THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF KATHERINE MANSFIELD

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 3, Issue 1, 1 March 1970, Page 4

THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF KATHERINE MANSFIELD

Margaret Scott

When the Turnbull Library succeeded in acquiring all Katherine Mansfield’s notebooks and her 480 letters to her husband, it became, and will remain, by far the largest repository of Mansfield manuscripts in the world. This situation, while of great importance to New Zealand, carries its own problems. Mansfield scholarship is now more stringent and searching than it has ever been. Most of the books whose method is to skim the cream off the top and employ subjective free-floating interpretations have probably now been written. But the books based on a careful study of the manuscripts have yet to be written. Requests from all over the world, but particularly from the United States, for photocopies of unpublished Mansfield manuscripts are increasing in number - requests which the Library has certain qualms about meeting.

When Antony Alpers first saw the notebooks - in the Turnbull Library after publication of his biography - he said they ‘contain a good deal of material that has never been published. Some of this however never will be published, simply because it is illegible.’ But in fact, if one spends long enough working on Mansfield manuscripts, there remains only a very small, practically negligible residue of illegible material. Which is not to say that any of it is easy to read, but just that with time and effort the handwriting will yield. It will be seen, then, that overseas students, confronted by one page or six pages of photocopied manuscript, never having seen the hand before, will make little or nothing of it and will be tempted into unreliable guesses. Even Middleton Murry, who knew his wife’s hand better than anyone else did, and who is, to date, Katherine Mansfield’s soundest editor, made many errors of transcription in editing the Journal and the Letters.

For the most part the unpublished portions of the notebooks are early attempts at writing which Middleton Murry thought did not merit publication. And indeed, what is the justification for giving publication to material which is derivative, mannered, melodramatic, sentimental and immature? Just that scholars now need to be able to study the roots of Katherine Mansfield’s stylistic and thematic development, and that biographers cannot do justice to her without these revealing, thinly disguised passages of early autobiography. Since the Turnbull Library owns this valuable material, it is concerned to see that the manuscripts are responsibly published under its own auspices. The proposal, therefore, is to publish all the unpublished passages in future issues of the Turnbull Library Record, beginning in this issue with Katherine Mansfield’s early attempt at a novel: Juliet.

So much for proposals and justifications. A note about methods is necessary. There is a strong case, in editing Katherine Mansfield’s letters, for transcribing them exactly as they were written, without supplying punctuation or anything else. The early notebooks must be treated differently. Because she wrote them only for herself her punctuation is often not enough to make the sense immediately clear. I have therefore supplied necessary punctuation, expanded the ampersand, and introduced some paragraphing. Otherwise the text is faithful. Three dots, where they occur in the text, are the author’s; there are no editorial omissions, and when I have occasionally been uncertain of my reading this is indicated in a footnote.

I. JULIET Juliet is not so much an unfinished novel, as notes towards a novel. It was begun when Kathleen Beauchamp was still at school in London, aged seventeen, and abandoned eight or nine months later back in Wellington, when she was eighteen. The work consists of a series of disconnected episodes (one assumes that the situations which appealed to her most were the ones she tackled first), and these are not written in the order that the chronology of the final narrative would demand. Nevertheless it is possible to piece together the main outline of a story, and to perceive the weaving in of themes which were to remain central to her for the rest of her life. To see these themes treated raw, so to speak, is to be closer to the emotional intensity which gave them birth. Already in Juliet we see her preoccupation with early death, unrequited love, art v commerce, London v New Zealand, experience v conventional behaviour. And all through Juliet and many other of the unpublished pieces of this period, is the recurring crisis of falling. All of the Juliet material occurs in one thick black notebook (Notebook i, in the Library’s holdings) which also contains much other material written concurrently, one supposes, with Juliet. Middleton Murry, when the book was in his possession, numbered the recto pages and these page numbers I have given after each episode to convey an idea of the size of the notebook and the distribution of Juliet text within it (verso pages are numbered with the previous recto page number plus ‘a’). For ease of reference I have also, in the published version, lettered each episode alphabetically. There are inconsistencies and obscurities in the text which have, of course, been retained. For example, Mr Wilberforce becomes Mr Night (both names expressive of Katherine Mansfield’s view of her father); David once was nearly written as Caesar; Vere becomes Pearl; Juliet is,

at first, the second of four children and later seems to be the youngest of three. The question of approximate dating is fairly simple if it can be assumed that Katherine Mansfield filled the pages by working consecutively through from the first to the last. The look of the pages themselves supports this assumption since nothing runs slap into a piece begun on a later page, as would almost certainly happen if the pages were used in haphazard order. On the other hand there is a doubt cast on this conclusion in that Vere, altered to Pearl, appears both earlier and later than passages in which the name is originally Pearl. One would expect that having changed the name to Pearl Katherine Mansfield would call her Pearl thereafter. But she did have a close friend at that time called Vere Bartrick-Baker (known as Mimi) and it may be that she decided for policy reasons to change the name but found it hard to stop thinking of her as Vere. The momentary reversion

to Vere, towards the end of section M, occurred when she was writing at great speed and was no doubt more intent on the developing situation than on the fictional names of the characters. The list of characters which includes Pearl Saffron, on p7O, seems to have been added at a later date than the chapter headings which occupy the top half of the page. My own conviction, therefore, is that the sections of narrative appear in the order in which they were written. Section A is dated 18.V.06 in the author’s handwriting (though it is written in ink, whereas the text of this section is in pencil, so there is no guarantee that it is not a later, inaccurate interpolation). The next date in the book is i.x.06, occurring at the top of a non -Juliet piece. Since Katherine Mansfield embarked for New Zealand at the end of October 1906, and only two pieces of Juliet were written after the first of October, it is almost certain that sections A to R inclusive were written in London, section S was written on board ship (it has some similarities with the episode of the shipboard romance with the cricketer which was published in the Journal, pps~7, and which occurs in the Juliet notebook a few pages prior to section S), and the final section was written back in New Zealand. In this last episode, section T, the heading ‘Chapter I’, the new tone, the firmer clearer handwriting, all suggest a fresh start in a different environment. One must suppose that the environment became oppressive before the work advanced any further.

Not the least notable thing about Juliet is a quality which one is tempted to see as a kind of prescience. It describes situations in the author’s life which had not yet occurred, such as her mixed response to being adrift from her family and alone in London, and the experience of illegitimate pregnancy - an almost predictable consequence of her explicitly stated drive towards sexual experience together with her repudiation of men. Most startling of all is section T which is a cool, spare little allegory of her whole life, half of which had not yet been

lived. Was it prescience? Or was she under some compulsion, later, to act out her early fantasies? The two are not entirely distinct. Approximately a quarter of the whole was published by Miss R. E. Mantz in her biography of 1933, and consisted almost entirely of section A. But there are in this many omissions which were not indicated, and many misreadings. All other biographies and critical studies referring to Juliet quote from the Mantz version. The two leaves (ppma, 112) of manuscript here reproduced were selected as being neither the most legible nor the most illegible of the Juliet pages. They show some of the problems of the handwriting, yet are clear enough to be read with relative ease. I am grateful to Mr Owen Leeming who, by generously making his own skilled transcription of some portions of Juliet available to me, provided a valuable basis for discussion; and to Mrs Middleton Murry for copyright permission to publish Juliet in the Turnbull Library Record.

