Part 1
_The Arnold Bennett Calendar_
BY ARNOLD BENNETT
NOVELS
THE OLD WIVES’ TALE HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS THE BOOK OF CARLOTTA BURIED ALIVE A GREAT MAN LEONORA WHOM GOD HATH JOINED A MAN FROM THE NORTH ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS THE GLIMPSE
POCKET PHILOSOPHIES
HOW TO LIVE ON 24 HOURS A DAY THE HUMAN MACHINE LITERARY TASTE MENTAL EFFICIENCY
PLAYS
CUPID AND COMMONSENSE WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS POLITE FARCES MILESTONES THE HONEYMOON
MISCELLANEOUS
THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY NEW YORK
_The Arnold Bennett Calendar_
_Compiled By Frank Bennett_
_New York_ _George H· Doran Company_
COPYRIGHT, 1912 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS [W·D·O] NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A
_Enoch Arnold Bennett was born at Hanley-in-the-Potteries (one of the “Five Towns” frequently appearing in his writings) on 27th May 1867. He was educated at the endowed Middle School, Newcastle-under-Lyme, and matriculated in the London University. From school he went into the office of his father, who practised as a solicitor at Hanley, and stayed with him until 1889, when he took a post in a solicitor’s office in London, which he held until 1893. In that year he abandoned the law finally to become assistant editor of_ Woman, _and succeeded to the editorship in 1896. This post he resigned in 1900 to devote himself exclusively to literature. In the meantime several of his works had been issued, the first being “A Man from the North” (1898) and a handbook, “Journalism for Women,” followed in the next year by the publication of a volume of plays, “Polite Farces,” his first experiments in drama. Afterwards appeared in rapid succession nine other novels, two volumes of short stories, seven volumes of belles-lettres, and seven fantasias. Besides these he wrote two plays, “Cupid and Common-Sense,” produced by the Stage Society in 1908, and “What the Public Wants,” also produced by the Stage Society in 1909, and afterwards by Mr. Hawtrey at the New Royalty Theatre. Both these plays were subsequently staged in Glasgow, and by Miss Horniman’s Company. The most important of his publications include:--among novels, “Leonora,” “A Great Man,” “Sacred and Profane Love,” “Whom God Hath Joined----,” “The Old Wives’ Tale,” and “Clayhanger”; among the belles-lettres, “The Truth about an Author,” “Literary Taste,” “The Reasonable Life,” “The Human Machine,” and “How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day” (the last four contributed originally to_ T. P.’s Weekly, _and containing indications of Mr. Bennett’s theories of life); and in the short stories, “Tales of the Five Towns,” and “The Grim Smile of the Five Towns.” Mr. Bennett has very definite leanings towards Socialism, and, under a pseudonym, writes regularly for_ The New Age. _He also contributes from time to time to the most important progressive weekly and monthly magazines._
_F. C. B._
_The Arnold Bennett Calendar_
_January_
_One_
The individual who scoffs at New Year’s resolutions resembles the woman who says she doesn’t look under the bed at nights; the truth is not in him.
_Two_
To give pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, because the pleasure procured from any art is tonic, and transforms the life into which it enters.
_Three_
There are only two fundamental differences in the world--the difference between sex and sex, and the difference between youth and age.
_Four_
The only class of modern play in which it is possible to be both quite artistic and quite marketable, is the farce.
_Five_
To enjoy a work of imagination is no pastime, rather a sweet but fatiguing labour. After a play of Shakespeare or a Wagnerian opera repose is needed. Only a madman like Louis of Bavaria could demand _Tristan_ twice in one night.
_Six_
Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great men who wrote them. They are the effluence of their very core, the expression of the life itself of the authors.
_Seven_
It is within the experience of everyone that when pleasure and pain reach a certain intensity they are indistinguishable.
_Eight_
One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous.
_Nine_
The crudest excitement of the imaginative faculty is to be preferred to a swinish preoccupation with the gross physical existence.
_Ten_
The brain is the diplomatist which arranges relations between our instinctive self and the universe, and it fulfils its mission when it provides for the maximum of freedom to the instincts with the minimum of friction.
_Eleven_
A woman who has beauty wants to frame it in beauty. The eye is a sensualist, and its appetites, once aroused, grow. A beautiful woman takes the same pleasure in the sight of another beautiful woman as a man does; only jealousy or fear prevents her from admitting the pleasure.
_Twelve_
The beginning of wise living lies in the control of the brain by the will.
_Thirteen_
To utter a jeremiad upon the decadence of taste, to declare that literature is going to the dogs because a fourth-rate novel has been called a masterpiece and has made someone’s fortune, would be absurd. I have a strong faith that taste is as good as ever it was, and that literature will continue on its way undisturbed.
_Fourteen_
There is a loveliness of so imperious, absolute, dazzling a kind that it banishes from the hearts of men all moral conceptions, all considerations of right and wrong, and leaves therein nothing but worship and desire.
