Commonplace Book

'"It is a pity we have to be human," said Dudley. "Human failings, human vanity, human weakness! We don't hear the word applied to anything good. Even human nature seems a derogatory term. It is simply an excuse for everything."

"Human charity, human kindness," said Justine. "I think that gives us to think, Uncle."

"There are great examples of human nobility and sacrifice," said Blanche. "Mr. Penrose must know many of them."

"People are always so pleased about people's sacrifice," said Dudley; "I mean other people's. It is not very nice of them. I suppose it is only human."

from A Family and a Fortune by I. Compton-Burnett (Chapter 1)

Special Friendships by Roger Peyrefitte (1945)

The overriding trope of this piece is ambiguity. But not so much of what is happening, as of what the characters are thinking and imagining about themselves. It is set I think in the 1920s in hyper-Catholic France. A fourteen year-old young minor aristo Georges de Sarre is sent for the first time beyond his local lycee to a religious boarding school. He is egotistical and a manipulator, but not so much so that it's revolting, rather fairly typical of clever ones of his age. He is initially fascinated by another boy of his own age whose cot is nearby his in the dormitory, Lucien, who has 'a great friend' also in their form, Andre. They have what was probably reasonably common at that age in those circumstances - a very strong bond amounting to a romantic connection, where the question of sexuality is probably waiting in the wings without being acted upon. Georges becomes jealous of Andre's connection with Lucien and, at a particular juncture, his manipulativeness wins out. He secretly intrigues for Andre to be 'found out' and expelled so as to have Lucien to himself - he wants what they already have. But once this occurs it seems like Lucien, having narrowly avoided the axe himself, escapes into the overwhelming religiosity of the school, and becomes penitent and a huge observer of all rites and rituals. He doesn't know it's Georges who is responsible for Andre's leaving. Georges turns his attention to a younger boy he's seen round about who is between a year and two years younger, Alexander, who becomes the absolute image of beauty and wonder to him, eclipsing his interest in Lucien by a long way. Lucien's intense passion for religion breaks and Georges is relieved to have someone to talk to again about these issues, while Lucien boldly looks forward to holidays and catching up with Andre. Georges' feeling for Alexander is no doubt teased by how difficult it is to see him alone. They have to keep excusing themselves from class at times when no-one would notice - and Lucien tells Georges of places like the rarely visited school conservatory which he and Andre had frequented. Georges and Alexander's connection is topped with an exchange of blood 'ceremony' which ties them in their minds forever. They occasionally kiss, but there's no sense of anything else specifically on their minds; there is, though, a strong undercurrent of very low-key eroticism. Things reach an apotheosis in a jaunt to the river and naked bathing, where Georges and Alexander steal off to a separate area and partake of a kind of enchanted trance of sharing and togetherness. Coming into this is a priest new to the school who, it emerges, has a fascination with all these goings on between the boys and a nose for hunting these situations out. Again, actual sexuality is extremely low in the mix, pretty well non-existent except for its background glow, and the priest's entire language when talking confidentially to the boys is of maintaining purity and