Un de nous a voulu être Dieu et il l'a été," she said a Jewish financier had once said. This led her to Heine. He was her favourite writer, both in prose and verse. Had I ever read his prose? I ought to read Geschichte der Religion und Philosophie in Deutschland. It was the most brilliant book of criticism she knew. It was the Jews who had invented all great religions, and socialism was the invention of the Jews. Some people said the Russian revolution was Jewish in idea and leadership and might very likely lead to a new political creed. She said she hated anti-Semitism. This led us to Christianity. Christianity to her meant Catholicism. She could not understand any other form of it. She thought there was nothing in the world more silly than attempts to make a religion of Christianity without the Church—there could only be one Church. "But," I said, "you disbelieve in it." She said: "Yes; but the only thing that could tempt me to believe in it is the continued existence of the Catholic Church." She said: "It's there; it's a fact, whether one believes in its divine origin, as Clare does, or whether one doesn't, as I don't. It must either all hang together or not exist. You can't take a part of it and make a satisfactory and reasonable religion." Not only that, nothing seemed to her more foolish than the attempts to make a religion of Christianity without the Divine element, in which Christ was only a very good man. I said if she did not believe in the divinity of Christ the story could be nothing more to her than a fable. She said: "If one only regards it as a fable, as I suppose I do—but again I have no dogmatic disbelief in it—it is still the most beautiful, impressive, wonderful and tragic story ever invented and it seems to me to lose its whole point if Christ was only a man with hypnotic powers and a head turned by ambition or illusion." She quoted a Frenchman, who had said that he adored Jesus Christ as his Lord and God, but "s'il n'est qu'un homme je préfère Hannibal." Napoleon too had said that he knew men and Jesus Christ was not a man. Regarded as a story the whole point and beauty of the Gospel were lost in all modern versions, rewritings, explanations and interpretations, and none of them held together. She said it was as if one rewrote the fairy tales and made the fairies not fairies but only clever conjurers. By this time we had reached home.

Saturday, August 27th.

Cunninghame went away early this morning. Mrs Housman told me that she was not going to spend the winter in London; she was going to Florence, and it was possible she might be away for a whole year. A. went out this afternoon with Lady Jarvis.

Sunday, August 28th.

Mrs York called in the afternoon. Mrs Housman was out with A. Lady Jarvis and myself entertained her. She was most affable and not at all stiff, as she was last year. She said she had known several of A.'s relations in India. As she went away she said to Lady Jarvis, in the hall: "You never told me Mrs Housman was an American—that makes all the difference."

Monday, August 29th.

We all went to the Land's End for the day.

Tuesday, August 30th.

A.'s yacht has arrived. We had luncheon on board and went for a short sail in the afternoon; the sea was reasonably smooth, but Lady Jarvis said that the sea under any conditions gave her a headache.

Wednesday, August 31st.

Mrs Housman and A. went out for a sail in the morning and came back for tea. A. says he will have to go away in a day or two. After dinner Mrs Housman read out Burnand's Happy Thoughts.

Thursday, September 1st.

A rainy day. Mrs Housman called on Mrs York and has asked her and the General to luncheon next Sunday. I went out for a walk in the rain by myself and got very wet. Mrs Housman said that the Indian servant stood motionless behind Mrs York's chair during the whole of the visit. This embarrassed her. She felt inclined to draw him into the conversation.

Friday, September 2nd.

Mrs Housman went to the convent by herself. Lady Jarvis and A. went out for a walk and I stayed at home. It is quite fine again. A. leaves next Monday.

Saturday, September 3rd.

A. wanted to go out sailing but Mrs Housman thought it was too windy. We all went for a drive instead.

Sunday, September 4th.

General York and Mrs York came to luncheon. The General was a little nervous, but Mrs York was affable and friendly. She said she had never got used to the English climate. Lady Jarvis asked Mrs York if she had been to church. Mrs York said they had a church quite close to their house in the village but she always drove to our village church, although it was three miles off. She could not go to their church as she did not approve of the clergyman's ritualistic practices. He used white vestments at Easter, changed the order of the service, and allowed a picture in church. All that, of course, made it impossible. They went away soon after luncheon. I went for a walk with Lady Jarvis. After dinner A. asked Mrs Housman to sing, but she said she would rather read. She read Happy Thoughts aloud.

Monday, September 5th.

A. left in his yacht. He said he would be back in London by the first of October. He is stopping at Plymouth on the way.

Tuesday, September 6th.

Mrs Housman asked me if I had finished Les Misérables. I said I had not gone on with it. She read aloud from it in the afternoon.

Wednesday, September 7th.

I leave to-morrow to stay with Aunt Ruth. I have to be in London on the 19th. Lady Jarvis went to the village, we stayed in the garden. After dinner, Mrs Housman sang some Schubert. She leaves Cornwall at the end of the month and then goes to Florence, where she stays rill Easter or perhaps longer.

Monday, October 3rd. London, Gray's Inn.

Cunninghame and A. both came back to-day. Cunninghame asked me to dine with him to-morrow.

Tuesday, October 4th.

Dined with Cunninghame alone in his flat. He said that he knew I had some R.C. friends, perhaps I knew a priest. I said the only priest I had ever spoken to was Father Stanway at Carbis Bay. He said he wanted to consult a priest about certain rules in the R.C. Church. He wanted to know under what conditions a marriage could be annulled. A friend of his wanted a married woman to get her marriage annulled as her husband was living with someone else. He wanted to know whether the marriage could be annulled. I said I knew who he was talking about. He said he had meant me to know. He had promised A. to find out from a priest. A. had been told by her that it was out of the question to get the marriage annulled. It had been a marriage entered into by her own free will and performed with every necessary condition of validity. Of course she was very young when she was married and didn't know what she was doing, but that had nothing to do with it. Her aunt and the nuns in the convent where she had been brought up had thought it was an excellent marriage, as he was well off and a Catholic. Cunninghame begged me to go and see a priest. I said I did not know how this was done. I suggested his asking his cousin, Mrs Caryl. He said she was in Paris and that would be no use, it would not satisfy A. I said I would think about it.

