DEAD LETTERS

DEAD LETTERS BY MAURICE BARING

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1910

The letters in this book are re-printed from the Morning Post, to the Proprietor and Editor of which newspaper the author owes his thanks for the permission to reproduce them here.

vii

DEDICATION To Lord Lucas

My dear Bron,

I wish to begin this bundle of “Dead Letters,” collected from the Dead Letter Office of the World, with a living letter to you.

These letters are in no wise meant to be either historical documents or historical studies or aids to the understanding of history, or learning of any kind with or without tears. They are the fruits of imagination rather than of research. The word research is not even remotely applicable here, for in my case it means the hazy memories of a distant education indolently received, a few hurried references to Smith’s “Classical Dictionary,” a map of Rome which is in the London Library, and Bouillet’s “Biographie Universelle.” So that if you tell me that my account of the Carthaginian fleet is full of inaccuracies, or that the psychology of my Lesbia conflicts with the historical evidence,viii I shall be constrained to answer that I do not care. Yet amidst this chaff of fancy there are a few grains of historical truth. By historical truth I mean the recorded impressions (they may be false, of course, and the persons who recorded them may have been liars, in which case it is historical falsehood) of men on events which were contemporary with them.

One of the letters is entirely composed of such grains. I will not tell you which one it is until some of our common friends, who are historical experts, have singled it out as being the one letter which oversteps all bounds of historical possibility and probability. (It is not the letter on Heine, part of the substance of which was taken from Memoirs and freely blended with fiction.) Such singling out has already occurred with regard to certain details of the letters as they appeared week by week in the “Morning Post.” But I confess that I have so far suffered more from the credulity than from the scepticism of my readers, and I was tempted at one moment rather to insert the impossible than to make the possible appear probable. For correspondents wrote to me, asking me to give them from my secret store further detailsix with regard to Lady Macbeth’s housekeeping, Lord Bacon’s business affairs, and the table talk of the Emperor Claudius.

On the other hand, a sceptic asked to be supplied with the historical evidence for Guinevere’s extravagance in dress. I am conscious that in some of these letters I may have laid myself open to the charge of irreverence towards certain themes which are hallowed by romance and overshadowed by the wings of the great poets. I plead “Not guilty.” I am sure that you, of all people, will acquit me; for those (such as you) whose enjoyment of the great poets is vital and whose belief in the permanence of Romance is robust are seldom offended at a levity which they have no difficulty in recognizing to be the familiarity, not breeding contempt but begotten of awe, of the True Believer, nor have they any difficulty in distinguishing such laughter from the scoff of the Infidel.

To end on a less pompous note, let me add that if you like this book that is enough for me; and the blame of the rest of the world, although it will ultimately affect my purse—and a purse, as Shakespeare says, is trash—will disturb neither my peacex of mind nor my digestion and will therefore not vex me.

On the other hand there is no amount of praise which a man and an author cannot endure with equanimity. Some authors can even stand flattery. I hope, therefore, to earn a certain measure both of your approval and others’; while theirs will be the more profitable, yours will be the more prized.

MAURICE BARING.

Sosnofka, Tambov, Russia. October 19th, 1909.

“To most people of time past and present, at least history is a pageant, no less and no more. It is a vast procession of human lives, fascinating to us because of the likeness underlying all the differences and because of the differences through which we see the likeness.”

J. W. Allen (The Place of History in Education).

“Il n’y a pas de lettres ennuyeuses.”

The Man in the Iron Mask.

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FROM THE MYCENAE PAPERS

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Honoured Sir,

I am sorry I was out when you came yesterday. I never thought that you seriously meant to come. I shall be very busy all next week, as Helen and Menelaus are arriving and I must get everything ready. Orestes was quite delighted with the cup and ball. You spoil him.

Yours sincerely, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Most honoured Aegisthus,

One line to say that I have received your letter and loved it all except the last sentence. Please do2 not say that kind of thing again as it will quite ruin our friendship, which I thought was going to be so real.

