All posts tagged veronal

Leonard Woolf: A Life by Victoria Glendinning (2006)

Leonard and Virginia were agreed that his chief fault was cowardice, and hers was snobbery.
(page 151)

‘If it were not for the divine goodness of L. how many times I should be thinking of death.’
(Virginia Woolf diary 28 May 1931, quoted p.291)

Having read most of Virginia Woolf’s adult work, why read a biography of her husband, Leonard, and not her?

1) Because I’d had enough of Virginia: the essays finished me off, my cup overflowed with Woolf style, snobbery and delirium. 2) I’d learned most of the important facts about her life from the short biographies and notes in each of her novels, and the essays. 3) These notes sometimes referred to books by Leonard, notably a book he wrote called Quack! Quack! mocking the 1930s dictators, Mussolini and Hitler, which intrigued me. He wrote two novels, over 15 books of political science, was a committed socialist, literary editor, publisher, and wrote six volumes of autobiography. Does anyone ever read these? No.

So 4) Leonard is the underdog. The critical industry around Woolf is now mountainous – as Glendinning puts it, ‘There is a small mountain of books and articles on the life and work of Virginia Woolf’ (p.502) – and will only increase year by year. She is a patron saint of feminist writing, as iconic as fellow feminist saints Frida Kahlo and Sylvia Plath. There are lots of biographies of her, hundreds of books and tens of thousands of critical essays about her writing. But what about the mystery man who loved and supported her throughout the years of her great achievements, who tried to manage her recurring bouts of mental illness, who co-founded and ran their famous Hogarth Press? Let’s find out.

Jewish

Woolf was Jewish. He came from a large and extensive Jewish family. I enjoyed Glendinning’s handy summary of the history of the Jews in England, their slow liberation from various legal and customary restrictions during the nineteenth century, and then the transformation in the size of the Jewish population and in attitudes towards them triggered by the mass immigration of Jews from Russia in the 1880s and ’90s.

This more than quadrupled the size of the Jewish community in England and, because so many of them were very poor, from peasant communities, and often settled in the slummiest parts of the East End, it was this mass influx which gave rise to the casual antisemitism you find (distressingly) in so many Edwardian and Georgian writers (Saki and D.H. Lawrence spring to mind. The fact that Virginia includes antisemitic comments in some of her novels, and was regularly casually antisemitic in her letters and diaries – ‘I do not like the Jewish voice, I do not like the Jewish laugh,’ (p.189) – requires a separate explanation).

Father

Woolf was born in London in 1880, the third of ten children of Solomon Rees Sidney Woolf (known as Sidney Woolf), a barrister and Queen’s Counsel, and his wife Marie, maiden name de Jongh). Both parents were Jewish, and from extended families. This is why Glendinning needed four pages to depict the full, extended family trees of both parents. At various points, family members are quoted jokingly referring to it as ‘the Woolf pack’. From time to time grown-up Leonard, feeling sorry for himself, referred to himself as ‘a lone Woolf’.

The family lived at 101 Lexham Gardens off the Earl’s Court Road. The household was:

an example of a typical, well-to-do Victorian way of life, underpinned by an unquestioned social hierarchy and set of values. (p.13)

As a young man Leonard was conscious of ‘the snugness and smugness, snobbery, its complacent exploitation of economic, sexual and racial classes’ (quoted p.15).

We are told all kinds of things about Sidney Woolf but the single most important fact is that he died in his prime, in 1892, aged 47 (p.23). He had earned a lot as a lawyer and that income ended overnight. Now relatively impoverished his widow, Marie, was fortunate enough to have a legacy to live off. She hung on at Lexham Gardens for two years then moved the family to a smaller house further out of town – 9 Colinette Road, off the Upper Richmond Road in Putney.

School

After prep school, Leonard was sent to the prestigious St Paul’s School in west London. Lots of anecdotes, prizes and whatnot, but the important thing is that it was as a slight, shy, Jewish teenager that he developed what he called his ‘carapace’, the protective shell he was to deploy for the rest of his life.

Trinity College, Cambridge

In 1899 he won a classical scholarship to Trinity College, Cambridge. Glendinning vividly paints how he encountered a small group of fellow undergraduates who became soul mates, including the flamboyant Lytton Strachey and the hulking great Thoby Stephen, nicknamed The Goth, son of the biographer Sir Lesley Stephen and brother of the sisters, Vanessa and Virginia Stephen, the second of which Leonard was, of course to marry. But Strachey was the man. Before he’d arrived at Cambridge Strachey was a fully-formed individual with outrageous views and a particular way of speaking which influenced all his friends. Leonard became closer to Lytton Strachey than anyone else in the world, calling him ‘the most charming and witty of human beings since Voltaire’ (p.189).

I tend to think of E.M. Forster as being an old man, but he was actually a year younger than Leonard and they got to know each other at Cambridge.

Leonard was elected to the elite discussion society called The Cambridge Apostles and it is fascinating to learn the rules of this elite club and the kind of topics they discussed. When I was a sixth-former I read A.J. Ayer, learned about Logical Positivism, and went on to read Wittgenstein, all of which convinced me that talk of Beauty and Love and Truth and God is enjoyable, entertaining but ultimately meaningless.

More precisely, they may have a psychological importance and impact on the people who discuss, write and read about such topics, but they don’t really relate to anything in the real world. They derive from a misunderstanding of language. Because we talk about a good meal, a good person and a good day, it’s easy to be deluded into thinking there must be something they have in common. Plato started the ball rolling by writing dialogues in which Socrates and his followers endless debate the True Nature of The Good. Two and a half thousand years later, clever undergraduates at Cambridge were doing just the same.

I follow Wittgenstein in believing there can be no answer to these kinds of questions because they are non-questions based on a misapplication of language. Viewed from a correct understanding of language i.e. that language consists of a vast number of language games – then any given use of language may or may not be appropriate to the vast number of language games people continually play, invent and evolve and self-important Oxbridge discussions of these great big concepts simply take their place among myriads of other linguistic interactions.

Anyway, all this was to come. For the time being these clever young men thought Truth and Beauty were excellent subjects to write long papers about and present at gatherings of like-minded chaps who all considered themselves part of a literally self-selecting intellectual elite, the Apostles. Members of the Apostles included Leonard, Strachey, E. M. Forster and a year or so later, John Maynard Keynes. Thoby Stephen (his future wife’s brother) was friendly with the Apostles, though not a member himself. What comes over from Glendinning’s comprehensive accounts of these meetings and discussions is how absolutely irrelevant everything they discussed is to us today. Here are the dates of Leonard and significant contemporaries:

E.M. Forster b. 1879
Lytton Strachey b.1880
Thoby Stephen b.1880
Leonard Woolf b. 1880
Clive Bell b.1881
John Maynard Keynes b.1883

G.E. Moore

All of them were deeply in thrall to the moral philosopher George Edward (G. E.) Moore (1873 to 1958), himself an older member of the Apostles. They were still undergraduates when Moore published his influential book, Principia Ethica, in 1903, which was concerned with that age-old problem, What is the good? Moore decides that ‘the good’ is ultimately unknowable, so that:

By far the most valuable thing, which we can know or can imagine, are certain states of consciousness, which may roughly be described as the pleasures of human intercourse and the enjoyment of beautiful objects.’ (p.63)

1. The pleasures of human intercourse and 2. the enjoyment of beautiful objects. Friends, lovers and art. Or, as Wikipedia summarises it:

that the summum bonum lies in achieving a high quality of humanity, in experiencing delectable states of mind, and in intensifying experience by contemplating great works of art,

Moore’s conclusions led his book to be treated as a kind of Bible by the network of friends which came to be known as the Bloomsbury Group, validating their belief that human relationships are what count most: Love and Beauty. Sounds like Keats, doesn’t it, from almost a century earlier? Glendinning quotes John Maynard Keynes’s extravagant response to Moore’s theory: ‘It seemed the opening of a new heaven on a new earth’ (p.64).

The thing to understand is that the younger generation experienced this as a tremendous liberation from the oppressive burden of Victorian beliefs in duty and honour and nation and empire and queen and country and all the rest of it. For believers like Leonard the book stripped away centuries of oppressive religious beliefs, shedding the calm light of common sense on the agonising questions of how to live and what to believe.

‘Isn’t that the supreme, the only thing – to be loved.’ (Strachey, quote p.98)

But there were plenty of critics who mocked these earnest young believers. Glendinning quotes Beatrice Webb’s shrewish view that the book had little or no value and simply gave the young generation who worshipped it ‘a metaphysical justification for doing what you like’ (p.65).

Glendinning herself criticises the Principia because:

Its unquestioning definition of The Beautiful was heavily Victorian and becoming out of date as the new aesthetics of the 20th century kicked in
Moore’s idea of the good life was very passive and quiescent i.e. simply ignored the active life of politicians, engineers, administrators, people who did things. It was a privileged academic’s conclusion that the best possible way of life was… to be a privileged academic.
No sex please, we’re British: Moore’s ‘asexual mind-set seemed to preclude the “intrinsic value” of any “state of consciousness” elicited by anything more urgent than affection’ (p.63). In other words, Moore’s was a very pallid, underpowered, sexless view of human emotions.

Choice of career and the Civil Service exam

Woolf was awarded his BA in 1902 but stayed on at Cambridge for another year to study for the Civil Service examinations which he took in the summer of 1904. He got a low pass, 69th in the list, and was offered a job as an imperial administrator in Ceylon. First he went the round saying goodbye to his uni friends and this included dinner at the Stephens new house. Sir Leslie Stephen had recently died (February 1904) and his children had moved out of the gloomy family house in Hyde Park Gate to a roomier lighter one in Bloomsbury. Visiting his friend Thoby (the Goth), meant meeting the two beautiful sisters, Vanessa and Virginia. Glendinning points out that the latter was still recovering from the nervous breakdown triggered by her father’s death, one of what was to become a string of breakdowns and mental health problems. During this breakdown she had made the first of several suicide attempts (p.129).

Ceylon

Woolf was in Ceylon for 7 long years, 1904 to 1911. Glendinning makes the point that he met hundreds of native Sinhalese and Tamils but never became friendly with one of them. He liked Ceylon, some of the scenery was breath-taking. He wrote that the jungle:

‘is a cruel and dangerous place, and, being a cowardly person, I was always afraid of it. Yet I could not keep away from it.’ (quoted p.109)

, but he became an increasingly conflicted imperialist. As he was slowly, systematically promoted, he found himself adjudicating law cases and arguments and realised the only thing to do was be as strict and impartial as possible. At the same time he came to hate the impact many imperial laws and restrictions had on the natives.

Glendinning gives a vivid and fascinating account of all this, based on the twin sources of the official diary he kept of his duties, along with the many letters he exchanged with his friends back in England, Thoby, a friend called Saxon but above all Lytton Strachey.

He lost his virginity to a Singhalese woman and seems to have had occasional sexual encounters, but didn’t keep a native mistress as many other young male imperial administrators did.

The conversation of whores is more amusing than the conversation of bores.

The correspondence with Lytton back in England, in Cambridge, is extraordinarily candid about sex. Lytton deploys what he himself calls ‘the dialect of their intimacy’ (p.146). Lytton was a promiscuous homosexual who needed to be falling in love with new young men all the time. Glendinning quotes liberally from his letters which depict not just his sex life, but the sex lives of those in their set or circle, including Duncan Grant, Clive Bell and Keynes. For example, where he explains that he is having an affair with Duncan Grant, who is also sleeping with Keynes. Lytton and the others delighted in using the word ‘copulate’, in a self-mocking tone.

