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The use of myth as metaphor for private experience in nineteenth-century autobiography Egan, Susanna 1980

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THE USE OF MYTH AS METAPHOR FOR PRIVATE EXPERIENCE IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY AUTOBIOGRAPHY by SUSANNA EGAN B.A., Cantab., 1965 M.A.j The U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1973 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY i n THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Department of Eng l i sh ) We accept t h i s t h e s i s as conforming to the requ i red standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA June 1980 (c) Susanna Egan, 1980. In presenting th i s thes is in pa r t i a l fu l f i lment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the Univers i ty of B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree that the L ibrary shal l make it f ree ly ava i lab le for reference and s t u d y . I further agree that permission for extensive copying of th is thesis for scho lar ly purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by his representat ives. It is understood that copying or pub l i cat ion of this thes is for f inanc ia l gain sha l l not be allowed without my written permission. Department of The Univers i ty of B r i t i s h Columbia 2075 Wesbrook Place Vancouver, Canada V6T 1W5 11 ABSTRACT This t he s i s exp lores two apparent ly c o n t r a d i c t o r y problems. I t assumes tha t the autobiographer would l i k e to " t e l l the t r u t h " about h imse l f as no one e l s e could t e l l i t . I f t h i s assumption i s j u s t , howeve why does the n ine teenth -centu ry autobiographer so commonly use formal l i t e r a r y conventions i n order to desc r ibe l a rge s t r e t che s of exper ience? In p a r t i c u l a r , why does the myth of parad i se and parad i se l o s t so f r e -quent ly desc r ibe ch i ldhood and the end of ch i ldhood? Why does a journey represent the maturing youth? What sense do standard d e s c r i p t i o n s of convers ion and confess ion make of p r i v a t e exper ience? Attempting to r e c o n c i l e t h i s c o n t r a d i c t i o n between the express ion of personal exper ience and the use of s t e r e o t y p i c a l forms, t h i s t h e s i s looks f i r s t at the i n e v i t a b i l i t y of f i c t i o n i n any w r i t t e n account. F i c t i o n i s i n e v i t a b l e because words act as t r a n s l a t i o n f o r exper ience and because the i n d i v i d u a l t r a n s l a t e s every exper ience i n t o the a l t e r e d form of h i s pe r cep t i on . A l t e r i n g h imse l f and h i s l i f e by the pr imary acts of percept ion and w r i t i n g , the autobiographer t r a n s l a t e s h imse l f i n t o a cha rac te r i n a book and the events of h i s l i f e i n t o a s t o r y . Autob iog raph ica l works by W i l l i a m Hale White and George Moore exempl i f y the t r a n s l a t i o n of the l i v i n g man i n t o the f i c t i v e n a r r a t o r . Newman's •sickness i n S i c i l y and De Qu incey ' s departure from school exempl i f y the t r a n s l a t i o n of va r iega ted exper ience i n t o the p a r t i c u l a r and f a m i l i a r n a r r a t i v e forms of convers ion and con fe s s i on . I f the f i c t i v e cha rac te r and s t o r y are i n e v i t a b l e r e s u l t s of any attempt to w r i t e autobiography, then i t makes sense to examine these l i t e r a r y conventions tha t recur so f r e q u e n t l y i n autobiography as myths i i i desc r ibed by Frye as the t y p i c a l forms f o r t y p i c a l a c t i on s or by Jung as forms wi thout content. They are exp lo red here , each i n t u r n , as metaphors f o r p r i v a t e exper ience i n a few core t e x t s . Au tob iog raph i ca l works by Rousseau, Wordsworth, George Moore, and Thomas C a r l y l e prov ide bas i c exemplary m a t e r i a l which i s extended i n p a r t i c u l a r in s tances by examination of au tob iog raph i ca l works by W i l l i a m Hale White, De Quincey, and John S t ua r t M i l l . For e x p l o r a t i o n of c h i l dhood , I have turned t o some Russian autobiographers who pay s i g n i f i c a n t a t t e n t i o n to ch i l dhood . For c on f e s s i on , some e a r l y con fe s s i ona l works prov ide an h i s t o r i c a l contex t . In order to understand why and how the myths of pa r ad i s e , the j ou rney , conve r s i on , and confess ion can serve as metaphors f o r p r i v a t e exper ience , each form i s examined i n turn i n i t s r e l a t i o n to myth, r e l i g i o n , and human psychology. Parad i se and parad i se l o s t , f o r example, examined i n the l i g h t of other c r e a t i o n myths and of c e r t a i n g ene r a l l y accepted t r u t h s about c h i l d psychology, can be seen to desc r ibe w i th cons ide rab le e f f i c i e n c y some e s s e n t i a l t r u th s about the l i f e of every c h i l d and the problems inherent i n r e c r e a t i n g one 's own ch i l dhood . S i m i l a r l y , the he ro i c j ou rney , which der i ves from myth, e p i c , and r e l i g i o n , and which takes the hero q u i t e l i t e r a l l y through h e l l , desc r ibes s i g n i f i -cant aspects both of matu ra t i on , the development of a coherent i d e n t i t y , and of the process of w r i t i n g an autobiography. Confes s ion , or the n a r r a t i o n of the he ro i c t a l e , desc r ibes the r e tu rn of the hero and represents the autobiography i t s e l f . This n a r r a t i o n takes the form of metaphor at every stage p r e c i s e l y because i t s s u b j e c t , the i n d i v i d u a l i d e n t i t y , i s unique and i n a c c e s s i b l e and because events and endings are l e s s s i g n i f i c a n t than meanings and i d e n t i t y ; the cha rac te r and h i s s t o r y i v depend on such complex r ep re sen ta t i on f o r t h e i r hidden t r u t h s to be made man i fe s t . De r i v i ng from myths, which prov ide the forms f o r r e cu r r en t expe r i ence , and from those common p s y cho l og i c a l cond i t i on s from which the myths themselves d e r i v e , these metaphors are the servants of i n d i v i d u a l need and are e f f i c i e n t purveyors of i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e meaning. V TABLE OF CONTENTS Page I n t r oduc t i on 1 Chapter One: The I n e v i t a b i l i t y of F i c t i o n 10 From Autobiographer to F i c t i v e Nar ra to r 20 The E vo l u t i on of Na r r a t i v e Pa t te rn 40 Chapter Two: Chi ldhood: From Innocence to Exper ience 73 Chapter Three: Youth: The Hero ic Journey and the Process of A r t 115 Chapter Four: M a t u r i t y : Conversion or Descent i n t o the Underworld 152 Chapter F i v e : Confess ion: The Hero T e l l s h i s S tory 189 S t . August ine, P e t r a r c h , Bunyan 198 Rousseau and the Nineteenth-Century Confess iona l Novel . . . 207 Conclus ion 219 Footnotes 226 B i b l i o g r aphy 244 v i ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS A number of people have been p a r t i c u l a r l y h e l p f u l i n the p repa ra t i on of t h i s t h e s i s . I would l i k e to thank the members of my Guidance Committee: John F. Hulcoop, both f o r h i s kindness and support and f o r h i s ex ten s i ve and c o n s t r u c t i v e c r i t i c i s m at every stage of my work; Michael Goldberg, e s p e c i a l l y f o r i n i t i a t i n g my e x p l o r a t i o n of convent iona l forms i n auto -biography and f o r h i s e n t h u s i a s t i c support of my e a r l i e s t e f f o r t s ; I r a Nadel f o r h i s c a r e f u l c r i t i c i s m and f o r h i s generous shar ing of s p e c i a l i s e d knowledge. I would a l s o l i k e to thank Irene H u l l , who has turned an i n d e c i p h e r -ab le t e x t i n t o an e x c e l l e n t t y p e s c r i p t , ca tch ing many of my e r r o r s w i th an e d i t o r i a l eye. Without the constant lov ingk indness of K ieran Egan t h i s t he s i s could not have been w r i t t e n . 1 INTRODUCTION People commonly perceive the i r l i ves as containing certa in d i s t i n c t stages. Whether persuaded by the rigorous attempts of scholars l i k e Piaget and Erikson to c l a s s i f y the developing forms of mental l i f e , or by the more general comments of a popular book l i k e Passages, by the s impl i fy ing e f fect of personal memory, or by the constraints that language imposes on any attempt to re late experience, we learn to summarise c ruc ia l and multiform a c t i v i t i e s and happenings under headings l i k e "chi ldhood," "teenager," and "m id - l i f e c r i s i s . " Such verbal reductionism also affects the autobiographer who approaches the more formidable task of wr i t ing his l i f e as a narrat ive. He, too, describes his l i f e in terms of certa in d i s t i n c t stages, l i k e childhood, youth, maturity, and old age. The autobiographer, furthermore, describes these stages according to more elaborate, l i t e r a r y conventions than the conversat ional i s t , not only in terms of summary t i t l e s but also in terms of certa in narrative patterns. This thesis explores the nature of some dominant narrative patterns that are common in autobiography. It does not attempt to catalogue them nor to ident i fy them through an exhaustive l i s t of autobiographies. Nor does i t seek to ref ine d i s t inct ions between f i c t i o n and fact or between the work of imaginative l i t e r a tu re and the imaginative product which i s also empir ica l ly v e r i f i a b l e . Working, rather, with a varied sampling of written l i v e s , th i s thesis explores the epistemological ly grey area where autobiographical novel and poem overlap with the formal autobiography in order to characterise certain autobiographical patterns in some deta i l and to suggest both how and why they work. 2 Why, f o r example, does Rousseau desc r ibe h i s ch i ldhood i n terms of a parad i se whose golden gates have c lo sed behind him? The p a r t i c u l a r answer might l i e i n the many happy months t ha t Rousseau spent wi th the Lamberciers i n the country. But even i f Parad i se can prov ide a p l a u s i b l e metaphor t o desc r ibe a per iod of Rousseau's ch i l dhood , why should Gorky, whose s to ry i s so d i f f e r e n t , adhere to the same n a r r a t i v e pat tern ? Gorky ' s autobiography opens w i th h i s f a t h e r ' s dead body and cont inues i n the squa lor and b r u t a l i t y of h i s g randparents ' house. Yet he desc r ibes a pa r ad i s a l sanctuary that he c reates f o r h imse l f ; he i s o l a t e s a pe r i od of peace, s a f e t y , and r i c h sensat ions of beauty before he i s f o r ced out i n t o the wor l d . S i m i l a r l y , why should " j ou rney " prov ide a r e c u r r i n g metaphor f o r autobiographers who w r i t e about t h e i r youth? In au tob i og raph i ca l n a r r a -t i v e s as d i f f e r e n t as The P re l ude , H a i l and F a r e w e l l , S a r t o r Resar tus , and Great Expectat ions journey or quest desc r ibes a s i g n i f i c a n t aspect of youth. I t becomes the metaphor tha t e x t r a c t s and demonstrates some common meaning from very d i f f e r e n t events i n d i f f e r e n t i n d i v i d u a l l i v e s . Then, aga in , both the r e l i g i o u s l y devout l i k e Card ina l Newman and the a t h e i s t l i k e John S t ua r t M i l l de sc r ibe c e n t r a l c r i s e s i n t h e i r l i v e s i n terms of " c o n v e r s i o n . " The n a r r a t i v e pat terns f o r convers ion can be found i n s p i r i t u a l autobiography, as i n The Confess ions of S a i n t August ine, i n an au tob iog raph i ca l poem l i k e The P re lude , and i n an au tob iog raph i ca l novel such as The P o r t r a i t of the A r t i s t as a Young Man, or i n so u n l i t e r a r y and unse l f consc ious an autobiography as that of the South American n a t u r a l -i s t , W. H. Hudson. F i n a l l y , " c o n f e s s i o n " i s a very common form adopted by the auto -biographer who w r i t e s l a t e i n l i f e . L ike the n a r r a t i v e forms t ha t desc r ibe 3 " p a r a d i s e , " " j o u r n e y , " and " c o n v e r s i o n , " " c o n f e s s i o n " adheres to c e r t a i n formulae t ha t make i t c l e a r l y recogn i sab le whether the nature of the con-f e s s i o n i s r e l i g i o u s or not. The ex i s t ence of such formulae or n a r r a t i v e pat te rns has been long and s u b s t a n t i a l l y e s t a b l i s h e d i n l i t e r a t u r e . I t can be as ser ted w i th conf idence t ha t the s t o r i e s of parad i se l o s t , of the journey or ques t , of convers ion and confes s ion