Yours very sincerely, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Most honoured Aegisthus,

The flowers are beautiful, and it was kind of you to remember my birthday. But your letter is really too naughty....

(The rest of this letter is missing)

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Most honoured Sir,

This is to say that since you persist in misunderstanding me and refuse to listen to what I say, our correspondence must end. It is extraordinary to me that you should wish to debase what might have been so great and so wonderful.

Yours truly, Clytaemnestra.

3

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Most honoured Aegisthus,

I was much touched by your letter and I will give you the one more trial you ask for so humbly and so touchingly.

Paris has arrived. I don’t know if you know him. He is the second son of the King of Troy. He made an unfortunate marriage with a girl called Œnone, the daughter of a rather disreputable river-person. They were miserable about it. He is very good-looking—if one admires those kind of looks, which I don’t. He dresses in an absurd way and he looks theatrical. Besides, I hate men with curly hair. He has a few accomplishments. He shoots well and plays on the double flute quite remarkably well for a man who is not a professional; but he is totally uninteresting, and, what is more, impossible. But Helen likes him. Isn’t it extraordinary that she always has liked impossible men? They sit for hours together saying nothing at all. I don’t in the least mind his paying no attention to me—in fact, I am too thankful not to have to talk to him; but I do think it’s bad manners, as I am his hostess.

4

Helen is certainly looking better this year than she has ever looked; but she still dresses in that affectedly over-simple way, which is a pity. I don’t know how long he is going to stay. I don’t mind his being here, but Helen and he are really most inconsiderate. They use my sitting-room as though it were theirs, and they never seem to think that I may have things to do of my own, and they expect me to go out with them, which ends in their walking on ahead and my being left with Menelaus, whom I am very fond of indeed, but who bores me. He talks of nothing but horses and quoits. It is a great lesson to Queen Hecuba for having brought up her son so badly. Paris was educated entirely by a shepherd, you know, on Mount Ida. The result is his manners are shocking. Helen doesn’t see it. Isn’t it odd? I must say he’s nice with children, and Orestes likes him.

I am your sincere friend, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Most honoured Aegisthus,

We are in great trouble. I told you Helen was5 attracted by Paris. We of course thought nothing of it, because Helen always has flirted with rather vulgar men, and her flirtations were, we thought, the harmless distractions of a woman who has remained, and always will remain, a sentimental girl.

Imagine our surprise and dismay! Paris and Helen have run away together, and they have gone to Troy! Helen left a note behind for Menelaus saying she realized that she had made a mistake, that she hated hypocrisy, and thought it more honest to leave him. She said she would always think of him with affection. Poor Menelaus is distracted, but he is behaving beautifully.

Agamemnon is furious. He is overcome by the disgrace to his family, and he is so cross. We are all very miserable. Agamemnon says that the family honour must be redeemed at all costs, and that they will have to make an expedition against Troy to fetch Helen back. I think this is quite ridiculous. No amount of expeditions and wars can undo what has been done. I am sure you will sympathize with us in our trouble. I must say it is most unfair on my children. I shouldn’t have minded so much if Iphigenia wasn’t grown up.

Electra has got whooping-cough, but she is going6 on as well as can be expected. I have no patience with Helen. She always was utterly thoughtless.

Your sincere friend, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Most honoured Aegisthus,

There is no end of worry and fuss going on. Odysseus, the King of Ithaca, has arrived here with his wife, Penelope. They discuss the prospects of the expedition from morning till night, and I am left alone with Penelope. She has borrowed my only embroidery frame, and is working some slippers for her husband. They are at least two sizes too small. She talks of nothing but her boy, her dog, her dairy, and her garden, and I can’t tell you how weary I am of it. She made me very angry yesterday by saying that I spoilt Orestes, and that I should be sorry for it some day. She is always throwing up her boy Telemachus to me. Whenever Helen is mentioned she puts on a face as much as to say: “Do not defile me.”

Your sincere friend, Clytaemnestra.

7

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

Mycenae.