‘I copulated with him [Duncan] again this afternoon, and at the present moment he is in Cambridge copulating with Keynes.’ (p.115)

As always, it’s the promiscuity of gay men which staggers me, compared with the, as far as I can tell, complete chastity of their female contemporaries, specifically Virginia and Vanessa.

A note that Leonard’s sister, Bella, came out to Ceylon in 1907. She married a colonial administrator, Robert Heath Lock, Assistant Director of the Peradeniya Botanical Gardens, near Kandy in 1910. She wrote children’s books and the first tourist guide to Ceylon. She was one of many voices advising Leonard to get married. She merits a Wikipedia page of her own.

Bella Sidney Woolf

The Longest Journey

While Leonard was in Ceylon, his friend E.M. Forster published an autobiographical novel, The Longest Journey which describes the coming-to-maturity of young Frederick ‘Rickie’ Elliott, including lengthy descriptions of his time as an undergraduate at Cambridge. Critics think the character of Stewart Ansell, the clever student which Rickie’s and their circle look up to, is at least partly based on Woolf. Certainly the flashy pseudo-philosophical conversations at Cambridge which the novel opens with, are based on The Apostles. Woolf and Strachey both hated it.

Back from Ceylon

After seven years service Leonard was given an extended leave to return to England. Glendinning quotes many of the colleagues and managers in the Colonial Service who advised him to get married. it’s interesting to read the opinions of quite a few contemporaries all advising that marriage is the best thing or only thing which a young man can do to acquire focus and purpose in his life. ‘Marriage was the only way forward’ (p.120).

We know from their letters and diaries that it was Lytton who first proposed to Virginia, in a panic that she might accept (p.114). You have to have followed the text quite closely to understand why this flamboyant queer would even consider such a mad move in the first place. She sensibly turned him down.

Virginia’s character As the focus of the story turns towards Virginia Stephen, Glendinning gives a useful profile and description of her (pages 128 to 130). The bit that stood out for me was the notion that her mother was aloof and distant, so that the girl Virginia hardly ever had time with her alone.

In adolescence and beyond, she became emotionally attached to older women. (p.128)

Aha, I thought – this sheds light on the warmth and fondness for mother figures and older women which you find in her fiction – Betty Flanders, Clarissa Dalloway, Mrs Ramsay, Lucy Swithin.

Virginia’s physicians We learn about the wonderfully named Dr Savage, the physician treating her mental illness, and that he had treated her father for depression, and one of her cousins, who ended up committing suicide. Also, we learn that her sister, Vanessa, was also prey to anxiety and depression. She had her own ‘nerve doctor’, Dr Maurice Craig of 87 Harley Street. So was it genetic?

Brunswick Square The Stephens children moved again, to 38 Brunswick Square, and invited several friends to move in and take rooms. Among these was Leonard who moved in on 20 November 1911. Their wooing was slow and painful.

The Aspasia Papers Constant company led Leonard to fell deeper and deeper in love with the beautiful, mercurial, charismatic Virginia, who he came to nickname Aspasia. This was the name of the wife of Pericles (495 to 429 BC), leader of Athens during its so-called Golden Age. He wrote descriptions of her and these expanded to become sketches of the entire social circle or set, all under pen-names, eventually called the Aspasia Papers. The whole gang he joking referred to as The Olympians.

Leonard proposes to Virginia On 10 January 1912 he proposed to her. This upset her so much she took to her bed. But over the following weeks he maintained his suit and the great day came on Wednesday 29 May when she acknowledged the loved him. They told the gang who reacted in different ways. Rupert Brooke claimed it was Leonard’s sexual know-how that got her. He described her eyes lighting up when Leonard described having sex with prostitutes in Ceylon. Put simply, he was the only man she knew who wasn’t gay and had had sex. With a woman!

He was 31, she was 30, both getting on a bit.

Quits the Colonial Service The Colonial Office required him to end his leave and return to Ceylon by May at the latest but Leonard realised he couldn’t go back, and after some surprising shows of flexibility by Whitehall, he eventually resigned his position. Now what was he going to do? He was writing a novel and had written some short stories, but hadn’t made any money from them.

Wedding They were married on Saturday 10 August 1912 at St Pancras Registry Office, a very small low-key affair. As Glendinning puts it:

Leonard and Virginia were agreed that his chief fault was cowardice, and hers was snobbery.
(p.151)

And both faults lay behind his failure to invite his mother to the wedding. Not being invited to the most important day of a son for whom she had made such sacrifices as a single mother deeply hurt her.

Sex

Glendinning (like all their friends) moves onto the subject of sex. Virginia seems to have got to the ripe old age of 30 without every experiencing sexual feelings. This is what you’d deduce from her novels and essays which have a kind of hallucinatory sexlessness. So she didn’t have a clue and he wasn’t savvy enough to be a teacher. He’d only slept with a few Singhalese prostitutes and prostitutes are 1) experienced and 2) compliant. Apparently when Leonard went to make his move, Virginia became increasingly anxious and over-excited in the way which preceded her breakdowns so he had to desist. Permanently.

Glendinning cites a letter exchange of 1933 with Ethel Smyth the feminist composer, where they talk about a news story that young women are having operations to break their hymens ahead of getting married, and joke about going to have the operation themselves. Woolf was 51 and apparently serious. Glendinning concludes from this and plenty of other evidence that Leonard and Virginia never had penetrative sex, so the marriage was never consummated in the normal way. Within a year they took to sleeping in separate rooms and never again slept together.

Events

Breakdown and suicide attempt After the marriage Virginia’s anxiety, nerves and depression grew worse. She became extremely anxious about the likely reception of her first novel, ‘The Voyage Out’. They went to the country hotel to celebrate the first anniversary of their honeymoon but it was a disaster. Virginia had high anxieties about food and refused to eat. Back in Brunswick Square, unattended for a few hours, she took an overdose of veronal (100 grains of veronal) sleeping pills. Prompt action by Keynes’s brother, Geoffrey who was staying in the house, and a stomach pump, saved her life but this necessitated a round of carers, nurses, consultations with the three physicians now treating her.

The Village in the Jungle In the middle of all this Leonard’s first novel, The Village in the Jungle, was published to good reviews. It’s set in Ceylon but not among the white ex-pat and colonial community, instead it entirely habits the minds of poor Singhalese villagers. And it’s written in what, for the times, was very plain factual English, what Glendinning calls ‘spare and unmannered’. Woolf’s old boss, Sir Hugh Clifford, wrote that:

‘Your book is the best study of Oriental peasant life that has ever been written, or that I have ever read.’ (p.168)

It’s available online and I’ve read and reviewed it for this blog.

The Village in the Jungle by Leonard Woolf

Virginia Woolf was five feet ten inches tall. She had a ‘cut glass accent’ (p.299).

The Women’s Co-operative Guild The misery with Virginia lasted for months. Throughout this period Leonard became involved with the Women’s Co-Operative Guild, led by its young and energetic president, Margaret Llewelyn Davies. He went to meetings and the annual conference and write articles to promote their work.

He was by this stage writing lots of articles and reviews for a variety of journals, including the New Statesman.

Exempted from war service When the war came the army was at first fuelled with volunteers. The Military Service Act of 1916 widened the age of conscription to all men aged between 16 and 41. Leonard was 35 but underweight and anxious, with a permanent tremor in his hands. In the next three years he underwent three medical examinations but each time presented a letter from his doctor exempting him, predicting that if he were conscripted he would have a physical and mental breakdown within months.

The Fabian Society As well as the Women’s Co-Operative, Leonard had been collared by Sidney and Beatrice Webb, leading lights of the Fabian Society, who were always recruiting likely young chaps for their cause. Sympathetic to gradualist socialism based on facts and figures, Leonard was commissioned to research and write various reports. Thus in 1916 was published the result of extensive researches, his International Government. The book’s central proposal was for an international agency to enforce world peace, and he went on to join a number of the organisations lobbying for a League of Nations to be set up, becoming friendly with the genial H.G. Wells in the process.

Labour Party Leonard joined the Labour Party and helped research and write policy papers. Women’s Co-Operative, League of Nations charities, Fabians and Labour, he wrote research papers, pamphlets and books for all of them. His next book was the thoroughly researched Empire and Commerce in Africa.

1917 Club As a left-winger Leonard welcomed the Russian Revolution. As promptly as December 1917 he helped set up the 1917 Club in Soho as a discussion forum.

The Hogarth Press In 1917 the couple bought an old printing press for £19 and set it up on the dining room table of Hogarth House in Richmond and taught themselves how to use it, to print pages and stitch them together into books. Their first publication was Two Stories, one by Leonard, one by Virginia. Hers was The Mark On The Wall, a free-associating flight of fancy. It was her first published story. His old friend Lytton Strachey immediately saw it was a work of genius. But as Virginia’s confidence grew, Leonard’s shrank. He had published two novels but began to lose faith. He was happier writing factual books.

Mark Gertler, Lady Morrell, Katherine Mansfield They make friends with Mark Gertler, self-obsessed Jewish painter and lover of Dora Carrington. At Garsington Manor, home of Lady Ottoline Morell, they meet the New Zealand short story writer Katherine Mansfield and her husband, the editor John Middleton Murray. They agreed to published Mansfield’s 68-page story The Prelude on their press

Leonard produced another book, Co-operation and the Future of Industry and agreed to edit a journal called International Review. The publishing sensation of 1918 was his old friend, Lytton Strachey’s debunking work of biography, Eminent Victorians.

In the war one of Leonard’s brothers, Cecil, was killed and one, Philip, badly wounded.

Recap When the war ended Glendinning summarises that Woolf had established himself as a documentary journalist and political propagandist, an experienced public speaker and author of distinguished books, as well as a seasoned book reviewer, and publisher in his own right. He was a behind-the-scenes figure in the growing Labour Party and was offered a seat to contest as an MP but, after some hesitation, turned it down.

James Joyce In April 1918 Harriet Weaver, patron of The Egoist magazine, approached them with the unfinished manuscript of James Joyce’s Ulysses but they had to turn it down. Far too big for their expertise, it was rejected on the grounds of obscenity by the two commercial printers they approached. Obscenity was Virginia’s central objection to Joyce, see her essay Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown (1923). She couldn’t get past her snobbish aversion to his references to peeing, pooing and the male anatomy. (The book’s central character, Leopold Bloom, has a bath and idly watches his willy floating in the water.) In her own fictions, almost all references to the body, let alone sex (God forbid) are rigorously excluded, which helps to give them their strange, bloodless, ethereal character.

Woolf’s problematic reaction to Joyce (admiration, envy, rivalry, disgust at his physicality) are explored in two excellent essays by James Heffernan:

T.S. Eliot Conversation with Weaver turned to her other protegé, T.S. Eliot, who they invited to tea to discuss whether he had anything to publish. As a result they published seven of his poems in a small edition of 140 in November 1919. Initially stiff and inhibited, Eliot became friends with Virginia who referred to him, unpretentiously, as Tom. He, like Leonard, was to become carer to a mad wife. He was six years younger than Virginia (born 1888 to Virginia’s 1882). (Later Glendinning wryly notes that ‘Eliot continued to consult Leonard as an expert on mad wives,’ p.265. Ten years later they could have both helped Scott Fitzgerald with Zelda.)

Monk House In 1919 they were meant to go down to Cornwall to join the ménage which had been set up by D.H. Lawrence, his wife Frieda, Middleton Murray and Mansfield – but never did. They had been used to a place in the country named Asheham House but it was sold by the owner. They looked around and settled on Monks House in the village of Rodmell in Sussex. They paid £580 plus £120 for the freehold. This is now a National Trust property. When they moved in it had no running water, electricity or toilet facilities. These two highbrows put up with conditions which would nowadays as unfit for human habitation. Leonard became addicted to working in the garden and had to be dragged away to take Virginia for constitutional walks.