goodness. This is despite his wanting them to exchange pyjamas and tell him all, so as to maintain their innocence! This priest's ambiguity of intention is a perfect emblem of the mixedness of the thinking of this piece - and along with Georges' more childlike manipulations, forms the core of what I think Peyrefitte is after. He enunciates the changeability of the boys' directions of thought, and the priests' orchestrations of the dangerous mix of religiosity and earthly passion in a profoundly believable way. The self-delusion of us all is pictured here in these twistings, ignorings and posturings - the deft changes of emphasis depending on who is one's interlocutor. Of course, in the light of recent revelations about the Catholic church and many others of equivalent overt probity and covert guilt, this narrative takes on significance to a phenomenal level. The confusions and choreography which are 'available' in these circumstances as a blind to others and the self are something to behold. Georges again employs his canniness to catch this priest out and get him removed, only to discover in one of the most established fathers a new nemesis - when he and Alexander are caught out bunking off, smoking and rolling about in the hay in a dilapidated gardener's hut on a visit to a local chateau. This proves, through this new priest's acuteness, to be the potential end of their love. Prevented from seeing each other really at all, Alexander naively proposes that they run away together in the holidays in a note. Georges agrees initially, but soon realises that it's a hopeless task, practically speaking. The priest is Georges' equal in manipulation, and manages to elicit from him a promise to return all of Alexander's notes in exchange for shutting up about the affair. He says that this is to preserve Alexander's as yet unsullied boyhood - they will, through this threat, ensure both silence and the younger boy's saving. The holidays finally come, the boys return home, and Georges, having fought a lot with himself over it, decides that he must return at least some of Alexander's notes, or be exposed. On doing so, he writes Alexander a letter to say that it's only a setback on their path, and that he had to do it, and reiterates his undying love. Unfortunately, the priest shows Alexander Georges' returned notes immediately, before Georges has even posted his letter of explanation. A couple of hours later Alexander is found dead in his father's study, having taken poison. Georges learns of it the following day in the paper and is devastated. The priest visits him, also to some extent heartbroken, explaining that he had hoped Alexander would become a man of the cloth himself. There is the slightest indication given by Peyrefitte that there was some sort of special interest in Alexander from this priest, a tincture of romance, but it's very hazy and undeveloped, which is further fulfilment of the blurred purposes at work here. It ends with Georges going through many tides of emotion in one day as he attends a mass with the priest and then chaperones him to the railway station and returns home afterward. These emotions range from deciding that he too will kill himself, to collapsing under the weight of established religion and purging himself of evil, and finally to deciding that he will take on Alexander's soul as part of his own and thenceforth do everything as two people in one, so that Alexander can keep on living through him. This novel does I'm sure cause consternation because of its subject matter, but I think it's a brilliant portrayal of the cloudy territory where roads of doubt and certainty, truth and lies intersect.