Most honoured Aegisthus,

My worst fears have been realized. They are going to make an expedition against Troy on a large scale. Odysseus is at the bottom of it. I cannot say how much I dislike him. All the Kings have volunteered to go, but the Fleet will not be ready for two years, so I am in hopes that something may happen in the meantime to prevent it.

Iphigenia is learning to make bandages, and says she will go to the front to look after the wounded. I am, of course, against this, and think it’s absurd, but unfortunately she can make her father do what she likes. My only consolation is that the war cannot possibly last more than a week. The Trojans have no regular army. They are a handful of untrained farmers, and the town cannot stand a siege. It is all too silly. It is too bad of Helen to have caused all this fuss.

Your sincere friend, Clytaemnestra.

P.S.—No, of course I haven’t written to Helen. She is as good as dead to me.

8

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus (Two years later)

Mycenae.

My dear Aegisthus,

We have at last got some news. The Fleet has arrived at Aulis, and they are waiting for a favourable wind to be able to go on. At present they are becalmed. They are all well. Iphigenia writes that she is enjoying herself immensely. She has the decency to add that she misses me. I have not had a good night’s rest since they have started.

Your most sincere friend, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus

My dear friend,

Please come here at once. I am in dreadful trouble. From the last letter I received from Agamemnon I understood there was something wrong and that he was hiding something. To-day I got a letter from Calchas, breaking to me in the most brutal manner an appalling tragedy and a savage, horrible, and impious crime! They have9 sacrificed my darling Iphigenia—to Artemis, of all goddesses! to get a propitious wind for their horrible Fleet! I am heartbroken. I cannot write another word. Please come directly.

Your friend, Clytaemnestra.

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus (Two months later)

I see no reason why you should not come back; I have a right to ask whom I like to stay here. Do come as soon as possible; I am very lonely without you. Now that I no longer communicate with Agamemnon in order to get news I have written to Helen and sent the letter by a very clever silk merchant, who is certain to be able to worm his way into Troy. Come as soon as you get this.

C.

P.S.—Agamemnon still writes, but I do not take the slightest notice of his letters. I trust the Trojans will be victorious. They have at any rate determined to make a fight for it. Our generals are certain to quarrel, Achilles and Agamemnon never get on well. And Achilles’ temper is dreadful.

10

Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus (Three months later)

I can no longer bear these short visits and these long absences. I have arranged for you to stay here permanently.

I wrote to Agamemnon last month a cold and dignified business letter, in which I pointed out that unless some man came here to look after things, everything would go to pieces. I suggested you. I have now got his answer. He agrees, and thinks it an excellent plan.

Odysseus wrote me, I must say, a most amusing letter. He says everything is at sixes and sevens, and that Priam’s eldest son is far the most capable soldier on either side. He expects to win, but says it will be a far longer business than they thought it would be at first. Come as quickly as you can. Best and most beloved.

Your C.

11

Helen to Clytaemnestra (Ten years later)

Troy.

Dearest Clytaemnestra,

Your letters are a great comfort to me when I get them, which is very seldom. Everything is going on just the same. It is now the tenth year of the siege, and I see no reason why it should ever end. I am dreadfully afraid the Greeks will never take Troy.

I can give you no idea of how dull everything is here. We do the same thing and see the same people every day. We know exactly what is going on in the Greek camp, and most of the time is spent in discussing the gossip, which bores me to death. You are quite right in what you say about Paris. I made a fatal mistake. It is all Aphrodite’s fault. He has become too dreadful now. He is still very good-looking, but even compared with Menelaus he is pitiable in every way and every bit as cross. Hector is very nice, but painfully dull. The King and the Queen are both very kind, but as for Cassandra, she is intolerable. She is always prophesying dreadful calamities which never come12 off. She said, for instance, that I would lose my looks and make a long journey in Egypt. As if I would go to Egypt from here! As to my looks, you know, darling, I never was vain, was I? But I can honestly tell you that, if anything, I have rather improved than otherwise, and among the Trojans’ women, who are absolute frights and have no more idea of dressing than sheep, I look magnificent.