Back in London they bought a bigger press and began to consider the Hogarth Press as a commercial venture. They published Virginia’s story, Kew Gardens. It was 1919 the year of the Paris Peace Conference and Leonard nearly went. They printed Leonard’s Three Tales from the East with a cover by Dora Carrington, to very positive reviews.

Friends’ success Lytton had become a famous name with his Eminent Victorians and Keynes became famous for writing a scathing indictment of the peace terms imposed on Germany in The Economic Consequences of the Peace (December 1919). But although much of Leonard’s research for International Government was used by the British government or other organisations at the Conference, he got little recognition.

Empire and Commerce in Africa: A Study in Economic Imperialism (1920) a scathing indictment of British imperial policy in Africa. He was writing for the New Statesman and wrote leading articles on foreign affairs for the Nation. He was secretary to the Labour Party Committee on International and Imperial Questions. He was in the loop.

The Memoir Club Molly McCarthy set up the Memoir Club to bring together old pals from Cambridge to read works in progress. A propos of this you realise that Leonard, the man, was the objective authoritative and grounded one; Virginia, the woman, was flighty, solipsistic, experimental (p.237).

Gorki and the Russians In 1919 Maxim Gorky sent a friend of theirs, Kotelianski, a manuscript of his life of Trotsky, which he brought to the Woolfs. Thus began a series of careful translations of contemporary Russian literature by the Hogarth Press.

Teeth out In June 1921 Virginia had another nervous collapse. It is mind-boggling to read that some experts thought that having your teeth extracted was a cure from mental illness. On this occasion she had three pulled out. By the end of her life she’d had all her teeth pulled out by these experts.

Jacob’s Room In November 1921 she finished writing Jacob’s Room but with the end of any book came a rush of doubt, anxiety and sometimes collapse. She had come to rely on Leonard entirely, and he had evolved to know his place was by her side and supporting. At the time of the peace conference he had been asked to travel abroad, the Webbs asked him to visit Bolshevik Russia and report back, but he turned all offers down in order to remain by Virginia’s side. This makes him a hero, doesn’t it?

Passage To India Leonard played a key role in helping Morgan Foster complete his most important novel, A Passage To India, when Forster had severe doubts and thought of abandoning it (p.242). Passage was published in 1926 and made Forster famous and financially secure. Leonard was the grey eminence behind it.

Stands for Parliament Leonard stood as a Labour candidate for Liverpool in the 1922 General Election but, thanks to his lacklustre speeches about international affairs and against imperialism, came bottom of the poll. It was a relief.

Literary editor

‘I expect you have heard that, having failed as a) a civil servant b) a novelist c) an editor d) a publicist, I have now sunk to the last rung… literary journalism. I am now Literary Editor of The Nation and Athenaeum.’ (letter to Lytton Strachey, 4 May 1923)

The salary, £500 a year, gave the couple some financial stability and coincided with the start of ‘the most prolific and successful period of Virginia’s writing life’ (p.248). She had published Jacob’s Room and started the long process of writing Mrs Dalloway and was, in addition, writing important essays and reviews.

Leonard’s literary positions Wikipedia gives a handy list of Leonard’s editorial positions:

1919 – editor of the International Review
1920 to 1922 edited the international section of the Contemporary Review from 1920 to 1922
1923 to 1930 – literary editor of The Nation and Athenaeum (generally referred to simply as The Nation)
1931 to 1959 – joint founder and editor of The Political Quarterly from 1931 to 1959

The Waste Land It’s a bit mind-boggling to learn that the Hogarth Press published The Waste Land and the type was set in the household larder. ‘Tom’ was pleased with the typescript and layout. In the same year he established a literary magazine of his own, the Criterion and he and Leonard now were friendly and conspiring literary editors, swapping reviewers and ideas. Tom became a regular visitor to their house, mostly alone, in fact maybe a bit too often as his marriage with the mentally unstable Vivian sank into misery.

Glendinning very entertainingly punctuates the key events of Leonard’s life with a roundup of what all the other Bloomsburies were doing, which is mainly having hetero or bisexual affairs with each other. A little grenade was thrown into the mix when Keynes announced he was not only in love with, but going to marry a dancer from the Ballets Russes, Lydia Lopokova (p.249).

52 Tavistock Square Virginia felt out of it in Richmond and wanted to socialise more. So they sold Hogarth House (for £1,350) and rented 52 Tavistock Square for £140 a year.

Vita Sackville-West At this time Virginia met and became friends with socialite and author Vita Sackville-West. She was married to diplomat Harold Nicholson but they led separate lives, he with a string of boyfriends, she having affairs with women and, eventually, with Virginia. They became ‘tentative’ lovers for about three years. But sex was alien to Virginia’s nature and Vita was a passionate collector of conquests.

Labour As well as working full time as literary editor of the Nation, he continued to be secretary to Labour’s Advisory Committee on International and Imperial Questions. He drafted the foreign policy section of Labour’s 1929 manifesto. Throughout the 1920s he campaigned for India and Ceylon to be given independence. If they had, he later wrote, the murder and mayhem of the independence struggle and the catastrophe of partition would never have happened.

Freud The Hogarth Press embarked on publishing the complete works of Freud being translated by James and Alix Strachey. This project carried on into the 1960s, long after Leonard had parted company with Hogarth, and they’re the edition I own, as republished by Penguin. Despite this, Leonard grew more anti-analysis as he grew older. I’ve reviewed quite a few of Freud’s works:

Freud reviews

Vita It became a love affair in December 1925. They took trouble to conceal the full depth of it from Leonard.

Car In August 1927 he bought a car. He drove Virginia all round the country. They drove to the south of France. He wrote that nothing changed his life as much as owning a car.

Mrs Dalloway was published by the Hogarth Press on 14 May 1925. The Common Reader, a volume of 21 short literary essays, was published the same year, and the following year was the first one in which Virginia’s income exceeded Leonard’s. In 1927 her masterpiece To The Lighthouse was published. In 1928 she earned £1,540 to his £394.

Nicknames Virginia never called him Len, she called him Leo. From the start of the marriage they had numerous nicknames for each other but the enduring ones were the Mongoose and the Mandrill. Before she married, Virginia’s nickname in the Stephen household was ‘the Goat’.

They went to Berlin to visit Harold Nicholson, it was a long draining visit with many late nights, and on her return she had a relapse and was in bed for three weeks. Glendinning quotes her as saying she really wanted ‘the maternal protection which… is what I have always wished from everyone’. Suddenly, reading that, I saw how Woolf was a child, endlessly seeking reassurance. And it made me see her novels as essentially childlike, a sexless, jobless, workless, child’s-eye view of life.

Orlando: A Biography was published on 11 October 1928 and sold well, securing their finances. A year later, in October 1929, A Room of One’s Own was also successful.

Richard Kennedy, 24, was the latest young graduate taken on to help out at the Hogarth Press. He describes how Leonard was:

the magician who keeps us all going by his strength of will… and Mrs W is a beautiful, magical doll, very precious but sometimes rather uncontrollable.’

He describes how, when she was lifting off into one of her manic spells, Leonard would gently tap her on the shoulder and she would stop talking, and quietly follow him, go to her bedroom where he talked quietly, read to her and calmed her down. Leonard had to warn new people what they could not say to Virginia to avoid a problem/getting her over-excited. I hadn’t realised she was this on the edge, all the time.

Ethel Smyth During 1930 Virginia gets to know the deaf, feminist composer Ethel Smyth and they become regular, and sometimes bawdy, correspondents. Smyth was 72, Virginia 48. Here’s Smyth’s most famous work, The March of The Women. Very worthy, but heavily Victorian and boring.

New Fabian research Bureau Leonard is appointed to its executive committee in 1931.

Kingsley Martin, an earnest young nonconformist, is appointed editor of the New Statesman which he would remain for 30 years. Leonard became joint editor of the Political Quarterly which he remained for the next 27 years.

The Hogarth Press published 31 books or pamphlets in 1930, 34 in 1931.

John Lehmann just down from Trinity Cambridge, was hired to work on the Press. He lasted two years. While here he published New Signatures, the selection which introduced the poets of the Auden generation. He introduced the Woolfs to Christopher Isherwood. They published Laurens van der Post’s first book. The more I read about the Hogarth press, the more impressive it becomes.

Glendinning cites eye witness accounts from Lehmann, Barbara Bagenal and Harold Nicholson of how Virginia needed Leonard to calm her when she got over-excited or had a fugue, a loss of awareness of where she was or what she was doing (p.294).

There are plenty of eye witnesses testifying to how happy Leonard and Virginia were at Monks House, how relaxed with each other and a civilised routine. Visitors heard Virginia endlessly talking to herself, in the bath, as she pottered round the big garden, and along country lanes, so that the locals came to think of her as bonkers. The servant Louie Everest came to recognise when Virginia was having one of her bad headaches because she pottered round the garden, bumping into trees.

1932

21 January: Lytton Strachey died of cancer. Leonard wrote a sensitive obituary. He had been Leonard’s best friend in their youth. His death confirmed Leonard was middle aged.

11 March, Lytton’s partner, the painter Dora Carrington, shot herself.

Mains water is brought to Monks House and they get a telephone, Lewes 832. Virginia buys new beds from Heals.

1 October Oswald Mosley founded the British Union of Fascists. Marches, rallies and violence in the East End. The Woolfs were connected to all this because up till this point Virginia’s lover, Vita Sackville West’s husband, Harold Nicholson, had been secretary to Mosley. Now he quit.

Conversely, T.S. Eliot‘s mentally unstable wife, Vivian, joined the Fascists. Eliot separated from her and never saw her but she stalked him and made public scenes. Virginia sympathised and ‘Tom’ became a good friend and regular visitor to their London or Sussex house.

1933

1933: Victor Gollancz asked Leonard to edit An Intelligent Man’s Way to Prevent War. This is the same subject as prompted Virginia’s great book, Three Guineas. In April Mosley held a rally for 10,000 followers at the Albert Hall. Leonard and the Fabians thought he might be in power in five years’ time.

1934

July: they visited the fabulously wealthy Victor Rothschild and promised to look after his pet marmoset while he went abroad. It was called Mitzy and became so attached to Leonard’s kindness that she never went back. She perched on Leonard’s shoulder or head and the back of his jacked was routinely strewn with her poo.

5 to 10 September: Leonard listens to the Nazi Nurenberg rally, relayed on the radio. He was inspired to write his satire on the totalitarian regimes, Quack Quack!

9 September: art critic and populariser of the French post-impressionist painters, Roger Fry, died. Vanessa had had a fiercely sexual affair with him (13 years older than her) and was inconsolable. Slowly the idea crystallised that Virginia should write his biography. This was to turn into a chore and produce a not very good book.

1935

May: Driving to Italy Leonard decided to take a detour through Nazi Germany. Glendinning points out that in his autobiographies he doesn’t mention the antisemitism of the 1930s, doesn’t mention Mosley or the British Union of fascists. She thinks this is because he didn’t want to put down in black and white even the possibility of his country’s rejection of himself, as a Jew. The British Foreign Office advised Jews not to visit Hitler’s Germany. Brief description of their journey through Nazi Germany, soldiers everywhere, public notices against Jews, mobs of children giving the Nazi salute. They had taken Mitzy the marmoset with them who made people laugh and defused tensions.

June: published his attack on the Fascist governments, Quack Quack!

September: Nazi Nuremberg Race Laws Jews legally different from their non-Jewish neighbours introducing all kinds of legal discrimination.