are l i t e r a r y conventions se rv ing l i k e iambic pentameter or f i r s t - p e r s o n na r r a to r to de f ine p a r t i c u l a r parameters f o r l i t e r a r y n a r r a t i v e . The ques t ion here, however, i s not whether such pat terns are so f a m i l i a r as t o be conventions but r a t he r why are they so common i n autobiography? Nor can the answer be found s imply by t r a c i n g the h i s t o r i c a l process whereby a convent ion e s t a b l i s h e s i t s e l f . Rather, when the poet , the n o v e l i s t , and the h i s t o r i a n have access to numerous conventions and ye t turn t o these p a r t i c u l a r pa t te rns when t h e i r work i s a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l , the quest ion becomes what sense do these pat te rns make out of many d i f f e r e n t l i v e s ? How and why do they work? I propose to devote a chapter to each of the fou r n a r r a t i v e pat terns mentioned above i n order t o exp lo re seve ra l answers to these ques t ions . I t i s worth not ing tha t the n a r r a t i v e pat te rns or metaphors, r a the r than the t e x t s , w i l l be the main object s of s tudy. I hope t ha t the answers tha t make sense i n one context w i l l make sense a l s o i n another so tha t the r e s u l t may be cumulat ive sense r a t he r than d i s pa r a te e x p l o r a t i o n s . C e r t a i n l y , the fou r pat terns share one f ea tu re i n common which should be examined now: they have very l i t t l e t o do w i th l i f e as i t i s l i v e d ; they are a l l imag inat i ve ve rba l c o n s t r u c t s ; a l l of them are f i c t i o n s . Despite i t s d i sparag ing connotat ion of f a b r i c a t i o n or l i e s , f i c t i o n -making i s an i n e v i t a b l e human process connected as much w i th the way the 4 mind works as w i th the need to e n t e r t a i n an audience. In order to d i scuss the s p e c i f i c and e l abo ra te f i c t i o n s commonly used i n au tob iog raph ie s , we need to look a t f i c t i o n - m a k i n g both i n r e l a t i o n to human percept ion and as i t serves t o t r a n s l a t e l i v e d events i n t o l i t e r a r y events . I s h a l l beg i n , then , i n Chapter One by e xp l o r i n g q u i t e b r i e f l y why and how f i c t i o n s i n general t r a n s l a t e exper ience i n t o a r e a d i l y comprehensible ve rba l form. Because the f i c t i o n a l i s i n g process i s fundamental to e s t a b l i s h i n g why and how c e r t a i n pat terns work, i t seems worthwhi le to e l abo ra te t h i s t h e o r e t -i c a l d i s cu s s i on i n t o p r a c t i c a l examinat ion of why and how i t works i n a few s p e c i f i c autob iog raph ies . Chapter One, t h e r e f o r e , w i l l move from t h e o r e t i c a l d i s cu s s i on to l o o k . f i r s t at the c r e a t i o n of a n a r r a t o r i n W i l l i a m Hale Wh i te ' s Autobiography of Mark Rutherford and i n George Moore 's Hai1 and F a r ewe l l . I t w i l l then turn to the e v o l u t i o n of n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn i n two e a r l i e r au tob iog raph ie s , Card ina l Newman's Apo log ia Pro V i t a Sua and De Quincey ' s Confess ions of an Eng l i s h Opiurn-Eater. Newman's account of h i s s i ckness i n S i c i l y , a nodal po in t of the Apo l og i a , i s t raced as c l o s e l y as p o s s i b l e from an event i n h i s l i f e through correspondence and j o u r n a l e n t r i e s i n t o the f i c t i o n a l form tha t serves h i s n a r r a t i v e purpose i n the autobiography tha t he intended most s imply and adequately to r e p r e -sent the t r u t h about h imse l f . Newman's quo t i d i an j o t t i n g s are i n t e r e s t i n g i n t h e i r own r i g h t and because they add up to a f a s c i n a t i n g p i c t u r e of Newman. They are u se fu l here, however, only i n s o f a r as they i l l u s t r a t e the apparent ly unconscious or at l e a s t i n s i d i o u s t ran s fo rmat ion of quo t i d i an phenomena i n t o a n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn c l o s e l y r e l a t e d to t ha t desc r ibed here as conver s ion . S i m i l a r l y , De Qu incey ' s au tob iog raph i ca l essays , w r i t t e n and r ev i s ed over a wide span of t ime , can be seen i n the process of prob-ab ly q u i t e conscious and d e l i b e r a t e t rans fo rmat ion i n t o the n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn of h i s r e v i s ed Confess ions . Newman and De Quincey, both e s s e n t i a l l y 5 e s s a y i s t s , both absorbed by and f a s c i n a t ed w i th t h e i r own expe r i ence , t r a n s l a t e the t r a n s i e n t i n t o the parad igmat ic and demonstrate the a r t i s t i c process by which t h i s i s done. I n t e r e s t i n g l y enough, each of the pa t te rn s examined i n t h i s t he s i s conta ins some consciousness of the w r i t t e n l i f e as an a r t form i n process. Chapter One, i n other words, exp lores why and how " cont ingent r e a l i t y , " t o use Frank Kermode's term f o r l i f e as i t i s l i v e d j i s transformed i n t o l i t e r a r y event s , the autobiographer i n t o a charac te r i n a book, and an e s s e n t i a l l y shapeless l i f e i n t o a L i f e of shape and meaning. I t examines the mechanics of the f i c t i o n a l i s i n g process whereby i n t e r ^ s u b j e c t i v e meaning i s c reated out of unique events i n i n d i v i d u a l l i v e s . Having c l a r i f i e d some of the mechanics of t h i s process i n Chapter One, I s h a l l then move on to cons ider my fou r chosen pat te rns i n some d e t a i l . The stages of the w r i t t e n l i f e begin w i th ch i l dhood , which i s d i scussed i n Chapter Two. Chi ldhood moves from innocence to exper ience. I t r e l i e s on memory and may be c o n t r o l l e d by n o s t a l g i a . Rousseau and Wordsworth are my main exemplars f o r use of the myth of Eden i n au to -b iography, though I s h a l l tu rn f o r f u r t h e r e x e m p l i f i c a t i o n to works by George Moore, Aksako f f , Gorky, T o l s t o y , W. H. Hudson, and De Quincey. Youth, the sub jec t of Chapter Three, br ings a j ou rney , maybe a search f o r a promised land. In r e l i g i o n t h i s journey i s a p i l g r image . In ep i c i t i s a quest. In e i t h e r case, the r e l e van t a b s t r a c t i o n f o r the autobiographer i s t ha t a l l men are engaged i n a sea rch , e i t h e r f o r l o s t t ime, or f o r t h e i r i d e n t i t y , or because they need "rerum cognoscere causas. " In autobiography, as i n f i c t i o n , t h i s quest prov ides a su s ta ined metaphor f o r the a r t i s t i n the process of c r e a t i o n . Autobiography i n t h i s t e r m i -nology, represents the a c t i v i t y of the quest and, i f . i t i s s u c c e s s f u l , i t becomes the answer tha t was sought: 6 We s h a l l not cease from e x p l o r a t i o n And the end of a l l our e xp l o r i n g W i l l be to a r r i v e where we s t a r t e d And know the p lace f o r the f i r s t t ime. The journey prov ides a s i g n i f i c a n t metaphor i n C a r l y l e ' s S a r t o r Resar tus , Wordsworth's P re lude , Rousseau's Confess ions , and George Moore 's Hai1 and  Farewel1. M a t u r i t y , the sub jec t of Chapter Four, o f ten i n vo l ve s a c r i s i s i n which the past and the f u t u r e are transformed i n the l i g h t of some over -whelming gnos i s . (St . August ine desc r ibes " [ h i s ] mi serab le heart over -charged w i th most gnawing c a r e s , l e s t [he] should d i e ere [he] found the truth."3) In r e l i g i o u s terms, t h i s c r i s i s i s conver s ion. For the ep i c hero i t e n t a i l s descent i n t o the underwor ld, a t r i a l o f the s p i r i t t ha t br ings knowledge and wisdom and the power to guide o the r s . For the ep i c hero as f o r the r e l i g i o u s conver t , descent i n t o death and ascent i n t o r e b i r t h prov ide a c e n t r a l exper ience on the journey or quest. Th is expe r i ence , however, and the s t o r y tha t de r i ve s from i t , are so d i s t i n c t tha t they can best be desc r ibed and d i scussed i n a separate chapter from the journey. C a r l y l e and Wordsworth both de sc r i be " conve r s i on " as c e n t r a l to t h e i r j ou rney , and t o these accounts we s h a l l add d i s cu s s i on of Rousseau, W i l l i a m Hale White, and John S t ua r t M i l l . Old age, d i scussed i n Chapter F i v e , i n vo l ve s confess ion f o r the conver t . For the hero i t e n t a i l s the t e l l i n g of h i s s t o r y . Louis Dudek has remarked on the s t e r e o t y p i c a l q u a l i t y of t h i s most personal form tha t o f f e r s a range of in t imacy wide enough to i n c l ude both The Wasteland and S h e l l e y ' s b leed ing among the thorns of l i f e . 4 For the e v o l u t i o n and design of t h i s metaphor, we s h a l l look a t S a i n t August ine, P e t r a r c h , and 7 Bunyan before t u r n i n g to Rousseau, Goethe, and a b r i e f d i s c u s s i o n of the n ine teenth -centu ry nove l . These stages of the w r i t t e n l i f e , d e r i v i n g from e p i c , the language of the r e p r e s e n t a t i v e hero, and from r e l i g i o n , the language of p r i v a t e expe r i ence , can be t r aced through the t r a d i t i o n s and convent ions of western l i t e r a t u r e . In order to demonstrate t h e i r fundamental va lue to the auto -b iographer , however, I hope to show i n each case how they a l s o d e r i v e from the p s ycho l og i ca l imperat ives that determine man's pe rcept ion of h imse l f and of h i s wo r l d . They are pa r t of what Yeats has c a l l e d our s i m p l i f y i n g image. The very not ion t h a t there are such stages i s , of cour se , a f i c t i o n i n i t s e l f , and I am almost c e r t a i n l y , i n Louis Renza 's words, f i c t i o n a l i s -5 ing the ob jec t about which I am t h e o r i s i n g . I am no t , however, ask ing f o r any suspension of d i s b e l i e f but s imply assuming an i r o n i c consc iou s -ness tha t can accept form as form, and tha t can acknowledge c e r t a i n forms as u se fu l w i thout f i n d i n g them e i t h e r a r b i t r a r y or i n e v i t a b l e . Not a l l autobiographers c a tego r i s e t h e i r l i v e s i n these terms. Of those tha t do, not a l l use a l l the forms. Of those that use some forms, not a l l use them e x h a u s t i v e l y ; i n some cases i n t e r n a l metaphors merely p o i n t to the f i c t i o n a l form tha t has remained l a t e n t and has not d i r e c t e d the n a r r a t i v e to any s i g n i f i c a n t degree. Having s a i d so much to l i m i t the opera t ion of these n a r r a t i v e p a t t e r n s , I should de sc r i be the t e x t u a l l i m i t s w i t h i n which they may be seen at work i n d e t a i l . Th i s t he s i s w i l l concent ra te f o r the most p a r t , but not e x c l u s i v e l y , on n ineteenth -centu ry t e x t s i n E n g l i s h . I t i s , of cour se , no co inc idence tha t the r i s e of autobiography should occur s imul taneous ly w i th a movement towards s c i e n t i f i c h i s t o r i o g r a p h y . In 8 both autobiography and h i s t o r i o g r aphy we see the development of a new h i s t o r i c a l consc iousness , a sense tha t events are best exp la ined by des-c r i b i n g t h e i r h i s t o r y , t ha t meaning i s e s t a b l i s h e d by de s c r i b i n g the process t ha t precedes and causes an event. Whether or not we are s a t i s -f i e d w i th t h i s i n h e r i t a n c e of what may be c a l l e d exces s i ve h i s t o r i c i s m , c l e a r a l t e r n a t i v e ways of f i x i n g meaning have ye t t o be e s t a b l i s h e d . Formalism and s t r u c t u r a l i s m , f o r example, represent modern attempts to transcend the g r i p of h i s t o r i c a l consc iousness , but t h e i r success i n escaping the requirements of h i s t o r i c i s m i s n e i t h e r e s t a b l i s h e d nor con-g v i n c i n g . I t i s no pa r t of my t he s i s to argue t h i s case i n d e t a i l , e s p e c i a l l y when s t r u c t u r a l i s t s themselves are doing so.