_Fifteen_
When homage is reiterated, when the pleasure of obeying a command and satisfying a caprice is begged for, when roses are strewn, and even necks put down in the path, one forgets to be humble; one forgets that in meekness alone lies the sole good; one confuses deserts with the hazards of heredity.
_Sixteen_
There are men who are capable of loving a machine more deeply than they can love a woman. They are among the happiest men on earth.
_Seventeen_
The uncultivated reader is content to live wholly in and for the moment, sentence by sentence. Keep him amused and he will ask no more. You may delude him, you may withhold from him every single thing to which he is rightfully entitled, but he will not care. The more crude you are, the better will he be pleased.
_Eighteen_
It is only in the stress of fine ideas and emotions that a man may be truly said to live.
_Nineteen_
Oh, innocence! Oh, divine ignorance! Oh, refusal! None knows your value save her who has bartered you! And herein is the woman’s tragedy.
_Twenty_
To extract from the brain, at will and by will, concentration on a given idea for even so short a period as half an hour is an exceedingly difficult feat--and a fatiguing! It needs perseverance.
_Twenty-one_
A merely literary crudity will affect the large public neither one way nor the other, since the large public is entirely uninterested in questions of style; but all other crudities appeal strongly to that public.
_Twenty-two_
_“Cupid and Commonsense” produced._
Everyone who has driven a motor-car knows the uncanny sensation that ensues when for the first time in your life you engage the clutch, and the Thing beneath you begins mysteriously and formidably to move. It is at once an astonishment, a terror, and a delight. I felt like that as I watched the progress of my first play.
_Twenty-three_
Can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction of a morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar’s whisky monument, and not shake with the joy of life? If so, you and Shakespeare are not yet in communication.
_Twenty-four_
Adults have never yet invented any institution, festival or diversion specially for the benefit of children. The egoism of adults makes such an effort impossible, and the ingenuity and pliancy of children make it unnecessary. The pantomime, for example, which is now pre-eminently a diversion for children, was created by adults for the amusement of adults. Children have merely accepted it and appropriated it. Children, being helpless, are of course fatalists and imitators. They take what comes, and they do the best they can with it. And when they have made something their own that was adult, they stick to it like leeches.
_Twenty-five_
The living speak of the uncanniness of the dead. It does not occur to them that manifestations of human existence may be uncanny to the dead.
_Twenty-six_
There is no royal road to the control of the brain. There is no patent dodge about it, and no complicated function which a plain person may not comprehend. It is simply a question of: “I will, _I_ will, and I _will_.”
_Twenty-seven_
I knew that when love lasted, the credit of the survival was due far more often to the woman than to the man. The woman must husband herself, dole herself out, economise herself so that she might be splendidly wasteful when need was. The woman must plan, scheme, devise, invent, reconnoitre, take precautions; and do all this sincerely and lovingly in the name and honour of love. A passion for her is a campaign; and her deadliest enemy is satiety.
_Twenty-eight_
Efficient living, living up to one’s best standard, getting the last ounce of power out of the machine with the minimum of friction: these things depend on the disciplined and vigorous condition of the brain.
_Twenty-nine_
In the world of books, as in every other world, one-half does not know how the other half lives. In literary matters the literate seldom suspect the extreme simplicity and _naïveté_ of the illiterate. They wilfully blind themselves to it; they are afraid to face it.
_Thirty_
The mysteriousness of woman vanishes the instant you brutally face it. Boys and ageing celibates are obsessed by the mysteriousness of woman. The obsession is a sign either of immaturity or of morbidity. The mysteriousness of woman,--take her, and see then if she is mysterious!
_Thirty-one_
Train journeys have too often been sorrowful for me, so much so that the conception itself of a train, crawling over the country like a snake, or flying across it like a winged monster, fills me with melancholy. Trains loaded with human parcels of sadness and illusion and brief joy, wandering about, crossing, and occasionally colliding in the murk of existence; trains warmed and lighted in winter; trains open to catch the air of your own passage in summer; night-trains that pierce the night with your yellow, glaring eyes, and waken mysterious villages, and leave the night behind and run into the dawn as into a station; trains that carry bread and meats for the human parcels, and pillows and fountains of fresh water; trains that sweep haughtily and wearily indifferent through the landscapes and the towns, sufficient unto yourselves, hasty, panting, formidable, and yet mournful entities: I have understood you in your arrogance and your pathos!
_February_
_One_
The ecstasy of longing is better than the assuaging of desire.
_Two_
As regards facts and ideas, the great mistake made by the average well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the names of things instead of occupying himself with the causes of things.
_Three_
Time and increasing knowledge of the true facts have dissipated for me the melancholy and affecting legend of literary talent going a-begging because of the indifference of publishers. O young author of talent, would that I could find you and make you understand how the publisher yearns for you as the lover for his love.