September: Leonard and Virginia attended the Labour Party Conference where Ernest Bevin argued that Britain had to rearm to face the Fascist powers, annihilating pacifist speaker in the process.

2 October: Mussolini invaded Abyssinia. Sanctions were useless as didn’t include Germany or the USA. Leonard wrote bleakly about the failure of the League of Nations. He had spent 20 years arguing that the only way to keep peace was international co-operation. Now he was forced to abandon that position and agree with Bevin that Britain needed to re-arm and make itself strong.

1 November: UK General Election in which Labour were thrashed and the new coalition government of Conservatives along with small breakaway factions of the Labour and Liberal parties, was headed by Conservative Stanley Baldwin.

Tom Eliot brought Emily Hale, a former love and confidante, to meet Leonard and Virginia, who left a record of their tea, finding Leonard more sympathetic, warm and tired.

1936

20 January: King George V died, succeeded by his son, Edward VIII.

6 March: Hitler’s troops reoccupied the Rhineland in breach of the Versailles Treaty. The atmosphere of growing antisemitism in Britain. British Union of Fascists symbols drawn on the walls.

Trying to finalise The Years and separate out the polemical book which was to become Three Guineas brought Virginia closer to breakdown than she’d been since 1913. She lost half a stone and for over three months was unable to work, an unusual hiatus. Only in the last 3 months of the year could she resume work on what was to be her longest novel.

July: Spanish Civil War broke out with the army’s coup against the republican, anti-clerical socialist government. Leonard concluded the international system had collapsed and a European war was inevitable.

Sunday 4 October: the Battle of Cable Street as anti-fascists attacked a march by the British Union of Fascists through the East End.

5 to 31 October: the Jarrow march.

19 December: after a prolonged constitutional crisis, Edward VIII abdicates because of the Establishment’s refusal to let him marry the American divorcee, Wallis Simpson.

1937

Leonard was ill for an extended period of time. Glendinning thinks it expressed his anguish about the international situation and dread for the plight of the Jews. He tried various consultants who thought it was diabetes or prostate trouble i.e. didn’t have a clue.

April: the bombing of Guernica.

24 June: Leonard and Virginia were among many artists and performers onstage at the Albert Hall for a concert to raise money for Basque orphans.

20 July: the terrible news that Virginia’s nephew (Vanessa’s son) Julian Bell had been killed after volunteering to drive an ambulance in Spain.

Leonard was diagnosed with numerous ailments and prescribed loads of medicines none of which worked. He even went to see the inventor of the Alexander technique, Frederick Alexander, but gave it up as too arduous. His ongoing illness prompted love and support from Virginia. Glendinning quotes Virginia’s diary describing them walking round Tavistock Square like a lovestruck couple:

‘love-making – after 25 years can’t bear to be separate…you see it is enormous pleasure being wanted: a wife. And our marriage so complete.’ (Virginia’s diary 22 October 1937)

21 October: after a long gestation, Virginia’s final and longest novel, The Years was published. It received good reviews and was her most commercially successful novel although Leonard thought it was her worst.

In late 1937 John Lehmann became a partner in the Hogarth press, buying out Virginia’s share for £3,000.

1938

March: Lehmann started full time as co-director of the Hogarth Press. Endless bickering with Leonard. But it was making more money than ever, £6,000 in this tax year.

March: Leonard installs a wireless in 52 Tavistock Square. He himself makes regular radio broadcasts.

12 March: the Anschluss, Nazi Germany marches into Austria and takes it over. At the Labour Party Executive Leonard argues for a coalition with the Conservatives and the introduction of conscription.

April: Lady Ottoline Morrell, hostess of the literary salon at Garsington Manor, died.

June: Three Guineas published. Leonard thought it typified Virginia’s impeccable feminism but their friends didn’t like it. Forster thought it cantankerous, Keynes thought it silly, Vita thought it unpatriotic. I think its structure (like a lot of Woolf’s writing) is eccentrically oblique and sometimes confusing, but the picture she builds up, especially through the extended notes, of the patriarchy which held back British women, is magnificent, radiating scorn and quiet rage.

August: Tom Eliot’s wife Vivian was certified insane and sent to a lunatic asylum where she spent the last 9 years of her life. Eliot never visited her.

September: the Munich Crisis, Neville Chamberlain flies to Munich and along with the French Prime Minister allows Hitler to annex the Sudetenland, part of Czechoslovakia with a large German population. Leonard predicted war. Virginia is still very much in love with him. She bakes a loaf of bread and calls out to the garden, where he’s up a ladder ‘where he looked so beautiful my heart stood still with pride that he had ever married me’ (letter to Vanessa Bell, October 1938).

9 November: Kristallnacht when the Nazis unleashed stormtroopers on Jewish homes, business and synagogues across Germany. Hundreds of synagogues throughout Germany, Austria and the Sudetenland were damaged, over 7,000 Jewish businesses were damaged or destroyed, and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and incarcerated in concentration camps. Leonard has a recurrence of the painful rash which covers his back and other parts. He sees doctors but Glendinning thinks it was psychosomatic, stress, and to do with the persecution of the Jews.

December: Leonard finished the first volume of After the Deluge, an analysis of Enlightenment thought into the early nineteenth century. His aim was to show the psychological and sociological process which bring about wars, and so avoid them. Fat chance. When it was published in September 1939 it sold pitifully.

1939

January: Leonard and Virginia go to tea with Sigmund Freud, recently escaped from Nazi Vienna. The Hogarth press had been publishing his works for 15 years. Leonard was struck by Freud’s aura of greatness. Freud died a few weeks into the war, on 23 September 1939.

15 March: German army annexes the rest of Czechoslovakia and claims the country has ceased to exist. France and Britain bring forward their rearmament programmes. Leonard’s psychosomatic rash returns with a vengeance.

23 June: their friend the artist Mark Gertler gassed himself. He was suffering from financial difficulties, his wife had recently left him, his most recent exhibition had been slammed, he was still depressed by the death of his mother and the suicide of Dora Carrington with whom he’d been madly in love, and was fearful of the imminent world war.

Victor Gollancz commissioned Leonard to write a book in defence of civilisation and tolerance for the Left Book Club for £500. But the final manuscript of Barbarians at the Gate contained criticisms of the Soviet Union which were unacceptable to the communists at the club, leading to a prolonged exchange of angry letters.

2 July: Leonard’s mother died. He was unsentimental.

The Woolfs moved to 37 Mecklenburg Square, taking their thousands of books and the Hogarth printing press.

23 August: Germany and Russia signed their non-aggression pact. 1 September Germany invaded Poland. 3 September Britain was at war with Germany.

November: The Barbarians at the Gate was published and slated by left-wing fellow travellers.

1940

The War for Peace published in which Leonard defended what critics called his utopianism in international relations.

June: France collapsed. Hitler enters Paris. Dunkirk. Leonard was shaken.

September: the Blitz began and was to last until May 1941. The blackout is enforced in Rodmell (the village where they had their country home). Virginia spoke to the local Women’s Institute then became its secretary. Like many others they equipped themselves with means of committing suicide should the Germans invade (p.353).

Correspondents: Virginia was still writing letters about her everyday life to Ethel Smyth who didn’t die until May 1944. Leonard still wrote letters to Margaret Llewelyn Davies of the Women’s Co-operative Guild.

They drove to London but couldn’t get as far as Mecklenburgh Square because of the bombing. A pill box was built in the field beyond their garden. German planes flew overhead every day. The flat in Mecklenburgh had its windows blown out by bombs, but their old place at 52 Tavistock Square was reduced to rubble. The Hogarth press machinery was evacuated to Letchworth. The books from Mecklenburgh were shipped down to Monks House where they packed the corridors.

23 November: Virginia finishes first draft of Between the Acts. She slowly fell into a depression, Her hand started to shake.

1941

25 January: Virginia turned 59 and Leonard began to be worried about her persistent depression. She was revising Between the Acts, always a dangerous time. They socialise, Virginia telling people her new novel is no good, though Leonard praised it.

March: she went for a walk in the fields and fell into the river whose banks had broken and flooded some of their land. Leonard returned from giving a talk to find her staggering back towards the house, wet and upset. Vanessa visits and tries to cheer her up.

Monday 24 1941: he realised she was becoming suicidal. The situation was as bad as her collapse in 1913. He consults a friend, Octavia Wilberforce, about whether to his nurses and force 24 hour supervision on Virginia against her will. But this is what had triggered furious psychotic breakdowns in the past so they decided to try and gentler approach, of Leonard calmly supporting and encouraging her.

Next day was a series of humdrum chores, recorded by Leonard and the house servant, and Virginia said she was going for a walk before lunch. An hour or so later Leonard went up to his sitting room and found two letters there, one for Vanessa one for himself, suicide notes. The letter to him is so full of love it made me cry. She thanked him and said she had had a wonderful life but she could feel her madness coming on, she was hearing voices, she couldn’t read, he would be better off without her.

Obviously he came running downstairs, hailed all the servants, sent one to get the police and help and spent the day till sunset searching the flooded river Ouse. He found Virginia’s walking stick lying on the bank. In subsequent days the river was dragged for the body. Eventually the authorities gave up the search for her body.

Three weeks later he body was discovered floating in the river by some teenagers having a picnic. They called the police. Leonard had to identify it. Coroner’s report etc. Leonard drove on his own to the cremation.

All his friends tried to console him, saying she was better off dead than really mad, but Leonard swore she would have recovered from this attack as from previous ones. He buried her ashes under two elm trees in the garden at Monks House which they had jocularly named after themselves.

Joyce and death Born February 2, 1882, Joyce was precisely eight days younger than Virginia. Two days after his death on January 13, 1941, she noted in her diary that he was ‘about a fortnight younger’ (D 5: 352-53). She outlived him by just a little over ten weeks.

Virginia asked Leonard to destroy all her papers

He disobeyed and in the years to come Virginia Woolf’s diaries and letters, autobiographical writings and unpublished works, were to be published and pored over in ever greater detail. The shape of her legacy, and the broader picture of the Bloomsbury Group, would have been very different if he’d obeyed her wishes.

Was he right to ignore her explicit, direct request, as Max Brod disobeyed Kafka’s request to burn his papers?

The shocked response of friends and family, other writers, journalists, and the wider world, are described and done with by about page 380 of this 500-page book. Leonard Woolf still had 28 years to live (died 14 August 1969). A man who was born the year Gladstone replaced Disraeli as Prime Minister (1880) lived to see men land on the moon. The twentieth century, century of marvels but also cataclysmic disasters.

After Virginia

What’s interesting is the power of the biography completely evaporates with Virginia’s death. I hadn’t realised how much Leonard’s story had come to be entwined with hers, and his existence justified by his support of her as she wrote her masterpieces. When it’s back to just him it remains sort of interesting in a journalistic gossipy way but the pressure drops right down.

Twenty-eight more years of living, writing, politicking, editing, publishing and loving – one year less than his marriage to Virginia (1912 to 1941). According to Glendinning ‘Few people are so fortunate in their later life as Leonard Woolf’ and he had many happy years. But for this reader, at any rate, all the life went out of the book when Virginia died.

Trekkie

In the next few years he fell in love with a woman called Trekkie (real name Margaret Tulip) Parsons, a keen but nondescript painter, married to Ian Parsons, an editor at Chatto and Windus, a handsome charming man. Ian sort of permitted a menage a trois to develop though it’s doubtful that Leonard and Trekkie ever had sex, and I hate myself for reading about other people’s sex lives, though this is an unavoidable aspect of modern biography. Ian meanwhile was having an affair with his editorial assistant Norah Smallwood so… so people will be people.