TEXT OF JULIET A 18.V.06. Chapter 1. October 14th. 1 Juliet sat in front of the mirror brushing her hair. Her face was thoughtful, and her hands trembled perceptibly. Suddenly she bent forward and stared at her own reflexion. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell in long straight masses of pale gold to her waist. Her forehead was high and square and very white, while there was an unusual fullness over her brows. Her eyes were a peculiar colour, almost approaching green. Her nose [was] very straight and fine, and her mouth was full of sensitive curves - the underlip decidedly too full for regular beauty. Her face was square in outline, and her skin very white. The impression which it caused was not by any means strictly beautiful. When in repose it conveyed an idea of extreme thoughtfulness - her mouth drooped slightly at the corners, her eyes were shadowed, but her expression was magnetic, her personality charged with vitality. She looked a dreamer, but her dreams were big with life . . . But Juliet noticed none of these characteristics. Since her very early days she had cultivated the habit of conversing very intimately with the Mirror face. Her childhood had been lonely, the dream-face her only confidante. She was the second in a family of four. The eldest girl, Margaret, was now seventeen, Juliet was fourteen, and then two babies, Mary and Henry, aged seven and six respectively. The Mother was a

slight pale little woman. She had been delicate and ailing before her marriage and she never could forget it. Margaret and she looked after the babies - and Mr Wilberforce, a tall grey bearded man, with prominent blue eyes, large ungainly hands, and inclining to stoutness. He was a general merchant, director of several companies, chairman of several societies, thoroughly commonplace and commercial. The greater part of his life had been spent in New Zealand, and all the children had been born there.

Juliet was the odd man out of the family - the ugly duckling. She had lived in a world of her own, created her own people, read anything and everything which came to hand, was possessed with a violent temper, and completely lacked placidity. She was dominated by her moods which swept through her and in number were legion. She had been as yet, utterly idle at school, drifted through her classes, picked up a quantity of heterogeneous knowledge - and all the pleading and protestations of her teachers could not induce her to learn that which did not appeal to her. She criticised everybody and everything with which she came into contact, and wrapped herself in a fierce white reserve. ‘I have four passions’ she once wrote in an old diary, ‘Nature, people, Mystery, and - the fourth no man can number.’ Of late she had quarrelled frequently with the entire family, through pure lack of anything definite to occupy her thoughts. She had no defined path ahead, no goal to reach, and she felt compelled to vent her energy upon somebody - and that somebody was her family.

The large bedroom where she sat looked very dim and dark. There was a small fire in the grate, and a big rocking chair before it, but these were the two positive luxuries which the room boasted of Pictures were conspicuous by their absence, and all these little familiar things which make the sum total of so many girls’ bedrooms found no place here. A long unvarnished bookshelf was nailed above the bed, and a most miscellaneous collection of volumes found a resting place there. A glass of red roses stood on the dressing table, and all her party clothes were carefully laid out on a chair. She dressed very deliberately in her white muslin frock - open at the neck and showing her full round throat - and tied her broad silk sash. Her hair hung in two great braids, unadorned with combs or ribbons. She put up her hands and patted the smooth heavy folds. Juliet’s hands were as distinctive as any part of her. They were large, and exquisitely modelled. The fingers were not very long, and blunted at the tops, but no amount of work could change their beauty. She gesticulated a great deal, and had a habit of sitting always nursing one knee, her fingers interlocked. Before leaving her room she crossed over to the window. Outside a great pine tree was outlined against the night sky, and the sea, stretching far in the distance, called to her ‘Juliet, Juliet’. ‘O night’ she cried,

leaning far out and turning her face up to the stars, ‘O adorable night' . . . Then she picked up her long cloak and ran lightly downstairs. In the hall her Mother and Father were waiting. Mr Wilberforce [was] wrapping up his throat in a great silk handkerchief, with all that care and precision so common to perfectly healthy men who imagine they wrestle with weak constitutions. ‘We shall drop you at Mrs Cecil’s on the way, Juliet’ said her Mother, carefully drawing on her long evening gloves. ‘And then at ten o’clock you can call for us at Mrs Black’s, and we shall come back together. You can wait in the hall if we’re not ready. It’s only a musical party.’ The girl replied, and the three walked out of the house, down the broad stone steps, and into the long moonlit road. 2 In the presence of so many stars and so many trees Juliet utterly forgot all the petty grievances of the day. She walked along beside her parents and ‘let it all sink in’ as she expressed [it].

‘Do be careful of your clothes, child’ the Mother said, as Mr Wilberforce held the gate open for her, ‘and don’t be late.’ Then they left her. In front of her was the brilliantly lighted house. Sounds of merriment came to her, uproarious laughter, shrieks of excitement. And for two hours she played as vigorously as the rest of them, inwardly rebelling and very satisfied when the clock pointed to five minutes to ten. The ‘party’ stood and watched her from the door, cried to her not to be afraid, to remember ‘Ghosts in the Garden’. But she laughed, and holding her coat tightly round her, ran the whole length of the way. On the doorstep of Mrs Black’s she paused to recover breath, and a faint, a very faint wave of Music was wafted to her. The drawing room seemed extraordinarily bright after the night outside. She was a little confused at first. The maid had said that they were all at supper, and she was to wait there. She went over to the table and bent over a bowl of flowers, but a sound of a chair being pushed back in the corner caused her to look up startled. A boy of very much her own age was watching her curiously. He stood beside a great lamp and the light fell full on his face and his profusion of red-brown hair. Very pale he was, with a dreamy exquisite face, and a striking suggestion of confidence and Power in every feature. Juliet felt a great wave of colour spread over her face and neck. They stood staring into each other’s eyes. Then he walked up to the table where she stood, a faint smile playing round his lips. ‘lf you are fond of flowers there are roses just outside the window’ he said, ‘and you can reach out your hands and touch them. The scent is perfect. Come and see.’

Side by side they crossed over to the wide-opened window, and both leant out. O, the late roses below them - thousands there seemed to Juliet. She touched one, then another, with her hands - they were all wet with dew. ‘Heavy with tears’ she said, looking up at the boy. He nodded, appreciatively. ‘Will you tell me your name?’ ‘Juliet - and

yours?’ ‘David. I am a musician, and have been playing tonight - a ’cellist you know. I am going to Europe next year.’ ‘I too, but not for music - to complete my education, you know.’ ‘Do you want to go away?’ ‘Yes - and no. I long for fresh experiences, new places - but I shall miss the things that I love here.’ ‘Do you like nights Juliet?’ His face was transfigured. ‘I feel like a chrysalis in the daytime, compared to my feelings after sunset. For instance I should never have met you as I have if I hadn’t just come in from the stars.’ ‘They make me all music ... Sometimes I think that if I could be alone long enough I should hear the Music of the Spheres. Think of what would burst from those thousands of golden throats.’ ‘I have heard so little music’ said Juliet sadly. ‘There are so few opportunities. And a ’cello -1 have never heard a ’cello.’ David’s face was full of compassion and yet joy. ‘Then I shall be the first to show you what can be’, he said. He stooped down and broke a great flower off the branches, and gave it to her. She fastened it in her dress, and then the sound of the guests returning from the supper room put an end to their conversation. Soon after they left. Juliet purposely avoiding saying ‘Goodnight’ to David. She felt as though she could not, but she was conscious of his eyes watching her as she left the room.

The walk home was silent. Margaret was awaiting their arrival and immediately began telling Mrs Wilberforce how ‘used up’ the babies seemed. ‘Henry has certainly a nasty little cough’ she said, ‘and Mary looked so pasty.’ ‘Well we shall all leave town in a couple of days’ Mrs Wilberforce said. ‘Tomorrow that young boy is coming here to play, and Father has asked a number of men.’Juliet bade them goodnight and fled to her own room. Her heart was beating furiously - she could hardly repress a feeling of the most intense joy that bade her cry out. She sat on the side of her bed staring at the darkness, her breath coming quickly. Sleep was impossible. The whole world had changed, and he was coming again tomorrow night, and she should hear him play. She crept into bed and lay still, thinking. A curious sensation stole over her, as though she was drifting in a great fiery sea of thoughts - and every thought was sweet.