Wednesday, October 5th.

I asked Tuke where and how one could find a priest who would be able to tell one the rules of the Church with regard to marriage. Tuke said any of the Fathers at Farm Street or the Oratory. In the afternoon I went to the Oratory, sent in my card and asked to see a priest. I sat in a little waiting-room downstairs. Presently a tall man came in with very bright eyes and a face with nothing but character left in it. I told him I had come for a friend. It was a case of divorce, or rather of annulment. I knew his Church did not tolerate divorce. I was, myself, not a Catholic. It was the case of a lady, a Catholic, who had married a Catholic. The husband had always been unfaithful and was now almost openly living with someone else. Could the marriage be annulled? The priest asked whether she desired the marriage to be annulled. I told him she had said it was impossible. He asked whether the marriage had been performed under all conditions of validity. I said I did not myself know what these conditions were, but that she had expressly said that the marriage had been performed with her own free will, with every necessary condition of validity. I knew she thought it was out of the question to think of the marriage being annulled, but there was someone who was most devoted to her and wanted to marry her, and he was not satisfied with her saying it was impossible. He wanted the decision confirmed by a priest and that was why I had come. The priest said he was afraid from what I had told him that it was no use thinking of annulment. It was clear from what I had said she knew quite well the conditions that make it possible to apply for the annulment of a marriage. He said he was sure it was a hard case. If I liked he would lend me a book which went into the matter in detail. I said I would not trouble him. It would be enough that I had seen him and heard this from him. I then went away. I went straight back to the office and told C. the result of my visit. He was most grateful to me for having done this. He said he was dining with A. to-night. He said A. was in a terrible state.

Thursday, October 6th.

Cunninghame told me that he had dined with A. and given him the information I had procured for him. He said A. was wretched. Mrs Housman arrives in London on Saturday. She is only staying till Monday; she then goes to Florence.

Friday, October 7th.

Cunninghame told me that Housman has come back to London. They have got their house back. Mrs Fairburn is in London also.

Saturday, October 8th.

A. has gone down to Littlehampton.

Sunday, October 9th.

I went to see Mrs Housman in the afternoon—she was in. She leaves for Florence to-morrow. She told me she was going to stay there a whole year. She asked after A. and was pleased to hear he was still in good health. Miss Housman came in later after we had finished tea.

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

LONDON, Sunday, October 9th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Thank you for your long letter. I am most worried about George. Mrs Housman goes to Florence to-morrow and is not coming back for a whole year. George has told me about the whole thing. She knows all about Housman and has always known. George has implored her to divorce Housman and to marry him. She can't divorce, as you know better than I do, and she told George it was not a marriage that could be annulled. However, this didn't satisfy him. He insisted on getting the opinion of a priest. I thought of writing to you, but there wasn't time, and then I didn't know whether it was the same in France or not. I got the opinion of a priest, who said there wasn't the slightest chance of getting the marriage annulled. I told George this and he won't believe it, even now. He keeps on saying that we ought to go to Rome, but I don't suppose that would be of the slightest use either, would it? In the meantime he is perfectly wretched. Mrs Housman didn't see him after Cornwall. George won't see anyone, or go anywhere now. He is at this moment down at Littlehampton by himself. If you can think of anything one could do, let me know at once, but I know there is nothing to be done. If the marriage could be annulled I think she would marry him to-morrow. I can't write about anything else, because I can't think about anything else.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Monday, October 17th.

Heard from Mrs Housman from Florence. She says the weather is beautiful and she is having a very peaceful time.

Monday, November 7th.

Heard from Mrs Housman. She has been to Rome, where she stayed a fortnight.

Wednesday, November 9th.

I met Housman in the street this morning. He said he had given up the house near Staines. It was dismal in winter and not very pleasant in summer. He had taken a small house in the north of London, not far from Hendon. He could come up from there every day and the air was very good. I was not to say a word about this to Mrs Housman, as it was a surprise. He said he was going to Florence for Christmas if he could. He said I must come down one Saturday and stay with him.

Saturday, November 19th.

Staying with Riley at Shelborough.

Monday, December 12th.

Heard from Mrs Housman. She is going to spend Christmas at Ravenna with the Albertis. Housman has written to me saying he will not be able to get to Florence at Christmas and asking me to spend it with him at his house near Hendon. I have told him that I was staying with Aunt Ruth for Christmas.

Letters from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

Monday, October 17th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Thank you for your letter. I quite understand all you say and I was afraid it must be so, but thank you for taking all that trouble. George is just the same. He sees nobody except Godfrey and me. I have heard from Mrs Housman twice and I have written to her several times and given her news of George. I haven't set eyes on Housman nor heard either from him or of him.

Yrs. G.

LONDON, Monday, October 31st.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I saw Jimmy Randall yesterday. He tells me that Housman is in London but has taken a house near Hendon and comes up every day. He is just, as infatuated as ever with Mrs Fairburn and has given her some handsome jewels.

I heard from Mrs Housman on Saturday. I am afraid she is quite miserable. George won't even go to stay with his sister. He dines with me sometimes.

Yrs. G.

LONDON, November 14th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Lady Jarvis is back from Ireland. I went down to Rosedale on Saturday. There were a few people there, but I managed to have two long and good talks with her. She is of course fearfully worried. She hears from Mrs Housman constantly, she never mentions G. Lady Jarvis thinks of going out there, only, apparently, Mrs Housman will not be at Florence for Christmas. She tried to get George to come to Rosedale, but he wouldn't.