^ The po i n t i s worth making here s imply to e x p l a i n i n pa r t why so many of the best and most i n t e r e s t i n g autob iograph ies were w r i t t e n i n the n ineteenth century and why i t seems both pe rm i s s i b l e and f r u i t f u l t o examine them as exemplars of a mode of making sense of exper ience tha t has not been transcended. The tempta t i on , fu r thermore, to examine a large number of t e x t s across n a t i ona l and temporal boundaries has been counteracted by an urgent sense tha t the case I am t r y i n g to make f o r the f i c t i o n a l i s i n g process i n autobiography can best be made by r e l a t i v e l y d e t a i l e d ana l y s i s of a small core of t e x t s . The case f o r the f u n c t i o n of these fou r n a r r a t i v e pat terns i n autobiography could p o s s i b l y be made from a very smal l core of t e x t s indeed. Rousseau, Wordsworth, and C a r l y l e , f o r example, o f f e r m a t e r i a l enough to e x p l a i n the f u n c t i o n and purpose of pa rad i s e , j ou rney , conver s i on , and confes s ion i n the w r i t t e n l i f e . E x c l u s i ve concen t ra t i on on such a core would c e r t a i n l y absolve one from the charge of random sampling t o s u i t an a r b i t r a r y purpose. I t would a l s o suggest, however, an abso lute and inescapab le q u a l i t y i n these n a r r a t i v e pat te rns which i s not 9 at a l l pa r t of my c l a i m . I hope, t h e r e f o r e , t ha t repeated use of a few autob iographies as bas i c exemplary ma te r i a l may help to demonstrate i n d e t a i l both how and why these pat terns work and how they accumulate and over lap w i t h i n p a r t i c u l a r t e x t s to en r i c h the meanings of the n a r r a t i v e . Extens ions of n a t i ona l and temporal boundaries may then prov ide f u r t h e r in s tances of the same pat terns i n l e s s d e t a i l and pu re l y as random samp-l i n g . Each l i t e r a r y form examined here represents a t r a n s l a t i o n of l i f e i n t o l i t e r a t u r e which i s , f o r the most p a r t , the r e s u l t of conscious a r t i s t r y . Where such t r a n s l a t i o n i s not a c t u a l l y d e l i b e r a t e , i t r e s u l t s from a pe r spec t i ve on the past dur ing which a p o s s i b l y unconscious sub-s c r i p t i o n to these pat te rns has had time to a f f e c t the autob iog rapher 1 s pe rcep t i on s . I t has, t h e r e f o r e , seemed s e n s i b l e not t o i n c l ude l e t t e r s and d i a r i e s , au tob iog raph i ca l as these most c e r t a i n l y a r e , p a r t i c u l a r l y when they are c o l l e c t e d over a s u b s t a n t i a l pe r i od of t ime. The pat te rns of pe rcept ion t ha t cou ld be demonstrated from d i a r i e s and l e t t e r s would revea l more about the p sycho log i ca l foundat ions f o r such pattern-making than about i t s a r t i s t i c f u n c t i o n . I have t r i e d to demonstrate the psycho-l o g i c a l underpinnings f o r such f i c t i o n a l products i n the d i s cu s s i on of the f i c t i o n a l i s i n g process i n Chapter One. Once t h i s i s e s t a b l i s h e d , my only concern i s w i th the why and how of the n a r r a t i v e pat te rns as they e x i s t i n the completed au tob iog raph i ca l t e x t . A l l the t e x t s i nc luded here are r e f e r r e d to i n t r a n s l a t i o n except f o r two works by Rousseau f o r which no t r a n s l a t i o n i s r e a d i l y a v a i l a b l e . 10 CHAPTER ONE THE INEVITABILITY OF FICTION I t seems f a i r to assume tha t the autobiographer begins h i s work w i th a c l e a r sense of h imse l f to which he would l i k e to be t r u e . Who he i s matters more, i n the long run , than the th ings tha t have happened to him even i f he desc r ibes who he i s by means of the th ings t ha t have happened to him. His i n d i v i d u a l i t y i s h i s b i r t h r i g h t and he w i l l not s e l l i t , unless he i s incompetent, f o r a mess of f a c t s . Even i f he i n t end s , however, to w r i t e about h i s l i f e as d i r e c t l y as p o s s i b l e , the a c t i v i t y of w r i t i n g i n t e r f e r e s between h i s past and the w r i t t e n word tha t he c rea te s . "To speak i s to a c t , " S a r t r e w r i t e s . " [ A j n y th i n g which one names i s a l ready no longer q u i t e the same; i t has l o s t i t s innocence. "^ Or, as Roman Jakobson puts i t : "La p r o p r i e t e 2 p r i vee dans l e domaine du langage, ga n ' e x i s t e pas . " The autobiographer may summon memory to h i s a i d , amended and co r rec ted by data such as l e t t e r s and d i a r i e s , and begin to w r i t e about h imse l f , but h i s muse, Mnemosyne, i s an a r t i s t , h i s data are inadequate, h i s pe rcept ion i s p a r t i a l , h i s r o l e i s e s s e n t i a l l y t ha t of i n t e r p r e t e r and c oo rd i n a t o r , and h i s " a c t u a l events " become " v i r t u a l events " i n the process of w r i t i n g . F i c t i o n , i n other words, ensnares r e a l i t y from the beg inn ing. The f a c t of t h i s ensnar ing i s a commonplace of c r i t i c i s m . How i t i s achieved i s accounted f o r v a r i -ous ly by va r ious c r i t i c s . As my theme i nvo l ve s the ways i n which i n t e r -s u b j e c t i v e meaning i s e s t a b l i s h e d i n autob iographies by f i c t i o n a l p a t t e r n s , i t w i l l be u se fu l to r e f i n e t h i s commonplace i n the context of f i c t i o n a l -i s i n g i n autobiography. 11 Langer ' s d e f i n i t i o n of the d i f f e r e n c e between ac tua l events and v i r t u a l event s , or events i n l i t e r a t u r e , may de sc r i be the k ind of t r u t h tha t autobiographers f e e l t ha t they can t e l l . V i r t u a l events have a double duty to perform tha t d i s t i n g u i s h e s them from ac tua l events : they must convince and they must conta in an emotional f a c t o r . They are q u a l i t a t i v e i n t h e i r very c o n s t i t u t i o n and have no ex i s t ence apart from va l ue s , from the emotional import which i s pa r t of t h e i r appearance. They are con ta i ned , f o r example, more s i g n i f i c a n t l y i n a madeleine cake or a V i n t e u i l sonata than i n the r e g i s t r y of b i r t h s and deaths. As autobiography i s a w r i t t e n r e c o r d , the events i t i n c l u d e s , regard les s of t h e i r bas i s i n f a c t , must perform double duty as v i r t u a l event s , and w i l l be e f f e c t i v e , indeed t r u e , only i n s o f a r as they po r t ray an emotional r e a l i t y . Anthony T r o l l o p e , f o r example, who produced only one o f f i c i a l , r e l a t i v e l y dry and s p e c i f i c a l l y b u s i n e s s l i k e autobiography, wrote numerous accounts of the l o n e l y , incompetent hobbledehoy i n London subjected to the c o n t r o l of co r rupt and greedy l a n d l a d i e s , tempted and trapped by unworthy women, f a l l i n g i n t o debt and i t s c o r r e l a t i v e d e sp a i r , but p ro -t ec ted from a f a r by the benign i n f l u e n c e of good women and an e c c e n t r i c but k i n d l y unc le . We are fo rced to be l i e ve him when he says t ha t the man of l e t t e r s i s i n t r u t h ever w r i t i n g h i s autobiography. Charley Tudor of The Three C lerks (1858) bears a s t rong l i k ene s s t o Johnny Eames of The  Small House at A l l i n g t o n (1864) and to the young Anthony T r o l l o p e of the Autobiography of 1883. The events i n the l i v e s of these three young men c l e a r l y r e l a t e to T r o l l o p e ' s a c tua l l i f e even though they may, i n a l l three v e r s i o n s , be f i c t i o n a l i n d e t a i l or s p e c i f i c s . In each case, however, the w r i t t e n event both e x i s t s and convinces because of " the 3 emotional import which i s pa r t of i t s appearance." As w i t h the 12 " b l a c k i n g warehouse" s e c t i o n of David C o p p e r f i e l d , or the beat ing of l i t t l Ernest P o n t i f e x , such events are t rue to an emotional r e a l i t y . T r o l l ope needed t o convey the essence of h i s own youth i n London. Whether Johnny Eames or Charley Tudor or Anthony T r o l l o p e port rayed t ha t q u a l i t y most sharp ly f o r him, he was able to convey i t at a l l on ly i n terms of v i r t u a l events . Before any word i s w r i t t e n , however, t r an s fo rmat ion of r e a l i t y r e s u l t s from the very a c t i v i t y of pe r cep t i on . E. H. Gombrich suggests t ha t " [ t ] h e r e i s no r i g i d d i s t i n c t i o n . . .between percept ion and i l l u s i o n . He agrees w i th Kermode t ha t i t i s necessary t o p o s i t a cont ingent r e a l i t y or wor ld of a c tua l event s , but he argues pe r sua s i ve l y tha t cont ingent r e a l i t y i s complete ly unamenable to r ep roduc t i on ; only comparisons, ana-logues, or metaphors can p o s s i b l y work. A f t e r cen tu r i e s of v i s u a l a r t , Constable could on ly see a landscape i n terms of a Gainsborough, who saw i t i n terms of the Dutch masters , and so on. S i m i l a r l y , Frye f i nd s "no 5 such th i ng as s e l f - e x p r e s s i o n i n l i t e r a t u r e . " Each work, a f t e r a l l , conforms not to r e a l i t y but t o i t s own laws e s t a b l i s h e d by the t r a d i t i o n w i t h i n which i t e x i s t s . Schemata evolve t o guide pe rcept ion which i s , a c c o r d i n g l y , l a r g e l y a f f e c t e d by e xpec t a t i on . " A l l t h i n k i n g i s s o r t i n g , c l a s s i f y i n g . A l l p e r ce i v i n g r e l a t e s t o expectat ions and t he re fo re to comparisons. " Ne i the r s i z e nor c o l o u r , f o r example, make any sense on t h e i r own but only w i t h i n a context t ha t prov ides r e l a t i o n s h i p s . For the a r t i s t these r e l a t i o n s h i p s are determined by h i s medium. (Gombrich i s w r i t i n g about v i s u a l a r t , but l i t e r a r y or mus ica l form a l s o prov ides determin ing media.) " I f t h i s i s t r u e — " he con t i nues , " — a n d i t can ha rd l y be g a i n s a i d - - the problem of i l l u s i o n i s t a r t i s not tha t of f o r g e t -t i n g what we know about the wor ld . I t i s r a the r tha t of i n ven t i ng compari sons which work. 1 3 Gombrich, l i k e the s t r u c t u r a l i s t s , l i k e P i a g e t , f i n d s h i s o r i g i n a l schemata not i n the ac tua l wor ld but i n the p e r c e i v i n g mind of man. He disposes of Rusk in ' s " i nnocent eye" as a "myth" and presents overwhelming evidence f o r what s t r u c t u r a l i s t s c a l l the innate pa t t e rn i ng q u a l i t i e s of the mind. Rembrandt, i n other words, f o r a l l h i s s i x t y - t w o s e l f - p o r t r a i t s , never saw h imse l f , e i t h e r as a phy s i c a l a c t u a l i t y or as others saw him, but only as an i l l u s i o n , a d i s t o r t i o n i n a l o o k i n g - g l a s s . He was a b l e , however, to t ransform h i s pe rcept ion of h imse l f , i n d i s t i n g u i s h a b l e from i l l u s i o n , i n t o a comparison tha t worked f o r h imse l f and f o r o ther people. The c l o s e r a copy of r e a l i t y comes to r e a l i t y i t s e l f , the more i t loses i t s own i d e n t i t y (one reason why photography has had to s t r u gg l e to a s se r t i t s e l f as an a r t ) . Or, as Langer puts i t , the d i f f e r e n c e between a l i f e -mask and a p o r t r a i t i s the death! ikeness of the former. "To b r i ng anyth ing r e a l l y t o l i f e i n l i t e r a t u r e , " Frye w r i t e s , "we c a n ' t be o l i f e l i k e : we have to be l i t e r a t u r e - l i k e . " Frye i s w r i t i n g about the f u n c t i o n of l i t e r a r y convent ions , but the po i n t he i s making over laps w i th Langer ' s d i s c u s s i o n , e s p e c i a l l y when she r e f e r s to the absence i n so many newspaper a r t i c l e s of James 's " a i r of r e a l i t y , " and suggests tha t the " ' l i v i n g n e s s 1 of a s t o r y i s r e a l l y much s u r e r , and of ten g r e a t e r , than g tha t of ac tua l e xpe r i ence . " I t may indeed be necessary to modify R. D. La ing ' s statement t ha t even f a c t s become f i c t i o n s w i thout adequate ways of seeing the f a c t s , and say tha t f a c t s cannot be grasped at a l l u n t i l they have been transformed i n t o f i c t i o n s . Undoubtedly, Rembrandt's f r i e n d s recognised h i s s e l f - p o r t r a i t s , y e t they would have been fo rced to admit t ha t the p o r t r a i t s represent many degrees of removal from r e a l i t y through i l l u s i o n to i n v e n t i o n , though they might have expressed themselves more s imply and s a i d he looks 14 as i f he were a l i v e . "Thought," Va ih inger w r i t e s , d i s t i n g u i s h i n g between th ing s - i n - themse l ve s and the wor ld of as i f , " c rea te s f o r i t s e l f an exceed ing ly a r t i f i c i a l instrument of enormous p r a c t i c a l u t i l i t y f o r the apprehension and e l a b o r a t i o n of the s t u f f of r e a l i t y . " ^ In bas i c agree-ment, but more s t i r r i n g language, C a r l y l e w r i t e s : "Of t h i s . . . s o r t are a l l t rue works of A r t : i n them . . . w i l t thou d i s ce r n E t e r n i t y l ook ing through Time; the Godl ike rendered v i s i b l e . " ^ C a r l y l e i s des-c r i b i n g the wondrous agency of symbols which conceal and ye t revea l the r e a l i t y from which they d e r i v e , Va ih inger the l o g i c a l process whereby ab s t r a c t thought, s c i e n t i f i c procedures, and e t h i c a l behaviour become p o s s i b l e . "The f i c t i v e a c t i v i t y of the mind, " he w r i t e s , i s an express ion of the fundamental p s y ch i c a l f o r c e s ; f i c t i o n s are mental s t r u c t u r e s . The psyche weaves t h i s a i d to thought out of i t s e l f ; f o r the mind i s i n v e n t i v e ; under the compulsion of n e c e s s i t y , s t imu la ted by the outer w o r l d , i t d i s cover s the s t o re of cont r i vances tha t l i e hidden w i t h i n i t s e l f . . . . With an i n s t i n c t i v e , almost cunning i n g e n u i t y , the l o g i c a l f u n c t i o n succeeds i n overcoming . . . d i f f i c u l t i e s w i th the a id of . . . accessory s t r u c tu re s . 