When she pulled up the blind next morning the trees outside were being tossed to and fro, and the sea lashed into fury by a wild southerly gale. Juliet shuddered. The wind always hurt her, unsettled her. It was a Saturday, so there was no thought of school. She wandered about all the morning, and in the afternoon put on her reefer coat and tam-o’-shanter and went for a walk up the hill that spread like a great wall behind the little town. The wind blew fiercer than ever. She held on to bushes, and strong tufts of grass, and climbed rapidly, rejoicing in the strength that it required. Down in a hollow where the gorse spread like a thick green mantle she paused to recover breath. The utter loneliness

of it filled her with pleasure. She stood perfectly still, letting the wind blow cold and strong in her face and loosen her hair. The sky was dull and grey, and vague thoughts swept through her - of the Future, of her leaving this little island and going so far away, of all that she knew and loved, all that she wished to be. ‘O I wish I was a poet’ she cried, spreading out her arms. ‘I wish I could interpret this atmosphere, this influence.’ She found a little bird fluttering near in a bush, its wing broken by the storm, and held it close to her, overcome with a feeling of tenderness. ‘I am so strong’ she said, ‘and the strong are never hurt. It is always the weak who are pained.’ 3 She walked home more slowly. Now that the excitement of climbing had left her she felt tired and depressed. Clouds of dust whirled up the road, dry particles of sand stung her face. She longed for the evening to come, yet almost dreaded it.

When tea was over Juliet went back to her room, tried to read and failed, and walked up and down - nine steps one way, nine steps another. The feeling soothed her. She heard the front door bell ring, and knew that the guests had arrived - but she stayed there till Margaret sought her out and brought her down with great indignation. The room seemed full of people, but Juliet was not shy. She held her head a little higher than usual, and an expression of almost indifference came into her face. David stood by the piano, unfastening his music case. She shook hands with him and shot him a keen quick glance of recognition. Then she curled herself up in a corner of the sofa and watched the people with amusement and interest. She liked to listen to little pieces of conversation, create her idea of their lives. There was the usual amount of very second rate singing concerning Swallows and ‘Had I Known’. Margaret played several nondescript pieces on the piano - and sat till David’s turn came. Juliet watched him with great pleasure and curiosity. A bright spot came into her cheeks, her eyes wide opened - but when he drew his bow across the strings her whole soul woke and lived for the first time in her life. She became utterly absorbed in the music. The room faded, the people faded. She saw only his sensitive inspired face, felt only the rapture that held her fast, that clung to her and hid her in its folds, as impenetrable and pure as the mists from the sea . . . Suddenly the music ceased, the tears poured down her face, and she came back to reality . . . She put her handkerchief to her eyes and when she looked round became aware of the amused glances of the company, and heard the steady almost prophetic-sounding voice of David’s Father: ‘That child is a born musician’.

The rest of the evening passed she knew not how. Something had come to life in Juliet’s soul, and it shone in her transfigured face. For that night she was brilliantly beautiful - not with the beauty of a child, but the charm of a woman seemed to emanate from her. David was con-

scious of this - conscious too that he had never played before as he was playing. They avoided each other strangely, but Mr Wilberforce praised the boy and said ‘You might come and give my little daughter a few lessons and see if she has any talent.’ She never forgot their leavetaking. The wind was furious, and she stood on the verandah and saw David turn round and smile at her before he passed out of sight. (PP3- 2 3)

B ‘Know anything about these times that we have had - but whenever you come to see us in London - I - I shall feel so utterly different. David looked at her. ‘Yet now you would not have it otherwise, Juliet. A secret is a glorious thing.’ She gave him both her hands. ‘Goodbye my friend’, she said. ‘I promise to write to you - often - often.’ He suddenly caught his breath. ‘You would not kiss me . . .Juliet’, he said hoarsely. But she shook her head, and a moment later the beach was deserted and the sea crept up and washed away their footmarks from that place. (p 23)

C Chapter 111. It was the close of a dark day. London was shrouded in fog. The streets were wet and the long line of lampposts shone like dim ghosts of themselves. A four-wheeler, laden with luggage, stopped at the door of an eminently respectable house. (p 24)

D Juliet stumbled up the stairs - somehow she reached the door and let herself in and locked it again. Then she groped her way into the sitting room. The fire had gone out - she did not notice it. The wind had blown over the roses on the table, and they lay in a crushed heap on the carpet. The room was flooded in the cold light of the moon. She stood gazing at it all, then a long shudder went through her and she fell heavily on to the floor. She was conscious as she lay there. Why didn’t I strike my head on the fender, she thought. I’m not hurt a bit. I shall have to get up again and then it will be day. She shivered incessantly from head to foot, and a wheel began to go round and round and round in her head. ‘Down and down and down and down and down’ said the wheel as it whirred, ‘down and down and down and down and down.’ Then it assumed gigantic proportions, and she clung to it and it dragged her round. Round and round and round and round and round in a great pit of darkness - and she fell. (PP29-30)

E The Shudder of the Trees. 4 (I am a lover of London town) ‘Keys with the caretaker’. The streets looked cheap. Juliet looked at it with

tired eyes - dingy, forlorn, certainly this would be very near her standard. She found the caretaker and he conducted her up five flights of stairs. Certainly not here, thought Juliet with an uneasy feeling that her legs might consider themselves as separate from her body and refuse to advance. And then - nonsense, perhaps it must be here. There was a passage, and leading from it three rooms - one large ‘living’ room and a small bedroom and a minute kitchen. She looked round, noticed that the window had wide low ledges, that in the recess of either side of the fireplace there [was] a wide washed [white-washed?] cupboard doing up with a button. ‘O, I like it’ she said, nodding seriously - and the rent was decidedly within her limit. (P5 2 )

F Das Geheimnis. (It happened when I was young, but unconscious of youth) And dark crept into the room. Juliet, lying back in her chair, saw the sky a pale soft yellow, watched the steady outpouring of smoke from the chimneys opposite. A faint breath, like a sigh from the passing day, stirred the window curtains and blew on to her face. Sounds floated up to her . . . intensely individual yet blending into the great chorale of Twilight. An extraordinary weakness stole over her. She was dying softly, softly, like the day. Her arms hung straight on either side of her chair. Her hair fell back among the cushions - her lips slightly parted.

. . . The horror of the long white day. She could not endure another. Here in this twilight, shaking off her great chains of Commerce, London shone, mystical, dream-like. And Juliet too felt like a dream. She was floating, floating, in the veil-like pale sky. Yesterday had never been, today had never been, tomorrow was not. This struggle for bread, this starvation of Art. How could she expect to keep art with her in the ugliness of her rooms, in the sordidness of her surroundings. Listlessly she raised her head and looked round. The room was full of cool emptiness - nothing was apparent, everything suggestive, and full of charm. ‘You will stay with me a little longer - while I can offer you this Magic hour’ whispered -

O i. The sky changed. Only a narrow strip of the pale yellow remained, and above a thin blue on which the darkness of night sky was partially hidden. Patches of rich golden light shone in the houses. She felt her fatigue, her doubts, her regrets, slip off from her tired heart. ‘O - O’, she said, ‘How weak I am. How I ought to be full of strength, and rejoicing all the day. Relations at the other end of the world who have, thank Heaven, cast me off and my wish fulfilled. I’m alone in the heart of London, working and living . . .’ Then another thought came - she shook her head and frowned, but a great wave of bitter sweeping memories broke over her and drowned all else. Where was he now?

