Opposite Contraries (27 page)

There are a couple of letters also from a German man, Gerhardt Ziegler. Pathetic letters. Read them. Oh the fine stuff in humanity and we let nationality drown it. I think I told you about these two German men, one an architect one an engineer who set out to see the world. One died in Arizona; this one returned a physical wreck. Both were mere boys during the other World War. They came out at a time when the world was still bitter against Germans and everyone who met them in my house said “I am glad I met those fine young men, they make me feel different to all Germany.”

Well now you are in Toronto safe and sound, I hope. Winter again I s’pose. I hope you snored clean through your Winnipeg break and feel refreshed. We are calmly restfully dull today.

To quote you, “This is not a letter, only a note.”

Love and luck from a loving old woman
And Small

September, 1942
1037 Richardson St.
Thursday Morn

My dear Ira,

Your letter came. What a splendid one! I want to get an answer written so that Alice can post it when she comes as you want Small’s clothing back quick. Poor Small’s been naked
so long
but at least she has a prompt christening which her sister did not get.

Thank you for that letter my dear. As you said, my
heart
knew. And disgrace or immorality I could not link with your name or with any thought of you. Then when you did not write I feared you might be angered that I had
even mentioned
the hag’s scandal to you. But I
had to;
it was in our pact.
Straightness
with each other wasn’t it? You could have just as easily have thought wrong of Small by the hints I had given you about a terror in her young life but you didn’t. You told me you had already guessed. Honest straight speaking is the
only
way to keep square. Yes, I hope and pray clouds will never come between us, never obscure the beauty of our friendship. I feel this has only
deepened
our faith and loving friendship
of each other.
I was glad when I had told you about the horrid twist in Small’s life (the opening of her eyes wrong). When you read “Mother” it seemed the time to do it. So that you’d understand. Most of Small’s stories were written before that dirty smudge was laid upon life. What should have been explained to me as holy and beautiful in life. I never had anyone to go to who would have put things in their right light. I had to wait until the slow process of nature herself showed me.

Thank your for telling me about your life. You modest critter. I
am proud
of you. I knew a little from your mother but rather muddled. She has such pride in you. Oh Ira, I was so furious. You
see that hag spread it — the dirty lie — broadcast it at the meal table. My own nurse told me and half believed it (though she knew the woman was a dirty-tongued liar). Then that teacher put
her
straight and I talked to Mrs. Clarke who told me she knew too much of your reputation to
credit one word
and she knew the woman to be a scandal monger. Mrs Clarke said she had always wanted to meet you. She delayed going out the day you came to see me so she would have the opportunity. Then afterwards when I told her I would not have that woman in my room again because she had said vile lies about my best friend, she went to the kitchen and gave those women her mind, told them the truth and forbade old O’Horror to go into my room. When the other woman is off duty Mrs. Clarke herself looks after me.

Ira dear, I have no way of burning letters here only the waste-basket, so when you come I’ll give it back to you for safe disposition as you see fit. But I am
so glad
you told me of the horrors that had come to you. It did not in the least surprise me. Bless you for your dear honest modesty. I can’t, like your mother, take to myself the pride of having
made
and
reared
you but I can glory in the wonderful friendship a man like you has given to make my last years happy. And Ira, I felt proud when you said I’d stood up to champion you like Pearl did. I always feel I knew the real Pearl in person through you, just as you said you knew my mother through Small’s book.

Which reminds me, Clarke’s watercolour of an asinine English setting (an English fool leading Kate Greenaway ninnies) makes me
absolutely sick.
If I thought our Small would ever be made that I’d thrombose and stroke all over again with a whole lot of new and unexpected demises thrown in. I simply
WON’T STAND IT
. The other I like in its
green
setting; the wallpaper stripe
behind might improve it but I
like
the paddy green better than that crushed blood of before. I love green.

I’ve rather retrograded the last ten days —(but got on). Oh well, ups and downs one has to expect. I wish I’d been along to see Dr. Trapp’s new house. s’pose I never shall now. Guess this thrombosis kiboshed future visits. Nobody wants tissue paper parcels. Stout, untearable, butcher paper is the kind for getting about. But we
must
see Dr. Trapp gets that sketch. You know if the thrombosis had fixed things (which it nearly did) Mr. Gage, Dr. Trapp and those others would not have got what I intended. Dr. Baillie told me frankly (I asked him) I could have another thrombosis and it is likely I wouldn’t come off so lucky next time. That’s why I want to leave things neat. I am a topsy-turvy by nature you know but I think it’s mean to the after-you folks don’t you? Hard enough at the best of times, and if you have things in order it’s a sure way to live 100,000 years. (Heaven forbid!) Of course, you can have “The Clearing.” I was surprised when it came home. My nurse unpacked it and “Emily” went starch and said that man will ask for it, “The Clearing,” before I send it back.