Christopher and Columbus by 'Elizabeth' (1919)

This book spans the ending of the First World War for the author, being set in 1916 and published in 1919. It is the first of her titles to have the war as a proper background, though its oncoming provided the ending of the novel before this one, the pseudonymous Christine. In this, Anglo-German twins Anna-Rose and Anna-Felicitas, having lost their German father some time ago and their English mother quite recently, are seen as 'too hot' by their uncle in England and sent packing to friends in America. Both girls are typically German in some senses, quite blonde and Aryan, rolling their rs, but with a significant amount of confusion caused by their semi-Englishness at the same time. Anna-Rose is slightly older, shorter, more honey-coloured and curly, and quite outwardly determined. Anna-Felicitas is the younger, taller and wispy, paler, and outwardly more reserved and wandery. On the liner on the way over the Atlantic they meet the American inventor of a patent teapot which doesn't dribble, and has made him millions. Edward Twist is dowdy, motherish, thirty-five and plain, and very warm-hearted toward these two, whom he regards as children, even though they are seventeen. The author sets the scene of potential danger well with reference to submarines and convoys and possible torpedoing; the remainder of the war-referencing is in the nature of interpersonal attitudes toward Germanness displayed by various characters. Once in New York, the plan is to part with Mr Twist, thank him for the constant assisting attention he has paid them on the journey, and meet up with their uncle's friends who have been forewarned they're coming. Unfortunately, they arrive to find that their welcome has been interrupted by the wife of the couple leaving home permanently with another man. It simply won't do for two young women to be domiciled with the husband alone, who is anyway beside himself and barely concentrating on them. They think of Mr Twist, who has been their sole go-to man, and decide that his family must be as warm as he is and will no doubt help them in their desperate state. When they reach his house in New England, the reception is decidedly cool. Mr Twist is flabbergasted to see them, his sister is shocked, and the very cold and domineering mother he hasn't told them about (or her about them) is suspicious and disgusted by what she sees as his defection from loyalty to her alone. A scene ensues, where Mr Twist reaches the point of no return with his family, and a realisation that these girls hold out to him a sense of love and care which is completely absent at home and a sense that the light, vibrant living of life which up until now he hasn't truly realised was what he wanted has become possible. He abjures the old to embrace the new, and agrees to chaperone them to California to go to their 'second option', a couple there who have agreed to house the girls on holidays by arrangement with their uncle. Once at their destination, called Acapulco but not seemingly in Mexico, rather California, they discover that the husband of the couple has just died and it would be insensitive to intrude. This proves a springboard for Mr Twist to provide for the girls on a more permanent basis. He puts into action a plan to purchase and renovate a small pretty cottage in the hills above the town and make it into a cafe and small inn whose profits are to go to the Red Cross for war work. But while all this takes place, the usual fascination which surrounds the girls starts to take hold. Are they in some sort of naughty relationhsip with Mr Twist? What nationality are they? They'd better not be German! Is everything entirely above board? Nice society starts to frown. Mr Twist thinks he'll make them his wards officially and then gets frightened off. Questions are avoided. Rumours spread. But all the while the twins are completely oblivious; fascinated by these odd Americans, they are puzzled by references in careful but nosy conversations to things they don't understand. It is this attitude of non-understanding and over-direct response which is at the core of the comedy here - it has something in common with her earlier masterpiece The Caravaners, but is less hefty satire, much sweeter in tone. In the end, love intervenes in the form of a recovering British soldier, who falls head over heels for Anna-Felicitas. Society has stayed away, in increasing wariness, from their newly opened cafe, and the only customers have been the despised local Germans (sensing the girls' origin) and oddballs like the soldier, John Elliott. Mr Twist has started to see the cafe as a mistake and a millstone around their necks. When Anna-Rose realises that her sister will become English when she marries Elliott and will leave her alone, as she has never been before - they have clung seizingly together since losing their parents - she breaks down. Mr Twist, always in need of a push in the right direction, has been to see the local lawyer, who is one of the only people in the town who will still speak to him in the general paranoia. The lawyer, as an aside, gives him a small but vital piece of advice: marry one of them, that'll make you respectable! Given that Anna-Felicitas is taken, there's only one choice, and he discovers that it's the one he would have made anyway. But will Anna-Rose accept him? Of course she does, and they decide to fulfil Mr Twist's wish to spend more time in Britain, so the girls can remain together. This is obviously a sweeter, lighter book than many Elizabeth wrote, and, strangely for one of those modalities, it is long - 500 pages. It's a little slow to start, but on the whole carries its point well. It may be affected, like Stella Benson's Living Alone, published the same year, by the exhausted-with-war wish for brightness and fancy. Certainly Elizabeth's prior two or three novels were more sharp and had more of seriousness in them. It will be interesting to see if this heralds a new way forward, or an isolated break in progress.

The Bride of Lammermoor by Sir Walter Scott (1819)

