Christopher Isherwood: A Personal memoir (6 page)

At the beginning of April Christopher left Brussels for London, probably on business to do with the Group Theatre. While he was at Pembroke Gardens, he managed to fall ill with an ulcerated mouth, due apparently to a tooth that had been incompletely extracted. He ran a high fever and caused his doctor considerable anxiety. While he was in bed, on 17 April, Wystan, who appears to have been delayed leaving for Spain, telephoned him from Paris. Heinz had got into some slightly mysterious trouble with the French police, by sheer bad luck. I had gone back to Austria, and Christopher wrote to me there from Luxemburg:

I have been ill, and while I was in bed Heinz managed to get himself into difficulties with the French police, mild difficulties really, but they were exaggerated wildly, Heinz being a Boche, and used as an excuse to refuse to prolong his 
permis de s
é
jour
in France. His troubles had also been communicated to the Belgian authorities, who, as you know, aren’t exactly pro-German either, and the net result is that we can’t return to Belgium either, except for three or four days. We are, therefore on the advice of our lawyer, waiting here until the Mexican business has been put through (which really looks like being very soon: the papers are in Bruxelles and they are only waiting for the return of the Mexican Ambassador, who is away) because as soon as Heinz has ceased to be a Boche it seems that the Belgian authorities will regard his case more leniently. Tiresome, isn’t it?

It was a great deal more than tiresome, as Christopher knew in his heart of hearts. He must have realized that the trap was closing in on Heinz. I have no personal knowledge of the last moves that led to the final disaster, but in
Christopher and His Kind 
he blames himself for his fatalistic attitude towards what was happening. The Luxemburg authorities had no doubt received from their French colleagues the latest list of German undesirables, and informed Heinz that he could not stay under their protection any longer. The only thing to do was to apply for another Belgian visa, but that could only be done, in the time available, in Germany. Heinz must therefore take the risk of going to the nearest German town, Trier as it happened, where there was a Belgian Consulate. So Christopher left for Brussels, and the lawyer drove Heinz to Trier. Everything appeared to be going smoothly, the visa was obtained, but at the last moment the German police struck. Heinz was arrested as a draft-evader and a criminal who had indulged in homosexual practices. Christopher had told him to put all the blame on him if the worst occurred, and plead guilty to the least culpable of homosexual offenses, mutual masturbation, with a degenerate Englishman who had seduced him. The court accepted this plea, and Heinz was sentenced to six months in prison, followed by a year’s labour service and two years in the Army. He was lucky not to be sent to a concentration camp, as many homosexuals had already been sent. Christopher did not see Heinz again until after the war, but was left with a feeling of profoundest misery, frustration and guilt.

From Brussels he wrote to me a few days later:

As the result of a lot of complicated misfortunes and idiotic decisions which I simply haven’t the heart to describe to you just now, Heinz is sitting in prison at this moment charged with attempted desertion from the army and moral offences. If he is lucky, he’ll get off with three to four months, followed by camp and army service.

There’s nothing I can do to help, except pay for cigarettes and extra nice food.

I feel that, at this time, you are one of the very few people I would like to be with. Would you mind if I came to Vienna in the fairly near future - in a week or two, perhaps?

Write to me at 70 Square Marie-Louise, as soon as you can, about this. I have to go to London for a day or two, and Paris after, but shall be back early next week. Best love.

But Christopher did not come to Vienna, though I would have been very happy to see him there. He and Wystan had just been commissioned to write a book about the Far East and the Chinese-Japanese war, and Christopher came to realize that a great deal of work had accumulated that would have to be dealt with before they left. In a letter apologizing for having been unable to make up his mind about a visit to Vienna, he listed it all:

If possible, I want to get the new play,
On the Frontier
, produced before Christmas. Then there is ‘The North-West Passage’, which I finished this morning: it will mean lots of business interviews and proof-correcting and what not. Then I’d like, if possible, to write all the remaining fragments of ‘The Lost’ before we sail, so that my Berlin life is finally tidied up, all ready to be audited before the Judgment Seat. You shall certainly have some of it for
New Writing.
Then there are my lectures to be prepared, on the New Drama (!). And I really ought to try and earn some more cash, with the films. So you see ….