Your asters still live. Mrs. Clarke takes special care of them because they are yours. If she wants to tease me she says, “We’ll throw those asters out today.” Then I bounce and she says, “I’ve taken special care of them. Well, they’re not dead, I just wanted to see you brisk up.” She was so strong behind me when I
fought for you.

The world is beautiful today. I have hopes from intimations you may be along end of the week. What of Jane? Don’t be afraid to tell me. I’ve swallowed the hurt of her not being the comfort I had hoped. I see the common sense of it. Alice will be half
here now and I’m supposed to rest first. I s’pose that drat blackout gave a lot of extra to
C.B.C.

Come soon

Always your loving, Emily

P.S. P.S. Me too, Small

N.B. Am afraid of your being too easy so enclose some vitriol for you to send Clarke if you see fit.

November 17, 1942

Dear Eye,

I loved your reading as you know I
always do.
Thank you for letting me know
O.U.P.
[Oxford University Press] sent me two reviews. I don’t know if I should send them to you or if they will be a bother because I want them back and things one has to return are a nuisance. Still, I
think
you’d like to see them. I have not read them to Alice yet. I hesitate to do so because I fancy she will a little resent some of the things said of the family — of the religion and my sisters being hard on me, particularly Edith and being unsympathetic towards my
art life.
I think these things would anger Alice. She would think it disloyal. Is it Eye? But it is no good trying to write if you are not honest. It’s just sentimental goo. But Alice would like that. I only see Alice every two or three days. We have hardly mentioned The Book of Small. Mr. Clarke told her not to let me read aloud too much, but I do read her a little of Small and Mrs. Wilson has read it to her.

I have never talked to her about my “flop fears.” I expect she thinks it
is flop
as up to these two there have been no reviews to read her. Somehow, Eye, I can’t talk about Small. Klee Wyck was
different. I am fond of both Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. Roy but I never mention Small to them. Nor do they mention the book to me. I keep my copy in a drawer. If anyone
asks
to see her they go to the drawer to get her. Few do ask.

There is one thing makes me glad though. (Nobody but you will understand this.) I had not realized how much of Father there was in the book. Of course, all of her is stories before that brutal telling and the horrible crack-up of Small’s lovely world which broke the fond, devoted relationship between us. I was bitterly unforgiving. It must have been dreadfully hurtful to Father. Knowing you Ira chased the bitters out of Small. Small’s being able to tell the dearest friend she ever had and that friend’s understanding seemed to smooth away the old scar. If I have made people respect and honour Father through The Book of Small perhaps it has in someway atoned for all my years of bitterness.

There is not much of Mother in The Book of Small. I suppose Father was the dominant element in our house at that time. But I loved Mother
best.
I think you will see that in the “Portrait of My Mother” that I gave you. I think perhaps that is the tenderest most loving bit of writing I have ever done. I
wanted
to do it and I am glad I did it at Mount Douglas before my collapse (whether she will ever be published or not I don’t know. I’d like people to know my mother. You say she belongs in the biog. There was not anything to make right with Mother like there was with Father. There was only love; no hurt.

The will is all fixed up and squared at last. I was shocked to find how muddled it was. It would have been in a big mess about the ms and not at all as I intended — half you, half Alice. No you ’til Alice’s death at all. I explained to Harry that Alice might live ten years yet or more and by that time the royalties
of my books might be all worn out. There’s not much selling after a book’s new is off, I expect? He did not approve of
half in half;
said it would send death-duty nose pokers into it and be bad and be a great trial to Alice. Harry had left Alice, Willie and Lawren in a mix. Our pictures too, so we had to settle that. I have given her now that big canvas in my studio over the table. Lawren put a reserve of $500 on it. It is liable to sell someday being of historic value. It is
hers
any time it sells or to
will
if she wants and where she wants but she is
out
of the other pictures and therefore
cannot will
them back to her nieces. Oh pshaw! Wills! But I am glad it’s tidied up. It was worse than no will.

I wonder if you will have to go North? I’ve been up in a chair doing a little rough type. My head is not too good for work.

How is your help doing? Did Phyllis start her job today? What’s the good of asking questions you don’t answer? That’s nasty! You
are good
to me in your busy life but is the anthology getting anywhere??? Isn’t Mrs. Clarke an
awful
writer,
far
worse that you and as bad as me.