What was he doing? How did he live? Married? Single? Rich? Poor? Nothing was known. She shook from head to foot with pain and anger with herself. Were those five years to haunt her always? Would she never be strong enough to stand absolutely alone? Should the first thought at waking always be ‘Who knows’ and the last thought at night ‘Perhaps tomorrow’ ? She moved restlessly. ‘I say I am independent - I am utterly dependent. I say I am masculine - no-one could be more feminine. I say I am complete - I am hopelessly incomplete. Try as she would, she knew that it was hopeless to attempt to change. ‘I must just put up with it’ she said aloud. Suddenly she listened. Someone was mounting the stairs, quickly, lightly. She glanced at the clock - it was just half past eight. The steps came nearer. Outside her door they stopped. There was a momentary pause, then a knock, sharp, imperative. She sprang to her feet, and something within her seemed to spring to birth and laugh. She sprang to her feet, lit a small jet of gas, then opened the door wide. In the passage a man leaned against the wall - the intense black of his coat against the white wall, the broad sweep of his hat. Then he put out his hand. Terror seized her. ‘David’ she whispered - she could scarcely articulate. Her mouth was parched. She leaned against the door for support. ‘David.’ ‘I have found you now’ he said, seizing both her hands and dragging her into the room and over to the light, his pale face full of a great peace. 5 (pp53~5 6 )

G The Man. When she reached the long tree-lined avenue the rain had ceased and great splashes of sunlight lay across the road. As she reached the house she stopped and repeated the Dorian Gray. Her heart was beating almost unbearably. She pressed her hand against her hot face. ‘This is gloriously unconventional’ said Juliet, ‘but I wish I was less frightened.’ Walter opened the door. ‘Ha! you’ve come at last’ he said, his voice full of intense hospitality. ‘Come along into the smoking room - second door to the right.’ She pushed aside the heavy purple portiere. The room was full of gloom but vivid yellow curtains hung straight and fine before the three windows. Tall wrought-iron candlesticks stood in the corners - the dead whiteness of the candles suddenly brought back a memory of Saint Gudule at dusk, and Juliet caught her breath. There were prints of beautiful women on the walls and the graceful figure of a girl holding a shell in her exquisite arms stood on a table. There was a long low couch upholstered in dull purple, and quaint low chairs in the same colour. The room was full of the odour of chrysanthemums 6 - the blossoms were arranged in high glasses on the mantel shelf. ..‘lam afraid’ said Walter closing the door and speaking slightly apologetically, ‘it’s not very . . .’ ‘Please I like it’ Juliet said,

smiling at him and pulling off her long gloves. He pulled up a great armchair for her - then, seating him [self] opposite so that he might watch her face . . . ‘Now tell me all about yourself.’ How revoltingly hearty his voice sounds, thought Juliet. She paused, then - ‘There’s not very much to tell.’ ‘How about those complications?’ ‘O they’re quite gone thank you. I ... I took your advice.’ ‘That’s fine, that’s fine. I knew you would, my dear girl. I always said you had the grit in you.’ O, the fearful paternal conceit. ‘I ... I finally made up my mind to put an end to them. It was hard, you know, but - I have wished to thank you ever since.’ ‘O, that’s alright, and as you grow older and see more cases of that very thing you will realise, better than you can now, how right I was. Drifting is so dangerous.’ ‘Yes. . . you made me feel that.’ ‘And don’t you feel more comfortable in yourself? Of course you miss something.’ ‘Yes, I really do - intensely.’ ‘Yes, naturally. But now the leaving part of the whole business is over aren’t you really very pleased?’ ‘Yes I think I am.’ She sat very still, and suddenly smiled slightly. ‘You have changed’ said Walter. His voice had curiously altered. (PP63-65)

H ’‘We’ ve told Father all about it, Juliet’ said Margaret. ‘And Father’s fearfully angry’ Mary added. Juliet slipped the Byron down in the front of her sailor blouse. She had no definite idea of what she had been reading but her head was full of strange unreasonable impulses. She was feeling slightly sorry for her absence of self-control in that it incurred a long interview with her Father, and in all probability some degrading issue - no jam for a week, or to go to bed at seven o’clock until she apologised. She walked slowly to the house, up the broad stone steps into the wide hall, and knocked at the morning room door. (P7 l )

I At two o’clock in the afternoon Juliet had thrown a heavy book at her eldest sister Margaret, and a bottle of ink at her elder sister Mary. At six in the evening she was summoned to the morning room to explain these offences. After her two wholly successful acts of violence she had retired to a sloping lawn at the extreme end of the garden where she lay down comfortably and read Don Juan . . . Margaret and Mary, still smarting from the shock to their sensitive little systems, had rather rejoiced in the search for her, and more especially in the knowledge that Mr Night was going up and down, up and down. They were both virtuous enough to take a keen enjoyment in the punishment of others. (P 72)

J ‘Juliet - Juliet please sit still. You walked round and round this room till my pen is describing a hopeless and idiotic circle. I must get this off

tonight, and I can’t if you will be so restless.’ There was a note of intense annoyance in Vere’s voice. She looked up from the sheets of foolscap arranged in neat piles before her. The afternoon had closed in - Pearl 8 was writing by candlelight. Juliet had drawn down the blinds. The rain in the street hurt her. She had arranged all the odd books in a neat line on the mantelpiece. She had twice pulled the tablecloth straight and then flung herself in a chair, tried to read and failed, tried to write and torn up the paper, sighed, tossed her hair out of her eyes, and finally started walking up and down the room, swiftly, quietly . . . She had a headache, felt tired, nervous, and longed to burst out crying. For days the rain had been falling steadily, monotonously over London until it seemed to be suffocating her, beating into her brain. She had slept very little at night and her face [was a] little worn and set. At Vere’s remark she stopped walking and said ‘I - I beg your pardon. I did not quite realise what I was doing.’ Vere laid down her pen and pushed back her chair. ‘Got a mood?’ she said. ‘Yes’, said Juliet. ‘lt’s the very Devil. While it lasts I think it is going to be eternal and I’m contemplating suicide.’ ‘lt’s sure to be something physical. Why don’t you sleep better Juliet? Are you - you’re not - expecting?’ ‘Good Heavens, no.

The truth is, my dear girl - well I hardly like to own it to myself even, you understand. Bernard Shaw would be gratified.’ ‘You feel sexual.’ ‘Horribly - and in need of a physical shock or violence. Perhaps a good smacking would be beneficial.’ ‘Don’t laugh so much at yourself Juliet. I’m sorry dear - you look wretchedly ill.’ ‘lt’s the candlelight. Also I am in need of exercise. I shall go out, I think, for a walk, despite the fact that I shall become physically, mentally, and psychically damped.’ ‘Do, dear.’ ‘I feel a need of a big grey sky, and a long line of lights. Also a confused noise of traffic, and the sense of many people - vou know?’ ‘Yes, I understand, but I loathe the rain. It makes me

irritable. I hate the slashing effect that it has - and it makes me “fussy”.’ Juliet went over to Vere and suddenly kissed her. ‘Think, my dear’ she said, one hand on Vere’s shoulder, ‘if it had not happened I should be in the middle of Summer. Saturday night - helping the family to entertain a few friends to dinner perhaps, or hearing Father first snore and then yawn and finally tell me all he had for lunch and all that everybody else had for lunch. The evening would come to an end at ten o’clock with lemon and soda which Mother would refuse to drink because - quotation of course -it was so “windy”. O Lord' Instead, I earn at least £1.0.0 a week, I live with the best friend that anyone could wish for in London, and I am free! Voila, by enumerating all these excellent fors and againsts I feel better - and inclined to kiss you again.’ ‘Our friendship is unique’ said Vere, folding her arms and staring at the light. ‘Nothing could separate us, Juliet. All the comforts of matrimony with none of its encumbrances, hein?’ ‘My word yes! As it is we are both

individuals. We both ask from the other personal privacy, and we can be silent for hours when the desire seizes us. ‘Think of a man always with you. A woman cannot be wholly natural with a man - there is always a feeling that she must take care that she doesn’t let him go. ‘A perpetual strain.’ ‘Also I should inevitably want to fly very high if I was certain that my wings were clipped.’ ‘Ugh’ said Juliet, going over to the wardrobe and reaching for her coat and hat. ‘I loathe the very principle of matrimony. It must end in failure, and it is death to a woman’s personality. She must drop the theme and begin to start playing the accompaniment. For me there is no attraction.’