I have seen Housman for a moment at the play. He said I must see his house at Hendon. He said he had meant it as a surprise for Mrs H., but he had been obliged to tell her. He says he has bought a lot of new pictures and that the house is very moderne in arrangement. I can see it. He wanted me to go there next Saturday. I said I couldn't.

Yours, G.

LONDON, Tuesday, November 29th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I am sorry to have been so bad about writing, but we have been having rather a busy time, which has been a good thing for George. I am going to stay with Lady Jarvis for Christmas. She asked George and he is going too. There is no party. He seems a little better, but he isn't really better, and he talks of giving up his job altogether and going out to Africa again. Will you choose me a small Christmas present for Lady Jarvis, something that looks nice in the box or case.

Yrs. G.

LONDON, Monday, December 12th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Housman asked me so often to go down to Hendon that I was obliged to go last Saturday. The house is decorated entirely in the Art Nouveau style. There is a small spiral staircase made of metal in the drawing-room that goes nowhere. It is just a serpentine ornament. The house is the last word of hideosity, but the pictures are rather good. He gets good advice for these and never buys anything that, he thinks won't go up. It was a bachelor party, Randall, Carrington-Smith and myself. We played golf all the day, and Bridge all the evening.

He said Mrs Housman was enjoying Florence very much and that we must all go out there for Easter again.

I heard from her three days ago. She said very little, and asked after George. He never hears from her. He dines with me often.

Yrs. G.

ROSEDALE, Saturday, December 31st.

DEAREST ELSIE,

We have had rather a sad Christmas, only George and myself here, but Lady Jarvis has been too kind for words, and quite splendid with George. She has heard regularly from Mrs Housman and she thinks she will go out to Florence in January if she can.

Godfrey is staying with his uncle. Lady Jarvis says that Miss Sarah Housman makes terrible scenes about Mrs Fairburn, so much so that Sarah and he are no longer on speaking terms. I go back to London just after the New Year, so does George. The Christmas present was a great success. Lady Jarvis gave me a lovely table for my flat.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Monday, January 2nd, 1911.

Received a small Dante bound in white vellum from Mrs Housman. It had been delayed in the post.

Tuesday, January 3rd.

Cunninghame came to the office to-day. A. also.

Tuesday, April 12th.

Riley is spending Easter in London. He wishes to attend the Holy Week services. He is staying with me.

Wednesday, April 13th.

Sat up with Riley, talking. I told him about Hope having said that he considered that to become an R.C. was to sin against the light. Riley said that Hope might very likely end by committing suicide, as views such as he held led to despair. He said: "If the Catholic religion is like what Hope and you think it to be, it must be inconceivable that anyone whose character and whose intelligence you respect could belong to such a Church, but, granting you do, does it not occur to you that it is just possible the Catholic religion may be unlike what you think it is, may indeed be something quite different?"

I said that I did not at all share Hope's views. Indeed I did not know what they were. I said that I agreed with him that when one got to know R.C.'s one found they were quite different from what they were supposed to be, and I was quite ready to believe this applied to their beliefs also.

I said something about the complication of the Catholic system, which was difficult to reconcile with the simplicity of the early Church. He said the services of the early Church were longer and more complicated than they were now. The services of the Eastern Church were more complicated than those of the Western Church, and to this day in the Coptic Church it took eight hours to say Mass. The Church was complicated when described, but simple when experienced.

Saturday, April 16th.

Went with Riley to the ceremony of the Blessing of the Font at Westminster Cathedral. Riley said he was sorry for people who had to go to Maeterlinck for symbolism.

Received a postcard from Florence. Housman did not go out after all.

Monday, May 1st.

Cunninghame told us that Housman is laid up with pneumonia.

Thursday, May 4th.

Housman is worse, and Mrs Housman has been telegraphed for. He is laid up at Hendon. They don't think he will recover.

Friday, May 5th.

Mrs Housman arrived last night. Housman is about the same.

Monday, May 8th.

Had luncheon with Lady Jarvis yesterday. She says that Housman was a shade better yesterday. He may recover, but it is thought very doubtful. Mrs Housman has been up day and night nursing him.

Wednesday, May 10th.

Housman has taken a turn for the better, but he is not yet out of danger.

Saturday, May 13th.

The doctors say Housman is out of danger.

Monday, May 15th.

Cunninghame says Housman will recover. He has been very bad indeed. The doctors say that it is entirely due to Mrs Housmans nursing that he has pulled through.

Saturday, May 20th.

Went to see Mrs Housman at Hendon. I was allowed to see Housman for a few minutes. He likes visitors. Mrs Housman looked tired. Cunninghame says that Housman has a weak heart. That was the danger.

Saturday, June 10th.

The Housmans have gone to Brighton for a fortnight.

Letters from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

LONDON, Monday, May 22nd.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I am delighted to hear you and Jack are coming to London so soon, but very sad of course that you won't be going back to Paris. But I believe Copenhagen is a delightful post, and they say it always leads to something.

Perhaps you will let me come and stay with you in the summer?

Yrs. G.

Saturday, June 10th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Your letter made me laugh a great deal. I expect you will get to like the place. I am writing this from Rosedale, where I am in the middle of a large musical and artistic party, one painter, two novelists, and two pianists. They all hate each other like poison, and it is pain to all the others when one of them performs. But the rest of us are enjoying it immensely, and Lady Jarvis is being splendid. The Housmans have gone to Brighton for a fortnight. Bert is quite well again, but Mrs Housman looks fearfully ill.

Write to me again soon.

Yrs. G.