Superficial though it sounds, the relationship with Trekkie lasted for the rest of their lives.

The growth of Bloomsbury

The other theme which emerges is the slow steady growth of the Bloomsbury industry. Post-war interest in Virginia and other figures just kept on growing. The surviving members of the network –published books every year and fed the market throughout the 1950s (p.433). The advent of the swinging 60s, sexual liberation, the decriminalisation of homosexuality in 1967, a greater openness about sex, made the Bloomsburies, with their fluid sexuality and open relationships, seem forebears and founders.

The members wrote autobiographies and memoirs, and a steadily growing tribe of academics wrote books about them. Glendinning describes some of the early Virginia scholars who began to approach Leonard asking for help, advice, an interview, and whatever papers he could spare.

Glendinning records Leonard’s growing involvement with not just American scholars but professional buyers of manuscripts such as Hamill and Barker, to whom he sold off packets and parcels of letters, manuscripts and diaries, through the 1950s and ’60s, for lucrative sums (pages 427, 450).

The schism between academics and public intellectuals

This move to biography was encouraged by the growing schism between general, freelance public intellectuals such as Leonard, and the growing number of professional academics housed in the growing number of postwar universities. When Virginia and Leonard started writing all intellectuals were on about the same level, with some being experts at universities, but many freelance writers knowing quite as much across a broad range of subjects. The tone of discourse across public writers and academics was comparable. In the new era of academic specialisation, academics developed technical terms and jargon, assumed specialist knowledge, which increasingly cut them off from generalists let alone the man in the street.

Leonard fell victim to this specialisation with his book on international politics, After the Deluge, published in 1955. He intended it to form the third part of a trilogy (the previous books published in 1931 and 1939) which he allowed himself to be persuaded to give the grandiose title Principia Politica. This begged comparisons with the masterworks of Newton (Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica), Whitehead and Russell’s Principia Mathematica or GE Moore’s Principia Ethica, but it was nothing of the kind, as reviewers were quick to point out. Compared to the new ranks of professional academics, Leonard appeared discursive, repetitive, anecdotal and amateurish (p.444).

The spread of universities and growth of a class of specialist academics was epitomised by the opening, in 1961, of the University of Sussex, just outside Brighton and only 5 miles from Leonard’s rural retreat in the village of Rodmer (p.465).

For the public intellectual locked out of the growing ivory tower of academia, there remained publishing (he continued to be a director of the Hogarth Press), ‘the higher journalism’ (he continued to edit the Political Quarterly, and biography and memoirs. So this feeds back into the growth of Bloomsbury books – none of the survivors (Vanessa, Duncan, Quentin and so on) were really expert, scholarly expert-level on anything except… themselves.

Leonard himself epitomised the trend. Having had his masterwork of political commentary rubbished he retreated to the safer territory of his own life, and commenced his own autobiography which ended up taking no fewer than six volumes:

Sowing: An Autobiography of the Years 1880 to 1904 (1960)
Growing: An Autobiography of the Years 1904 to 1911 (1961)
Diaries in Ceylon 1908 to 1911, and Stories from the East: Records of a Colonial Administrator (1963)
Beginning Again: An Autobiography of the Years 1911 to 1918 (1964)
Downhill All the Way: An Autobiography of the Years 1919 to 1939 (1967)
The Journey Not the Arrival Matters: An Autobiography of the Years 1939 to 1969 (1969)

I’d never heard of these but they won him prizes. Beginning Again won the W.H. Smith book prize and the handy sum of £1,000.

Michael Holroyd’s two-volume biography of Lytton Strachey published in 1967-8 proved to be a turning point. Its openness about Strachey’s homosexuality, his numerous affairs, his thousands of camp letters, shed a completely new light on the Bloomsburies, rendering much that had been written up to that point obsolete, but confirming their reputation as sexual pioneeers (p.475).

Pointless

In the last volume of his autobiography Leonard candidly, devastatingly, adjudged that a lifetime of political activism, sitting on innumerable committees, spending years researching and writing position papers and polemical books (calling for international co-operation for peace) achieved more or less nothing.

‘I see clearly that I achieved practically nothing.’ (quoted p.484)

Thoughts

Authoritative, thorough, empathetic, insightful, fascinating and often very funny, nonetheless Glendinning’s definitive biography becomes increasingly focused on the mental illness of poor Virginia, relentlessly building up to Virginia’s suicide which is so terrible, so upsetting, so devastating, that I could barely read on and stopped trying to review it after that point.

Credit

‘Leonard Woolf: A Life’ by Victoria Glendinning was first published by Simon and Schuster in 2006. Page references are to the 2007 Pocket Books paperback edition.

Love Among the Haystacks by D.H. Lawrence (1930)

Six short stories by D.H. Lawrence, published in the UK after his death, in 1930.

1. Love Among the Haystacks (40 pages)

Part 1

It all takes place during one long, hot day harvesting hay and building massive ricks in the Nottinghamshire countryside.

The story of two young brothers who work on the family farm, countrymen who speak in broad dialect, Geoffrey, 22, and Maurice, 21. I think the family name is Wookey. They’ve been raised by their mother, an outsider who speaks proper English and considers herself above the locals, and so consider themselves above the local girls. The result is they are in the prime of their youth, know no women and are deeply frustrated.

There’s an attractive German-speaking governess at the Vicarage and, after they were both involved in a minor accident (with a rake) she agreed to meet Maurice and, the night before the story opens, sat with him and let him kiss her. As the story opens Maurice is reliving the scene in order to taunt his heavier, surly, jealous brother.

It is harvest time, a boiling hot day. The brothers are atop a high haystack and work as a trio with their father tossing hay up from a cart and Geoffrey tossing it onto Maurice. When they’ve finished Maurice goes round testing the corners but their verbal sparring reaches such a peak that the red mist comes down over Geoffrey’s eyes and he forces his brother over the edge of the stack, falling quite a way to the ground.

Their elder brother, Henry, other farm workers and the German woman from the Vicarage who saw it happen, all come running. For a tantalising moment Geoffrey thinks he’s killed Maurice and will at last be free of the poisoned curdling of his soul within itself, the permanent self poisoning which makes him so surly and angry. But then his brother starts coming round and Geoffrey feels trapped again.

On the last pages the governess comes to the fore. We learn she is Polish, named Paula Jablonowsky, just 20 years old, swift and light as a wild cat and, in Lawrence’s characteristic way, the phrase wild cat is repeated again and again.

Now she tends Maurice as he comes round and staggers to his feet, assuring everyone he is fine, especially as he is so publicly receiving the wild Polish girl’s caresses as she ‘gives him lordship over her’.

Squeezed in at the end of this section is the vicar confiding in Maurice’s father that she, the Polish girl, is for the chop. He obviously dislikes her wild impulsive character. She’ll be leaving in three weeks. Immediately the reader sees the problem: Maurice is falling in love with a woman who’ll be gone in weeks.

Part 2

Maurice thinks he loves Paula. He wants to marry her. Following immediately on from the preceding scene, the Wookey men and other labourers lay out a large picnic supplied by their mother. In the middle of the feast Paula walks over the fields from the vicarage with cold chicken for Maurice. The other men josh both Maurice and the girl for being so obviously in love.

Paula tells her more about her life, she hails from Hanover but ran away from home (wild cat!). She tells then she hates the vicarage, no life! She says she’ll move on, maybe go to Paris, maybe get married!

While this is ramifying, a seedy tramp comes up, ‘a mean crawl of a man.’ He asks if there’s any work. The father replies no, they’ve nearly finished. He explains he was a jockey, pulled a race for his manager, was found out and fired. He begs some of the pie, then bread and cheese, then a wedge of tobacco.

While he’s smoking his pipe with the rest of the men, his woman appears through the gap in the hedge and joins them. She’s tough, hard-bitten but only young. She ignores all the others and asks the man if he’s got any work and is angry when he says no. In that queer perceptive way of his, Lawrence points out how there’s a secret sympathy between angry Geoffrey and this embittered young woman, ‘There was a sort of kinship between them. Both were at odds with the world’ (p.25)

Part 3

The men carry on with the haymaking all afternoon but the break in work for Maurice’s accident means they won’t finish today. Somebody needs to sleep the night in the field to protect the tools and Maurice volunteers, because as Henry waspishly points out, he wants to continue his courting of the Polish girl.

Night falls at the end of the long hot day. There’s a brilliant moment:

Maurice wondered what to do. He wandered round the deserted stacks restlessly. Heat came in wafts, in thick strands. The evening was a long time cooling.

That phrase, ‘Heat came in wafts, in thick strands’ suddenly took me back to evenings in the country. Lawrence gives hauntingly beautiful descriptions of the flowers – meadowsweet, ragged robin and bell flowers – while Maurice decides to strip off and wash all over ahead of his rendezvous with Paula at 9.

She is late, it took a while getting the vicar’s baby off to sleep. Now they walk through the grass till she suggests a mad dash through the hay. They hear horses approaching and she asks to ride one. Maurice gentles one of the horses, a mare, and attaches a bridle, then helps the girl onto the horse’s back, swinging up in front of her.

They ride gently to the top of the hill and Lawrence gives a beautiful description of the vista with lights of collieries and the town in the distance. Then she wants excitement and asks him to make the mare gallop down hill, which he does, thrillingly. They dismount breathless and excited and Maurice takes her in his arms and kisses her. They stroll on with arms round each others’ waists.

Maurice feels a spot of rain and tells Paula he needs to cover the stacks with a rain cloth, goes fetches one from the shed, places the ricketty ladder against the stack and clambers up it holding the leading edge of the cloth. She helps.

Part 4

Geoffrey comes to help with the cloth. He’s cycled up with a bike light on. He can’t see the others and doesn’t call out. Suddenly he hears a slithering against the stack. It’s the ladder the couple climbed up slowly falling over. Geoffrey hears Maurice realise this and explain it to Paula. They’re stuck up there for the time being. Oh well, they can shelter from the rain under the cloth.

During none of this does Geoffrey reveal his presence. Instead he slinks back to the shed where the farm equipment is and feels sorry for himself. He spends a page fantasising about what it would be like to have Paula love him. He is far deeper and darker than Maurice; it would be a deep passionate love. He is entranced by her foreignness (reminding me of how Tom Brangwen is hypnotised by Lydia Lensky’s foreignness in ‘The Rainbow’. Lydia, also, is Polish).

At that moment, almost as if summoned by his unconscious, a figure slips into the shed. Big strong Geoffrey reaches out and grabs it and the helpless female voice reveals it’s the young woman in a sailor hat attached to the tramp who had cadged food off them that afternoon.

She is antagonistic but also soaked through by the rain. He tells her to take her wet things off otherwise she’ll catch her death etc, and gets a big old rug to cover her. She’s also famished so he opens the chest where the remains of the afternoon’s bread and cheese and butter is kept, although she doesn’t eat that much.

He bumps into the chest and knocks the lamp over, spilling its oil. From now on they chat by the light of a few matches until he stops striking them and they talk in the increasingly mystical dark, he shy, she angry and snappish. She confirms she’s been married to the jockey-cum-tramp for four years and hates him. He’s workshy and useless. They had a baby which died at ten months. Often she’s wished she would catch her death and die but it ain’t to be. Instead she is vindictively determined to track him down and dog him.

Long pause then he hears her shivering and offers to warm her feet. Reluctantly she acquiesces. They’re like ice. He kneads them and blows on them. Then he realises she’s crying. She leans forward and strokes his hair. When he moves his head to look at her, her hands stray over his face. He strokes her hair with one hand. Then she clasps him to her breast and cries and cries. Then he takes her into his big strong arms and warms her against his big body. Then he mumbles his lips down over her forehead and she turns hear face up and he experiences his first love kiss.