There’s a door going bang, bang, bang. I long to roam into the hall and
slam
it.

Good night,

Your loving Emily & Small

P.S. If you would prefer nose, mouth or ear, say so. I am adaptable.

C.O.D.
Carol wanted to be remembered to you. She is just a little jealous because she’s so far off and you nearer. She loves Small but says she can’t take the place of Klee Wyck quite with her. Klee Wyck was [her] first love. Bill and Rolf like Small best. Joe sent me a dear little letter and a box of candy which he called a “getting better present.” He is a dear little boy. I don’t wonder
Carol adores him. She is truly fond of Bill. It is a thoroughly happy marriage but there seems a tremendous link between her and Joe.

February 14th, 1945

Dear Eye,

The child was so pleased with her Valentine. We began the day bleak and thunderous. The night before was a bad one. I felt at my wit’s end and came to the conclusion something
must
be done. I could
not
go on. Two years is enough of a sentence so did not feel I was giving the new medicine a show either. Shanks has been unbearable and Alice as obstinate and worrying as possible. She
will
crawl round at night three or four times. Once is ok as the house gets bitter cold before morning but she took to several times and wore herself out and worried me. I felt I hadn’t a soul to turn to and I longed to go to Harry; his wife wrote me that morning. She said I know you are one of his friends who will miss him most for there was always a “sincere deep friendship between you two.” Then I woke at midnight and everything seemed one too many and I had a bad rest of the night, and started as a huge boo-hoo cry. Shanks had had her dismissal from Thursday (we were going to get a “worker by hour”; this seemed the sort of thing available). Finally I thought of St. Mary’s Priory (old James Bay Hotel) where they take old and infirm people in, and Dr. Baillie came this morning and he thinks it quite a good idea. You see Alice is getting worn out and it is not fair. Of course she’s furious and hurt but Dr. Baillie will make inquiries. Alice says “You’ll hate it.” I know I shall but I hated going to Mrs. Clarke’s and I hated it while I was there yet I stuck it six months without grumbling and I can do it again. So
we are leaving things in abeyance several days. Shanks came through and offered to stay on any odd days ’til I get something. So that’s the way it is. They’d both bullied me so for being difficult and I asked Dr. B, “Tell me, is it all my fault?” He said,
“No it was not.”
I saw I’d come to the end. I have had it with poor Alice getting up at night and often quite unnecessarily but so obstinate. So you may find me anywhere if you come next week. Me and Small. I’ll take her. I hope she will stay close. Yes, Small was round when Lawren was there; but, of course, he did
not
know about her belonging to both of us. Only just I know that. One or two call me Small but that is just from reading the book.

I am glad you enjoyed Hundreds and Thousands. I’ve written two since. I am
not
surprised that many need rewriting. Next batch will be small only 10–15. I found so many confusing. You are not to press yourself to crit but just read for fun at present. I fully understand. I am only glad you are getting fun out if it for yourself — although I did not know most of it
was
funny. These last two I feel [I’m] getting a little more into my stride. I know many of the others I sent you were too long, not concise enough. I must try and just pick out the core of the thought and wean the extra round it. So many of the things I would write about are already in various M.S. and I don’t want to repeat. Suddenly, with the talking, a hundred characters will pop into my head but I must [write] or it eludes me. I write down on any scrap of paper (and lose it generally). Today I got up and had Royal help me put the paint sketches back in my work corner; and I signed
them all.
Last year when I was so ill, I was worried because half were
unsigned.
Now all are done; only some little pieces. “Sky and Sea” I hear is finished, so I must get it before next week. If I go into the “Cripple Priory” I would want to leave the sketches for Willie to
crate. Max [Stern] wants them after but he wants them
unframed.
He says he shall frame them anyhow and the wood frame will add so much to the postage but I don’t see how
that can be arranged.
I would think I’d better send his letter to Lawren. He is in such close touch [with] the gallery. Max sent me $350 more. Some few odd sales and the balance of the others he says. He has not sold any of the new watercolours because he has not shown them yet. Expects to show them in April. If they are off my chest I can take my writing into the “old” place. You see it is near enough for Alice to walk once a day and alone. I hate the thought of leaving her alone but she loves solitude and her flat, in fact she loves it more and more. She has several neighbour friends. Lillian Martin is sweet and good going to see her. Lady Boultbee has not put in an appearance as yet. I’d like to get something settled before she comes or she’ll be bitter and horrid at me being such a care on Alice.