_Four_
The brain can be disciplined by learning the habit of obedience. And it can learn the habit of obedience by the practice of concentration.
_Five_
You can attach any ideas you please to music, but music, if you will forgive me saying so, rejects them all equally. Art has to do with emotions not with ideas, and the great defect of literature is that it can only express emotions by means of ideas. What makes music the greatest of all the arts is that it can express emotions without ideas. Literature can appeal to the soul only through the mind. Music goes direct. Its language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate.
_Six_
If a man does not spend at least as much time in actively and definitely thinking about what he has read as he spent in reading, he is simply insulting his author.
_Seven_
He was of that small and lonely minority of men who never know ambition, ardour, zeal, yearning, tears; whose convenient desires are capable of immediate satisfaction; of whom it may be said that they purchase a second-rate happiness cheap at the price of an incapacity for deep feeling.
_Eight_
No man, except a greater author, can teach an author his business.
_Nine_
Size is the quality which most strongly and surely appeals to the imagination of the multitude. Of all modern monuments the Eiffel Tower and the Big Wheel have aroused the most genuine curiosity and admiration: they are the biggest. As with this monstrous architecture of metals, so with the fabric of ideas and emotions: the attention of the whole crowd can only be caught by an audacious hugeness, an eye-smiting enormity of dimensions so gross as to be nearly physical.
_Ten_
Genius apart, woman is usually more touchingly lyrical than man in the yearning for the ideal.
_Eleven_
I had fast in my heart’s keeping the new truth that in the body, and the instincts of the body, there should be no shame but rather a frank, joyous pride.
_Twelve_
A person is idle because his thoughts dwell habitually on the instant pleasures of idleness.
_Thirteen_
By love I mean a noble and sensuous passion, absorbing the energies of the soul, fulfilling destiny, and reducing all that has gone before it to the level of a mere prelude.
_Fourteen_
For myself, I have never valued work for its own sake, and I never shall.
_Fifteen_
Having once decided to achieve a certain task, achieve it at all costs of tedium and distaste. The gain in self-confidence of having accomplished a tiresome labour is immense.
_Sixteen_
All who look into their experience will admit that the failure to replace old habits by new ones is due to the fact that at the critical moment the brain does not remember; it simply forgets.
_Seventeen_
Many writers, and many clever writers, use the art of literature merely to gain an end which is connected with some different art, or with no art. Such a writer, finding himself burdened with a message prophetic, didactic, or reforming, discovers suddenly that he has the imaginative gift, and makes his imagination the servant of his intellect, or of emotions which are not artistic emotions.
_Eighteen_
I only value mental work for the more full and more intense consciousness of being alive which it gives me.
_Nineteen_
Whatever the vagaries of human nature, the true philosopher is never surprised by them. And one vagary is not more strange than another.
_Twenty_
You can control nothing but your own mind. Even your two-year-old babe may defy you by the instinctive force of its personality.
_Twenty-one_
To take the common grey things which people know and despise, and, without tampering, to disclose their epic significance, their essential grandeur--that is realism as distinguished from idealism or romanticism. It may scarcely be, it probably is not, the greatest art of all; but it is art precious and indisputable.
_Twenty-two_
There are few mental exercises better than learning great poetry or prose by heart.
_Twenty-three_
The British public will never be convinced by argument. But two drops of perspiration on the cheeks of a nice-looking girl with a torn skirt and a crushed hat will make it tremble for the safety of its ideals, and twenty drops will persuade it to sign anything for the restoration of decency. You surely don’t suppose that _argument_ will be of any use!
_Twenty-four_
Some people have a gift of conjuring with conversations. They are almost always frankly and openly interested in themselves. You may seek to foil them; you may even violently wrench the conversation into other directions. But every effort will be useless. They will beat you. You had much better lean back in your chair and enjoy their legerdemain.
_Twenty-five_
The voice of this spirit says that it has lost every illusion about life, and that life seems only the more beautiful. It says that activity is but another form of contemplation, pain but another form of pleasure, power but another form of weakness, hate but another form of love, and that it is well these things should be so. It says there is no end, only a means; and that the highest joy is to suffer, and the supreme wisdom is to exist. If you will but live, it cries, that grave but yet passionate voice--if you will but live! Were there a heaven, and you reached it, you could do no more than live. The true heaven is here where you live, where you strive and lose, and weep and laugh. And the true hell is here, where you forget to live, and blind your eyes to the omnipresent and terrible beauty of existence.
_Twenty-six_
The most important preliminary to self-development is the faculty of concentrating at will.
_Twenty-seven_
Diaries, save in experienced hands, are apt to get themselves done with the very minimum of mental effort. They also tend to an exaggeration of egotism, and if they are left lying about they tend to strife.
