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221 pages

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This antiquarian book contains a fascinating and insightful collection of excerpts taken from Arnold Bennett’s personal journals. A hugely underrated and neglected author, Arnold’s non-fiction is amongst some of the best ever written. A must-read for those interested in his life and works, "The Journals Of Arnold Bennett" is well deserving of a place atop any bookshelf. It would make for a great addition to collections of rare antiquarian literature. Enoch Arnold Bennett (1867 - 1931) was best known as an English novelist, but was also a journalist and worked on propaganda and film. This book was originally published in 1932. Many vintage texts such as this are increasingly hard to come by and expensive, and it is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition. It comes complete with a specially commissioned new biography of the author.

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Scottish

Welsh

European

English

Irish

Literary Criticism

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Publié par	Read Books Ltd.
Date de parution	28 juin 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528760393
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE JOURNALS OF ARNOLD BENNETT

1911-1921
Edited by
Newman Flower
Cassell and Company, Ltd. London, Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney
First Published . . . 1932
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE JOURNALS OF ARNOLD BENNETT
1911
1912
1913
1914
WAR JOURNALS
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Reproduced from Arnold Bennett s own sketches in his War Journal
Troops going through Servin, at 5.45 p.m., July 8, 1915
Ablain St. Nazaire, July 5, 1915
Ypres Market Square, July 12, 1915
Arras Town Hall, July 7, 1915
THE JOURNALS OF ARNOLD BENNETT
1911
Paris, Friday, January 6 th .
After several days delay owing to indisposition, I began to write Hilda Lessways yesterday afternoon; only 400 words. Today, 1,100 words. It seems to be a goodish beginning.
On Wednesday the Godebskis came for dinner, and Simone, Chateaubriant and Fargue came afterwards. I got from the last all details necessary for my preface to the English translation of Marie Claire .
The Chronicle asked me to resume my articles at 5 guineas a col. I asked for six.
Thursday, January 12 th .
I went to see Lee Mathews and B. de Zoete 1 at Hotel St. James Sunday afternoon. Discussion of play prospects.
Monday, January 16 th .
B. de Zoete and Violet Hunt came for lunch. Calvo 2 for dinner. F. M. Hueffer and V. Hunt came after dinner, and stayed till 12.15. He told us Conrad had first idea of writing through seeing a Pseudonym 3 at the bookstall at Vevey Station. He chose English in preference to French because whereas there were plenty of stylists in French there were none in English.
Wednesday, January 18 th .
To-day I received cable from Brentano s saying that Buried Alive was going strong , and asking permission to reprint in U.S.A. instead of buying Tauchnitz sheets.
I finished third chapter of Hilda Lessways . Usual doubts as to whether the thing is any good.
Friday, January 20 th .
Impossible to keep this journal while I am beginning Hilda Lessways , and either going out or receiving, every night and Sunday afternoons. I have written about 14,000 words of Hilda in 16 days. The stuff is slowly improving. I had not been able to even read, until I received H. G. Wells The New Machiavelli . This book makes a deep impression on me, and even causes me to examine my own career, and to wonder whether I have not arrived at a parting-of-the-ways therein, and what I ought to decide to do after the book-after Hilda is finished. London or Paris?
Sunday, January 22 nd .
Friday night, visit with Chateaubriant to Romain Rolland. Found him in a holland-covered room, disguised bed in one corner. Tea at 9.45. Sister, spinster aged 35. Bright, slightly masculine. Mother, an aged body, proud of children, shrewd, came in later. Romain Rolland, arm in sling; large face, pale, calm, kindly, thoughtful, rather taciturn. Giving a marked impression of an absolutely honest artist, and a fine soul. Considerable resemblance to Marcel Schwob; but bigger and more blond. No particular talk. But an impression of rightness, respectability in every sense, conscientiousness, and protestantism (intellectually).
I wrote 2,000 words of Hilda to-day, to end of Chapter VI. 15,400 words to date, in 17 days.
January 31 st .
I went to see the historic Durand Ruel collection. The furniture of the abode was startlingly different in quality and taste, from the pictures. All the furniture might have been bought at the Bon March . The table in the dining-room was covered with the chequered cloth so prevalent in small French households. (In this room was a still-life of Monet.) The doors, however, were all beautifully painted in panels. Aged and young domestics moved about. There was a peculiar close smell-no, not peculiar, because it permeates thousands of Paris homes.