Monday, June 26th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I have just come back from Oakley, the Housmans' place, near Hendon. He has quite recovered, and everything was going on there just as usual. Jimmy Randall was there, and Mrs Fairburn. Housman said nothing about the summer, but Mrs Housman told me she was not going to Cornwall this year. I asked her if she was going to stay all the summer at Oakley, the Hendon house. She said that Housman had hired a yacht for the summer and asked several people. She said she couldn't bear steam yachting with a large party, and she has taken a small house on the west coast of Ireland, with Lady Jarvis. They would be there quite alone; she was going there quite soon: "Albert would probably go to France."

She told me Housman had wanted to take the house in Cornwall and ask us all again, but that she had told him this was impossible.

George has seen her once or twice, and he is of course happier, but things are where they were. She won't think of divorcing.

I shall start for Copenhagen at the end of July.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Tuesday, June 27th. London.

Housman has asked me to go to Oakley next Saturday. He has asked A. also.

Wednesday, June 28th. London.

Dined with A. and his sister. A. said he would be unable to go to Oakley next week. He had some people staying with him.

Thursday, June 29th. London.

Dined with Aunt Ruth. Apparently Gertrude is still annoyed at the Caryls having got Copenhagen. She complains of this weekly.

Friday, June 30th. London.

Solway is staying the night with me, his concert is to-morrow afternoon.

Saturday, July 1st. London.

Went with Mrs Housman to Solway's concert in the afternoon, and she drove me down to Hendon afterwards in her motor. Mrs Housman is going to spend the summer in Ireland.

Sunday, July 2nd. Oakley (near Hendon).

Mrs Fairburn and Carrington-Smith are staying here. Mrs Housman leaves to-morrow for Ireland.

Saturday, October 28th. London, Gray's Inn.

Mrs Housman returns from Ireland to-day. She spends Sunday in London, and goes to Oakley, near Hendon, on Wednesday. I have not heard one word from Mrs Housman since her long absence in Ireland.

Sunday, October 29th.

Went to see Mrs Housman in the afternoon. Ireland has done her a great deal of good, and she looks quite refreshed and rested.

She asked after A. I told her he was due to arrive from Scotland to-morrow, and that we expected him at the office. She asked me if I was going to stay with Lady Jarvis next Saturday. She said we would meet there. She said nothing about her plans for the future.

Monday, October 30th.

A. has arrived from Scotland, and Cunninghame from Copenhagen, where he has been staying for the last three months with his cousin. I called on Lady Jarvis. She told me she thought Mrs Housman would not remain long in England. She might go to Italy again.

Tuesday, October 31st.

A. is going to Rosedale on Saturday.

Wednesday, November 1st.

Dined with A. and Cunninghame. We went to a music hall after dinner.

Thursday, November 2nd.

Cunninghame and I went to Aunt Ruth's after dinner. When Cunninghame said he had been at Copenhagen, Aunt Ruth said that she knew, of course, Caryl was a brilliant diplomatist, but that Edmund Anstruther ought to have had the post. Uncle Arthur said: "What, Edmund? Copenhagen? He would have got us into war with the Danes."

Friday, November 3rd.

Dined alone with A. He asked after Mrs Housman's health.

Saturday, November 4th. Rosedale.

A.. Cunninghame, myself, and Mrs Vaughan are here. The Housmans were unable to come at the last moment.

Monday, November 6th.

Housman asked me to go to Oakley on Saturday, November 25th. Mrs Housman has gone to Folkestone for a fortnight to stay with Miss Housman. Cunninghame says that Housman and his sister have quarrelled, and that she no longer goes to the house.

Saturday, November 25th. Oakley.

Lady Jarvis, A. and Carrington-Smith are staying here. Cunninghame comes down to-morrow for the day. Housman was obliged to go to Paris on urgent business for a few days.

Sunday, November 26th.

Cunninghame and Carrington-Smith played golf. I went for a walk with Lady Jarvis.

Monday, November 27th.

Dined with A. and went to the play, a farce. A. enjoyed it immensely. I have written to Aunt Ruth to tell her I shall not be able to go there this year. I shall remain in London, as Riley wishes to spend Christmas with me.

Tuesday, November 28th.

Dined with Lady Jarvis. Mrs Housman has gone back to Folkestone. She stays there till Christmas, then she returns to London.

A. is going abroad for Christmas.

Wednesday, December 20th.

A. goes to Paris to-morrow night. Cunninghame is going to spend Christmas with the Housmans at Oakley.

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

HALKIN STREET, Friday, December 22nd.

DEAREST ELSIE,

As you see, I write from London. All my plans have been upset by an unexpected catastrophe. I will try and begin at the beginning and tell you everything in order as clearly as possible, but the fact is I am so bewildered by everything that has happened that I find it difficult to think clearly and to write at all.

I think I told you in my last letter that Housman asked me to spend Christmas with them at Oakley. I was to go down yesterday, Thursday, and George was going to Paris by the night train. I think I told you, too, that ever since we stayed at Oakley in November, George has been a changed man and in the highest spirits. On Thursday we had luncheon together. I thought it rather odd that he should be going to Paris, but he said he was tired of England and felt that he must have a change. I wondered what this meant. I could have imagined his wanting to go away if he had been like he was before, that is to say miserable, but now that he seemed to be enjoying life it was rather extraordinary. I said I was going to Oakley. He said nothing, and talked about his journey. After luncheon he went to the office to give Mellor some final instructions. He said he might be away for some time. I left him there at about half-past three. I asked him why he was going by the night train, and he said he hated a day in the train and always slept well in the train at night. I said good-bye and went down to Oakley in a taxi. Housman had not arrived, and the butler (who has taken the place of the nice parlour-maid there used to be at Campden Hill) told me that Mrs Housman had gone up to London. Her maid thought she was staying the night at Garland's Hotel, but he, the butler, knew nothing of her arrangements. This astonished me, but I supposed there were no servants at Campden Hill. At a quarter to five Housman arrived in a motor with Carrington-Smith. He looked more yellow than usual. I met him in the hall and while we were talking the butler gave him a letter which he said Mrs Housman had left for him. He said we would have tea at once in the drawing-room. Then he said to Carrington-Smith: "I just want to show you that thing," and to me: "We will be with you in one minute." He took Carrington-Smith into his study and I went into the drawing-room. Tea was brought in. I again tried the butler and asked him whether Mrs Housman was coming back to-morrow morning. He said that she had left no instructions, but Mr Housman was probably aware of her intentions. He went out and almost directly I heard someone shouting and bells ringing, violently. Carrington-Smith was calling me. I ran out and met him in the hall; he said Housman had had a stroke, he thought it was fatal.