12 The autob iographer, i n other words, shares h i s resources w i th the a r t i s t , the w r i t e r , and the common man a l i k e ; each der i ves h i s f i c t i o n s o r i g i n a l l y from the very way i n which the mind works. Each one th inks by means of metaphor. James Olney, d i s cu s s i n g autob iography ' s " impulse to o rde r , " desc r ibes metaphor i n t h i s context as " e s s e n t i a l l y a way of 13 knowing." Or, as Bruner e x p l a i n s : 15 i f i t i s the case that a r t as a mode of knowing has p r e c i s e l y the f u n c t i o n of connect ing through metaphor what before had no apparent k i n s h i p , then . . . the a r t form of the myth connects the daemonic wor ld of impulse w i th the wor ld of reason by a v e r i s i m i l i t u d e tha t conforms to each.14 I f we equate B rune r ' s v e r i s i m i l i t u d e w i th V a i h i n g e r ' s accessory s t r u c t u r e s i n h i s wor ld of as i f , and w i th Gombrich 's i l l u s i o n c reated by comparisons tha t work, we can de sc r i be metaphor as the c r u c i a l and inescapable means of p e r c e i v i n g our wor ld and of e x p l a i n i n g what we per -c e i v e . Metaphor c reates a v i r t u a l event and, c r u c i a l l y f o r autobiography, i t c reates a v i r t u a l l i f e . "Even the p e r s o n a l i t y c a l l e d ' I ' i n an auto -b iography, " Langer reminds us, "must be a c rea tu re of the s t o r y and not the model h imse l f . 'My' s t o r y i s what happens i n the book, not a s t r i n g 15 of occas ions i n the w o r l d . " S i m i l a r l y , she cont inues , " [ 1 l i t e r a r y events are made, not r epo r ted , j u s t as p o r t r a i t s are p a i n t e d , not born and . r a i s e d . " 1 6 Such d i s t i n c t i o n s between l i f e and a r t , which sound l i k e p l a t i t u d e s i n the d i s cu s s i on of a r t i n g e n e r a l , become c r u c i a l i n d i s cu s s i on of auto -biography where the temptat ion con s t an t l y e x i s t s t o equate or i d e n t i f y the na r r a t o r w i th the author. Metaphor conceals and revea l s the o r i g i n a l , the model, by c r e a t i n g a comparison t ha t works, a l i k e n e s s , a v i r t u a l cha rac te r . Metaphor of t h i s k ind represents what p s ycho log i s t s c a l l d i s -placement, what E l i o t meant by an o b j e c t i v e c o r r e l a t i v e , the p r o j e c t i o n of an inner r e a l i t y onto any e x t e r na l form tha t can bear and desc r ibe i t . As a c h i l d , f o r example, Ca r l Jung made a l i t t l e man, p laced him on a s tone, and h id him i n a p e n c i l case i n the a t t i c . 1 ^ The s a fe t y of h i s l i f e , he f e l t , depended on tha t s ec re t manikin hidden w i th the stone i n the p e n c i l case. He gave shape, i n other words, to a s ec re t which was 16 the s e c r e t of h i s own i d e n t i t y . Working w i th p a t i e n t s many years l a t e r , Jung found t ha t therapy began i n every case w i th the s t o r y t ha t i s not t o l d , the hidden stone. Determined to conf ront h i s own unconsc ious, to f i n d h i s own s t o r y or myth, he b u i l t h imse l f a town w i th b u i l d i n g b l o ck s . He desc r ibes how he found i t necessary to d i f f e r e n t i a t e h imse l f from the contents of h i s own unconscious by p e r s o n i f y i n g them and b r i ng i ng them i n t o consc iousness. He detaches a l l the p ieces of h i s own persona from h imse l f , l i k e the b u i l d i n g b l o c k s , p a r t l y f o r exper imenta l r e c o n s t r u c t i o n , e s s e n t i a l l y because h i s t h i n k i n g and f e e l i n g are at t h e i r very core metaphor i ca l . Jung i s an exemplary model f o r the nece s s i t y and va lue of metaphor as a mode of ach iev ing that conscious c o g n i t i o n , of c r e a t i n g p r e v i ou s l y unapprehended r e l a t i o n s h i p s between a man and the f i c t i o n s tha t he c r ea te s . Jung i s an exemplary model, but a l l autob iographers , of n e c e s s i t y , by the very ac t of autobiography, r e con s t r u c t themselves i n some form or another w i th b u i l d i n g b locks or b r i ng out from t h e i r a t t i c t ha t hidden p e n c i l case. Jung, l i k e Bruner , desc r ibes myth as a s i g n i f i c a n t metaphor, " the na tu ra l and i nd i spensab le i n te rmed ia te stage between unconscious and 18 conscious c o g n i t i o n , " connec t i ng , i n B runer ' s words, " the daemonic wor ld of impulse w i th the wor ld of rea son . " Ju s t as metaphor enables the auto -biographer to p r o j e c t h imse l f i n such a way tha t he both understands h imse l f and e l i c i t s understand ing, so myth-as-metaphor a l s o serves to condense exper ience i n t o a n a r r a t i v e of t e l l a b l e l ength . I t works as n a r r a t i v e short-hand f o r the autobiographer and ensures the a c c e s s i b i l i t y of h i s s t o r y to h i s audience. For the autobiographer takes one f i n a l step and s toops , i n E. M. 19 Fo r s t e r s words, t o s t o r y , " t h a t low a t a v i s t i c f o rm. " Only w i t h i n a 17 s to ry can events of any k ind s o r t t h e i r bew i lde r i ng v a r i e t y i n t o a determ-ina te meaning. The n a r r a t i v e of autobiography manipulates the bew i l de r -ing v a r i e t y of l i v e d exper ience by imposing on i t a beg inn ing , a m idd le , and an end. Todorov, i n f a c t , desc r ibes the i d e a l n a r r a t i v e as beginning "w i th a s t a b l e s i t u a t i o n which i s d i s t u rbed by some power or f o r c e . There r e s u l t s a s t a t e of d i s e q u i l i b r i u m ; by the a c t i o n of a f o r ce d i r e c t e d i n the oppos i te d i r e c t i o n , the e q u i l i b r i u m i s r e e s t a b l i s h e d ; the second 20 e q u i l i b r i u m i s s i m i l a r to the f i r s t , but the two are never i d e n t i c a l . " The autob iographer , of cour se , may begin where he l i k e s (Wordsworth begins i n medias r e s ) , and he may manipulate h i s n a r r a t i v e s t r u c t u r e by means of the v iewpoint he adopts (Stephen Dedalus begins by comprehending both a moo-cow s to r y and i t s t e l l e r ) ; but he tends , nonethe les s , t o adhere to the n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn that Todorov desc r ibes wh ich , i n broad o u t l i n e , p a r a l l e l s the most ba s i c human framework of b i r t h , l i f e , death. I t i s common, f o r example, even when i t i s not e x p l i c i t , t o read of a l i f e e s s e n t i a l l y as the growth of a mind or a soul or the d i s cove ry of a voca-t i o n . With h i s theme as a s a f e r g iven than h i s l i f e , f o r which the end i s not known at the time of w r i t i n g , the autobiographer can then cut a l l 21 " t h a t David Coppe r f i e l d k ind of c rap " and na r ra te h i s l i f e i n terms of a ba s i c p l o t fo rmu la : a n t i c i p a t i o n , r e c o g n i t i o n , and f u l f i l m e n t . A f requent t e l e o l o g i c a l determinism der i ve s from techniques whereby what was foreseen i s f u l f i l l e d ; the dreamer becomes a poet , the s c r i b b l e r an a r t i s t , and the l i t t l e boy who p layed w i th s o l d i e r s grows up to be Winston C h u r c h i l l . He probably played w i th cars and t r a c t o r s as w e l l as tanks , but they are dropped from the coo rd i na t i n g memory of the w r i t e r who knows i n advance what happens i n the end. The na r r a t o r gains c o n t r o l and a u t h o r i t y , the reader a sense of order.and understanding. 18 The theme tha t any autobiographer chooses prov ides a shape f o r h i s n a r r a t i v e . I t a l s o prov ides a meaning. The formula of a n t i c i p a t i o n , r e c o g n i t i o n , and f u l f i l m e n t i s matched by the formula f o r s e p a r a t i o n , i n i t i a t i o n , and re tu rn borrowed from r i t e s of passage and desc r ibed by 22 V l ad im i r Propp as pa r t of the t o t a l a c t i on of every f o l k - t a l e . Camp-23 b e l l c a l l s t h i s formula the " nuc l ea r u n i t of the monomyth." The two formulae are as ba s i c to n a r r a t i v e form and to s e l f - p e r c e p t i o n as b i r t h , l i f e , and death to the body. They are f i c t i o n s i n t h e i r c r e a t i v e a b i l i t y to ignore or e x p l o i t p a r t i c u l a r ac t i on s i n order to achieve un i ve r s a l meanings, t o convey, as Frye t r a n s l a t e s A r i s t o t l e , not what happened but What happens. I t i s u n l i k e l y , of course, t ha t any autobiographer has ever sa t down t o h i s task con sc i ou s l y determined t o w r i t e "a nuc lear u n i t of the monomyth." I t i s l i k e l y , however, t ha t h i s readers would acqu i re a more i n t ima te sense of him from h i s l e t t e r s , sonnets, d i a r y e n t r i e s , or conver-sa t i on s than from the f i n i s h e d product c a l l e d the s t o r y of h i s l i f e . More i n t i m a t e , but l e s s coherent. The d i s t i n c t i o n tha t needs to be made between the l y r i c , the l e t t e r , or the d i a r y en t r y and the autobiography i s not one of va lue but r a t he r one of k i nd . We can l ea rn noth ing more i n t ima te than the c ry of the l ove r who would t ha t h i s love were i n h i s arms and he i n h i s bed aga in . We can l ea rn noth ing more coherent than the s t o r y 24 of a man who would " g i ve the t rue key to [ h i s ] whole l i f e , " " t e l l [ h i s ] 25 personal myth, " or who knows tha t " [ t ] h r e e pass ions . . . have governed 26 [ h i s ] l i f e . " The d i s t i n c t i o n i s t ha t of t ime and r e t r o s p e c t . The auto -biographer does not s i t down to w r i t e a monomyth, but he does s o r t the v a r i e t y of h i s moments' meanings i n t o the meaning tha t he a s c r i be s t o h i s l i f e . 