Meanwhile, in that autumn of 1937, delicate moves were being made both by myself and the Hogarth Press to rejoin forces. I was anxious for
New Writing
to find a new home, as my contract with Lawrence & Wishart had run out,
⁵
and Leonard and Virginia were fed up with all the work that running the Press by themselves had landed them with. Approaches of a friendly and forgiving nature were made on both sides, with the result that it was decided that I should start with them again, and become a partner in 1938. I kept Christopher informed of the progress of the plan, and he was delighted to think that the Press might once again present itself as the publisher of
our
books. He had managed to persuade Leonard and Virginia to publish Edward Upward’s novel,
Journey to the Border
, and they were going to have his now fully revised and completed
Lions and Shadows. 
What was more important, Virginia made belated advances to him to wipe out the largely imaginary neglect he had felt before, and he was completely conquered. He wrote to me from Pembroke Gardens in November:

Edward’s book is being published by the Hogarth in early spring. This after a terrific putsch on my part. There was a wonderful dinner party given by the Woolfs to the Upwards, a great success. Virginia is really the nicest woman I know: she was so nice to Mrs U. Elizabeth Bowen came in afterwards, so Edward got a real glimpse of Bloomsbury, and quite enjoyed it, in his chilly way.

Am in the middle of ‘The Landauers’ and hope to have it for the date we fixed, but, at present, work is held up by letter-writing and lecturing. I have just got back from Oxford, that doleful town.

1
      

Editor of
Chambers’s Journal, Chambers’s Encyclopaedia
etc., a distinguished literary figure in Edinburgh life at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

3

Two anthologies edited by Michael Roberts.
New Signatures: Poems by Several Hands
was published in 1932 and included work by the ‘Oxford poets . 
New Country
(1933), an anthology of poetry and prose, included some poems by John Lehmann.

4

The novelist William Plomer. His contribution was called ‘Notes on a visit to Ireland’.

§ The French novelist Andre Chamson.

5

The publishing of
New Writing
had been transferred from The Bodley Head to Lawrence & Wishart.

T
he plan for Christopher and Wystan to write a travel book together about some Far Eastern country had been worked out between Faber and Random House, the publishers of their plays in England and America, before the invasion of Manchuria by the Japanese. But the outbreak of war between China and Japan gave the whole project a new angle. A war of their own! That was now the bait. Not the front stalls of the Spanish War, so crowded already with celebrities, from Malraux and Hemingway to their own English friends. Wystan had been there already, and had returned to England with mixed feelings, his deep-seated Christian convictions offended by the burning of churches on the Republican side. They were nearly coralled into a visit just before they set off for China, but the visas did not arrive in time and they had to catch their boat. After a noisy farewell party in London attended by most of their friends, they caught the boat-train for Dover on 19 January, and after spending that night in Paris, embarked two days later on the 
Aramis
in Marseilles. There was a great deal of publicity about 
their departure, with cameras at Victoria, which Christopher thoroughly enjoyed. Their plan was to make Hong Kong their headquarters, from which to arrange their journeys into China and the war-zone. On 24 February Christopher wrote to me from the University in Hong Kong, where they were staying with the Vice-Chancellor, D.J. Sloss, whom he said might be Edgar Wallace’s twin brother.

The hospitality here is astonishing. Everybody very kind, and everything done for you quite as a matter of course ….

Am longing to see
New Writing.
Could a copy come out here? This address holds certainly till the end of May, if not later. And thank you so much for collating the typescripts of the ‘Lost’ stories. I still don’t know if America has taken the book: only that
Harper’s Bazaar
has offered to make
Sally Bowles 
into a serial. Do keep me posted on all the latest Hogarth Press and
Daylight
¹
developments. If I am killed in China, I’d like my name on the notepaper just the same, with a cute little black cross against it! I suppose the Spender gossip must wait till we return. God knows what dimensions it’ll have reached by then!