Andromache has got quite a nice face, and I really like her; but you should see her figure—it’s like an elephant’s, and her feet are enormous, and her hands red and sore from needlework. She won’t even use a thimble! Cassandra always dresses in deep mourning. Why, we cannot conceive, because none of her relatives have been killed.

There is really only one person in the palace I can talk to—and that is Aeneas, who is one of the commanders. He is quite nice. What I specially like about him is the nice way in which he talks about his parents.

The Greeks are quarrelling more than ever. Achilles won’t fight at all because Agamemnon insisted on taking away Briseis (who is lovely) from him. Wasn’t that exactly like Agamemnon? I hope this won’t make you jealous, darling, but I13 don’t expect it will, because you have never forgiven Agamemnon, have you?

Everybody tries to be kind to me, and I have nothing to complain of. They all mean well, and in a way this makes it worse. For instance, every morning, when we meet for the midday meal, Priam comes into the room saying to me: “Well, how’s the little runaway to-day?” He has made this joke every day for the last ten years. And then they always talk about the cowardice and incompetence of the Greeks, taking for granted that as I have married into a Trojan family I must have become a Trojan myself. It is most tactless of them not to understand what I must be feeling.

I suppose I am inconsistent, but the pro-Greek party irritate me still more. They are headed by Pandarus, and are simply longing for their own side to be beaten, because they say that I ought to have been given up directly, and that the war was brought about entirely owing to Priam having got into the hands of the Egyptian merchants.

I manage to get some Greek stuffs smuggled into the town, and the merchants tell me vaguely what people are wearing at Mycenae; but one can’t get anything properly made here. Andromache has all her clothes made at home by her women—to save14 expense. She says that in times of war one ought to sacrifice oneself. Of course, I can’t do this, however much I should like to, as the Trojans expect me to look nice, and would be very angry if I wasn’t properly dressed.

I feel if I could only meet Odysseus we might arrange some plan for getting the Greeks into the town.

How is everything going on at home? There is a very strict censorship about letters, and we are all supposed to show our letters to Antenor before they go. I don’t, of course. I daresay, however, many of your letters have been intercepted, because I have only heard from you five times since the siege began, and not once this year. Kiss the dear children from me.

Shall I ever see you again? I shall try my best to come home.

Your loving sister, Helen.

15

Clytaemnestra to Helen

Mycenae.

Dearest Helen,

Your last letter has reached me. I must implore you to be very careful about what you do. I hope with all my heart that the siege will be over soon; but if it is I don’t think it would be quite wise for you to come back directly. You see everybody here is extremely unreasonable. Instead of understanding that Agamemnon and Odysseus were entirely responsible for this absurd war, Agamemnon has got his friends to put the blame entirely on you, and they have excited the people against you. It’s so like a man, that, isn’t it? I have been very lonely, because all our friends are away. Aegisthus is staying here just to look after the household and the affairs of the city. But he hardly counts, and he is so busy that I hardly ever see him now. There is a strong pro-Trojan party here, too. They say we had absolutely no right to go to war, and that it was simply an expedition of pirates and freebooters, and I must say it is very difficult to disprove it. If there is any talk of the siege ending, please let me know at once. Electra has grown into16

a fine girl; but she is not as lovely as poor darling Iphigenia.

Your loving sister, Clytaemnestra.

Penelope to Odysseus

Ithaca.

My darling Husband,

I wish you would write a little more distinctly; we have the greatest difficulty in reading your letters.

When will this horrid siege be over? I think it is disgraceful of you all to be so long about it. To think that when you started you only said that it would last a month! Mind you come back the moment it is over, and come back straight, by Aulis.

The country is looking lovely. I have built a new house for the swineherd, as he complained about the roof letting the rain in. Next year, we must really have a new paling round the garden, as the children get in and steal the apples. We can’t afford it this year. The people have no sense of honesty; they steal everything. Telemachus is very well. He can read and write nicely, but is most backward about his sums. He takes a great17 interest in the war, and has made up a map on which he marks the position of the troops with little flags.