19 For most men, i t i s sa fe to say, the f i n a l meaning i s l i k e l y t o transcend a l l o the r s . Few men w r i t e great l y r i c s or l e t t e r s . Many, however, have made sense of t h e i r l i v e s by t rans forming them i n t o very f i n e autob iograph ies wh ich, by v i r t u e of t h e i r f i c t i v e na tu re , cannot be t r a n s l a t e d back i n t o the ac tua l wo r l d . As Susan Sontag w r i t e s : " the knowledge we gain through a r t i s an exper ience of the form or s t y l e of knowing something, r a the r than a knowledge of something ( l i k e a f a c t or 27 a moral judgement) i n i t s e l f . " The chaos of ac tua l events i s common t o a l l exper ience , but the a r t i s t exce l s a t t r an s fo rmat ion of such chaos e s s e n t i a l l y i n t o a meaningful form tha t i s a c c e s s i b l e to a l l . Cornford c i t e s examples of t h i s process of t rans forming mu l t i t ud inou s f a c t s i n t o coherent f i c t i o n s . He concentrates on " the moulding of a long s e r i e s of O Q events i n t o a p lan determined by an a r t fo rm. " The Pelopones ian War, he f i n d s , i s a t ragedy, f o r although "Thucydides, l i k e Descartes , thought he had s t r i p p e d h imse l f bare of every p reconcep t i on , " h i s work, l i k e D e s c a r t e s ' , "shows tha t there was a f t e r a l l a residuum wrought i n t o the 29 substance of h i s mind and i n e r a d i c a b l e because unperce i ved . " Everyone, a f t e r a l l , takes h i s own hab i t s of thought f o r granted and perce ives h i s b ias on ly by c o n t r a s t . For the h i s t o r i a n the book of how-it-was i s i n e v i -t a b l y s ea l ed ; r e f l e c t e d from the n a r r a t o r ' s mind, we can d i s cove r only the f i c t i v e form i n which i t w i l l be remembered, not as a sequence and over lap of many events but as a tragedy that ru ined Athens. The autob iographer , t oo , subo rd ina t i ng the h i s t o r i c a l a c t i v i t y of d e s c r i b i n g what happened to the p o e t i c a c t i v i t y of conveying what happens, i nco rpo ra te s h i s f a c t s i n t o a "myth i c " n a r r a t i v e . Frye draws an important analogy between mythos, the t y p i c a l a c t i o n of poe t r y , and the 20 s i g n i f i c a n t ac t i on s tha t men engage i n because they are t y p i c a l and r e c u r r i n g . Myth i s the verba l i m i t a t i o n of such r i t u a l s . "Such p l o t s , " Frye w r i t e s , "because they desc r ibe t y p i c a l a c t i o n s , n a t u r a l l y f a l l i n t o 3 0 t y p i c a l fo rms. " Or, as Jung puts i t : "There are as many, archetypes as there are t y p i c a l s i t u a t i o n s i n l i f e . Endless r e p e t i t i o n has engraved these exper iences i n t o our psych ic c o n s t i t u t i o n , not i n the form of images 31 f i l l e d w i th con ten t , but a t f i r s t only as forms w i thout con ten t . " What happened, i n a l l i t s complex i t y , does not lend i t s e l f e a s i l y to nar -r a t i o n . L i f e , i n t ha t sense, " i s not s u s c e p t i b l e perhaps to the treatment 32 we g ive i t when we t r y to t e l l i t . " At so ba s i c a l e v e l as t h i s , when the rhythms of l i f e are to be comprehended and t r a n s l a t e d i n t o n a r r a t i v e , myth and r i t u a l p rov ide parad igmat ic forms tha t make sense. They prov ide the n a r r a t i v e metaphors, the comparisons tha t work. From autobiographer to f i c t i v e n a r r a t o r  W i l l i a m Hale White and George Moore The autobiographer who begins w i th a c l e a r sense of h imse l f which he would l i k e t o convey through h i s l i f e - s t o r y , faces p a r t i c u l a r problems i n the c r e a t i o n of h i s n a r r a t o r . We have g lanced at the c r i t i c ' s danger of too c l o se i d e n t i f i c a t i o n of n a r r a t o r w i th author , y e t t h i s i d e n t i f i c a -t i o n i s pa r t of the au tho r ' s i n t e n t i o n . He i s not s imply c r e a t i n g a f i c -t i t i o u s cha rac te r who must appear l i f e l i k e ; he i s c r e a t i n g a l i k e n e s s , a s e l f - p o r t r a i t , which he intends should convince us of i t s l i k ene s s to him. The author of the t h i r d - pe r s on au tob iog raph i ca l work encounters fewer problems i n t h i s a rea ; no statement of the i d e n t i f i c a t i o n t ha t he f e e l s or that others may perce i ve needs to be e x p l i c i t i n the t e x t . 21 Stephen Dedalus, l i k e Rachel V inrace or Paul Mo re l , or even l i k e the Overton-Pon t i f e x m i x t u r e , can come i n t o a l i f e o f h i s own as a f i c t i v e cha rac te r by v i r t u e of the o b j e c t i v i t y e s t a b l i s h e d by mere use of the t h i r d person. His i d e n t i t y and the meaning of h i s s t o r y are cushioned and conta ined by the c o n t r o l l i n g na r r a to r who i s d i s t i n c t and apart from him. The f i r s t -person n a r r a t o r , on the other hand, faces the problems of c r e a t i n g and con-t r o l l i n g h i s n a r r a t i v e on-s tage, so t o speak. He needs to e s t a b l i s h h i s a u t h o r i t y , h i s v i ewpo in t , h i s n a r r a t i v e techn iques , so t h a t we b e l i e v e tha t he i s who he c la ims to be but a l s o so tha t h i s s t o r y can ca r r y c o n v i c t i o n . , " I , " an author i n .the wor ld of cont ingent r e a l i t y , has . to ' t r a n s l a t e i n t o " I , " . t h e ' n a r r a t o r , a f i c t i o n and-part: o f ' f i c t i v e event s .w i thout f o r f e i t i n g c r e d i b i l i t y o r , d i s t u r b i n g our suspension of d i s b e l i e f . Au tob iog raph i ca l works use numerous dev ices f o r overcoming these problems of he ro -na r r a to r i d e n t i f i c a t i o n . Young Ernest P o n t i f e x , f o r example, i s presented through the sympathet ic , mature v i s i o n of the pa te rna l Overton, the young s e l f seen by the o l de r s e l f , but n e i t h e r one e x p l i c i t l y i d e n t i f i e d w i t h Samuel B u t l e r . Stephen Dedalus moves from t h i r d to f i r s t person, from past to present tense i n order to achieve a s i m i l a r d i s t i n c -t i o n between the then of remembered times and the now of the n a r r a t o r ' s v iewpo int . Tone may do much to e s t a b l i s h both a u t h o r i t y and p e r s o n a l i t y . An autobiographer may co l ou r h i s n a r r a t o r w i th the i n f l e x i o n of h i s language and w i t h the cho ices he makes p a r t i c u l a r l y w i th h i s i n i t i a l ma te r i a l f o r s e l f - p r e s e n t a t i o n . I propose here to look at j u s t two examples of the au tob iog raph i ca l n a r r a t o r i n order t o see i n more d e t a i l how and w i th what b e n e f i t s to the work as a whole the autobiographer i n the wor ld transforms h imse l f i n t o a cha rac te r i n a book. For an unusual 22 form of t h i r d - p e r s o n n a r r a t i o n , I s h a l l look a t W i l l i a m Hale Wh i te ' s Autobiography of Mark Ru the r fo rd , and f o r a tour de f o r ce of f i r s t - p e r s o n n a r r a t i o n , George Moore 's H a i l and F a r e w e l l . W i l l i a m Hale White demonstrates very c l e a r l y the va lue of metaphor f o r r ep re sen ta t i on of the hidden man. He c reates a persona c a l l e d Mark Rutherford whose t u r b u l e n t , p a i n f u l Autobiography appeared i n 1881. Near ly t h i r t y years l a t e r , Hale White w r i t e s i n h i s own person some "Au tob iog raph i ca l Notes" e n t i t l e d The Ea r l y L i f e of Mark Ruther fo rd . These Notes "not w r i t t e n f o r p u b l i c a t i o n , but to p lease two or three 33 persons r e l a t e d to me by a f f e c t i o n , " are a remarkable achievement. They t r a n s l a t e an emot i ona l l y t u r bu l en t youth i n t o le s s than.one hundred smal l pages of un t roub led , p e l l u c i d prose. L ike h i s own f a t h e r , who admired Cobbett, and l i k e the Mary Mardon whom Mark Rutherford admires i n the Autobiography, White was ab le to ac t on the b e l i e f t ha t " [ i ] f the t r u t h i s of se r i ous importance t o us we dare not ob s t ruc t i t by phrase-making" (EL, p. 30). Or, i n B u r l i t t ' s words, ' [ p ] a i n t e d g la s s i s very b e a u t i f u l , but p l a i n g las s i s the most u se fu l as i t l e t s through the most l i g h t " ' (EL, p. 31). "A good deal of [h i s e a r l y l i f e ] has been t o l d before under a semi - t ransparent d i s g u i s e , " he w r i t e s , "w i t h much added which i s e n t i r e l y f i c t i t i o u s . What I now se t down i s f a c t " (EL, p. 5 ) . A comparison between t h i s " f a c t u a l account" and the e a r l i e r Autobiography of Mark Rutherford where the f a c t s are d i s gu i s ed and added to can c l a r i f y some of the b e n e f i t s t ha t accrue to the autobiographer who f i c t i o n a l i s e s h i s hero and r e j e c t s e x p l i c i t i d e n t i f i c a t i o n of the hero w i t h h imse l f . The Autobiography of Mark Ruther ford covers the same ground but i s over twice as long as The Ea r l y L i f e . I t was w r i t t e n at " e x t r a -o rd ina ry h i gh -p re s s u re , " h i s second w i f e w r i t e s i n The Groombridge D ia ry . 23 "He was then at work every n ight at the House of Commons, and he wrote i n the mornings, 4.30. He ought," she adds a f f e c t i o n a t e l y , " t o have had 34 more s l e e p . " S i g n i f i c a n t l y , t oo , Hale White d i d not c l a im the Auto- biography f o r many y e a r s . He made i t h i s man ik in , and he h id behind i t . Rutherford i s a metaphor f o r Hale White, and Ru the r f o rd ' s f i c t i o n s des-c r i b e Hale Wh i te ' s s u f f e r i n g i n metaphor ica l terms. The events and the cha rac te r s t ha t Ruther ford a l t e r s or adds d i d no t , we must b e l i e v e , happen i n Hale Wh i t e ' s l i f e . But on ly because they happen i n f i c t i o n can we grasp the r e a l i t i e s of what Bunyan, f o r i n s t an ce , would have c a l l e d h i s G iant Despair or the g l o r i o u s Pr incess Hope. The d i s g u i s e and f i c t i o n , then , achieve a b a s i c purpose o f autobiography, they convey a q u a l i t y of t r u t h f o r which the " f a c t s , " c e r t a i n l y as they stand i n The Ea r l y L i f e , are inadequate. Most of the events i n the Autobiography correspond e x a c t l y w i t h those i n The Ea r l y L i f e . Rutherford desc r ibes h i s C a l v i n i s t background, h i s convers ion t ha t was meant to be P a u l i n e , the i r r e l e v a n c e of the theo-l o g i c a l c o l l e g e , the b r i e f attempt at s choo l -mas te r i ng , and the work f o r Chapman, now c a l l e d Wo l l a s ton . The only pu re l y f i c t i t i o u s i n t e r p o l a t i o n among these events i s Ru the r f o rd ' s ac tua l assumption f i r s t of a C a l v i n i s t and then o f a U n i t a r i a n m i n i s t r y . His exper ience as a m i n i s t e r serves the u se fu l purpose of e l a b o r a t i n g what-might-have-been; i t develops the meaning of " the great b lunder of my l i f e , the mistake which w e l l - n i g h ru ined i t a l t o g e t h e r " (EJ_, p. 55) ; but i t does not account f o r the more than doubled length of the t e x t or i t s i nc reased complex i ty . The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford i s about the p a i n f u l e ro s i on of f a i t h , the f ea r of death, and the long ing f o r f r i e n d s h i p . I t i s a l s o about the matur ing of the man who learns to l i v e w i t h the inadequacies 24 of the e s s e n t i a l l y mor ta l . s ou l s t r i p p e d ; of hope and comfort. Each c h a r a c t e r , each i n c i d e n t f u r t h e r s some aspect of these complex themes. The e ro s i on of f a i t h , f o r example, begins w i th the new capac i t y f o r what Rutherford c a l l s i nner re fe rence as d i s t i n c t from r e l i g i o u s obedience, a c apac i t y awoken i n him by the L y r i c a l B a l l a d s . Yet on ly by s t r e s s i n g the r i g i d theology of the c o l l e g e where a ques t ion i s a heresy, and the r i g i d cha rac te r of both C a l v i n i s t and U n i t a r i a n p a r i s h i o n e r s , can Rutherford make c l e a r the l o n e l i n e s s of h i s own c o n d i t i o n and h i s d i f f i -c u l t y i n improving i t . He w r i t e s of a sermon he gave wh i l e s t i l l at c o l l e g e on the meaning of atonement, and of the p r e s i d e n t ' s caut ion tha t h i s personal i n t e r p r e t a t i o n was i n app rop r i a t e f a l l i n g on him afterwards " l i k e the hand 35 of a co rp se . " He g ives a sermon e a r l y i n h i s m i n i s t r y on C h r i s t i a n i t y as the r e l i g i o n of the l one l y and unknown, and f i n d s no response at a l l . "Nobody came near me but my l a n d l o r d , the chape l -keeper , who s a i d i t was r a i n i n g , and immediately went away t o put out the l i g h t s and shut up the b u i l d i n g " (Ab, p. 75). He goes home to h i s cheer le s s supper of bread and cheese and beer i n f r o n t of an empty g r a t e , h y s t e r i c a l t ha t h i s own creed cannot stand s t r e s s . "Towards morning I got i n t o bed, but not to s l e e p ; and when the d u l l l i g h t of Monday came, a l l support had van i shed, and I seemed to be s i n k i n g i n t o a bottomless abyss" (Ab, pp. 75-76). I f he were Bunyan, he would a c t u a l l y pe r s on i f y the monsters t ha t meet him tha t n i gh t . Th is scene, whether i t de r i ves from f a c t or no t , f i n d s no counterpart i n The Ea r l y L i f e . C l e a r l y , i t represents an i n t e r n a l event , but u n l i k e the hab i t of me lancho l i a born on h i s one n i gh t as a schoolmaster, which i s recorded i n both t e x t s , t h i s scene makes a dramat ic statement about h i s i nner development. This i s , a f t e r a l l , a s p i r i t u a l h i s t o r y . L ike Bunyan, Rutherford desc r ibes h i s f e a r of i n s a n i t y as a 25 r e p t i l e w i th i t s fangs d r i ven i n t o h i s very marrow, g e t t i n g up w i th him i n the morning, wa lk ing about w i th him a l l day, and l y i n g down w i th him at n i gh t . He uses a v a r i e t y of f