Delighted to hear that Electra is going well. Give Peggy my dearest love. I hear from another source that Viertel is going to produce Rosamond’s play. Another thing we’ll miss!

Our plans are taking shape. Next Saturday, we cross for one night to Macao, the Portuguese colony which provides stolid Hong Kong with its night-life: there are even special late boats, leaving there at three in the morning. On Sunday afternoon, we return here, pack, and leave early on Monday for Canton by river-boat. There are no Jap troops round Canton, but the Jap planes bomb the railway every afternoon, and drop bombs all round the city. On the whole, people say, they’ve behaved well, in so far as they’ve stuck to military objectives and avoided actually slaughtering civilians. The chief danger is that they’re really bad shots. We plan to stay in Canton two or three days. Then we meet a rather sinister Col. 
Lawrence sort of man named Carlton, who drives a lorry backwards and forwards between Canton and Hankow, for a cigarette firm. The road is rather problematical, floods, broken bridges, etc., and the journey may take as much as ten days. Once at Hankow, we’ll be in the middle of things. Most of the government is there, and we can get the necessary passes and introductions for a visit to one or other of the fronts. Also, we hope to see the new British Ambassador, whom we met for a few minutes while he was passing through here. He is a very live wire, and ready to be helpful. Also, he reads Auden and enjoyed
Sally Bowles.
After the war stuff, we may go up the Yangtze as far as Chungking, as the gorges are said to be magnificent. Then back, probably, to Hankow, whence there is an air-service to Hong Kong. Our second journey, after suitable convalescence, will be to Shanghai, Peking, and possibly Japan. But we may do Japan later,
en route
for America. There is also the possibility of travelling down into Yun-nan, to see the new university which is opening there in the Spring. Ambiguity Empson is to be one of the professors. He’s here now and we see him a lot. Do you know him? He’s nice.

Hong Kong is the ugliest town in the loveliest harbour I have ever seen. A cross between Manchester and Buxton. The view from the peak of the island is a real Chinese painting, with junks and little rock-garden crags embedded in a green plate-glass sea. Yesterday evening, we dined with the Governor, and Sir Victor Sassoon showed us a coloured film he had taken himself, of the Governor’s arrival in Hong Kong. Wystan, who is having a Proust fit, enjoyed himself hugely. I was slightly more acid, as I am suffering slightly from a mild local variety of dysentery known as ‘Hong Kong Dog’. Most of the big nobs here are inclined to be pro-Chinese; and you can talk about the Communist troops in even the most polite society without a shudder. So much for the ideology of Business when its interests are really threatened!

Please go on writing, as we shall hope for a bumper post to console us on our return here. And give my love to all the gang, with our news, to any who are interested.

Wystan asks to be remembered. Remembrances to your Mother.

The reference to Peggy’s Electra is to my sister’s performance in O’Neill’s
Mourning Becomes Electra
, one of her greatest triumphs. Rosamond’s play was
No More Music,
the only play she ever wrote, which was put on for one night in this season. The new British Ambassador was Sir Archibald Clark-Kerr (later Lord Inverchapel), whom I got to know rather well during the war when he came on leave to England, and was able to introduce to the British intellectuals of our generation. He called Christopher and Wystan ‘the Poets’, and though the pretence was that he was unaware that they visited the semi-erotic bath-houses on their free afternoons, I am pretty certain he did know, whether he had them followed or not, and didn’t care tuppence. The important thing was that they didn’t bring the masseurs back to the Embassy. The story of their explorations of the war zones is told in their
Journey to a War
, with some additions in
Christopher and His Kind.
They must have seemed an odd pair of war-correspondents, with Wystan in his perpetual carpet-slippers (because of his corns) and woollen cap, and Christopher with his beret and oversized riding-boots trying to look the part but hurrying to take shelter whenever danger threatened.