They returned to London for a few weeks, and then went to Paris,
Elizabeth adored Paris, and wanted to live there permanently; but
George was against it. He had got some bug about the best art being
“autochthonous,” and declared that an artist ought to live in his own
country. But the real reason was that Parisian life seemed so pleasant
and the town so full of artists more gifted and more advanced than
himself that he found it almost impossible to work there. It was easier
to feel important in the comparative desert of London. So they returned
to London, and in the autumn George had his first “show,” which was not
altogether such a failure as he had expected.
When autumn turned to winter, and the yellow leaves of the plane
trees drifted down into heaps in the London squares lying miserably
sodden under the rain—the everlasting London drizzle—Elizabeth got
very restless. She wanted to get away, anywhere under blue skies and
sun. Her throat and lungs were rather sensitive, and when the weather
turned foggy, she nearly choked in the heavy soot-laden stifling air.
They talked about going to Italy or Spain, but George knew only too
well that he could not afford it. He might indeed get assurances from
various impresarios he frequented that “work could go on as usual,”
but he knew only too well that a month’s absence would mean a decline
and that after three months he would be practically forgotten and
dropped. It’s a dangerous thing to have a national reputation for
honesty—people get to trading upon it and seem to think it absolves
them from individual obligations. So George, after forming various
vague plans for a delightful winter in Sicily or the island of Majorca,
had to admit to Elizabeth that he simply dared not go. He begged her to
go alone, or to find some friend to go with her. But Elizabeth flatly
refused to go without him. So they stayed in London, and worked and
coughed together. Perhaps it might have been better to take the risk,
for as things turned out George never saw either Spain or Italy, which
he had wanted to see so much.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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