Vere suddenly laughed. ‘I was thinking of your past affaire de coeur with David Mejin’ she said. ‘Please don’t’ cried Juliet. ‘To think of it makes me feel overwhelmingly sick. When I think how he filled, swayed my whole life, how I worshipped him - only I did. How jealous I was of him! I kept the very envelopes of his letters, for years - and he, to say the least, raised his hat and passed on.’ ‘What would you do if you met him now?’ ‘Broadly speaking - do as I had been done by. I should simply bow.’ ‘I don’t know that I would do that .. . Well, she drew on her gloves, ‘I shall take the plunge dear, and bring you back a brown loaf for supper. There is something aesthetic in the substance of a brown loaf.’

Once out in the streets Juliet walked very fast, her head bent. She was thinking, thinking. How absurd everything was. How small she was. She walked along Holborn, and into Oxford Street. The restaurants were full of light, and the sound of laughter seemed to be in the air. A curious helplessness took possession of her - an inability to speak or to stop walking. Half way down Oxford Street she suddenly heard a hoarse cry in the street. There had been an accident. In an instant there had sprung up scores of people who were all hurrying forward. Juliet ran with them. As she neared the place she heard ‘’E’s done for, poor feller. ’E caught ’im fair on the leg.’ ‘Hit ’is head too - e was in the hansom.’ 9 (pp73~77)

K David and Pearl were married as soon as I [i.e. they] reasonably could be after Juliet’s death, and a year and a half later, when a girl child was born, they both decided she should be christened after poor Juliet’. Pearl gave up smoking cigarettes and published a little volume which she called “Mother Thought” . . . somehow the title does not seem intensely original. Also, when they realised the possibility of another extension to their family they bought a nice little house near Cricklewood, 10 and David achieved no small measure of success with his gardening. Rudolf did not return to England after his tour in Italy but went further

afield to Spain and Portugal. So he knew nothing of Juliet’s death until a long time had passed ... Mr Tring 10 , the porter at No. 65 gave him a most full true and particular account. In the Autumn season he brought out a very charming little morceau - “Souvenir de Juliet”. It created quite a quiver 10 at the London concerts 11 - and it was reported on highest authority that the original MS was stained with tears . . . (P 7«)

L The Triumph of Rudolf. Juliet dressed with great care that afternoon. She had on a thin white muslin frock with a square-cut yolk [sic] and short sleeves tied with ribbons. She brushed out her long hair, and then braided it round her head. Pearl, sitting huddled upon the lounge smoking and reading] Zola’s Paris, laughed. ‘How do I look?’ said Juliet anxiously, slipping on a long coat and then taking a rapid survey of her two possible hats. ‘Entirely irresistible, my dear. Wear the black one - it’s so ingenious-looking’ said Pearl ... ‘I want to make a really good impression. I’ve been looking hideous lately, I know, because I’ve been worried about the play. But now that it’s actually finished - I shall grow a big conceit in myself. Do you know Pearl’, she added, with mock gravity, ‘I never realised that Summer was here until today.’ ‘Well run along or you’ll be late, dear. Kiss me first. Somehow I feel as though I should like to take opium this afternoon.’ Juliet put her arms round her . . . ‘Dearest and best’ she said, and blushed on saying it. ‘I should like to be staying with you, but duty calls - you understand.’ ‘Of course ... of course - by the way I shan’t be in until after eleven. I’m going to a Promenade.’ ‘Very well, I shall be waiting for you - perhaps crushed to death by the criticism of David.’ ‘Who knows?’ said Pearl, shrugging her shoulders. On her way to Canton Mansion Juliet bought 2 pink roses and tucked them into her belt. Also she felt

that the sunshine had got into her brain ... It was sparkling and golden and enchanting like champagne. She hugged her roll of MS as she mounted the stairs and then knocked quietly. Her heart was beating, and she felt that her cheeks were crimson. She stood waiting for several seconds and then knocked again. Rudolf opened the door, and swept her an extravagant bow. ‘Bon jour, Mademoiselle’ he cried in his mocking voice. ‘ls David in?’ asked Juliet. ‘He received your telegram Mademoiselle and a thousand apologies but asks me to amuse you for just thirty minutes as he has so important an engagement. It is just thirty minutes Mademoiselle - and I am sorry for you Juliet felt intensely annoyed. How could David have done such a thing, knowing as he did that she hated the very sight of Rudolf. Also for some inexplicable reason she felt afraid of him - he was so utterly at his ease, so lightly contemptuous, so recklessly impertinent. She stood

by the tabic in the middle of the room, frowning slightly, and Rudolf leaned against the mantelpiece and laughed. Then she turned to him. ‘lt is very kind of you to offer to entertain me. If I can sit here and read through my work I shall be quite happy, thank you’ she said. On no account must she allow Rudolf to guess that her heart was beating violently, that she had to hold her hands under her long cloak so that he could not see how they were trembling. She drew up a chair and sat down. ‘Dieu, Dieu, how hot it is’ called Rudolf. ‘That coat is impossible Mademoiselle. Here, let me take it. Stand up - voila . . . and your hat. Is it not heavy? Il faut souffrir - no, that cannot apply to you.’Juliet stood up and allowed him to take her coat and hat. She could not trust herself to speak to him. He is a fiend, she thought - a perfect fiend. How can he look at me like that? She did not know exactly what to do, and then suddenly thought - how idiotic I am. Really I am rude. Perhaps he is trying to be kind - and fancy being afraid of anyone. Fear - I thought that could not enter my head. 10 Perhaps if I really can talk to him alone for 30 minutes we shall understand each other in the future. Perhaps - yes - I am sure that is why David has arranged this. She looked up and smiled suddenly. ‘Apres tout, I shall talk’ she said. ‘Do you think I am rude?’ ‘Not at all. Perhaps you, if I might venture

to say it, do not disguise your feelings very well Mademoiselle.’ Rudolf sat down opposite her . . . and leaning his elbows on the table, watched her face. ‘Tenez’ he said, ‘let us revive recollections. It is a charming thing that I love to do. My favourite word in the whole language is “Souvenir” Mademoiselle.’ ‘The first time I saw you’ Juliet answered severely, ‘I heard you whisper to David “But she is a curiosity”. And I never forgave you. It sounded as though I edited the Family Herald.’ ‘No, no - you misunderstood me. I was interested. You were so different from anyone else, and you had known the tea coffee and cocoa creatures that we have seen, and also you did not like me- I saw it in your eyes.’ ‘Did you expect me to? Didn’t the tea coffee and cocoa creatures “cast down their golden crowns” straightway?’ ‘Ah you do not know the life of the musician” said Rudolf, sighing deeply and casting his eyes heavenwards. Juliet laughed and said ‘Don’t be affected. I don’t like you, to tell you the truth - you’re forward, at least you appear so, and I feel that you despise me- I hate that! I like you professionally, not personally.’ She suddenly jumped up and looked at herself in the little glass that hung over the mantelpiece. ‘ How my hair looks’ she said, giving it a little pat all over. ‘ls it alright now?’ she appealed to him. ‘Adorable’ said Rudolf, ‘and the little white dress and the two pink roses and the little black shoes and the ribbon.’ ‘Please stop’ said Juliet. She was afraid again. Why would he not understand when she was joking and when she was serious? It is his voice that is so abominable, she thought. His voice and his eyes. Rudolf tossed back his

hair and opened the piano. He began playing the overture to Tannhauser, heavily and magnificently. ‘Ah Mademoiselle’ he said, raising his voice. ‘You do not understand me ... We can never be friends, I fear. There are too many obstacles - you are too conventional...’ ‘I am - ’ interrupted Juliet. ‘Yes you are more conventional than a child from a convent school. Also you never allow your feelings to run away with you - you have no core of sensation.’ ‘I haven’t?’ cried Juliet. ‘No you haven’t. Also you are a bad actress and I am a wonderful reader of character.’ He had come to the end of the Pilgrim’s Song and began playing it again. His tone was almost brutal. ‘lt is the heritage from your parents’ he said. ‘You have fought against it, but voila there it is, always conquering you. You are afraid of everything, and you suspect everybody. Dieu! how afraid you are!’ ‘I am not’ said Juliet, shaking her head, but the colour rushed into her cheeks.