It was like a thing on the stage. A breathless telephone to the doctor. The motor sent to fetch him. Servants scurrying with blanched faces. Housman lying on the sofa in the study, his collar undone, his face ghastly.

Carrington-Smith said: "We must telephone to Campden Hill for Mrs Housman."

I said: "She isn't there." Then told him about Garland's Hotel. He seemed dumbfounded, sent for the butler, who confirmed this, and then got on to the Hotel. Mrs Housman was in. He spoke to her and told her Housman was dangerously ill and she must come at once. He said he would get on to Miss Housman and tell her to bring Mrs Housman down in her motor. This was arranged and he told Miss Housman the whole facts. In the meantime the doctor arrived—an Australian. He examined Housman and said it was heart failure and that he had always feared this. They had known he had a weak heart after his last illness. It might have happened any day.

Then Carrington-Smith told me how it had happened. When they went into the study Housman had sat down at his writing-table and read a letter through twice quite slowly, torn it up and thrown it into the fire. He had then said: "We will go," and at that moment fallen back and collapsed on the sofa.

He told me that Housman had had a terrific row with Mrs Fairburn yesterday and had talked of nothing else on the way down. Probably the letter was from her, he said. I said: "Yes, very likely"; but as a matter of fact I knew it was from Mrs Housman. He had not noticed that, or if he had he was lying on purpose.

Mrs Housman and Miss Housman arrived about six. Mrs Housman almost frighteningly calm.

She wanted to know every detail. She had a talk with Carrington-Smith alone and then I saw her for a moment before going away. She asked me if I had seen Housman before he died. Then she made all the arrangements herself. I went back to London by train.

I don't know what to think. Why did she go to London? Why did she stay at Garland's Hotel? The Campden Hill house isn't shut up. Miss Housman talked about going there. Did the letter which she left for Housman play a part in the tragedy?

I sent George a telegram. Possibly you may see him.

Yours, G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Friday, December 22nd.

I was rung up last night by Cunninghame, who had returned to London unexpectedly. He had bad news to tell me. A tragedy had occurred at Oakley and Housman had died suddenly of a heart attack. Mrs Housman was informed at once and reached Oakley an hour after the tragedy occurred.

Cunninghame has informed A. by telegram.

Not unconnected with this tragic event a small incident has occurred to me which leaves me stunned.

I have unwittingly violated A.'s confidence, and as it were looked through a keyhole into his private affairs. I am literally appalled by what I have done. But after reviewing every detail and living again every moment of yesterday, I do not see how I could have acted otherwise than I did, nor do I see how things could have happened differently.

These are the facts:

A. arrived at the office at half-past three on Thursday afternoon with Cunninghame. Cunninghame left him.

A. remained in his room until five o'clock, writing letters.

At five he sent for me and told me he was leaving for Paris that night by the night train. Tuke, he said, had gone on his holiday. He asked me if I was going away. I said I should be in London during all the Christmas holidays, as I had a friend staying with me. He said he would most probably be away for some time, and he would be obliged if I could look in at the office every now and then. He had told the clerks to forward letters, but he wanted me to make sure they did not forward circulars or any other useless documents to him. I was to open all telegrams, whether private or not, and not to forward them unless they were of real importance. "But," he said, "there won't be any telegrams. Don't forward me invitations to luncheon or dinner."

This morning I went to the office. There was a telegram for A. The clerk gave it to me. I opened it. It had been sent off originally at five yesterday afternoon and redirected from Stratton Street. Its contents were: "Albert dangerously ill. Fear worst. Cannot come. Clare."

I forwarded it to the Hôtel Meurice. He will know of course that I have read it. I read it at one glance before I realised its nature. Then it was too late. And so unwittingly I am guilty of the greatest breach of confidence that I could possibly have committed.

It was a fatality that this telegram should have missed him. The clerks say he left the office soon after I did, a little after five. They say the telegram did not reach the office till later. They didn't know where A. was and he had told them not to forward any telegrams till I had seen them. I remember his saying that he was not returning to his flat. That he was dining at a club and going straight from thereto the station, where his servant would meet him. I am truly appalled by what I have done, but the more I think over it, the less I see how it could have been otherwise.

I had some conversation with Cunninghame on the telephone last night. He had been talking to Lady Jarvis on the telephone. She had at once offered to go to Oakley, but Mrs Housman said she would rather see no one at present.

Cunninghame went down to Rosedale at her urgent request this morning. He did not call at the office on the way.

Letters from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

ROSEDALE, Friday, December 22nd.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I came down here early this morning. Lady Jarvis heard the news from Miss Housman last night and at once offered to go, but Mrs Housman said she would rather see no one at present. Carrington-Smith was making all the arrangements. The funeral is to be on Tuesday. I told Lady Jarvis about Mrs Housman being in London. She said Mrs Housman often went up to Garland's Hotel. She found it a complete rest and the house at Campden Hill was very cold and there was no cook there. Lady Jarvis said it was the most natural thing in the world. I told her about the letter. She said Mrs Housman had no doubt written to Housman saying she had gone to Garland's Hotel and was coming back. I also told her what Carrington-Smith had said about Mrs Fairburn. She said: "That was it. It was those terrible scenes which used to shatter him and no doubt caused his death." Lady Jarvis says it will be a shock to Mrs Housman in spite of everything. The fact of Housman having made her very unhappy, or rather of her having been very unhappy as his wife, will make no difference to the shock. Lately Lady Jarvis says he had made things very difficult for her. Mrs Fairburn was always there.