_Twenty-eight_
The English world of home is one of the most perfectly organized microcosms on this planet, not excepting the Indian _purdah_. The product of centuries of culture, it is regarded, not too absurdly, as the fairest flower of Christian civilisation. It exists chiefly, of course, for women, but it could never have been what it is had not men bound themselves to respect the code which they made for it. It is the fountain of refinement and of consolation, the nursery of affection. It has the peculiar faculty of nourishing itself, for it implicitly denies the existence of anything beyond its doorstep, save the constitution, a bishop, a rector, the seaside, Switzerland, and the respectful poor.
_Twenty-nine_
I have always been a bookman. From adolescence books have been one of my passions. Books not merely--and perhaps not chiefly--as vehicles of learning or knowledge, but books as books, books as entities, books as beautiful things, books as historical antiquities, books as repositories of memorable associations. Questions of type, ink, paper, margins, watermarks, paginations, bindings, are capable of really agitating me.
_March_
_One_
It is characteristic of the literary artist with a genuine vocation that his large desire is, not to express in words any particular thing, but to express _himself_, the sum of his sensations. He feels the vague, disturbing impulse to write long before he has chosen his first subject from the thousands of subjects which present themselves, and which in the future he is destined to attack.
_Two_
In the mental world what counts is not numbers but co-ordination.
_Three_
In England, nearly all the most interesting people are social reformers: and the only circles of society in which you are not bored, in which there is real conversation, are the circles of social reform.
_Four_
Anthology construction is one of the pleasantest hobbies that a person who is not mad about golf and bridge--that is to say, a thinking person--can possibly have.
_Five_
That part of my life which I conduct by myself, without reference--or at any rate without direct reference--to others, I can usually manage in such a way that the gods do not positively weep at the spectacle thereof.
_Six_
It’s quite impossible to believe that a man is a genius, if you’ve been to school with him, or even known his father.
_Seven_
It is the privilege of only the greatest painters not to put letters on the corners of their pictures in order to keep other painters from taking the credit for them afterwards.
_Eight_
Your own mind has the power to transmute every external phenomenon to its own purposes.
_Nine_
Anything would be a success in London on Sunday night. People are so grateful.
_Ten_
The one cheerful item in a universe of stony facts is that no one can harm anybody except himself.
_Eleven_
The eye that has learned to look life full in the face without a quiver of the lid should find nothing repulsive. Everything that is, is the ordered and calculable result of environment. Nothing can be abhorrent, nothing blameworthy, nothing contrary to nature. Can we exceed nature? In the presence of the primeval and ever-continuing forces of nature, can we maintain our fantastic conceptions of sin and of justice? We are, and that is all we should dare to say.
_Twelve_
The art of life, the art of extracting all its power from the human machine, does not lie chiefly in processes of bookish-culture, nor in contemplations of the beauty and majesty of existence. It lies chiefly in keeping the peace, the whole peace, and nothing but the peace, with those with whom one is “thrown.”
_Thirteen_
We have our ideals now, but when they are mentioned we feel self-conscious and uncomfortable, like a school-boy caught praying.
_Fourteen_
After the crest of the wave the trough--it must be so; but how profound the instinct which complains!
_Fifteen_
The performance of some pianists is so wonderful that it seems as if they were crossing Niagara on a tight-rope, and you tremble lest they should fall off.
_Sixteen_
The secret of calm cheerfulness is kindliness; no person can be consistently cheerful and calm who does not consistently think kind thoughts.
_Seventeen_
It is indubitable that a large amount of what is known as self-improvement is simply self-indulgence--a form of pleasure which only incidentally improves a particular part of the human machine, and even that part to the neglect of far more important parts.
_Eighteen_
The average man has this in common with the most exceptional genius, that his career in its main contours is governed by his instincts.
_Nineteen_
The most beautiful things, and the most vital things, and the most lasting things are often mysterious and inexplicable and sudden.
_Twenty_
An accurate knowledge of _any_ subject, coupled with a carefully nurtured sense of the relativity of that subject to other subjects, implies an enormous self-development.
_Twenty-one_
The great artist may force you to laugh, or to wipe away a tear, but he accomplishes these minor feats by the way. What he mainly does is to _see_ for you. If, in presenting a scene, he does not disclose aspects of it which you would not have observed for yourself, then he falls short of success. In a physical and psychical sense power is visual, the power of an eye seeing things always afresh, virginally as though on the very morn of creation.
_Twenty-two_
It is well, when one is judging a friend, to remember that he is judging you with the same god-like and superior impartiality.
_Twenty-three_
He who speaks, speaks twice. His words convey his thoughts, and his tone conveys his mental attitude towards the person spoken to.
_Twenty-four_
The man who loses his temper often thinks he is doing something rather fine and majestic. On the contrary, so far is this from being the fact, he is merely making an ass of himself.
_Twenty-five_