From the front windows was seen a fine view of St. Lazare Station, with whiffs of steam transpiring from the vast edifice. The visitors while I was there included two Englishmen; one very well-dressed, though his socks were behind the times and he had rouged his nostrils; some Americans, and four doll-like Japanese. Certainly the chief languages spoken were American and Japanese. The great Renoir (the man and woman in the H box of a theatre) hung in the study. It was rather thrilling to see this illustrious work for the first time, as it were, in the flesh. There were Monets of all periods and the latest period was not the best. A magnificent C zanne landscape and a few other C zannes; Manet, D gas, Sisley, Boudin-all notable. Yes, a collection very limited in scope, but fully worthy of its reputation. Only it wants hanging. It simply hasn t a chance where it is. The place is far too small, and the contrast between the pictures and the furniture altogether too disconcerting. Still, the pictures exist, and they are proof that a man can possess marvellous taste in a fine art, while remaining quite insensitive in an applied art.
Afterwards I looked in on a painter in Montmartre, and learned to my astonishment that it was precisely he who had painted Durand Ruel s doors. 70 doors had been ordered.
The painter told me how Durand Ruel had bought Renoirs for 20 years without selling. The great Renoir had been sold at Angers for 400 francs, after a commissioning amateur had refused to give Renoir 1,500 francs for it. The amateur had said: Yes, it s very good of course, but it isn t what I expected from you. (They always talk like that-these commissioning amateurs.) Then Durand Ruel bought it. And now he has refused 125,000 francs for it. In my friend s studio I was told how dealers who specialise in modern pictures really make their money. A lord wants to dispose of say a Rubens, on the quiet. It comes mysteriously to the dealer, who puts it in a private room, and shows it only to a very few favoured young painters, who pronounce upon it. Soon afterwards it disappears for an unknown destination. The dealer is vastly enriched, and he goes on specialising in modern pictures.
Wednesday, February 15 th .
I got as far as the death of Mrs. Lessways in Hilda Lessways on Sunday afternoon, and sent off the stuff as a specimen to Pinker yesterday. 33,000 words. During this time I haven t had sufficient courage to keep a journal. I suspect that I have been working too hard for 5 weeks regularly. I feel it like an uncomfortable physical sensation all over the top of my head. A very quick sweating walk of half an hour will clear it off, but this may lead, and does lead, to the neuralgia of fatigue and insomnia and so on, and I have to build myself up again with foods.
Yesterday I signed the contract with Vedrenne and Eadie for The Honeymoon 1 at the Royalty Theatre.
Sunday, February 26 th .
Reviews of The Card 2 much too kind on the whole. Six on the first day, 6 or 8 on the second. Dixon Scott s in M. Guardian one of the best I ever had, and no effusiveness either.
I did practically no work between Monday and Saturday, but 3,500 words on these 2 days. In between, I was mysteriously ill. I hope to finish the second part of Hilda a week to-day. But tant pis if I can t. News of edition of Sacred and Profane Love with my water-colour cover arrived from United States on Wednesday, together with figures showing that Doran had sold about 35,000 copies of my various books (in about 8 months I think). This does not include Dutton s books nor Brentano s editions of Buried Alive .
Wednesday, March 1 st .
Dinner last night at Maurice Ravel s. He played us extracts from the proofs of his new ballet Daphnis et Chlo and I was much pleased. On Monday and yesterday I wrote one complete chapter each day of Hilda Lessways , 5,000 words in all.
Monday, April 10 th .
We left Paris on Friday morning. On the Wednesday night I saw Copeau s adaptation of Les Fr res Karamazov at the Th tre des Arts, and it was very good. It finished at 12.55 a.m.
April 21 st .
London. Palace Theatre. Pavlova dancing the dying swan. Feather falls off her dress. Two silent Englishmen. One says, Moulting . That is all they say.
We got to London at 4 p.m. Friday, and I came straight down to Burslem. On previous visits I have never made adequate notes, but this time I am doing a little better.
Sunday, April 23 rd .
I lost my note-book of the Potteries, and only began a new one two or three days before I left. On Tuesday the 11th I went to Manchester to stay with Mair till Thursday. I met the usual fine crowd, and also Stanley Houghton, who impressed me; and Irene Rooke, 1 whom I liked; and in particular, a certain Hughes, of Sherratt Hughes, the largest booksellers in Manchester, who told me he had sold 950 copies of Clayhanger , and over 400 of the cheap edition of The Old Wives Tale in 3 weeks (I think).
M. came to the Potteries on Thursday. On Saturday we went down Sneyd deep pit, and on Monday to Rode Heath. We came to London on Tuesday, and Marguerite went direct to Pinner. I came to 2 Whitehall Court, and what with the Authors Club, and the N.L.C. next door, and a fine bedroom on the 7th storey, I ought to be comfortable. I took up Hilda Lessways again on Thursday afternoon, and shall finish reading what I have written this morning. Better than I expected. At the Authors Club, I have met Morley Roberts, Fred Marriott and Charles Garvice. Some of the men seem to waste 3 hours in gossip every afternoon.
Saturday, April 29 th .
Lunch with Massingham at the Devonshire Club. Afterwards Shorter and Robertson Nicoll joined us, and then Lewis Hind. When Shorter said he