i c t i o n a l and metaphor ica l dev ices i n order to g i ve l o ne l i n e s s and f ea r a l o c a l h a b i t a t i o n and a name. Attached to h i s l o s s of f a i t h i s Ru the r fo rd ' s f e a r of death. So common i s t h i s f e a r t ha t he o f f e r s i t as an exemplary j u s t i f i c a t i o n f o r assuming tha t a record of h i s s u f f e r i n g s may help o ther s . For the man w i th a s t rong f a i t h , death o f f e r s at l e a s t such ab s t r a c t i o n s as redemption and l i f e e v e r l a s t i n g . For Ruther fo rd , who uses terms l i k e " a d r i f t " and " aby s s , " i t means e x t i n c t i o n of p e r s o n a l i t y . Both t ex t s conta in the i n c i d e n t i n which he overcomes h i s f e a r of drowning by an e x e r c i s e of w i l l . The Autobiography, however, a l s o e labora tes h i s f e a r of a l c o h o l . Taken on ly f o r awhi le and, i t would seem, q u i t e temperate ly , a l coho l r e l i e v e s h i s fea r s of i n s a n i t y , but i t threatens an imprisonment and dependence g r e a t l y to be feared i f l o s s of i d e n t i t y i s equ i va l en t to death. Ruther-f o r d learns to wa i t f o r the depress ion to l i f t . P a t i ence , l i k e w i l l , i s necessary f o r the s u r v i v a l of a s t rong person. The e ro s i on of f a i t h and the f ea r of death are equa l l ed only by the los s of a p e r f e c t f r i e n d i n the person of Jesus . Rutherford must t r a n s f e r h i s ,need f o r f r i e n d s h i p , l i k e h i s search f o r meaning and purpose, to .the wor ld around him. His search i s made q u i t e e x p l i c i t l y i n terms of the value de r i ved from i t s r e l i g i o u s o r i g i n s : I longed to prove my devot ion as we l l as to r ece i ve tha t of another. How t h i s i d e a l haunted me! I t made me r e s t l e s s and anxious a t the s i g h t of every new f a c e , wondering whether a t l a s t I had found tha t f o r which I searched as i f f o r the kingdom of heaven. (Ab, p. 55) 26 Much l a t e r i n the Autobiography, he w r i t e s : "The d e s i r e f o r something l i k e sympathy and love a b s o l u t e l y devoured me" (Ab, p. 204). I f h i s hunger and t h i r s t have abated by the time he w r i t e s , i t i s on ly because time heaps ashes on every f i r e . He has been repu l sed i n t o s e l f - r e l i a n c e and r e se r ve , and warns h i s readers never to r e j e c t such advances as he made f o r f r i e n d s h i p ; such devot ion as he had to o f f e r i s s imp ly the most prec ious t h i ng i n e x i s t e n c e . "Had I found anybody who would have thought so , " he conc ludes , "my l i f e would have been redeemed i n t o something which I have o f ten imagined, but now s h a l l never know" (Ab, p. 206). The middle s e c t i o n of the book i s devoted to people who i n one way or another represent such human p o s s i b i l i t i e s . Ruther ford devotes a chapter to Mardon, a chapter to Miss Arbour, a chapter to E l l e n and Mary. The s p e c i f i c n a r r a t i v e tha t runs j u s t beneath h i s lo s s of f a i t h recounts h i s doubts about marrying E l l e n and h i s wish t o marry Mary, E l l e n being a s imple g i r l of the o l d f a i t h , Mary a c lear -headed s c e p t i c of the new. These two g i r l s , l i k e Mardon, represent moral p o l a r i t i e s at the f i c t i o n a l l e v e l even i f they f i n d t h e i r o r i g i n s i n Wh i te ' s l i f e . They are c l a r i f i e d by f i c t i o n i n t o oppos i t e s , and Miss Arbour, w i th her harrow-ing t a l e of her mi se rab le mar r iage, a r b i t r a t e s between them. For each c h a r a c t e r , l i k e each s i t u a t i o n , represents a p o s s i b i l i t y of growth f o r the young man who i s l e a rn i ng the cloudy terms of i nner r e f e rence . Ruther-f o r d ' s i n d e c i s i o n i s g iven i n terms t ha t are f a m i l i a r to readers of f i c t i o n , but which a l s o , g iven h i s d e s c r i p t i o n s of h y s t e r i a and ca lm, come n a t u r a l l y to the youth brought up on Bunyan. I went on and on under a leaden sky, through the l e v e l , s o l i t a r y , marshy meadows, where the r i v e r 27 began to lose i t s e l f i n the ocean, and I wandered about t h e r e , s t r u g g l i n g f o r guidance. (Ab_, p. 115) Miss Arbour o f f e r s more than a g las s of water. She o f f e r s the example of her own l i f e as a lesson to save the young m i n i s t e r from something worse than death - - s e l f - d e g r a d a t i o n . S i m i l a r l y , the b u t t e r f l y - c a t c h e r o f f e r s h imse l f as an example, a l s o i n s t o r y - f o r m : ' " I t w i l l be twenty - s i x years ago next Ch r i s tmas , ' s a i d he, ' s i n c e I s u f f e r ed a great c a l a m i t y ' " (Ab, p. 198). The p u r s u i t of b u t t e r f l i e s , w h i c h a t t r a c t e d him a c c i d e n t a l l y , drew h i s a t t e n t i o n s p e c i f i c a l l y to the wor ld around him and so helped him to overcome h i s f ea r s of no ex i s t ence beyond the grave. Rutherford has long s i nce recognised tha t there i s "no Sav iour f o r us l i k e the hero who has passed t r iumphant ly through the d i s t r e s s which t roub le s us_" (Ab, pp. 95-96). The on ly p a r a l l e l g iven by The Ea r l y L i f e between people i n Hale Wh i te ' s l i f e and these s i g n i f i c a n t f i c t i o n a l charac te r s encountered by Rutherford i s t ha t between George E l i o t and Theresa (an appropr i a te pseudonym!). Of George E l i o t , White w r i t e s i n The Ea r l y L i f e no more than h i s admirat ion f o r her ("I d i d know what she was wo r t h , " [p. 8 3 ] ) , and h i s r eg re t that he d i d not pursue h i s f r i e n d s h i p w i t h her. "She took the k indes t n o t i c e of me, an awkward c rea tu re not accustomed to s o c i e t y " (EL, p. 84). Ru the r fo rd , by c o n t r a s t , c reates a whole cha rac te r i n Theresa, her walk, her s t ance , her l ook , her methods of d i s p u t e , her percept ions about people and emotions, and most important , her redemption of the absent-minded, incompetent Rutherford both from a p r a c t i c a l mistake and from se l f - con tempt . " I t was as i f . . . some miraculous Messiah had soothed the d e l i r i u m of a f e v e r - s t r i c k e n s u f f e r e r , and rep laced h i s v i s i o n s of 28 torment w i th dreams of Parad i se I should l i k e to add one more beat i tude to those of the gospels and t o say, B lessed are they who heal us of s e l f -de sp i s i ng s . Of a l l s e r v i c e s which can be done to man, I know of none more p rec i ou s " (Ab, pp. 242-43). Theresa as a hea l i ng s a i n t o f f e r s an e n t i r e l y p l a u s i b l e t r a n s l a t i o n of the young Marian Evans. In t h i s i n s t a n c e , she a l s o demonstrates Ru the r fo rd ' s need to t rans form a l l the important people i n h i s l i f e , whether or not they e x i s t e d i n Wh i te ' s l i f e , i n t o c o r r e l a t i v e s f o r emotions or needs, or embodiments of a t t i t u d e s i n h i s i nner c o n f l i c t . J u s t as Jung recon s t ruc t s h i s i nner man i n b u i l d i n g b l o c k s , so Ruther ford uses people and events to represent aspects of h i s search f o r a con f i den t i d e n t i t y and purpose. Having s t re s sed the r ep re sen t a t i v e q u a l i t y of Ru the r f o rd ' s charac -t e r s , i t i s maybe necessary to c l e a r him of the charge of o v e r - s i m p l i c i t y . Deacon Snale may stand i n Heep - l i ke con t r a s t to Mardon, whose eyes were " p e r f e c t l y t r an spa ren t , i n d i c a t i v e of a cha rac te r which . . . would not permit s e l f - d e c e p t i o n " (Ab, p. 91) ; but Deacon Snale stands a l s o i n con-t r a s t to Miss Arbour , whose serene face and o r d e r l y p r e c i s i o n a re l i k e grass and f lowers growing on v o l c a n i c s o i l , and w i t h Mrs. Lane (who i s based i n pa r t on an aunt of Hale W h i t e ' s ) . She fe tches both her moral a u t h o r i t y and her r e l i g i o u s i n s p i r a t i o n from her own consc ience; no t ab l y , her " conve r sa t i on was l i f t e d out of the pe t t y and personal i n t o the reg ion of the u n i v e r s a l " (Ab, p. 192). And j u s t as Miss Arbour and Mrs. Lane represent the same d o c t r i n a l school as Sna le , so Mardon i s p a r a l l e l e d by but cont ra s ted w i th Wo l l a s ton . Both are s c e p t i c a l f r e e t h i n k e r s , the one c h i s e l l i n g , through conve r s a t i on , at Ru the r f o rd ' s f a i t h , the other i n t e r -v iewing him f o r a job on the grounds of h i s s c e p t i c i s m . Wo l l a s ton , however, 29 has o s s i f i e d i n h i s f r e e - t h i n k i n g as c l e a r l y as Snale ever d i d i n h i s r e l i g i o u s f a i t h . His i d e a s , acqu i red long ago, have never been f u r t h e r e xp l o r ed , have, never f r u c t i f i e d i n him. They are l i k e hard stones which he r a t t l e s i n h i s pocket. Such con t ra s t s e l abo ra te Ru the r f o rd ' s acceptance of the need f o r l i g h t and shade i n the wo r l d . He d i s c o v e r s , f o r i n s t a n c e , t h a t Mardon i s more f a m i l i a r w i th sentiment than h i s s t r i c t s c ep t i c i sm would prepare one to b e l i e v e . He may re fuse to f o l l o w an argument i n t o the c l oud s , but he s i l e n t l y acknowledges tha t " the poorest and the humblest soul has a r i g h t t o the con so l a t i on t h a t Jesus was a man of sorrows and acquainted w i th g r i e f " (Ab, p. 171). At the end o f one v i s i t , Mary s ings from The  Messiah. "I seemed to be l i s t e n i n g , " Rutherford w r i t e s , " t o the tragedy of a l l human worth and genius . . . I looked round, and saw tha t Mardon's face was on the t a b l e , bu r i ed i n h i s hands" (Ab, pp. 171-72). Hale White ends The Ea r l y L i f e , which i s e s s e n t i a l l y a p l ea san t , anecdotal account of e a r l i e r t imes , w i th an o p t i m i s t i c , upbeat c l a r i o n c a l l t o the V i c t o r i a n age. Ru the r f o rd ' s Autobiography, i n c o n t r a s t , e vo l v i n g the s t o i c a l gospel t h a t Rutherford l a t e r promulgates i n Drury Lane, of endurance and even j o y , q u a l i f i e d and enhanced by the l i m i t a -t i o n s of i n d i v i d u a l c a p a b i l i t y , ends w i t h a t e n t a t i v e , e xp l o r a t o r y s o l u t i o n f o r Ru the r fo rd ' s overwhelming f ea r of death. Mary and Ruther ford watch by Mardon's deathbed as dawn changes t o s un r i s e over the ocean. The day becomes stormy l a t e r as the two of them recognise t h e i r g r i e f , but the b e a u t i f u l s un r i s e at the death of an a t h e i s t echoes an e a r l i e r i n s tance i n which Rutherford f e e l s depress ion l i f t i n g l i k e a reminder tha t some-where the sun shone. "A t t i m e s , " Ruther ford conc ludes , "we are r e c o n c i l e d to death as the great regenera to r , and we p ine f o r escape from the 30 surroundings of which we have grown weary; but we can say no more, and the hour of i l l u m i n a t i o n has not ye t come" (Ab, p. 252). The Ea r l y L i f e deals w i t h no emotion deeper than n o s t a l g i a . The n a r r a t o r , e x p l i c i t l y i d e n t i f i e d w i th the author , addresses h i s readers l i k e a wise f a t h e r address ing a t t e n t i v e c h i l d r e n . The Autobiography, on the other hand, t e l l i n g the same s to ry under semi - t ransparent d i s g u i s e , prov ides more complex s i t u a t i o n s , more profound and personal emotions, a more complex v o i c e . I t r a i s e s many d i s t u r b i n g i s sues but o f f e r s l i t t l e by way of r e s o l u t i o n . For Ru the r fo rd ' s s p i r i t u a l l i f e , u n l i k e Hale Wh i te ' s l i f e , a pe r i od - p i e ce f i l l e d w i th amusing i n c i d e n t s , i s "a commonplace l i f e , perplexed by many problems I have never s o l v ed ; d i s t u rbed by many d i f f i c u l t i e s I have never surmounted; and b l o t t e d by i gnob le concess ions which are a constant r e g r e t " (Ab, p. 13). Wh i te ' s second w i f e f i r s t read the Autobiography i n 1904, and endorses t h i s " a n t i - f i c t i o n a l " v iew: Here you got the commonplace, not the sham common-p lace which r i s e s p e r p e t u a l l y out of the commonplace i n t o the regions of the remarkable (so t ha t your " p l a i n " heroine has, you i n f e r , magn i f i cent eyes , and your "mean" hero a mighty heart) but r e a l commonplace which i s nothing more than i t professes to be, and moves only i n c i r cumsc r ibed spheres.36 Reuben Shapcot t , supposed e d i t o r of the Autobiography and Mark Ru the r f o rd ' s De l i ve rance , opens the l a t t e r by e x p l a i n i n g , i ndeed, tha t Mark Rutherford i s no hero and i s not meant to be: "he was to me a type of many e x c e l l e n t persons whom t h i s century t roub le s w i th cease less 37 s p e c u l a t i o n s , y i e l d i n g no conc lus ions and no peace. " But the form i n which t h i s commonplace i s g iven i s , nonethe les s , f a m i l i a r i n f i c t i o n . 