The Diary of a Nobody

In the evening (Sunday evening of all others) I found an impertinent note from Mr Burwin-Fosselton, which ran as follows:

DEAR MR POOTER, – Although your junior by perhaps some twenty or thirty years – which is sufficient reason that you ought to have a longer record of the things and ways in this miniature of a planet – I feel it is just within the bounds of possibility that the wheels of your life don’t travel so quickly round as those of the humble writer of these lines. The dandy horse of past days has been known to overtake the slow coach.

Do I make myself understood?

Very well, then! Permit me, Mr Pooter, to advise you to accept the verb. sap. Acknowledge your defeat, and take your whipping gracefully; for remember you threw down the glove, and I cannot claim to be either mentally or physically a coward!

Revenons a nos moutons.

Our lives run in different grooves. I live for MY ART – THE STAGE. Your life is devoted to commercial pursuits – ‘A life among Ledgers’. My books are of different metal. Your life in the City is honourable, I admit. But how different! Cannot even you see the ocean between us? A channel that prevents the meeting of our brains in harmonious accord. Ah! But chacun a son gout.

I have registered a vow to mount the steps of fame. I may crawl, I may slip, I may even falter (we are all weak), but reach the top rung of the ladder I will!!! When there, my voice shall be heard, for I will shout to the multitudes below: ‘Vici!’ For the present I am only an amateur, and my work is unknown, forsooth, save to a party of friends, with here and there an enemy.

But, Mr Pooter, let me ask you, ‘What is the difference between the amateur and the professional?’

None!!!

Stay! Yes, there is a difference. One is paid for doing what the other does as skilfully for nothing!

But I will be paid, too! For I, contrary to the wishes of my family and friends, have at last elected to adopt the stage as my profession. And when the farce craze is over – and, mark you, that will be soon –I will make my power known; for I feel – pardon my apparent conceit – that there is no living man who can play the humpbacked Richard as I feel and know I can.

And you will be the first to come round and bend your head in submission. There are many matters you may understand, but knowledge of the fine art of acting is to you an unknown quantity.

Pray let this discussion cease with this letter. Vale!

Yours truly,

BURWIN-FOSSELTON

I was disgusted. When Lupin came in, I handed him this impertinent letter, and said: ‘My boy, in that letter you can see the true character of your friend.’

Lupin, to my surprise, said: ‘Oh yes, He showed me the letter before he sent it. I think he is right, and you ought to apologize.’

A serious discussion concerning the use and value of my diary. Lupin’s opinion of ’Xmas. Lupin’s unfortunate engagement is on again.

Chapter XII

DECEMBER 17. As I open my scribbling diary I find the words ‘Oxford Michaelmas Term ends’. Why this should induce me to indulge in retrospect I don’t know, but it does. The last few weeks of my diary are of minimum interest. The breaking off of the engagement between Lupin and Daisy Mutlar has made him a different being, and Carrie a rather depressing companion. She was a little dull last Saturday, and I thought to cheer her up by reading some extracts from my diary; but she walked out of the room in the middle of the reading, without a word. On her return, I said: ‘Did my diary bore you, darling?’

She replied, to my surprise: ‘I really wasn’t listening, dear. I was obliged to leave to give instructions to the laundress. In consequence of some stuff she puts in the water, two more of Lupin’s coloured shirts have run; and he says he won’t wear them.’

I said: ‘Everything is Lupin. It’s all Lupin, Lupin, Lupin. There was not a single button on my shirt yesterday, but I made no complaint.’

Carrie simply replied: ‘You should do as all other men do, and wear studs. In fact, I never saw anyone but you wear buttons on the shirtfronts.’

I said: ‘I certainly wore none yesterday, for there were none on.’

Another thought that strikes me is that Gowing seldom calls in the evening and Cummings never does. I fear they don’t get on well with Lupin.

DECEMBER 18. Yesterday I was in a retrospective vein – today it is prospective. I see nothing but clouds, clouds, clouds. Lupinis perfectly intolerable over the Daisy Mutlar business. He won’t say what is the cause of the breach. He is evidently condemning her conduct, and yet, if we venture to agree with him, says he won’t hear a word against her. So what is one to do? Another thing which is disappointing to me is, that Carrie and Lupin take no interest whatever in my diary.

I broached the subject at the breakfast-table today. I said: ‘I was in hopes that, if anything ever happened to me, the diary would be an endless source of pleasure to you both; to say nothing of the chance of the remuneration which may accrue from its being published.’

Both Carrie and Lupin burst out laughing. Carrie was sorry for this, I could see, for she said: ‘I did not mean to be rude, dear Charlie; but truly I do not think your diary would sufficiently interest the public to be taken up by a publisher.’

I replied: ‘I am sure it would prove quite as interesting as some of the ridiculous reminiscences that have been published lately.⁵⁷ Besides, it’s the diary that makes the man. Where would Evelyn and Pepys have been if it had not been for their diaries?’

Carrie said I was quite a philosopher; but Lupin, in a jeering tone, said: ‘If it had been written on larger paper, Guv., we might get a fair price from a butterman for it.’

As I am in the prospective vein, I vow the end of this year will see the end of my diary.

DECEMBER 19. The annual invitation came to spend Christmas with Carrie’s mother – the usual family festive gathering to which we always look forward. Lupin declined to go. I was astounded, and expressed my surprise and disgust. Lupin then obliged us with the following Radical speech:‘I hate a family gatheringatChristmas. What does it mean? Why, someone says: “Ah! we miss poor Uncle James, who was here last year,” and we all begin to snivel. Someone else says: “It’s two years since poor Aunt Liz used to sit in that corner.” Then we all begin to snivel again. Then another gloomy relation says: “Ah! I wonder whose turn it will be next?” Then we all snivel again, and proceed to eat and drink too much; and they don’t discover until I get up that we have been seated thirteen at dinner.’

DECEMBER 20. Went to Smirksons’, the drapers, in the Strand, who this year have turned out everything in the shop and devoted the whole place to the sale of Christmas cards. Shop crowded with people, who seemed to take up the cards rather roughly, and, after a hurried glance at them, throw them down again. I remarked to one of the young persons serving, that carelessness appeared to be a disease with some purchasers. The observation was scarcely out of my mouth, when my thick coat-sleeve caught against a large pile of expensive cards in boxes one on top of the other, and threw them down. The manager came forward, looking very much annoyed, and picking up several cards from the ground, said to one of the assistants, with a palpable side-glance at me: ‘Put these amongst the sixpenny goods; they can’t be sold for a shilling now.’ The result was, I felt it my duty to buy some of these