Winifred Cavendish-Bentinck, Duchess of Portland (1863 - 1954) by Philip de Lazlo, 1912

As you know, I keep my copy of the 6th Duke of Portland's memoirs (Men, Women and Things, 1937) by my bedside, and so I am delighted to report that its companion volume, Of Carriages and Kings, 1956, the memoirs of the Duke's royal footman Frederick-John Gorst, has just arrived in yesterday's mail.  It was at the Duchess's insistence that the Duke's four royal footman, hired for their looks and stature (all were well over six feet tall) should be required to work out  twice a week in the gymnasium with a physical trainer, in addition to their other duties.  According to Gorst the Duchess's own traveling footman, a very handsome fellow named Hales, kept himself in shape with the housemaids, but that is another story.

A very busy weekend.  Long walk on the beach with N. to discuss the book she is working on, which has in part to do with the 60s and so we had much to discuss as you can imagine (see below), then with A. to see the Polanski film The Ghost Writer which we both thoroughly enjoyed as it confirmed (in fictional form) all our worst suspicions about the corruption of the previous regime and about those in power generally.  Additionally the actress Olivia Williams (previously seen as Mrs. Darling in the 2003 Peter Pan and more recently as Miss Stubbs in An Education) is superb as the former prime minister's wife and could no doubt play the Duchess of Portland one day if she wanted to and incidentally unlike the Duchess reminds me of my mother when I was a very young boy, but I digress.

Also as an aside I might mention that another important addition to my postcard collection, a view of Welbeck Abbey, the country home of the Duke and Duchess of Portland, has arrived in the post, although I was cruelly outbid at the last moment for a view of Warter Priory, alas.  More, however, on Welbeck Abbey will be forthcoming, as you might anticipate.

All of which is to say that I have been thinking about work as well as about relationships, not only between the aristocracy and their servants, but by analogy between a writer and his readers.  The Duke, of course, was writing to his friends, but to whom, I asked my friend N. was she writing to?  She was quite clear in her response, which bodes well for her book.  By contrast, In Polanski's film the ghost writer of the title played by Ewan McGregor talks about the lack of audience for the memoirs of political leaders, which as it turns out is not entirely true, but for different reasons which end up not boding well for him.  In any case, rather like a footman to a duke, the ghost writer is a servant to a celebrated individual of power and importance.  Generally speaking, however, I should probably hasten to point out that a ghost writer is seldom hired for his looks or stature, although Ewan McGregor is certainly a good-looking fellow.

At the end of the day, however, a writer yearns to please his reader the way any good footman works to please his lordship.  An intimacy may grow up between them.  Feedback is useful and instructive.  "Graceful," the Duchess murmured in reference to Gorst on his first interview with the Duke of Portland, which observation as you might imagine sealed the deal , so to speak, with him getting the job.  Writers may aspire to such feedback.

Just the other day a reader wrote to say he found my writing "c'est plutôt dessiné en creux."

"Dude, your reader doesn't hold back any, does he," a friend who is more attuned than I am to the subtleties of the French language observed.  "He means you are hollow and empty."

"I don't think he means me personally," I countered, sounding a little defensive.  

"Oh. Sure. Well, if it helps any, I think your blog is, you know, pretty good," my friend replied unconvincingly.

Which proves my point, I believe.  It is hard work being of service.  Relationships are never easy.  It is not easy being a footman. 

And it is a wonder why anyone ever wants to write.