He started the Venus Motif. ‘Here am I’ he said, ‘reckless, a lover of all that you have desired to love, because my mother was a danseuse and my father an artist. Also there was no marriage.’ He ceased speaking, but the music filled the room. He repeated the wonderful Venus call. ‘Ah, it is divine’, he said. ‘That is what you should be, Juliet. What - how am I for Tannhauser?’ The music was flooding Juliet’s soul now. The room faded, she heard her hot heavy impassioned voice above the storm of emotion . . . ‘Stop. Stop.’ she said, feeling as though some spell was being cast over her. She shook from head to foot with anger and horror. ‘Listen again’ said Rudolf. It was a Chopin nocturne this time. ‘Live this life, Juliet. Did Chopin fear to satisfy the cravings of his nature, his natural desires? No, that is how he is so great. Why do you push away just that which you need - because of convention? Why do you dwarf your nature, spoil your life? If you were a man you would be a teetotaller, and then a Revivalist. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen - no, don’t interrupt, I shall never speak like this again, I shall go away tonight - but you are, Juliet. It is not regular beauty, it is fascination - some fearful attraction when you choose to appear fascinating. Yet you are a little timide, and you know nothing - absolutely nothing. You are blind, and far worse, you are deaf to all that is worth living for.’

Juliet sprang to her feet. ‘I shall not listen to you’ she said, the tears starting to her eyes. ‘I shall go home now, this instant. How dare you speak like this, Rudolf, how dare you. I am suffocated. Where did you put my coat and hat!’ Her eyes were blazing. Rudolf suddenly sprang up from the music stool and caught her by the arm. ‘lt is not for nothing that I have such a tone’ he said, speaking hoarsely. His face was mad with passion, white with desire. ‘Leave me alone’ said Juliet. She raised her eyes to his face, and his expression caused her to suddenly cease struggling and look up at him dumbly, her lips parted, terror in her

eyes. ‘You adorable creature’ whispered Rudolf, his face close to hers. ‘You adorable creature - you shall not go now . . .’ She felt the room sway and heave. She felt that she was going to faint. ‘Rudolf, Rudolf,’ she said, and Rudolf’s answer was ‘At last’. (pp7B-86)

Mlt was eleven o’clock when David 12 entered the sitting room. He found Rudolf 13 at the piano composing. ‘Be quiet mon ami’ he cried, ‘listen a moment.’ David stood still. Rudolf played madly, wildly, fiercely - the Music that was coursing through his brain seemed to intoxicate him. ‘lt is my masterpiece’ he shouted, closing the piano and falling on to David’s neck. ‘lt was my masterpiece.’ ‘What the Devil has come over you’ cried David, bringing out of his pocket the programme of the evening Promenade. ‘l’m still full of Wagner, and behold I find he is here incarnate in my room.’ ‘Yes, yes’ said Rudolf, pulling David’s handkerchief out of his pocket and applying it to his eyes, ‘I am Wagner, I’m at the top of the whole world and it is rather strange. Rejoice with me’, he said, running his hands through his hair. 14 David lighted a cigarette and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Are you drunk?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Oui, oui - drunk I am - with the wine of Life, mon ami.. .’ ‘Well go and be drunk somewhere else. I’ve got an infernal headache and I want to smoke in peace.’ ‘Ah

excuse, mon cher,’ said Rudolf, laying his strong hand on David’s arm. ‘I shall be like a sucking baby 10 if you will be kind. Where have you been?’ ‘I took Pearl to the Promenade.’ ‘Bon Dieu me garde!’ ejaculated Rudolf. David turned to him sharply. ‘Why not?’ he said, ‘why not? What do you mean? We talked about Juliet the whole time.’ ‘Did you take Pearl home?’ ‘Yes. I didn’t stay. Juliet was asleep on the sofa - and it was so late. Anyone been here?’ ‘Not a soul’ cried Rudolf airily, waving his hands to express boundless emptiness and vast solitude ... ‘I suppose the rose leaves floated through the window’ said David, stooping to pick up some pink petals. ‘They were once a button-hole’ said Rudolf, ‘but it died, and I threw it out of the window.’ ‘That is a lie’ was the answer. His tone was very quiet. ‘Juliet’s been here. I know it. The remains of these blossoms she was wearing ten minutes ago. Besides, I knew it the moment I came in.’ Rudolf grew suddenly confused and silent, then he shrugged his shoulders. 15 ‘lt is true’ he said. ‘She left you this MS. I cannot think why I invented that sweet little tale...’ ‘Ah thanks’ said David, taking the roll of paper from the table. ‘I can’t think why you did either. You two fight like cat and dog.’ Rudolf frowned. ‘She hates me’ he said. ‘She is impudent. This afternoon she insulted me. She is the only woman who has ever insulted me.’ ‘So you were ashamed to tell?’ queried David. ‘I wish that she hated me. It is an abominable position. I feel as though I ought to

love her - to me she is an angel, she has always been an angel - but I do not. She is too like me. I understand her too well. We are both too moody, we both feel too much the same about everything. That is what I feel, and so she does not attract me- do you understand?’ ‘Perfectly. But Pearl?’ 8 David paused, then ‘Pearl? 8 Need I tell you? I cannot help myself. I am madly in love with Pearl. 8 She is so inexplicable, so reckless, so unlike me. I cannot understand her, I cannot think how she feels about me. It attracts me . . . and she challenges me. The Lord only knows how all this will end’, he added. (ppß6a-89a)

N And the winter came again. The rooms in Carbury Avenue began to look cold and cheerless. ‘Don’t for Heaven’s sake start fires’ said Pearl, ‘they stop me working strenuously - also the price of coal.’ So they kept the screen in front of the fireplace and resolutely refused to think of the long sweet drowsy evenings that might have been theirs. Juliet was sleeping badly again. ‘I dream so much’ she told Pearl. ‘Every night, terrible dreams, all about when I was little, and about people I’d quite forgotten - and then I wake, and try not to sleep again - it is so heart-breaking.’ She had become intensely pale, and the shadows were always under her eyes, now. ‘You ought to feel more, and think less’ Pearl would answer. ‘Write something stupendous, create a colossal scheme and then it will cure you.’ ‘ldeas keep coming to me- it is not for lack of ideas that I have not written. But somehow that last play seemed to have stolen so much of my vitality.’ They were both sitting in the half dark, talking thus, when Pearl suddenly looked at the clock and cried ‘Good Heavens! I must fly. I’m due for a sitting at half past six and it’s nearly that now.’ She went. Juliet listened to the sound of her steps going down, down, down, then along the corridor, and then lost. She folded her hands in front of her, and suddenly the tears poured down her face . . .

