'On 26. 7. 19 he wrote from Bexhill: If it comes on to rain as it threatens daily, I shall be returning The Tour to you quite soon; and in any case it will go back to you before I leave here on the 15th of July: I must reduce the weight of my luggage; I had to run all over the town to find two stalwart ruffians to carry it to the attic where I sleep.
You need not look at it before we meet unless you wish; but you may like to do Cora's song[1] in your sleep meanwhile; and my additional comments and queries are few.
I am leading here that methodical humdrum life which alone makes time fly. When I return to town you shall see me occasionally at the opera, but not oftener than twice a week. You will have to look for me, however, for I shall be stalking behind pillars, cloaked in black, like Lucien de What's-his-name, hiding from my black beast, Lady. . . .
P. S. Can you tell me if Beecham intends to do any light operas at Drury Lane in addition to that tinkly, overrated Fille de Madame Angot? I am dying to hear the whole Offenbach series before I die.
A letter from Bexhill, dated 2. 7. 19,
- ↑ Hymn to Aphrodite.