I thought this was extremely beautiful and touching.

Part 5

Next morning dawns with her still in his arms. She tells him her name is Lydia (Lawrence’s mother’s name, the name he gives the Polish woman in ‘The Rainbow’). But she won’t marry him. So what if they run off to Canada together? She says she has a sister married to a farm hand. She could go and stay with them; he’ll contact her in the spring and they’ll go together to Canada. She agrees with all this but he doesn’t believe her.

When he mentions about the cloth and the rain and his brother she immediately insists he goes and puts the ladder back up, so he leaves her to get fully dressed.

Geoffrey moves the ladder back up against the stack but doesn’t hail his brother, instead collects sticks for a fire. Maurice finds the ladder and is amazed, he was sure it had fallen down. When he tells the Polish girl she is livid, furious, calls him a liar and mean. From this maybe we are meant to deduce that she thinks it was all a ploy to keep her there under the cloth all night and that therefore… something happened! They had sex?

Geoffrey listens to all this with amusement and watches his brother navigate climbing down the dangerous ladder and Paula refusing to follow. Maurice walks round the stack and bumps into Geoffrey who tells him it was he who restored the ladder. if I was Maurice, I’d have run back up the ladder to tell Paula but, oddly, he doesn’t.

Instead he listens while Geoffrey blurts out his news, how he spent the night in the shed cuddling the wife of the tramp. Both brothers are shyly proud and discomfited. Geoffrey takes Maurice to the shed where Lydia is washed and dressed and has let her hair down and looks pretty. He makes a fire while she gets coffee out of the provisions box.

Paula joins them, surprised to see the girl. Geoffrey explains it was him who set the ladder back up against the haystack so she owes Maurice a big apology but when he returns with more kindling for the fire they’re too embarrassed to look at each other.

Coda

In a paragraph, Lawrence tells us that within a week she was engaged to Maurice, and when she was released from the vicarage went to live at the Wookey’s farm. And in a final cryptic sentence:

Geoffrey and Lydia kept faith one with the other. (p.47)

Three things: Pairs, couples, as in ‘Women in Love’. A foreign woman, as in ‘The Rainbow’. And it turning out not at all the soppy Mills and Boon romance you might have expected from the title (cf ‘The Virgin and The Gypsy’, also a completely unexpected narrative).

2. The Lovely Lady (20 pages)

A strange tale, a kind of faux ghost story, set in a strange middle-class household. Pauline Attenborough is the matriarch, 72 but marvellously well preserved. With her fine bone structure, in some lights she could pass for 30. She is strong willed and made her own money. She inherited her father’s fine collection of Oriental curiosities and art, and his expertise, so she was able to expand his collection and his sales activities. The house is full of luxury goods and Pauline takes care to be seen in the best light against fine backdrops.

She was married by one day just left her weak husband to live independently. They had an elder son, Henry, who sickened and died when he was 24. There was a second son, Robert, now 32, a stout barrister, plain and almost speechless, deeply repressed and dominated by his mother. He has a secret hobby which is collecting old Mexican legal documents.

Third member of this oppressed and heavy household is her plain, dim niece, Cicely (Ciss), also very dominated. She has a job, 2 hours a morning teaching the grand-daughter of nearby Sir Wilfred Knipe.

Old Mrs Attenborough often doesn’t get up till late. One of her favourite activities, if the sun’s shining, is to take a ‘sun-and-air bath’ (presumably the word ‘sunbathing’ hadn’t been coined yet – according to the Etymological dictionary the first recorded use is from 1935). There’s a square behind the stables which is a nice suntrap and she lies here, in the sun, with a book.

The story proper gets going when timid Ciss decides to have a sun bath, too. She’s always lived in the rooms above the old stables. One of the windows opens onto the stables flat roof, just adjacent to the little suntrap where Mrs Attenborough takes the sun. One afternoon, very quietly, Ciss steals out onto the sunroof, strips off (oh, I say!) and lies down in the lovely warm sun.

After a while, feeling slightly dazed, she has an extraordinary experience: she hears voices. She hears what seem to be disembodied voices talking about Henry, Mrs Attenborough’s dead son, recriminations and blame about his death. Bewildered, for several pages Ciss thinks she’s hearing voices from the beyond, and the surprised reader thinks Lawrence has written a ghost story! (Although I now realise these aren’t are rare in his oeuvre as I thought: witness the four ghost and horror stories in The Woman Who Rode Away and Other Stories.)

But no. After some time she realises that Aunt Pauline, half stunned by the sun, talks in a wandering disconnected way, and her voice comes up the gutter downpipe which runs from Ciss’s flat roof, down the side of the stables, to a drain in the little courtyard, not far from Aunt Pauline’s lying and quietly babbling to herself.

This discovery gives Ciss an idea, two ideas. That evening, after dinner and after Aunt Pauline has retired to bed, she confronts Robert, in a timid sort of way. She steers the conversation round to the idea that they’re both sad, frustrated people whose lives are slipping away. Bold, she asks if he will kiss her, and clasps his hand to her bosom. Robert acquiesces but is useless, has no passion, For several nights Ciss fruitlessly waits for him to come to her bedroom, but he doesn’t.

A day or two later she bumps into him in the garden and takes him to the paddock, the sit on hay, he says he can’t marry her because he hasn’t got any money, she asks if she can touch him, and strokes his hair, but he doesn’t try to kiss her or put his arm round her. Instead he feebly says: ‘I suppose I shall rebel one day.’ What a disappointment.

So a few days later Ciss is lying in the stable roof again, out of sight of Pauline sun bathing below, and she does a funny thing. She puts her mouth to the top of the gutter pipe and talks down it. She puts on a deep bass voice and pretends to be Henry’s ghost.

Aunt Pauline is as bewildered as Ciss was on first hearing a voice, but slowly Ciss coaxes her into believing she is Henry’s ghost. She starts off by accusing Aunt P of murdering him, which she fiercely denies. But her main message is Let Robert go, let him marry, let him be free. Aunt P rouses herself and leaves, Ciss waits before quietly climbing back through her window.

And that evening there is a Great Transformation in the household – Aunt Pauline looks haggard and old. It is as if all the age and exasperation pent up in her for decades has broken through. She looks old and her skin is wizened and wrinkled. The biggest impact is on Robert. Somehow it is liberating for him to realise what a shrivelled old lady his mother is.

Not only her appearance but her behaviour. She yaps her food like a dog, then walks into the living room in a crazy crab-like way, then angrily refuses coffee and says she’s going to bed. Suddenly she has aged 40 years.

But then she suddenly reappears, dressed in a wrap and recklessly announces that Robert and Ciss ought to marry. When Robert says he thought she objected to cousins marrying, Pauline reveals that Robert is not her husband’s son but the result of an affair she had with an Italian Jesuit priest. As she tells it she tries to look flirtatious but only looks grotesque. Her effortless manner has completely broken. It doesn’t return. Ciss thinks this is what she was like all along.

The two young people don’t exactly leap into each other’s arms, they aren’t like that. But the scales have fallen from Robert’s eyes. He pronounces his analysis of the situation, explaining to Ciss that his mother wanted power:

‘Power to feed on other lives,’ he said bitterly. ‘She was beautiful and she fed on life. She has fed on me as she fed on Henry. She put a sucker into one’s soul and sucked up one’s essential life.’ (p.68)

A few days later Pauline dies in her bed of an overdose of veronal. She leaves Robert £1,000, Ciss £100 and the rest of her large fortune to set up the Pauline Attenborough Museum.

That information is the information conveyed in the dry and droll last sentence so that we never find out whether the timid youngsters marry. It’s left to the reader’s imagination to decide whether they’ll overcome a lifetime of inhibitions. Do you think they did?

Thoughts

A fairy story. We seem to have come a long way from Lawrence’s early stories. The setting amid luxury pieces, the talk of fortunes, the terrifying old lady, the hag-ridden younger generation, the country manor, all of it reminded me of Agatha Christie more than early Lawrence.

3. Rawdon’s Roof (10 pages)

A first-person narrator which allows the tone of voice to be more informal and chatty with many a ‘by Jove!’ and ‘Bless me!’, creating the voice of a bluff Edwardian chap. To my limited mind the narrator suggested the bluff obtuseness of Dr Watson, a similarity which grows as the story unfolds and the narrator spots ‘clues’ which the main protagonist doesn’t see.

The narrator is called Joe Bradley. He knows this fellow Rawdon who’s always boasting that ‘No woman shall sleep again under my roof!’ This is despite the fact that he has a wife (who he communicates with by letter and occasional half hour interview) and a mistress. But none of them are allowed to sleep ‘under his roof’.

The mistress is Janet who lives five minutes away and whose husband is in the diplomatic service. The narrator sees him paying visits to this Janet almost daily, but always during the day, never at night. Lonely woman.

The narrator finds it a great mystery and puzzle that neither Rawdon nor Janet ever come out and confess anything. He guesses the husband, Alec Drummond, knows about the affair, all of which makes Rawdon’s stupid boast that no woman will sleep under his roof sound all the sillier.

As to the wife, neither of them want a divorce, and she is practical and witty about the situation:

She said: ‘I don’t mind in the least if he loves Janet Drummond, poor thing. It would be a change for him, from loving himself. And a change for her, if somebody loved her –’

All of this is background to the actual story which kicks off one evening in November after he’s been to dinner at Rawdon’s and has stayed on while Rawdon talked interminably about one of his favourite subjects, 14th century music, for Rawdon is a fine amateur musician, even giving music lessons to Janet Drummond’s three children.

We learn that it’s set after the war for Rawdon fought in it as a major and brought back a man, Hawken, to be his butler or servant. Now this servant enters to announce that Mrs Drummond has called by. Rawdon is astonished and asks her to be shown into his room where he and the narrator are having brandy and cigars etc. When the narrator offers to go he begs him to stay.

Long story short, Janet confesses that Drummond’s just come home, more broke and chaotic than usual and insists on making love to her. She doesn’t like him and now confesses, in front of the narrator, that she loves Rawdon and wants to be with him. Rawdon agrees but says he’ll sleep at a hotel, given his famous vow. He’ll leave her in the capable hands of his man, Hawken.

Now let’s just pause and consider this man Hawken. He showed Janet in and then retired. When Rawdon mentioned him a few times, each time Janet made sarcastic remarks about him ‘busy man, that Hawken’. When Rawdon says she can stay here the night under Hawken’s care, she says not likely. When he suggests Hawken drive her home, she says no. This is enough to create a strong mystery around the servant.

But when they go to seek him out in the servants quarters, he is not there, all there is is an empty bottle of beer and two glasses on the table. Suddenly he appears down the stairs with his arms full of bed linen. He claims he’s been airing it in the drawing room which had a fire in it. But he looks flustered and this adds to the air of mystery. I began to wonder whether Hawken and Janet were having some kind of secret affair?

In the event, Hawken and Rawdon set off with a flashlight to accompany Janet across the fields back to her house and the narrator goes up to the spare room because Rawdon has asked him to stay the night. To his surprise the bed in the spare room has been freshly slept in, the pillow crushed and the sheets still warm. He hears a soft voice call ‘Joe’ and steps across the hall and through the padded door into the servants’ quarters and to what he assumes is Hawken’s bedroom. And here the whole mystery is solved because he sees ‘a pretty white leg and a pretty feminine posterior very thinly dimmed in a rather short night-dress’ quickly disappearing under the bedsheets. He beats a hasty retreat back to the spare bedroom and goes to bed.