This is another of Scott's short-lived group of retellings of supposed stories of his country's social life and history through obscure or less well-known incidents which were known under the collective title Tales of My Landlord. It is set around the time of Queen Anne in England I think, and among all the machinations which were happening at the same time in the politics of Scotland. Typical of Scott is the position of the main characters - the male, young Lord Ravenswood, being the last scion of a noble family who, through the actions of his dissolute father, have been stripped of their house and estates. He now lives in a decrepit tower of great age balanced on the edge of the cliffs to the sea called Wolf's Crag, and is struggling to get by, even to eat. The female, Lucy Ashton, is the daughter of the man who took advantage of Ravenswood's father's plight and gained all their estates in the process. There is, though, some hidden question as to whether, even with the culpability of the elder Ravenswood, the purchase of the estate was quite clean, and Lucy's father, Lord Ashton, experiences disquiet on this basis privately whilst maintaining outer confidence in his aggrandized circumstances. Lucy and Ravenswood fall for one another in an incident in the woods between their two habitations where he appears to save her life. Their romance develops, with her father, who is currently at home, providing qualified support, thinking that in an alliance of the two families there may be a veil thrown over any questions as to his actions in obtaining the estate. Lucy's mother is away at this time, but when she finally returns to discover that Lucy and Ravenswood have entered into an engagement, all her ancient family antagonism to the Ravenswoods is ignited. She comes from the opposite side of Scots politics and history and regards Ravenswood as the devil incarnate. She insults him savagely, effectually banishing him. Lucy pines, and the two lovers attempt to keep in touch by letter as Ravenswood is sent by a reinvigorated Scots government on a diplomatic mission to France, his side of politics being at that time given primacy for the first time in a long while. Lucy's mother, who is much stronger than her husband, and very determined, manages to stymie their letter-exchange, so that Lucy believes, after a very long 'silence', that Ravenswood is no longer interested. She pines still further, insisting on hearing the disavowal from Ravenswood's lips alone, even while Lady Ashton devises a new marriage for her with a loyal young lord who has an axe to grind with Ravenswood, though he quietly respects him. Eventually, Lucy has declined to such an extent that she gives in and the banns are undertaken. Just as she is signing the last document, Ravenswood bursts in, having finally received her very last letter which has been forwarded sneakily around the obstructions created by Lady Ashton. But it is too late; they have a scene, and Ravenswood departs dejectedly. His eruption into the scene and the realisation that he was true to her finally unhinges Lucy. Her mother forces the marriage to occur four days later and Lucy goes through with it in a stupor of lightheadedness. But that night, when visited by her new husband, her mind breaks and she stabs him almost to death. She then climbs up the chimney and sits on a ledge completely lost to sanity. She dies a little while later. Ravenswood hears of this and it finishes him in all but name. He comes to the funeral, makes a duel-date with Lucy's soldier brother who hates him as her murderer, and returns to Wolf's Crag a broken man. The following day, Lucy's brother is waiting on the field of action, sees Ravenswood madly riding towards him without attending to the well-known dangers of the place, and watches as Ravenswood disappears in a second, with his horse, in a quicksand mire, never to be seen again, and leaving only a long black hat-feather in the wavelets on the shore. There is a good amount of comedy in the background of this one, mainly housed in the person of Caleb Balderstone, Ravenswood's last retainer, and his overdone family loyalty and pride, and his attempts at bullying and obfuscation to keep up the family name. There is also a Macbethian chorus of local witches (or midwives, or herbalists, or hags) who comment sourly on the story as it progresses. This one has a quality of small-scenedness in it which is a strong contrast to the enormous scope of its predecessor The Heart of Midlothian. It has the mood of an out of the way tragedy, but is no sufferer for it on the whole, whilst not perhaps encompassing such a stirring pull as some of the author's grander canvases.

Commonplace Book

'...The thought of his Uncle Charles as a temporary refuge for the twins floated across his brain, but was rejected because Uncle Charles would speak to no woman under fifty except from his pulpit, and approached those he did speak to with caution till they were sixty. He regarded them as one of the chief causes of modern unrest. He liked them so much that he hated them. He could practise abstinence, but not temperance. Uncle Charles was no good as a refuge."

from Christopher and Columbus by Elizabeth von Arnim (Chapter XI)

Commonplace Book

'...He was also the reverse of good-looking: that is, he would have been very handsome indeed, as Anna-Rose remarked several days later to Anna-Felicitas, when the friendship had become a settled thing, - which indeed it did as soon as Mr. Twist had finished wiping their eyes and noses that first afternoon, it being impossible, they discovered, to have one's eyes and noses wiped by somebody without being friends afterwards (for such an activity, said Anna-Felicitas, belonged to the same order of events as rescue from fire, lions, or drowning, after which in books you married him; but this having only been wiping, said Anna-Rose, the case was adequately met by friendship) - he would have been very handsome indeed if he hadn't had a face.'

from Christopher and Columbus by Elizabeth von Arnim (Chapter VII)

Scarlet and Hyssop by EF Benson (1902)