I wonder why I am crying, she thought. Am I sad? Am I, am I? She crept over to the lounge and lay down, her head buried in the cushions. She was assailed with the most extraordinary thoughts. They seemed to be floating towards her, vast and terrible. I feel as though I was on a great river, she thought, and the rocks were all closing around me, coming towards me to sink me . . . And now and again Rudolf’s face came before her - the broad low brow, the great sweep of hair, the fire of the eyes, the eager curve of his mouth - almost just a trifle mocking, but also concerned, just a trifle concerned. She saw the strong supple hands, hands such as Aubrey Beardsley would have given an Artist. It is Rudolf - and Rudolf, and Rudolf, she said to herself. Then suddenly a fierce thought sprang to birth in her brain . . . Did he ever think - that there might be consequences to his act? Did he ever for one moment

dream that Nature might cry to the world what was so hidden, so buried? Terror took possession of her. ‘O no - not that’ she said, ‘never, never that. That would be diabolical, and the world isn’t diabolical - at least it can’t be. Nothing would exist if it was.’ But if - if - then if she were certain she 16 (pp9o-9ia)

O ‘How you’ve changed’, 17 he said, half whispering. ‘Mightn’t it have been better if you had just followed your destiny? For girls like Pearl it is of course different, she is made differently Juliet, but - your guarded life. Perhaps by this time you would be . . .’ ‘Please be quiet’, said Juliet. The tears were choking her now - the hopeless tragedy. O, yes he was a fool, this David. Why did she love him? ‘But am I not right?’ he went on, almost tenderly. She shook her head. ‘I have made my own bed - no, no I don’t mean that. I adore this life, I worship it, it has been Heaven!’ But she over-acted her part. Suddenly he caught one of her hands. ‘Listen’ he said. ‘Listen. Go back, dear. We shall all help you. We have spoken so much of you lately. You are so changed it is not right - you are wasting your life. And you have been dear and sweet to me always. How we change, Juliet. When we first knew each other, both so young, so full of quaint, romantic impossibilities - but those two children are dead now, and we are man and woman. All is different. You have made a mistake, for the sake of your old view. Juliet try and go back. We shall both help you . . . Pearl and I . . .’ Juliet looked up into [his] face. How very very heavy she had grown. She could hardly hold up her head now ... It is quite extraordinary - like a dead body, she thought. All the six undertakers couldn’t lift her now. How curious - two Davids. How strange - two huge gigantic Davids, both of them thundering ‘Pearl and I’ . . . What colossal Davids. She must run away and tell Grannie. She started to her feet. . . and fell . . . (PP92-93)

P Day and night the rain fell. The sky would never be light again, it seemed. The little bedroom was always dark, but it did not matter - as Pearl told David, Juliet did not need light now. 18 When the doctor had first come, and told Pearl how it was with Juliet the girl was dismayed and horror-stricken. She went into the sitting-room where David was waiting. ‘David’ she said, ‘this is awful. I had not the slightest idea that Juliet ‘What is the matter’ he said. ‘O, our poor Juliet. She has been shockingly treated - you know? You understand?’ ‘l’ll not believe you’ said David. ‘lt is perfectly true. David, she is going to die.’ ‘l’ll not believe you.’ ‘lt is true. Come in and see her - she cannot know . . .’ They went back to her room. The doctor left as they entered, promising

to come again next morning. Also he would send a nurse immediately. Juliet lay straight and still, her face twisted with horror. They stood and watched her. David suddenly stroked her hand . . . ‘Rudolf’ she cried piteously, pleadingly - and then both of them knew. Day and night the rain fell, and at last one afternoon the end came. 19 Juliet came back painfully. She was groping the dark, trying to feel her way along. Out of the dark two voices came. ‘lt cannnot be long now.’ ‘But it is for the best. If she had lived, what could have happened?’ ‘I begin to believe there must be a merciful God.’ ‘I, too.’ She opened her eyes, and saw the two beside her. ‘Ought I to join your hands and say bless you?’ she whispered. Suddenly she raised herself. ‘O - o - I want to live.’ she screamed. But Death put his hand over her mouth. (pp93a-95)

Q Juliet looked round her room curiously. So this is where she was to spend the next three years - three years. It did not look inviting. She noticed two texts, ornamented with foxgloves and robins . . . and decided that they must come down. The three large windows looked out upon the Mews below - the houses built all round in a square. She wondered who would share this sanctum. Some English girl, stiff and sporting, who would torture the walls with pictures of dogs, and keep a hockey stick in the corner. Heaven forbid, she thought. She sat down by the side of the bed and pulled off her long gloves. How strange and dim the light was. She was alone in London - glorious thought. Three years of study before her, and then all Life to plunge into. The others were actually gone now. She was to meet total strangers. She could be just as she liked - they had never known her before. O, what a comfort it was to know that every minute sent The Others further away from her! ‘I suppose lam preposterously unnatural’ she thought, and smiled. Then the porter brought in her two large boxes, and behind him Miss Mackay hovered and told Juliet she must have everything unpacked before teatime - it was quite one of the old customs. Did the glory of England rest upon old customs? She rather fancied it did. When to start overcoats and when to stop fires; hard-boiled eggs for Sunday supper, and cold lunches. She knelt down on the floor and unstrapped her luggage. From the pocket of her suitcase she drew out David’s picture and looked at it seriously, then bent forward and kissed it. ‘Here we are dear’ she said aloud. ‘Boy of mine, I feel that life is beginning - write now.’ 20 When the old custom had been sustained, and she had undressed, she suddenly longed to write just a few lines of her impressions, so she slipped into her kimono and drew out her notebook. ‘lf I could retain my solitude’ she wrote, ‘I should be profoundly happy. The knowledge

that sooner or later I shall be hampered with desirable acquaintances takes away much of the glamour. The great thing to do is to start as I mean to continue, never for one moment to be other than myself as I long to be - as I never yet have been except with David.’ She laid down her pen and began braiding her hair in two thick braids. There was a knock at the door and immediately afterwards Miss Mackay entered with a tall thin girl beside her. ‘My dear’, the old lady said, ‘Juliet’ - positive Maternity in her tone - ‘this is your roommate, Pearl Saffron - new like yourself so I hope you will be friends.’ (pp9sa-97a)

R Because she was the youngest she expected the most. She had vague notions that it was always, would always be the third who was the favourite of the Gods. The fairy tales that she devoured voraciously during her childhood helped to stimulate the thought. 21 (p9B)

S Juliet passed a sleepless night. 22 She lay still in the darkness staring at the dim outline of the roof outside the window, thinking, thinking. Each moment her brain seemed more awake. If I do once go back, she thought, all will be over. It is stagnation, desolation that stares [me] in the face. I shall be lonely, I shall be thousands of miles from all that I care for and once I get there I can’t come back. I can’t do it. If they choose to behave like devils they must be treated as such. On one hand lay the mode boheme, alluring, knowledge-bringing, full of work and sensation, full of impulse, pulsating with the cry of Youth Youth Youth - Pearl with her pale eager face and smiling ripe mouth, crying to Juliet ‘Here I am, here we both are. Trust me dear, live with me, you and I to reach for things together, you and I to live and prove our new Philosophy.’ On the other hand lay the Suitable Appropriate Existence, the days full of perpetual Society functions, the hours full of clothes discussions, the waste of life. ‘The stifling atmosphere would kill me’ she thought. The days, weeks, months, years of it all. Her father, with his successful characteristic respectable face, crying ‘Now is the time. What have I got for my money? Come along, deck yourself out, show the world that you are expensive. Now is the time for me to sit still and have my slippers brought to me. You are behaving badly. You must learn to realise that the silken cords of parental authority are very tight ropes indeed. I want no erratic spasmodic daughter. I demand a sane healthy-minded girl. It is quite time for you to put up the shutters upon this period.’ 23 In the darkness Juliet smiled at the last expression. It was so exactly like him - an undeniable trade atmosphere. Towards dawn she slipped out of bed, wrapped herself round in the quilt, and began pacing up and down. Her face was burning with

excitement. ‘lt has been so easy to speak of taking the plunge when two years of student life lay definitely before me, but now that the moment has arrived the water looked very cold.’ All their arguments passed sharply across her brain - a neat selection of platitudes, altruisms, aphorisms. ‘Will they wear? Will they hold good?’ she thought, and then cried ‘Yes, yes... I have the Key in my hands. Shall I unlock the door and get through and then shut it again, bang it again, with all the old Life outside, and Pearl and I alone at last?’ She sat down at the table and took up her pen, then wrote rapidly. ‘Pearl I am coming. Understand I answer now for good and for all ... I don’t know why I have hesitated so long. Ought I to be grateful to you for taking me? I don’t think I am, dear, because I would do exactly the same if the circumstances were reversed. You realise that I want to find out what every-

thing is worth - and you too, my friend. What has held me back from coming has been I think, principally, the thought that we are not to be together for a week or a month or a year even but for all times. It is rather immense and requires consideration. So to bed. I am lonely. J.’ When the seven o’clock dressing bell rang Juliet woke to the full consciousness of a nervous headache. She knew from experience that it was of no earthly use to attempt to do anything except succumb and lie still. So she slipped into her kimono and went along the stone passage to Miss Grimwood’s bedroom. That lady on a seat before the glass tastefully decorated 10 her head with her three soft switches, and when