Next morning Hawken comes to attend on him and the narrator tells him his secret is out. At which Hawken comes clean with surprising candour, telling the narrator that this bed, the spare bed, is the most comfortable in the house, as if he’s tried them all.

This explains the sarcastic remarks Janet made about Hawken. Quite clearly she knows all about his shenanigans. And this makes a mockery of Rawdon’s bombastic boast that no woman would ever sleep under his roof again. Seems that at least one and quite possibly more than one have been sleeping under his roof for years, without him ever knowing.

Thoughts

Did Lawrence write this for money, as a pastiche of a bluff 1920s story for chaps? The most notable element for me, once again, is the poshness of the characters: Rawdon isn’t some bloke down the pub, he owns a house with a drive down to metal gates which can be locked, and with paths off over the fields. And his mistress is the wife of a chap in the Diplomatic Corps. Why did this son of a miner write so often about the posh upper middle-classes?

4. The Rocking-Horse Winner (16 pages)

A sort of ghost story. A boy is brought up, along with two younger sisters, in a posh Edwardian household which is struggling for money. Although the father is an Old Etonian he never manages to succeed at anything and the family gets deeper into debt. The bitter, hard mother can’t conceal her disappointment from her children, especially the sensitive son, Paul.

She has a fateful conversation with him on the issue of luck, pointing out that she and her husband have little of it. It’s better to be born lucky than born rich. You can lose wealth but, with luck, can be confident of regaining it.

The children think they hear ghostly whispers in the house, the house talking, saying ‘there must be more money, there must be more money’. The boy becomes obsessed with riding his rocking horse, thrashing it with the whip his uncle Oscar gave him and obsessively chanting ‘Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!’. The childrens’ nurse, the two sisters and his mother all demand he stop riding it in such a frenzy.

When Uncle Oscar calls by one day he asks the boys the horse’s name and Paul gives the name of a recent winner at the Ascot races. When Oscar asks Paul how he knows the name, sister Joan snitches that he’s always talking to Bassett the gardener about horse races. (Bassett has his current post with Paul’s family because he was Uncle Oscar’s batman during the war, in which he was wounded.)

When questioned, Bassett reveals that he and Paul have been betting on horseraces. To be precise, Paul gets the names of winners and Bassett places the bets. Paul makes his uncle swear ‘honour bright’ that he won’t tell anyone, least of all his mother.

Long story short: Uncle Oscar thinks this is childish fantasy but decides to take the boy to Lincoln races. Here Paul successfully predicts the winner, a rank outsider, so that he, Bassett and Oscar all make money. Slowly Oscar gets sucked in and comes to believe in Paul’s powers. Both Bassett and Paul tell him it was his gift of ten shillings which set off Paul’s winning spree. Slowly Oscar comes to realise that Paul really has made the astonishing sum of 1,500.

Oscar joins the syndicate and so realises it’s true when Paul’s bet at the Leger wins £10,000. All the time Paul is explaining that he is obsessive about winning in order to stop the whispering, stop the house whispering, stop the incessant whispering ‘There must be more money, there must be more money’ and help his mother who endlessly complains about their poverty.

Uncle Oscar has promised secrecy but once he realises the boy’s motivation, he comes up with a plan. He’ll take £5,000 of Paul’s money, give it to the family solicitor, give a false story about some distant relative dying and wanting a thousand a year handed over to Paul’s mum every year on her birthday (in November).

The only problem is that as soon as the mother hears the plan, she wants all the money at once. The household is deeply in debt and needs the full £5,00 just to pay off the debts. To Paul’s dismay, the voices he hears, the house’s voices, simply intensify.

Summer comes and Paul makes some losses. He only wins when he’s certain’, when he’s unsure, the syndicate generally loses. Having realised the depth of debt and the need for money, Paul becomes more and more desperate. ‘I’ve got to know for the Derby! I’ve got to know for the Derby!’ the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother notices how overwrought he is and tells him he must go away, have a holiday, go to the seaside, but the boy feverishly insists he can’t go till after the Derby. He is equally as insistent that, although he’s now outgrown it, the old rocking horse is moved up to his room.

The climax of the story comes when the husband and wife are at a big party in town when she has a rush of anxiety about the boy. She knows she must be at home. She telephones home and the nanny says everything is OK but still she insists they leave the party early and drive home.

She creeps up to his room, hears a strange noise as she stands at the door, goes in and turns on the light – to find her son riding riding riding the rocking horse with demented energy, crying out manically ‘Malabar! Malabar! Tell Bassett! Tell Bassett!’

She takes him off the horse and puts him to bed, later asking her brother Oscar what ‘Malabar’ means. It’s a horse running in the Derby. Oscar puts a thousand pounds on it at 14 to 1. The boy continues feverish, unwell and bed-ridden for days. On the third day Bassett asks the mother if he can see the boy, gains admission to the bedroom, tells the feverish boy that Malabar won, netting him over £70,000 so he now has over £80,000 in his fund.

The mother hears all this as the boy feverishly and disconnectedly explains about the luck and the gambling and the horses, and tells her he’s lucky, he’s lucky. And that night, with the fatality of a fairy story or folk tale, he dies, and the reader is shaken by the secret, subterranean power of this intense, strange and compelling story.

5. The Man Who Loved Islands (28 pages)

The First Island

The narrative starts off sounding like a children’s story, addressing the reader straight out.

An island, if it is big enough, is no better than a continent. It has to be really quite small, before it feels like an island; and this story will show how tiny it has to be, before you can presume to fill it with your own personality.

And:

It seems that even islands like to keep each other company.

But then it becomes strange. The text is divided into three parts as the mysterious protagonist lives on three successive islands, each successively smaller and more isolated. The first one is quite large with a farm and three cottages each with inhabitants who contribute to the island economy. The owner, in this section, is called ‘the Master’. While they labour, the Master spends his time in a library compiling a reference book of flowers mentioned in Greek and Latin literature. But he is losing money badly. Long discussions with the bailiff and more bank loans to help the second year.

Bad luck: cows fall off cliffs, a man breaks a leg, the pigs get a disease, a storm drives his fancy yacht onto the rocks. At the end of the second year staff start leaving. In the third year he makes cut backs and sacks staff. He starts to feel it is doomed. The second half of the fourth year he spends on the mainland, eventually selling it at a loss to a company who want to build a hotel and golf course.

The Second Island

He moves to island number two, much smaller but still in sight of the first one. He still has people with him, though far fewer: the faithful old carpenter and his wife, a widow and daughter and a young orphan. He moves into the much smaller house, the other live in two joined cottages. They no longer call him ‘the Master’ but by his name, Mr Cathcart.

The place is dominated by the numerous different sounds of the sea. The place is a kind of refuge for all of them. Occasionally he goes to the mainland, to the city, but with a faraway look. He has dropped out of the rat race. Slowly he gives up on the big reference book he was going to read. He falls in love with the widow’s daughter, Flora but he doesn’t want sex. With Lawrentian mysticism, he wants to move beyond sex to a place of desirelessness.

In fact he becomes so disillusioned with the merely mechanical acts of sex and loving that he leaves the island altogether and wanders the continent looking for freedom. Flora writes to say she is pregnant with his child. He takes her to the mainland and they’re married and return to the second island and he hates it. It’s become suburban, being a nice happily married young couple. ‘They might have been a young couple in Golders Green.’

He scours newspapers for islands coming up for sale and finds a tiny one off the north coast. The baby is born to Flora’s delight but Cathcart feels depressed and trapped. he gives Flora money and a cheque book and departs.

The third island

On the tiny island he has men build him a hut with a corrugate irons roof, a simple room with a bed, table and chairs. Coal, paraffin, book. He’s forgotten about the book. He spends his time sitting and watching the sea. He becomes obsessed by the seabirds, which Lawrence describes in loving detail. But one day they all depart.

When the boat arrives to bring provisions, he can barely stand the two humans who accompany it. The days shorten and the world grows eerie. He is clearly declining. He has the sheep removed because they are too much company. He doesn’t bother reading the letters the provision boat brings. He loses track of time. He becomes unhinged, tearing the labels off the stove and other bits of equipment because he doesn’t want to see letters any more.

He prowls the island in an oilskin coat in all weathers. He falls ill. In his fever day and night merge into Time. It gets colder and colder and one night it snows and again the next day. Vaguely he feels he has to get away and spends hours trying to unmoor his boat. There is a storm and more snow, deep drifts. The island disappears under snow. When he makes it through the drifts to the boat it is swamped with snow. With the classic symptoms of the cold and snowbound, he just wants to lie down and go to sleep.

In fact he doesn’t actually die, the ending is more mysterious than that. I give this extended quote to give you a sense of the gently lulling rhythms of the prose which convey the way the man has been worn down to mute acceptance.

The wind dropped. Was it night again? In the silence, it seemed he could hear the panther-like dropping of infinite snow. Thunder rumbled nearer, crackled quick after the bleared reddened lightning. He lay in bed in a kind of stupor. The elements! The elements! His mind repeated the word dumbly. You can’t win against the elements.

How long it went on, he never knew. Once, like a wraith, he got out, and climbed to the top of a white hill on his unrecognizable island. The sun was hot. ‘It is summer’, he said to himself, ‘and the time of leaves.’ He looked stupidly over the whiteness of his foreign island, over the waste of the lifeless sea. He pretended to imagine he saw the wink of a sail. Because he knew too well there would never again be a sail on that stark sea.

As he looked, the sky mysteriously darkened and chilled. From far off came the mutter of the unsatisfied thunder, and he knew it was the signal of the snow rolling over the sea. He turned, and felt its breath on him. (p.124)

6. The Man Who Died (48 pages)

To be back! To be back again, after all that! (p.128)

An extraordinarily brilliant imagining of being Jesus, waking suddenly, with a start, in the tomb, coming back to life with infinite pain and resentment. As you might expect from Lawrence, there is no God. No God speaks to Jesus. Jesus has no sense of his divinity. He is just a man who’s been tortured to death, thought he had done with the whole squalid thing, and now finds himself dragged back into the wretched world.

Chapter 1

A poor peasant near Jerusalem buys a cock which grows into a fine vaunting specimen. One morning it leaps to the top of the wall of its compound and leaps free. At the same time the unnamed man is awaking in his tomb, slowly coming back to life, feeling again all the pain from his wounds. He stumbles out into the daylight and finds a man chasing a runaway chicken towards him. He spreads his linen shroud enough to startle the runaway cock and the peasant catches it. Then, awed at the sight of the resurrected man, invites him to come and hide out at his humble cottage made of clay.

Lawrence was fascinated by death as a realm of knowledge or completion beyond the world. See Birkin’s meditations on death and dying throughout ‘Women in Love’. The figure of Jesus gives him a spectacular opportunity to imagine how it must have felt to die.

Desire was dead in him, even for food and drink. He had risen without desire, without even the desire to live, empty save for the all-overwhelming disillusion that lay like nausea where his life had been.

He likes to lie in the morning sun feeling the surge of new life. He is amused by the jaunty cockerel, now tied by string in the peasant’s yard, who still struts and vaunts and, when a hen comes within reach, jumps and mounts her. The man thinks it is life which cannot be quenched.

And the man who had died watched the unsteady, rocking vibration of the bent bird, and it was not the bird he saw, but one wave-tip of life overlapping for a minute another, in the tide of the swaying ocean of life. And the destiny of life seemed more fierce and compulsive to him even than the destiny of death. The doom of death was a shadow compared to the raging destiny of life, the determined surge of life.

‘The doom of death was a shadow compared to the raging destiny of life, the determined surge of life.’ Incidentally, many of the paragraphs start with ‘And’ or ‘For’, copying the style of the Bible, and the man is never named, nor the peasant, giving them the primal simplicity of Bible or fable, deliberately.