One can't help thinking—well you know, I needn't explain. I wonder what will happen in the future. I have heard nothing from George yet. There is no one here. Housman must have left an enormous fortune. He was very canny about his investments, and very lucky too. Randall told me he had almost doubled his fortune in the last three years, and he was rich enough to start with.

Yours, G.

P.S..—Lady Jarvis' explanation of the letter does not quite satisfy, but what did happen? What does it all mean?

LONDON, Monday, January 1st.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I came up to-day for good. I went to Housman's funeral last Tuesday. Mrs Housman went down to Rosedale directly after the funeral. She is going to Florence next week and means to stay on there indefinitely. George has come back. He never wrote and I did not hear from him till he arrived at the office this morning. He is just the same as usual except for being subtly different.

Housman left everything to her.

Yrs. G.

P.S.—I told Godfrey everything that had happened at Oakley. He said nothing. He appears incapable of discussing the matter.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Monday, January 1st, 1912.

A. arrived last night from Paris. He came to the office and he thanked me for what I had done in his absence. "Everything was quite right," he said. He conveyed to me without saying anything that I need not distress myself about the telegram and that he still trusted me.

He did not mention Mrs Housman nor the death of Housman.

Wednesday, February 28th.

I heard to-day from Mrs Housman. She tells me she has entered the Convent of the Presentation and intends to be a nun. I cannot say the news surprised me, but to hear of the death in life of anyone one knows well, is almost worse I think than to hear of their death.

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

LONDON, Wednesday, February 28th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I have just had a short letter from Lady Jarvis telling me that Mrs Housman is going to be a nun. I have not set eyes on her since Housmans funeral, and have only heard of her, and that not much, from time to time from Lady Jarvis.

I confess I am completely bewildered, and I hope you won't be shocked if I tell you that I' can't help thinking it rather selfish. Do as I will, I cannot see any possible reason for her taking such a step. Mrs Housman seems to me the last person in the world who ought to be a nun. Whether it will make her happy or not, I am afraid there is no doubt that she will be causing a lot of intense misery. George is worse than ever. He hasn't in the least got over it, and he never will, I feel sure. He knows what has happened, but he can't even bring himself to talk about it. I think he must have known of it for some time. In any case he hasn't for one moment emerged from the real fog of gloom and misery that has wrapped him up ever since Christmas.

What is so extraordinary is that just before Christmas he was in radiant spirits after all those months of sadness!

I can't see that it can be right, however good the motive, to destroy and shatter someone's life!

His life is destroyed, shattered and shipwrecked! We must just face that.

I tried to think that we had always been wrong and that my first impressions were right, that she had never really cared for him. But I know this is not true. You will forgive me saying that I think your religion has a terribly hard and cruel side. Nobody appreciates more than I do all its good points, and nobody knows better than I do what a lot of good is often done by Catholics. But it is just this sort of thing that makes one revolt.

I was reading Boswell last night before going to bed, and I came across this sentence: "Madam," Dr Johnson said, to a nun in a convent, "you are here not from love of virtue, but from fear of vice." Even this is not a satisfactory explanation in Mrs Housmans case. It is obvious that she had nothing to fear from vice. I can't help thinking she has been the victim of an inexorable system and of a training which bends the human mind into a twisted shape that can never be altered or put straight.

Frankly, I think it is more than sad, I think it is positively wicked; not on her part, but on the part of those who have led her to take such a mistaken view of ordinary human duty. After all, even if she wants to be a nun, isn't it her duty to stay in the world? Isn't it a more difficult duty? What is one's duty to one's neighbour? Forgive me for saying all this. You know in my case that it isn't inspired by prejudice.

It is cruel to think that most probably George will never get over this, and that she has sacrificed the certain happiness of two human beings and the chance of doing any amount of good in the world. What for? For nothing as far as I can see that can't be much better done by people far more fitted to that kind of vocation. I am too sad to write any more.

Yrs. G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Thursday, March 1st.

I dined alone with Cunninghame at his flat last night. He had heard the news about Mrs Housman. He was greatly upset about it, and thought it very selfish. I said I believed the step was not irrevocable, as one had to stay some time in a convent before taking final vows.

He said: "That is just what I want to talk about, just what I want to know. How long must one stay exactly?"

I said I did not know, but I could find out. He said I want you to find out all about it as soon as possible. A., he said, was in a dreadful state. He had dined with him last night. He had said very little; nothing personal, not a word about what he felt about it, but he had asked him, Cunninghame, whether he knew what the rules were about taking the veil.

C. said he did not believe Mrs Housman would take an irrevocable decision. He had told A. he would find out all about it. I could of course ask Riley, but I don't know whether he would know.

I decided I would apply to Father Stanway, the priest I met at Carbis Bay, for information. I wrote to him, saying I wished to consult him on a matter, and suggested going down to Cornwall on Saturday and spending Sunday at Carbis Bay.

Friday, March 2nd.

Received a telegram from Father Stanway, saying that he will not be in Cornwall this week-end, but in London, where he will be staying four or five days; and suggesting our meeting on Sunday afternoon. I sent him a telegram asking him to luncheon on Sunday.

Sunday, March 4th.

Father Stanway came to luncheon with me at the Club, and we talked of the topics of the day. After luncheon I suggested a walk in the park. We went for a walk in Kensington Gardens. I asked him first for the information about the nuns. He said, as far as he could say off-hand, it entailed six months' postulancy, two years' "Habit and White Veil," three years' simple vows of profession; and then solemn perpetual vows. But he said he could write to a convent and get it quite accurate for me. In any case he knew it was a matter of five years.