31 Teufelsdrb 'ckh, Robert E lsmere, Ernest P o n t i f e x , to name on ly a few, face the same problems and evolve t h e i r own s o l u t i o n s . And White, through the vo ices of Ruther ford and Shapcott , i s here p re sen t i ng another f i c t i o n . I t i s not f i c t i o n because f a c t s are semi -d i sgu i sed or a l t e r e d , but because d i s gu i s e and a l t e r a t i o n and shape have a l l worked to body f o r t h t r u t h s tha t f a c t s cannot d e s c r i b e , to show " t h a t unknown abysses , i n t o which the sun never sh ine s , l i e covered w i t h commonplace i n men and women, and are revea led on ly by the r a r e s t oppo r tun i t y " (Ab, p. 136). From the s i n g l e d e c i s i o n t o c reate a man i k i n , t o de s c r i be h imse l f by means of a metaphor i ca l c h a r a c t e r , White i s ab le t o e n r i c h h i s whole t e x t w i t h the emotional and p s ycho l og i ca l t r u t h s t h a t he was unable t o e x h i b i t through a f i r s t - p e r s o n n a r r a t o r e x p l i c i t l y t o be i d e n t i f i e d w i t h the author. The n a r r a t o r of The Ea r l y L i f e i s imper sona l , w i thou t i nne r l i f e . He can t a l k about h i s l i f e - a n d - t i m e s but nowhere does he come c l o s e t o the " i n n e r r e f e r e n c e " which d i s t i n g u i s h e s h i s a l t e r ego, Mark Ruther fo rd . I t i s p o s s i b l e t o de sc r i be the e f f e c t of the c h a r a c t e r i s a t i o n of the n a r r a t o r - he r o on the autobiography as a whole by say ing " l e t e x t e , c ' e s t  l u i . " The manner i n which the na r r a to r i s transmuted from a man i n the wor ld to a cha rac te r i n a book a f f e c t s the e n t i r e manner i n which he can t e l l h i s l i f e - s t o r y . George Moore achieves a r a the r d i f f e r e n t form of metaphor tha t enables him to overcome Hale Wh i te ' s problems and pose as h i s own n a r r a t o r . He opens h i s t r i l o g y , Hai1 and F a r e w e l l , w i th a remarkable d i s c u s s i o n tha t cou ld we l l be e n t i t l e d " the nature of t r u t h as t o l d i n metaphor i ca l terms. " He f i nd s an analogy f o r the I r i s h rena i s sance i n the P re -Raphae l -i t e movement. In the process of making the analogy, he demonstrates h i s p a r t i c u l a r method f o r f i r s t - p e r s o n n a r r a t i o n . At the out se t of h i s s t o r y , 32 i n order to desc r ibe the a f f i n i t y of the P re -Raphae l i t e movement w i th the I r i s h rena i s s ance , he t r a n s l a t e s the complex h i s t o r i c a l data on the founda-t i o n of the P re -Raphae l i t e movement i n t o o n e ' c r i s p image. According to Moore, R o s s e t t i , Holman Hunt, and M i l l a i s stand up one evening i n the s t ud i o i n Newman S t r ee t to make a unanimous d e c l a r a t i o n of f a i t h i n Nature and the p u r i t y of f i f t e e n t h - c e n t u r y a r t . What he achieves i n t h i s t r a n s l a t i o n i s c l e a r f i c t i o n , an unambiguous r e l a t i o n s h i p w i th h i s reader best descr ibed by Proust perhaps: And then she [Odette] would say q u i t e s imp l y , w i thout t ak ing (as she would once have taken) the p recaut ion of cover ing h e r s e l f , at a l l c o s t s , w i th a l i t t l e fragment borrowed from the t r u t h , tha t she had j u s t , at t ha t very moment, a r r i v e d by the morning t r a i n . What she s a i d was a f a l s e -hood; at l e a s t f o r Odette i t was a f a l s ehood , i n c o n s i s t e n t , l a c k i n g (what i t would have had, i f t rue ) the support of her memory of her a c tua l a r r i v a l at the s t a t i o n . . . .:,In Swarm's\mind, however, these words, meeting no o p p o s i t i o n , s e t t l e d and hardened u n t i l they assumed the i n d e s t r u c t a b i l i t y of a t r u t h so i n d u b i t a b l e t h a t , i f some f r i e n d happened to t e l l him tha t he had come by the same t r a i n and had not seen Odette, Swann would have been convinced tha t i t was h i s f r i e n d who had made a mis take. . . . These words had never appeared to him f a l s e except when, before hear ing them, he had suspected tha t they were going to be. For him to be l i e ve t ha t she was l y i n g , an a n t i c -i p a t o r y s u sp i c i on was i nd i spen sab le . I t was a l s o , however, s u f f i c i e n t . 3 8 Moore takes a recogn i sab le p iece of h i s t o r y , the s t a r t of the P re -Raphae l i te movement, and t r a n s l a t e s i t i n t o s imple (but not s i m p l i s t i c ) n a r r a t i v e i n order to demonstrate h i s a u t h o r i a l v o i c e , to e s t a b l i s h the a u t h e n t i c i t y of the I r i s h Movement and the manner i n which he i s a r e l i a b l e h i s t o r i a n f o r i t . He a l s o e s t a b l i s h e s h i s own a e s t h e t i c by 33 t h i s s l e i g h t - o f - h a n d as a t r a n s l a t o r of f a c t i n t o f i c t i o n , thereby p revent -ing any a n t i c i p a t i o n of fa l sehood on the pa r t of h i s reader , c l a r i f y i n g the manner and t he re fo re the nature of the t r u t h of h i s a r r i v a l at the s t a t i o n . For Moore 's work as f o r the P r e - R a p h a e l i t e s ' , Nature i s the source and i n s p i r a t i o n . Nature d i c t a t e s the work; the a r t i s t t r a n s c r i b e s from her d i c t a t i o n . Nature, f o r Moore, represents the wor ld of cont ingent r e a l i t y ; h i s task as a r t i s t i s t o t r a n s l a t e the wor ld of cont ingent r e a l i t y i n t o the wor ld of a r t . His whole book d i scusses t h i s compl icated process e x p l i c i t l y and con t i nuous l y . What he e s t a b l i s h e s i n h i s i n t r o -ductory analogue i s mainta ined throughout. I t becomes p o s s i b l e , a cco rd -i n g l y , to understand the development of the I r i s h A g r i c u l t u r a l Organ i za t ion Soc i e t y i n these same terms. C l e a r l y what happens i s t ha t P l unke t t comes back from America w i th l o f t y ideas f o r cooperat ion and a l l the courage of h i s p l a t i t u d e s . C l e a r l y , P l unke t t and Anderson go o f f together and preach and preach, and back they come together to Dubl in and know tha t something i s l ack ing . P l unke t t looks i n Anderson ' s eyes. Anderson looks i n t o P l u n k e t t ' s eyes. The i r body of I r e l and has not come t o l i f e , so they begin to chant. P l unke t t chants the l i t a n y of the economic man and the uneconomic h o l d i n g , and h i s chant i s taken up by Anderson w i th the l i t a n y of the uneconomic man and the economic ho ld i ng . These chants do not b r i ng the body t o l i f e but they do b r i ng out of the brushwood a t a l l f i g u r e w i th a long b lack c loak and a manuscr ipt s t i c k i n g out of h i s pocket who wants to know what they are do ing. T ry ing to r e v i v e I r e l a n d , they say. But I r e l and i s deaf t o t h e i r economics, the newcomer t e l l s them, because they do not know her f o l k t a l e s and cannot croon them by the f i r e s i d e . T h i s , of course, i s Yea t s , who goes o f f i n search of AE, who 34 r i de s around I re land on h i s b i c y c l e u n t i l a l l the people are c ap t i v a t ed by the tune of h i s p i pe s , and g r adua l l y the body forms on the P l u n k e t t -Anderson ske le ton and begins to come to l i f e . S i m i l a r l y , the p ipe r must p ipe w i t h many v o i c e s : And every Thursday evening the columns of S inn Fein were searched, and every l i l t con s ide red , and every accent noted; but the days and the weeks went by w i thout a new peep-o-peep, sweet, sweet, u n t i l the day t ha t James Stephens began to t r i l l ; and recogn i s i ng a t once a new songs te r , AE put on h i s hat and went away w i th h i s cage, d i s c o ve r i n g him i n a l awyer ' s o f f i c e . A great head and two s o f t brown eyes looked at him over a t y p e w r i t e r , and an a l e r t and i n t e l l i g e n t vo i ce asked him whom he wanted to see. AE s a i d tha t he was l ook ing f o r James Stephens, a poet, and the t y p i s t answered: I am he.39 Aga in, an i n d u b i t a b l e p iece of l i f e t r a n s l a t e s i n t o the d i r e c t a c t i o n of a c h i l d r e n ' s s t o r y , but t h i s t ime the s t o r y moves from f a i r y - s t o r y language to b i b l i c a l . One c l e a r advantage of an avowed a u t h o r i a l vo i ce i s the scope i t prov ides f o r i n f l e c t i n g and combining connotat ions . i m p l i c i t l y i n the very format ion of phrases. From the ou t se t , then , Moore i s a d i s t i n c t n a r r a t o r of h i s auto-biography. He i s a l s o a conscious c r e a t o r of " f i c t i o n a l " c ha r a c te r s . His c h a r a c t e r s , l i k e h i s s t o r y , o r i g i n a t e w i th Nature; the h i e r a t i c Yeats , the e s u r i e n t Edward Martyn, and (the i n t e r p r e t e r ' s vo i ce s t rugg le s f o r an a d j e c t i v e ) the ma ieu t i c AE form a " t r i l o g y , i f ever there was one, each charac te r so f a r above anything one meets i n f i c t i o n " ( I , x i i ) . Ye t , " [ a ] s t o r y would be necessary to b r ing Edward [Martyn] i n t o l i t e r a -t u r e , and i t would be imposs ib le to dev ise an a c t i o n of which he should 35 be p a r t " ( I I I , 191). "I wish I cou ld remember h i s words, " he w r i t e s l a t e r of h i s f a t h e r ; " the sensat ion of the scene i s present i n my mind, but as soon as I seek h i s words they elude me" ( I I , 225). Of h i s degenerate r e l a t i v e , Dan, however, he w r i t e s t h a t : " [ i ] t w i l l be d i f f i c u l t t o get him on t o paper. . . . f o r , though I may t r a n s c r i b e the very words he u t t e r e d , they w i l l mean l i t t l e on paper unless I get h i s atmosphere" ( I , 17). I t i s i n e v i t a b l e tha t h i s f r i e n d s should a l l be ac to r s i n the unwr i t ten p lays t ha t amuse him on h i s walks . I t i s a l s o i n e v i t a b l e tha t they should to some extent r e f l e c t t h e i r author h imse l f . " [ I ] n these memories of AE," he admits , " t he re must be a great deal of myse l f , i t sounds indeed so l i k e myse l f , t h a t I h e s i t a t e to a t t r i b u t e t h i s sentence to him" ( I I , 57). As aspects or r e f l e c t i o n s of Moore, Nature ' s character s run a danger of u n r e a l i t y . " Bu t , why i s one person more unreal than another? I asked myself [of Natu re ' s c r e a t i o n , Lewis] dec id i ng tha t a man wi thout a po i n t of view always conveys the impress ion of u n r e a l i t y " ( I I I , 70, my i t a l i c s ) . Moore 's c h a r a c t e r s , l i k e R u t h e r f o r d ' s , acco rd -i n g l y , take r ep re sen t a t i v e s tances , thus account ing f o r the a d j e c t i v e s needed f o r i d e n t i f i c a t i o n . Edward Martyn i s the devout C a t h o l i c f o r whom a r t becomes impos s i b l e . The C o l o n e l , Moore 's b r o the r , i s the C a t h o l i c p a r a l l e l f o r the author , i n h e r i t o r of the same pas t , only p rogen i to r of the f am i l y f u t u r e . Yeats and AE represent the h i e r a t i c , pagan energ ies tha t con t r a s t so e f f e c t i v e l y w i th the C a t h o l i c p re sent , AE i n p a r t i c u l a r wearing the a i r of one who' has l i v e d before and w i l l l i v e aga i n , a Lohengrin come to f i g h t the b a t t l e of o ther s . Ca tho l i c i sm pervading l i f e and ob s t r u c t i n g a r t becomes i n c r e a s -i n g l y i n t e g r a l to Moore 's own i d e n t i t y . In these terms, he must see h imse l f as a Mess iah. He hears a myster ious vo i ce t e l l i n g him: "Order 36 your manuscr ipts and your p i c t u r e s and your f u r n i t u r e t o be packed at once, and go to I r e l a nd . . . . So the summons has come, I s a i d - - t h e summons has come" (T, 282). (He i s mi s taken, of course, f o r t h i s vo ice echoes the summons of Mary and Joseph i n t o Egypt, to p r o t e c t the i n f a n t Jesus-, and t h i s c o r r e c