This is Benson in mainly serious mode, and sultry with it. Set largely in London, it details a tearing confrontation between two society women, conducted in the most blithe tones. Married Mildred Brereton has been having an affair with Jack Alston, which everybody knows about and doesn't comment on. Jack's wife, Marie, is the other party. She is the only one who has no idea of the affair. She is known in some quarters as the snowflake, because she is seen as a little chilly and unmeltable. She has very little interest in Jack, having some time ago come to the conclusion that she ought to have married her early sweetheart Jim Spencer. When Jim comes back from his post-disappointment exploits in South Africa and other places, Marie realises ever more that he ought to have been hers. They see a lot of each other, and we as readers are let into the knowledge that Marie is anything but a chilly snowflake, admitting to herself her care for Jim, and having to control herself in relation to him so as not to let herself down and cause a scandal. Marie is also known as a cool head in terms of the giving of advice. Mildred's daughter Maud, who despairs of her mother's dilettante, loud and bitchy carry-on, but has no idea of the affair either, turns to Marie for advice about a wealthy young man her mother is throwing at her head as a potential husband. Once she hears Maud's feelings Marie advises her to refuse him, knowing the measure of wedded disappointment so well as she does. Mildred is furious at Marie's interference when Maud reveals it, and devises a scheme to set Marie up as an adulteress (the melting of the snowflake), using Jim as convenient but unaware accessory. She's always deemed Marie her friend but in reality has always suffered dreadfully in comparison to her and has resented her distanced coolness and seeming superiority. When the plan starts to work, and the rumours begin to spread, Mildred doesn't realise how obvious it is that she's the origin. A superbly bitchy associate, Lady Ardingly, takes her to task in a very careful way, making it clear that Mildred could in fact be putting Jack's career at risk with their own affair. With several very deft moves she outflanks Mildred and helps to save Marie from an unfair slur. Jack begins to see Mildred in a new light, and doesn't like the view. He begins to avoid her, and to attempt a reconciliation with Marie, which to her mind is too little too late. At a party in the country Maud and Marie are conferring about her young man, the nature of whose approaches has changed. Quietly occupying a lost corner of the garden, they hear footsteps approaching. It is Jack and Mildred. They overhear Jack attempting, in misery and lostness, to get back together with Mildred after Marie's rejection. Mildred is delighted, and smiles victoriously. It is the first either Marie or Maud know of the affair - the bombshell has dropped. Both are horrified - and the real measure of things becomes clear. Marie escapes unseen back to London. When Jack sees her there the next day, orchestrated by Lady Ardingly, who is his political sponsor in the upcoming election, she agrees to stay his wife as long as they have nothing further to do with each other. Jack, horrified at his own culpability and realising his admiration of her, has yet another meeting with Mildred, who assumes pleasurably that her victory is complete, only to find him deserting her once again. The last scene is of Mildred, as a damaged but fighting survivor of all this, driving in Hyde Park. Her two frisky cobs are getting dangerously flighty, and after a fright head off toward the main road. A series of passers by try to restrain the out of control phaeton which goes slamming into an omnibus. The last passing person who tries to help Mildred recognises at the final moment. It is Jack, who is run down and appallingly mutilated by both the phaeton and the omnibus - she has killed him. An epilogue contains a conversation between Marie and Lady Ardingly at a hotel in Cairo, which reveals that Mildred is becoming yet more loud and shrill in London society, and that Jim and Marie will at last marry. Benson seasons this with plenty of low-key wit in heavily biased exchanges. It is also firmly ensconced within a slightly cynical milieu. In this it reminded me a little of the more broad-based works of another writer, Lucas Malet, having the same sense of thoroughgoing worldliness and sultry bite. But of course where Malet had two main modes, Benson had many. And it has been some of his undoing in terms of reputation that he can't be pinned down; from bright comedy to ghost stories to historical saga to sultriness like this....and on through several other manifestations. His multiplicity was both mark of talent and great confuser for the public. Here's hoping that whatever he continued to attempt, his main attention was given to quality.