I then said I would like, if he did not mind, to have his opinion on a case which I had come across. He said he would be pleased to listen.

I then told him the whole Housman story as a skeleton case, not mentioning names, and calling the people X. and Y. Very possibly he knew who I was talking about, almost certainly I think, although he never betrayed this for a moment. I felt the knowledge, if there were knowledge, would be as safe as though given in the confessional. I told him everything, including a detailed account of Housman's death which Cunninghame had given me. I referred to Housman as X., to Mrs Housman as Mrs X. and to A. as Y.

I then asked him if he thought Mrs X. was justified in taking such a step, and whether it would not be nobler, a more unselfish course, to remain in the world and to make Y. happy.

I asked him whether, in his opinion, people would be justified in calling Mrs X.'s step, were it to turn out to be irrevocable, a selfish act.

And, thirdly, I asked if in the case of Mrs X. changing her mind she would be allowed by the Church to marry Y.

Father Stanway said if I wished to understand the question I must try and turn my mind round, as it were, and start from the point of view that what the world considers all-important the Church considers of no importance if it interferes with what God thinks important. He said I must start by remembering that Mrs X.'s conduct proceeded from that idea—what was important in the eyes of God: she believed in God practically and not merely theoretically. This belief was the cardinal fact and the compass of her life. He added that this did not mean the Church was unsympathetic. No one understood human nature as well as she did, nobody met it as she did at every point. That was why she helped it to rise superior to its weakness and to do what it saw to be really best. He said it was no disgrace to be weak, and vows helped one to do what might be difficult without them.

Then he said that if Mrs X. felt she was called to the religious life, this vocation was the result of supernatural Grace; that she would not be thinking of what was delightful or convenient to her, but of what was pleasing and honourable to God. She was bound to follow the appointment of God, if she felt certain that was His appointment, rather than her own desire, and before anything she desired.

Here I said the objection made (and I quoted Cunninghame without mentioning him) was that her desire might be for the calm and security of the religious life; but might it not be her duty, possibly a more difficult, a more unselfish and less pleasant duty, to stay in the world and not to shatter the happiness of another human being?

Father Stanway then said it was very easy to delude oneself in most things, but not in following a religious vocation. One might in not following it. It would be easy to pretend to oneself one was staying in the world for someone else's sake. One's merely earthly happiness was not a reason for not following a vocation, nor was anyone else's, because the religious life belonged not to things temporal but to things eternal. However, if it were her duty to remain in the world she would feel no call to leave the world. It was impossible for a human being to gauge the vocation of another human being. A vocation was a "categorical imperative" to the soul, and there was no mistaking its presence. Mrs X. would know for certain after she had spent some time in the Convent, she probably knew already, whether or no what she felt was a vocation or not. Nobody else could judge, though her Director might help her to decide. He would certainly not allow her to stay if he felt she had no vocation.

I said: "So, if after she has lived through her first period, or any period of probation, she feels uncertain as to her vocation, there would be no objection to her leaving the religious life, and marrying Y.? Would the Church then allow her to marry Y., and allow her to go back to the world, knowing she would in all probability marry Y.?"

Father Stanway said: "Of course, and the Church would allow her to marry Y. now."

I said, perhaps a little impatiently: "Then why doesn't she?"

"I think," said Father Stanway, "you are a musician, Mr Mellor?"

I said music was my one and sole hobby.

He said he would try and express himself in terms of harmony.

"Perhaps Mrs X. has a great sense of harmony herself," he said. "If she married Y. that would make a legitimate harmony certainly. But her very feeling for the full harmony of life would make it impossible" (and he said this with startling emphasis) "for her to use X.'s death as a means for doing rightly what she had meant to do wrongly, for her intention to do it wrongly had in a measure caused his death. Within the harmony of her marriage the memory of that discord would always be present. And perhaps she is a woman who is able to have a vision of perfect love and harmony. In that case she could not put up with an imperfect one. She is now free to enter upon a perfect harmony and love, by marrying Christ, which I imagine she always wanted to do, even in the normal married state, in fact by means of the normal married state, for it is a Sacrament and unites the soul to God by Grace.

"But I understand from you that her marriage was such a travesty of marriage that she felt she couldn't worship Christ through that, and so swung across and decided she couldn't be in relation with Him at all. Then comes this catastrophe and the pendulum swings back and stops up.

"There is nothing selfish about this. For all we know it was the will of God that all this should happen (the shipwreck of her marriage, Y.'s love and present misery) solely to make her vocation certain, and as far as Y. is concerned we don't know the end. Even from the worldly point of view we don't know whether his marriage with Mrs X. would have made for his ultimate happiness or for hers. His present unhappiness may be an essential note in the full and total harmony of his life. It may be a beginning and not an end. It may lead him to some eventual happiness, it may be welding his nature and his life for some undreamed-of purpose, a purpose which he may afterwards be led to recognise and bless 'with tears of recognition.' If Mrs X. is certain of her vocation, and continues to be certain of it, you can be sure she is right, and that whatever the world says it will be wrong.

"The only way in which peace comes to the human soul is in accepting the will of God, 'In la sua volontate e nostra pace.'

"Mrs X. knows that, and perhaps Y. is on the road to learning it. I daresay Mrs X. may have an element of fear of life too, but it will thin out and float off and away from her; her act in choosing the religious life will not be an escape nor a flight, but a positive acceptance of the love of Christ. She is getting to and at the mysterious spiritual thing which is in music, and which is as different from sounds as sounds are different from printed notes. It is you musicians who know."

