The Assassin's Cloak. Группа авторов
took me miles and miles upstairs past shelves and shelves and shelves, all beautifully stacked. We arrived at a little office amidst this forest of books.
The charming assistant took me to the shelves where the Rivista Europa volumes were stacked – about forty of them. He had them all taken out on a trolley and put on a table for me. I found my article and read it; it was of no use to me, but I was struck by the kindness and helpfulness of everyone concerned. When I came to leave my friend was nowhere to be found. It was terrifying being left alone in this deserted forest, no sound, only endless speechless books. Depressing, and frightening. Enough to make a humble author feel a worm.
James Lees-Milne
12 January
1819
I sat up till two, as I did last night, to finish Pride and Prejudice. This novel I consider as one of the most excellent of the works of our female novelists. Its merit lies in the characters, and in the perfectly colloquial style of the dialogue. Mrs Bennet, the foolish mother, who cannot conceal her projects to get rid of her daughters, is capitally drawn. There is a thick-headed servile parson, also a masterly sketch. His stupid letters and her ridiculous speeches are as delightful as wit. The two daughters are well contrasted – the gentle and candid Jane and the lively but prejudiced Elizabeth, are both good portraits, and the development of the passion between Elizabeth and the proud Darcy, who at first hate each other, is executed with skill and effect.
Henry Crabb Robinson
1840 [Ireland]
I have been thinking how best to encourage the school, and not being able to afford more help in money than it now costs, I have determined on giving fewer prizes – only one in each Division – instead I shall send ten children to school. I have also resolved on resuming my regular daily business as the only possible way of keeping things in order. Monday – The washing to be given out. Clothes mended. Stores for the week given to the servants. Tuesday – work for the week cut out and arranged, my own room tidied. Wednesday – accounts, letters, papers all put by. Thursday – housekeeping, closets, storeroom, etc. arranged, bottles put by, pastry made – in short every necessary job done for the week. Friday – gardening and poor people’s wants. Saturday – put by clean clothes and school. Two hours generally does all, except on Thursday. Thus I am always ready and have plenty of time for other occupations. I also give an hour every evening to the little girls. Janey has a musick lesson every day – Annie every second day – twice a week French – twice a week English – twice a week dancing. Alas, when we see company all this happiness must be forborne, but we owe a duty to society as to other things and in its turn it must be paid and a little intercourse with our acquaintance is good both for ourselves and for our children. With friends it is delightful, and we have some even here I should be very sorry to have to part from. In the evening played some of Corelli’s solos, read aloud Mrs Trollope’s Domestic Manners of the Americans.
Elizabeth Grant of Rothiemurchus
1936
I realize now that I would marry if I could do so; but I am not wholly blind to the fact that my arrival at this nuptial mood has been accelerated by adventitious means. What woman – granting she overlook my disabilities – would expect that my affection was entirely unselfish. Yet – and this is perhaps a confession of my overweening self-regard rather than of my confidence in the magnanimity of women – I do believe that a woman would accept me for what I am and that our marriage should be one of mutual affection, and not a ‘second-best’ accommodation for security and comfort. No doubt to an outsider it must appear preposterous that at my age I should consider it not an impossibility to win the affection of such a woman as I might have reasonably hoped to have won when a whole man; but the hope is there and places me, I suppose, among the incorrigible.
William Soutar
1938 [Nanking]
A month ago today Nanking fell into the hands of the Japanese. The body of that Chinese soldier shot while tied to a bamboo sofa is still lying out in the street not 50 yards from my house.
John Rabe
13 January
1921
Rainy weather. Does the weather matter in a journal? Lunched alone; does that matter? (Grilled turbot and apple-pudding, if you want full details.) Talked to ‘the Judge’ about fox hunting for a few minutes. Then went to Cheyne Walk for tea with Gabriel. Bought yellow narcissi on the way. Buying flowers is refreshing, though I always give them away. Left at five, and played The Beggar’s Opera for an hour: also refreshing. Dined at Arnold Bennett’s and enjoyed it greatly. B. is always the same, and always nice. He showed me his manuscripts, which are very beautiful. That of Old Wives’Tale practically free from corrections. He had been to see George Moore, who said: ‘Hardy is a villager; Conrad is a sailor; Henry James was a eunuch.’
Siegfried Sassoon
1945 [Bergen-Belsen]
Yesterday marked our first year here. It has been a terrible year, far from home, from the children, without news from them, a year of disappointment. The transport to Palestine, the peace that did not come, a year of hunger, cold, hounding, persecution and humiliation. Fortunately, though, apart from a few bouts of dysentery, we have not been seriously ill.
The food is getting worse and worse. At midday, swede soup, every day without a single potato. The ‘extra’ food is distributed centrally now. Every day there are genuine punch-ups over a ticket. From time to time there is no bread at all here – from time to time (tonight, for example) we are not allowed to use the toilet. Those who have diarrhoea must go outdoors. We have procured some buckets for ourselves, discarded jam buckets.
This morning, my neighbour had to resort to them.
This morning his bunkmate discovered to his horror that his shoes were full. The other had soiled himself twice during the night.
We are living amid the lice. For months I have not been able to change into clean underwear, nor had a shower. Naturally there is also no heating here, we suffer terribly from the cold in the huts, which are draughty and where the door is never shut.
Deaths, deaths, deaths.
For how long?
The persecution of the Jews continues. Nevertheless we are a year nearer to peace than on 13 January 1944.
Abel J. Herzberg
1953
Lunched with Jack Kennedy, the new Senator from Massachusetts. He has the making of a first-class Senator or a first-class fascist – probably depending on whether the right kind of people take the trouble to surround him. His brother is now counsel for McCarthy’s committee and he himself has been appointed on McCarthy’s committee, though Jack claims against his wishes. There was a time when I didn’t quite understand why F.D.R. broke with Joe Kennedy. But the more I see of Jack, the more I can understand it.
Drew Pearson
1955 [Jamaica]
The Parachini [a neighbour] funeral was almost comical. It was also strident with local colour. The hearse and the funeral cortège were late and were unable to turn into the church gates and had to go straight on into Port Maria and then come back on the other side of the road. When the hearse finally drew up we observed that a common little Palmolive soap van had wormed its way into a position just behind it and directly in front of the relatives’ car. On the side of the van in large letters was a slogan which read, ‘A Lovelier Skin in Fourteen days’.
Noël Coward
1995
Took a long walk this morning – down 7th Avenue to 42nd Street. Such nostalgic air – cool but clear, straight up Manhattan fresh off the Atlantic, having crossed the Sargasso Sea, then accented with all those residual traces of faint fishiness, cinnamon muffins, subway urine, women’s perfumes, bacon, coffee,