Juliet came in she enmeshed herself in a salmon pink fascination with no small measure of confusion and embarrassment. ‘I am afraid I shall have to stay in bed all day’ said Juliet. Then, in answer to numerous significant inquiries and nods, ‘No, nothing thank you. Merely a headache. Meals? No thank you. Yes, tea perhaps, if I might have it very strong. If I can just lie still . . . O, no, quite unnecessary. I shall take some phenacetin. If I might be left alone. Overwork? O, by no means. They are quite a common occurrence.’ Then she went back to her room and pulled down the blinds and crept into bed. The hours pulsed slowly on. After an immeasurable length of time she saw Pearl standing beside her, tall and grave in her black frock with a white feather boa around her throat. ‘This is good’ said Juliet, sitting up with her hands clasped round her knees. ‘What is the time?’ ‘Just four.’ Pearl smiled. ‘How do you feel?’ ‘Rather damnable.’ ‘Can you talk?’ ‘My dear, yes. I feel better for the sight of you. Give me that pink carnation you’re wearing and sit on the bed here.’ ‘I got your letter this afternoon, Juliet, by the two o’clock post, and came straightway to your room, my dear.’ They suddenly held each other’s hand. ‘To the devil with my relations’ said Juliet. ‘To the devil with our Past Life’ said Pearl. ‘All the way here I have been quoting Oscar’s “Relations are a very tedious set of people”. You know, it has been like a charm.’ 24 (ppio6a-noa)

T Chapter 1. Behind the house the hills rose in a great sweep of melancholy grandeur. Before it lay the wide restless ocean. Juliet dreamed. She stood at the foot of a great bush-covered hill. It towered above her, and she had a curious sensation that it was alive and filled with antagonism towards her. On the very crown of the hill the sunlight lay, sheer golden. Juliet began to slowly climb. At first she followed a narrow sheep track for a short time, then lost sight of it and clung to brambles and trees, sometimes finding a firm foothold, sometimes stumbling or sinking ankle deep into a mass of rotting leaves. ‘This will take me a terribly long time she thought. Then a hand grasped hers and someone pulled her swiftly and carefully over the fallen tree trunks, across the narrow streams. She was out of the bush now. A long stretch of short grass was before her. The unseen guide disappeared. Juliet resolutely walked on. The hill seemed to increase to an enormous size and the patch of sunlight at the top grew more intense. The air became full of sound. She was conscious of many people near her, of voices raised in anger or alarm. ‘I must try and not look to the right or to the left’ she thought, ‘but only at the sunlight.’ Then she entered the bush again. The trees crowded round her, menacing, terrible. The fern trees waved their long green branches. ‘They are like arms’ thought Juliet. She walked faster, then began running, and suddenly tripped over a long thick supplejack and fell.

For some inexplicable reason she began to cry loudly, like a little child, and made no attempt to get up. .Then someone caught her by the shoulders and put her on her feet again and brushed the earth and twigs from her dress. She walked on, sobbing a little, and full of despair. On and on, until a river rushed across her path. ‘Now it is all over she thought. ‘I shall have to stay on this side.’ She sat down on a flat rock and began throwing little pebbles into the water, and each pebble as it fell floated on the top of the water until there was a great bridge of the pebbles, and she walked across to the other side quite safely. Now she found a road, a dusty much-used road, and suddenly a great fog swept over all the land. Again she heard the sound of many voices, and suddenly in the darkness someone struck her in the face. A feeling of intolerable shame seized her - she ran faster and faster, and when the fog drew away it reminded her of the man at the circus. When he lifted the handkerchief off the flower-pot something beautiful was there. She was very near the end of the journey. Just a few more steps. But how heavy she had become! She could hardly walk. She was too tired to look for the sunlight, she only saw the dust on the road. So few more steps and then she could rest and feel that all the trouble was behind her. Her steps grew slower and slower. She seemed hardly to be moving. Suddenly a gust of cold air blew on to her face. She looked up. She stood on the summit of the mountain. There was no sunlight, no

sound, nothing. Only the fierce wind that beat upon her face she could hardly stand against. She stretched her arms to cling to something - and fell. (ppm-114)

NOTES ’On the previous page (p2) KM has written: Chap I October 14th, Chap II The birth of the flame, Chap 111 The God, Chap IV. 2 The incident described here took place when the Beauchamps lived at 75 Tinakori Road: the house of The Garden Party. 3 Beside this KM has written, within square brackets: ‘Foolish child! April 1908’. 4 The original heading of this piece, crossed out, was: ‘Juliet and Diana’. s The last half sentence from ‘dragging’ has been crossed out, and beside it KM has later written: ‘Nonsense’. 6 This passage, from ‘come along into the smoking room’ to ‘the odour of chrysanthemums’ appeared, slightly reworked, in a story called ‘The Education of Audrey’ published in The Evening Post of 13 January 1909. I am indebted to Miss Cherry Hankin for pointing this out to me. 7 On the page preceding this passage KM has listed chapter headings and names of characters in the story. The chapter headings are: I. Turning away. B. night-meeting. 11. Sea chapter. 111. London. IV. College influence. V. Vere. VI. Parents. VII. Project. VIII. Fulfilment. IX. Truth and Illness. X. Marriage. XI. Vere and T. XII. Death. Of the characters listed on this page, those who actually appear in the story are given thus: Juliet Night, David Mejin, Margaret+, Mary , Pearl Saffron. Other characters listed here who make no appearance in the narrative are Mrs Dale mother-in-law to; Mr Dale; Mr Philip Dale; Mr Donald. 8 Originally written as ‘Vere’ and subsequently altered to ‘Pearl’. 9 The last passage, from ‘A curious helplessness’ to the end, has been perfunctorily scored out.

10 An uncertain reading. 11 A sentence at this point in the narrative has been heavily scored out and is partly illegible: ‘a [?] so [?] that he arranged it for Violin, to be played with muted strings.’ 12 ‘David’ was written after ‘Caes’ had been firmly scored out with three strokes. 13 ‘Clad in his pyjamas’ has been scored out here. 14 ‘running his hands through his hair’ has been lightly scored out. 15 This last phrase begins pBBa at the top of which KM has written: ‘Trowell’. 16 The passage which once followed, whether one page or more, was torn out prior to the numbering of the remaining pages. 17 This sentence is preceded by ‘her fears.’, which followed from a page now torn out. 18 The following sentence, scored out, reads: ‘They nursed her together now.’ 19 Scored out here is the following passage: ‘The nurse had gone out for a few minutes. Pearl and David stood by the bed.’ 20 KM probably meant ‘right now’, but the word is clearly ‘write’ as she has it. 21 This passage may not belong to Juliet. On the chance that it does, however, and for its own intrinsic interest, it is worth including. 22 At the top of this page KM wrote and scored out: ‘Ake Ake Aroha!'. 23 This sentence was rewritten from ‘Close the shutters upon your lopsided ambitions.’ 24 After this, KM has written in different ink and on another occasion: ‘I can wait no longer.’