I said that although I did not pretend to understand the whole thing, and the whole nature of the motive, I could understand that it could be as he said, and I thanked him, telling him that I for one should never cavil at her act nor criticise it, but always understand that there was something to understand, although probably it would always be beyond my understanding.

I felt during all this conversation that the real problem was not why she had become a nun, but what terrible thing had happened inside her mind to make her take that step at Christmas, and decide on what seemed to contradict all her life so far.

I said something about religion not affecting conduct in a crisis. Father Stanway seemed to read my thoughts. He said: "After a long stress sometimes a tiny accident will suffice to make a nerve snap suddenly. I should say that in this case long stress had pushed and pushed a soul out of its real shape and pattern; an unknown factor sufficed to force it into a coherent but false pattern; a new shock sufficed to liberate it wholly and let it fall back into its original true pattern. That may account for half of it."

Wednesday, March 7th.

I dined alone with Cunninghame last night, and told him what I had ascertained respecting the rules for the period of probation of nuns. He appeared to be relieved. I warned him that Mrs Housman's step might very well prove to be irrevocable, as I didn't think she was a person to change her mind easily. He said: "That's what I am afraid of. They never do let people go. I feel that once in a convent they will never let her go. But it will be a relief to A. to know that the step is not yet irrevocable."

Letters from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

LONDON, Wednesday, March 7th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Godfrey dined with me last night. I feel he thinks that Mrs Housmans step will be irrevocable, although he didn't actually say so. He said he didn't pretend to understand it, but he was convinced she knew best. I talked of George's acute misery. He said it was all very difficult to understand, and I saw he didn't want to discuss it, so I didn't say any more. I feel he knows something that we don't know, but what? He told me that he knew on good authority that going into Convent doesn't mean she takes the veil for five years. An R.C. who knows all about it had told him. I suppose this is right? Do ask a priest. I have seen George once or twice. I don't talk about it to him. In fact, the rules about nuns is the only point that has been mentioned between us as I see he simply can't talk about it. He looks ten years older.

Yours, G.

LONDON, Monday, March 12th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

Thank you very much for your letter and for the detailed information. I told George at once that you had confirmed what Godfrey had said, and he was really relieved. But he doesn't yet look like a man who has had a reprieve, only a respite.

I feel that he feels it is all over, but personally I shall go on hoping.

Lady Jarvis is away.

I long to talk about it with her.

Yours, G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Sunday, August 19th. Rosedale.

I am staying with Lady Jarvis. There is no one here but myself and Cunninghame. She told us she had heard from Mrs Housman, who has finished her postulancy and received the novice's white veil.

She had seen her. She says she is quite certain that it is irrevocable and that Mrs Housman will never change her mind now.

Cunninghame said he had hoped up till now this would not happen (though he had always feared it might happen) and that Mrs Housman would think better of it. He thought it very wrong and selfish and quite inexcusable on the part of the Church authorities.

Lady Jarvis said it must appear so to him. She herself would have no sympathy with a vocation such as this one must appear to be to the world in general, and even to people who knew Mrs Housman well, like Cunninghame and myself; so Mrs Housman's act had not surprised her.

"But," said Cunninghame, "do you approve of it?"

"The person concerned," said Lady Jarvis, "is the only judge in such a matter. Nobody else has the right to judge. It's a sacred thing, and the approval or disapproval of an outsider is I think simply impertinent."

We then talked of it no more. But in the afternoon I went out for a walk with Lady Jarvis and she reverted to the question.

She said: "I hope you understand I'm so far from disapproving of Clare's act. I understand it and approve of it; but I don't expect you or anyone else to do the same."

I said she need not have told me that. I knew it already.

She then said: "Clare knew you would understand, even if you didn't understand."

I said that was my exact position: "I did not understand, but I knew there was something to understand, and that therefore she was right."

Letter from Guy Cunninghame to Mrs Caryl

LONDON, Monday, August 10th.

DEAREST ELSIE,

I have just come back from Rosedale. There is no one there except Godfrey. Lady Jarvis told us that Mrs Housman has finished the first period you told me about, and has taken the veil, though it isn't irrevocable yet, but for all intents and purposes it is, as we are all certain now that she will never leave the Convent. You know what I think about it. I haven't changed my mind, but Lady Jarvis doesn't disapprove, or is too loyal to say so.

George knows, he is going to Ireland with his sister.

I can't help thinking it is all a great, a wicked mistake, and I can't help still thinking it selfish.

George talked about Mrs Housman, at least he just alluded to her having become a nun, as if it were a fact and quite irrevocable. He said: "Once the priests get hold of someone they will never let them go, and in this case it was a regular conspiracy." But somehow or other this did not seem to me to ring quite true, from him, and I felt he was using this as a shield or a disguise or mask. I said so to Godfrey, but found it impossible to get any response. He won't talk about it.

Yours, G.

From the Diary of Godfrey Mellor

Sunday, August 26th. Carbis Bay Hotel.

I have come down here to spend a week by myself. It is three years ago since I came here for the first time to stay with Mr and Mrs Housman.

I hesitated about coming down here again, but I am now glad that I did so.

I went to Father Stanway's church this morning and heard him preach. He is a good preacher, clear and unaffected. He quoted two sayings which struck me. One was about going away from earthly solace, and the other I cannot remember well enough to transcribe, but I have written him a post card asking who said them and where I could find them.

In the afternoon I went for a walk alone along the cliffs and passed the place where we began Les Misérables. I am re-reading it, not where we left off, but from the beginning.

Monday, August 27th.

Father Stanway called this morning while I was out. He has left me the quotations on a card.

They are both from Thomas à Kempis. One of them is this: "By so much the more does a man draw nigh to God as he goes away from all earthly solace." The other: "Whosoever is not ready to suffer all things and to stand resigned to the will of his beloved is not worthy to be called a lover."

Tuesday, August 28th.

I have resolved to give up keeping this diary.