After a few days he goes back to the tomb and finds Mary Magdelene there, weeping, only here she is called Madeleine. He presents himself to her but here the story really starts diverging from the Bible account. For this resurrected man has finished with preaching and teaching. His death marked the end of that entire mode.

‘What is finished is finished, and for me the end is past,’ he said. ‘The stream will run till no more rains fill it, then it will dry up. For me, that life is over… I have outlived my mission and know no more of it… The teacher and the saviour are dead in me; now I can go about my business, into my own single life.

‘I don’t know what I shall do,’ he said. ‘When I am healed, I shall know better. But my mission is over, and my teaching is finished, and death has saved me from my own salvation. Oh, Madeleine, I want to take my single way in life, which is my portion. My public life is over, the life of my self-importance. Now I can wait on life, and say nothing, and have no one betray me…’

He sees that she still wants to give. She has exchanged the life where she took (money, as a prostitute) for the opposite extreme, where she is now addicted to giving and sacrifice. Both nauseate the man. And when she looks at him:

She looked at him again, and she saw that it was not the Messiah. The Messiah had not risen. The enthusiasm and the burning purity were gone, and the rapt youth. His youth was dead. This man was middle-aged and disillusioned, with a certain terrible indifference, and a resoluteness which love would never conquer. This was not the Master she had so adored, the young, flamy, unphysical exalter of her soul. This was nearer to the lovers she had known of old, but with a greater indifference to the personal issue, and a lesser susceptibility.

I find this magnificent, completely, totally believable, and conveying a strange and obscure but important meaning about life, the nature of experience.

So intense is Madeleine’s need for a saviour, that she twists what he said into his opposite, convinces herself that the preacher and saviour has returned, which is exactly what he doesn’t want.

He takes some money from Madeleine and returns to the peasant’s cottage, giving it to the woman. He is aware of the woman’s young body serving him simple food and becomes aware of his virginity and his body’s limitations. Virginity is a kind of selfishness. The body is designed to give and take. But he doesn’t want narrow sex, certainly not with the peasant’s wife, with her small greedy soul.

He admires the cock for its natural life. On the third day he returns to the tomb and sees Madeleine, his mother and a third woman. He refuses to go over to his mother but speaks to Madeleine, telling her he must go to his Father. He knows this is the kind of language she wants to hear.

Back at the peasant’s house his wounds heal and his soul heals. He realises he was addicted to giving (advice and compassion). Now that is finished. He is detached. He decides to become a physician, cuts his hair and beard, and buys the right clothes and shoes with the money Madeleine gave him. And asks the peasant for the lively cock. With him in his arm he goes into the town. Behold the seething life. He will leave the lusty cock in some yard full of hens to fornicate. Will any woman tempt him out of his loneliness into physical union.

On the road he meets two men who realises were his disciples but he conceals his identity. He asks about himself and they tell him with shining eyes that their saviour is risen from the dead and will soon return to his father in heaven in glory. Then he reveals himself to them and they are amazed, and while they’re still stunned he runs off under the walls of the town.

He lets his cock get into a fight with the rooster of an inn. His cock wins and he gives it to the innkeeper. As he wanders through the chaotic world, he is revolted by his former self and his efforts to compel men to love and forgiveness. After death, he has risen without any desire or intention of any kind. He now sees his attempts at compulsion as like everybody else’s need to compel their neighbour to their beliefs, everyone imposing on everyone else in a vast net of egos. From all this, he wishes to escape.

Chapter 2

Part two shifts scene completely to a little promontory sticking out into the warm sea under the Mediterranean sun in January. Two young servants are preparing pigeons for sacrifice. The girl slips and lets a pigeon escape at which the boy beats her, then turns her over and quickly rapes her. Guiltily he looks up and sees he is watched by two figures. Down by the sea is a man, dressed in a simple cloak with a hat and dark beard. Further up the hill, towards the temple of Isis, is the slaves’ owner, 27, a virgin, the priestess of Isis.

She’s the daughter of a powerful man who knew Mark Antony, in fact Antony spent many a half hour talking to the beautiful virginal girl. She was propositioned by other men, often, who wanted to open her bud, but she consulted a philosopher who told her she should ‘wait for the reborn’. Well, the male figure she saw down by the shore, obviously that was the man who died. The reader has a strong suspicion of what is going to happen.

Her father died, Antony was overthrown, and her mother brought her to an estate in Judaea near the coast. And here she herself paid for and supervised the erection of this small temple to Isis Bereaved, Isis in Search of her beloved brother Osiris.

Then he is in front of her asking for shelter. She orders her slave to take the man to a cave in a nearby gully. Here he beds down for the night. Next morning the slave comes tells the priestess the man is a criminal. He takes her to the cave where she sees for herself the marks of the cross on his feet and hands. But she dismisses it, and the slave. Watching the thin, haggard man sleeping, for the first time she is touched by desire, more precisely, by ‘the flame-tip of life’.

The sun rises. The day begins. The slave fetches the man. At the temple she asks him about his marks. He simply asks to be allowed to go on his way. She invites him into the temple, into the inner sanctum where he bows to the statue of the goddess. And suddenly the priestess realises that he is Osiris reborn, sister of the goddess. Out in the daylight she asks him to stay, and he feels his loins twitching. Why.

He goes down to the promontory and wonders whether he should give himself to the touch of the priestess:

Like the first pale crocus of the spring. How could I have been blind to the healing and the bliss in the crocus-like body of a tender woman! Ah, tenderness! More terrible and lovely than the death I died. (p.158)

While she sits in the dark of the temple all day, staring at the statue of the goddess, wondering whether she should give herself to the wanderer-brother. At the end of the day she begs him to stay another night.

Outside in the evening, Lawrence devotes a page to describing the day to day life of the peasants on the estate. I haven’t made it clear that the temple sits in the (dry, rocky) grounds of a villa, which belongs to the priestess’s mother. For this mother work a number of slaves and the man who died sits watching them work, an old man scraping scales off fish by the shore, some other guys carrying nets, two maidens, and the steward of the estate who dresses like a Roman.

So the man and the priestess don’t exist in an empty allegory, but are embedded in broader society. Although you and I might refer to this as the ‘wider’ world, the man thinks of it as the narrow world. The wider world is the world of his reborn soul.

And he senses the mother’s opposition to him. Very slowly the sun sets and the day dies and the man goes to the cave and discovers it has been swept and cleaned and a nice bed made for him at the priestess’s command.

When night falls he goes to the temple, she takes him inside and locks the door. She tells him to strip naked and starts to oil his wounds. This brings back the terrible pain of his killing and he is afraid. But he has a revelation that all his teaching was around death and led up to death and all he had to offer his followers was his corpse. Whereas here, now, beside this beautiful woman, he feels the amazing power of life.

Suddenly it dawned on him: I asked them all to serve me with the corpse of their love. And in the end I offered them only the corpse of my love. This is my body – take and eat – my corpse – A vivid shame went through him. ‘I wanted them to love with dead bodies. If I had kissed Judas with live love, perhaps he would never have kissed me with death. Perhaps he loved me in the flesh, and I willed that he should love me bodilessly, with the corpse of love – ‘

There dawned on him the reality of the soft, warm love which is in touch, and which is full of delight. ‘And I told them, blessed are they that mourn,’ he said to himself. ‘Alas, if I mourned even this woman here, now I am in death, I should have to remain dead, and I want so much to live. Life has brought me to this woman with warm hands. And her touch is more to me now than all my words. For I want to live –’

She oils him and he feels himself healing. She embraces him and he feels the sun rising in him, becoming something new. Then she turns to worship her goddess and he stands beside her and feels himself rising.

He crouched to her, and he felt the blaze of his manhood and his power rise up in his loins, magnificent. ‘I am risen!’

And he loosens her tunic which falls, leaving her naked, and touches her breasts, and feels that electric shock of desire at the touch of a naked woman.

He untied the string on the linen tunic and slipped the garment down, till he saw the white glow of her white-gold breasts. And he touched them, and he felt his life go molten. ‘Father!’ he said, ‘why did you hide this from me?’ And he touched her with the poignancy of wonder, and the marvellous piercing transcendence of desire. ‘Lo!’ he said, ‘this is beyond prayer.’ It was the deep, interfolded warmth, warmth living and penetrable, the woman, the heart of the rose! My mansion is the intricate warm rose, my joy is this blossom!

You can see why orthodox Christians would have gone nuts. Now, 100 years later, though it’s easy to mock, I still find Lawrence’s descriptions of sex wonderful and life affirming.

They are one. Afterwards, towards dawn, she returns to her mother’s villa, full of the god Osiris while he looks at the sky full of stars and feels one with the great rose of space. It starts to rain and he spends the day in his cave looking out at the rainy world and one narcissus bent over. At the end of the day she comes to the cave and they are one, again. And so days and nights pass as they perfect their touch.

When she meets him on a hot day when he can smell the pine needles, he sees a change in her and knows she is pregnant. It is time to move on. He confirms that her mother is not happy. The small world of property and jealousy is reasserting itself. To be safe he moves to a cave closer to the sea. They meet and she begs him to stay but he says he must leave very soon.

One night he hears voices and knows the slaves have arrived at the tip of the promontory in a boat. They disembark and he hears the steward give orders for his capture. Never again. never again will he be caught and handed over to Roman justice.

I was worried that Lawrence would have him caught and killed again. Using death to end stories is such a bore. But fortunately Lawrence has other plans. The man dodges the little crew coming for him and casts his voice out of the rocks to terrify the one slave left in the boat, who leaps out and flees.

And the man who died carefully steps into the boat, takes the oars and rows out to where the current will take him far, far down the coast. Good.

The man who had died rowed slowly on, with the current, and laughed to himself: ‘I have sowed the seed of my life and my resurrection, and put my touch forever upon the choice woman of this day, and I carry her perfume in my flesh like essence of roses. She is dear to me in the middle of my being. But the gold and flowing serpent is coiling up again, to sleep at the root of my tree.

‘So let the boat carry me. Tomorrow is another day.’ (p.173)

Excellent. The triumph of life.

Three thoughts

1. So the pagan worship of this life, of the body, the flesh and its pleasures and its innocence, triumph over the stale, dead teachings of the Christ which the man himself has rejected.

2. Is it any surprise so much of Lawrence’s work was banned by the Christian authorities?

3. The character of Rupert Birkin in ‘Women in Love’ is widely thought to be a self portrait by Lawrence. The other characters routinely comment on his love of preaching and, on at least one occasion, compare him to Jesus in his self righteousness. Well, in this story, all those criticisms of Lawrence, in fiction and in life, come to a kind of climax. You can imagine the same friends and critics falling round laughing, saying ‘He’s finally done it! He’s finally turned himself into Jesus!’ Yes, from one point of view it is ludicrously conceited and self-important to dare to describe the thoughts and desires and then the sexual activity of Jesus Christ! Maybe it should, under the blasphemy laws, have been banned. But what a stunningly vivid narrative, what uncanny but convincing descriptions!

Credit

‘Love Among the Haystacks and Other Stories’ by D.H. Lawrence was first published in 1930. References are to the 1984 Penguin paperback edition.

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Love Among the Haystacks by D.H. Lawrence (1930)

1. Love Among the Haystacks (40 pages)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Coda

2. The Lovely Lady (20 pages)

Thoughts

3. Rawdon’s Roof (10 pages)

Thoughts

4. The Rocking-Horse Winner (16 pages)

5. The Man Who Loved Islands (28 pages)

The First Island

The Second Island

The third island

6. The Man Who Died (48 pages)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Three thoughts

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