t i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the vo i ce i s t rue to Moore 's f i n a l understanding of h i s own r o l e . ) I f he needs proof t ha t he i s God's instrument i n I r e l a n d ' s cause, i t comes w i th h i s oppor tun i ty t o undermine an Eng l i sh o f f e n s i v e i n the Boer War by p u b l i c a t i o n of i t s t r eache ry . But the Messiah i n I r e l and belongs to the C a t h o l i c Church, and the middle volume centres on Moore 's d i s cove ry tha t Ca tho l i c i sm i s an i n t e l -l e c t u a l de se r t , t ha t dogma draws a c i r c l e around the mind, and tha t the mind p e t r i f i e s w i t h i n the c i r c l e drawn around i t . A Renaissance, on the other hand, represents a r e a r i s en kingdom of e a r t h . Rather than s a c r i f i c e h imse l f , t h e r e f o r e , f o r the bubble that i s l i t e r a t u r e i n C a t h o l i c I r e l a n d , Moore casts h imse l f as S i e g f r i e d , p a r a l l e l to AE ' s Lohengrin. C h r i s t i a n Messiah and pagan hero are meta-phors f o r Moore's f i c t i o n a l a t t i t u d e . In t h i s case, they i n vo l ve mixed metaphor f o r a c t i o n : i f one s a c r i f i c e of a l i f e t i m e i s f o r a bubble, then the other i s f o r the making of t ha t bubble i n t o something worthy and s u b s t a n t i a l ; S i e g f r i e d ' s task i s to re fo rge the sword that l i e s i n broken halves . in " M i m i ' s " ( s i c ) cave. A pagan hero prov ides a more s a t i s f a c t o r y metaphor than a Messiah because cha rac te r and a c t i o n develop most n a t u r a l l y i n terms of a love s t o r y . J u s t as Nature ' s s t o r y sends Moore to I r e l a n d , so A r t can immorta l i se h i s love f o r Cathleen ni Hou l ihan, h i s f l i g h t from her charms, her c a l l , and her bondage. Proust desc r ibes the value of t r a n s f e r r i n g i n t o A r t the emotions g iven by Nature: 37 He t o l d h imse l f t h a t , i n choosing the thought  of Odette as the i n s p i r a t i o n of h i s dreams of  i d e a l happiness, he was no t , as he had u n t i l then supposed; f a l l i n g back, mere ly , upon an expedient of doubt fu l and c e r t a i n l y inadequate v a l ue , s i n ce she contained i n h e r s e l f what s a t i s f i e d the utmost ref inement of h i s t a s t e i n a r t . . . . The words " F l o r e n t i n e p a i n t i n g " were i n va l uab l e t o Swann. They enabled him (gave him, as i t were, a l e ga l t i t l e ) to in t roduce the image of Odette i n t o a wor ld of dreams and f anc i e s wh ich, u n t i l t hen , she had been debarred from e n t e r i n g , and where she assumed a new and nobler form. . . ,[H]is m i sg i v ing s . . . w e r e swept away and [ h i s ] love conf irmed now tha t he cou ld r e - e r e c t h i s es t imate of her on the sure foundat ions of h i s a e s t h e t i c p r i n c i p l e s . ' L i ke Swann, Moore f i n d s h i s love s u r p r i s i n g , many-s ided, con fu s ing . As to Swann, love br ings home to Moore h i s own i d e n t i t y and, p a r t i c u l a r l y , h i s f a i l i n g s . Moore loves h i s m i s t r e s s , who i s Eng l i s h and an a r t i s t . Through her he d i s cover s h i s own impotence. Cathleen ni Houl ihan presents the same problem. She i s represented f i r s t by the o ld woman at Mount Venus who wears l a b o u r e r ' s boots and coarse grey p e t t i c o a t s . He even returns to London to escape from such bondage as t h i s t o " the hag whom I cou ld see wrapped i n a faded shawl , her legs i n grey worsted s t o c k i n g s , her f e e t i n brogues" ( I , 223). Ye t , at Mount Venus, t h i s same woman has a p o r t r a i t of h e r s e l f as a young g i r l , and "she seemed so s t a r t l i n g l y l i k e I r e l and tha t I f e l t she formed pa r t of the book I was dreaming, and tha t nothing of the c i rcumstances i n which I found her cou ld be changed or a l t e r e d " ( I , 6 ) . She confuses and appeals to the a r t i s t r a the r than the man: "I invented s to ry a f t e r s t o r y to e x p l a i n her as I returned through the grey evening i n which no s t a r appeared, only a red moon r i s i n g up through the woods l i k e a f i r e i n the branches" ( I , 12-13). 38 His Eng l i s h S t e l l a embodies Moore 's l o ve . This strange Cathleen provides h i s dream of l o ve . She i s both o l d and young. She m y s t i f i e s and a t t r a c t s him, r i s i n g a t one po in t from the very landscape of the Burran mountains and s i n k i n g i n t o h i s hear t . Together, these loves tha t are r e a l and i d e a l en j o i n a not ion of love as emotion tha t passes through l i f e , o r , indeed, passes w i th l i f e , r a the r than love as a s t a b l e p resent . The young l ove r becomes e l d e r l y and impotent. The young woman becomes an o l d hag. Th is S i e g f r i e d , i n other words, enjoys no "happy, happy love . . . /For ever pan t i n g , and f o r ever young," but , q u i t e l i t e r a l l y , the t r a n s i e n t , human equ i va l en t That leaves a heart h i gh - so r rowfu l and c l o y ' d , A burning fo rehead, and a parch ing tongue. Wel l might he, on f e e l i n g he i s not the predest ined hero f o r whom Cathleen ni Houl ihan had been w a i t i n g through the c e n t u r i e s , f a l l to s i g h i n g , not f o r Cathleen ni Hou l i han ' s sake, but f o r h i s own ( I , 29). Moore f i nd s h imse l f inadequate as a l o v e r . As a hero, i t i s h i s cause tha t d i sappo in t s him. He has been c a l l e d to I r e l and to redeem her from the bonds of Ca tho l i c i sm by r a i s i n g to l i f e an e x c e l l e n t I r i s h l i t e r a t u r e . He r e a l i s e s , however, i n the middle of the middle volume, t ha t I r i s h l i t e r a t u r e i s a bubble. ("We have gone t h r o u g h . l i f e t o ge the r , " he w r i t e s of Edward Martyn, "mysel f charging w i n d m i l l s , Edward ho ld ing up h i s hands i n amazement" [ I I , 157]). The hero who sees a w i ndm i l l where he thought there was a g i a n t , or a bubble i n p lace of a l i f e ' s g l o r i o u s m i s s i o n , can only renounce h i s fantasy and d i e . Yet Moore 's sense of c a l l i n g does not leave him. Some s a c r i f i c e i s demanded of him, by whom or f o r what he does not know, but he f e e l s he must leave h i s na t i ve land and h i s f r i e nd s f o r the sake of the book tha t he i s w r i t i n g . He d i v i ne s i t 39 to be a work of l i b e r a t i o n from r i t u a l and p r i e s t s , a book of precept and example, a t u r n i n g - p o i n t i n I r e l a n d ' s d e s t i n y . He prays to be spared the pain of w r i t i n g , to be a l l owed , maybe, the comforts of a w i f e and son i n the Clos St . Georges. But no man escapes h i s f a t e . Moore leaves I re land on a grey and wind less morning i n February, the extent of h i s loss and, a c c o r d i n g l y , h i s s a c r i f i c e , being measured by h i s paraphrase of C a t u l l u s : Atque i n perpetuum, mater, ave atque v a l e . Moore 's book i s h i s l i f e - w r i t i n g . He cannot, l i k e the i d e a l hero of myth or a r t , love i n perpetua l youth or combat r e a l g i a n t s , y e t " [ s ] i n c e the day I walked i n t o my garden say ing : H i gh l y favoured am I among author s , my b e l i e f had never f a l t e r e d t ha t I was an inst rument i n the hands of the Gods" ( I I I , 210). He merely wonders what means he has been given f o r accompl i sh ing God's holy purposes. He had begun t o lo se p a t i e n c e , to lose s p i r i t , and to mut te r , I am wi thout hands to s m i t e , and s u c h l i k e , u n t i l one day on coming i n from the garden, the form which the book should take was revea led to me. But an autob iography, I s a i d , i s an unusual form f o r a sacred book. But i s i t ? My doubts quenched a moment a f t e r i n a memory of P a u l , and the next day the d i c t a t i o n of the rough o u t l i n e from the Temple to Moore H a l l was begun, and from tha t o u t l i n e , decided upon i n a week of i n s p i r a t i o n , I have never s t r a yed . ( I l l , 210) The book, t hen , l i k e a l l l i f e , i s a process of g e s t a t i o n . He i s no longer C h r i s t or S i e g f r i e d but the Mother, to whom God has spoken, g i v i n g l i f e from h i s own l i f e , because he i s f i l l e d w i th the Holy Ghost. He conceives immaculately and m a g n i f i c e n t l y of h i s own l i f e as a work of a r t , a Sav iour , c on s c i ou s l y t rans fo rming the passage of t ime i n t o a constant present and the e lu s i venes s of people and emotions, i n c l u d i n g h i s own 40 person and h i s own f e e l i n g s , i n t o a t t i t u d e s , ge s tu re s , and comic s t e r e o -types tha t t e l l h i s s t o r y f o r him. Moore desc r ibes h i s mi s s ion and achievement as the redemption of I r e l and from the Church by means of A r t . In terms o f . t h e problems of s e l f - p r e s e n t a t i o n and n a r r a t i v e technique tha t beset the autob iographer , one can say t ha t h i s redemption i s of the s e l f from m o r t a l i t y and decay. Un l i ke W i l l i a m Hale White, Moore c la ims e x p l i c i t i d e n t i t y w i th h i s n a r r a t o r . Whereas Hale White a l lows Mark Rutherford to speak i n the f i r s t person under the e d i t o r i a l eye of Reuben Shapcott , Moore c reates h i s f i c t i o n out i n the open and through h i s e x p l i c i t i d e n t i f i c a t i o n w i th h i s n a r r a t o r . The na r r a t o r exp l a i n s h i s terms of r e f e r e n c e , i n t e r p r e t s h i s metaphors, and expounds the techn ique, indeed makes a book out of the techn ique, whereby he t r a n s l a t e s Nature ' s s t o r y i n t o a work of a r t . Once aga in , as w i th Hale White, the technique whereby the n a r r a t o r i s r e a l i s e d a f f e c t s the nature and q u a l i t y of h i s autobiography. The e v o l u t i o n of n a r r a t i v e p a t t e r n ; Newman and De Quincey Ju s t as n a r r a t i v e dev ices serve to t r a n s l a t e the autobiographer i n t o a c r e d i b l e and a u t h o r i t a t i v e f i c t i v e n a r r a t o r , so h i s n a r r a t i o n makes sense of events i n h i s l i f e by t r a n s l a t i n g them i n t o a mythic shape. We have desc r ibed the i d e a l n a r r a t i v e tha t lends i t s e l f to such t r a n s l a t i o n accord ing to Todorov ' s d e f i n i t i o n : i t begins i n e q u i l i b r i u m , i s d i s t u rbed by d i s e q u i l i b r i u m , and moves i n t o a new e q u i l i b r i u m . Todorov ' s pa t te rn accords w i th Campbel l ' s a n a l y s i s of myth and Propp ' s work w i th f o l k - t a l e s . Propp and Campbell both desc r ibe a pa t te rn of s e p a r a t i o n , i n i t i a t i o n , and r e t u r n . These over lapp ing p a t t e r n s , we have suggested, accord w i th a 41 p l o t - f o r m u l a t ha t i s very common to autobiography, t ha t of a n t i c i p a t i o n , r e c o g n i t i o n , and f u l f i l m e n t . These pat te rns are mythic f i r s t l y i n the sense t ha t they prov ide the t y p i c a l forms f o r coherent f i c t i o n s , secondly because they prov ide the o r i g i n a l content or myth tha t the autobiographer uses when he t r a n s -l a t e s the events of h i s l i f e i n t o a parad igmat ic p a t t e r n . He may, l i k e Thucydides, c reate a t ragedy, i n which case h i s n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn i s mythic i n the f i r s t sense, or he may desc r ibe h i s ch i ldhood i n terms of h i s lo s s of pa rad i s e , i n which case h i s s t o r y i s mythic i n both senses. The purpose of such myth-making i n the L i f e of an autobiographer i s e s s e n t i a l l y t ha t of t r a n s l a t i n g the unique and i n e x p l i c a b l e i n t o the u n i v e r s a l , of making sense out of one l i f e f o r others to understand. To exp lo re the process of such t r a n s l a t i o n , we s h a l l look f i r s t a t Newman's s i ckness i n S i c i l y and then at De Qu incey ' s f l i g h t from boarding s choo l . By f o l l o w i n g the var ious accounts t ha t each w r i t e r has g iven of a pa r -t i c u l a r c l u s t e r of event s , we can t r a ce the e v o l u t i o n i n each case of a n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn tha t i s mythic i n both senses of the word; i t makes p a r t i c u l a r n a r r a t i v e sense out of events t ha t would otherwise be i ncoheren t , and i t e xp l a i n s the events i n terms of a mythic paradigm. For Newman, t h i s paradigm i s " c onve r s i o n , " f o r De Quincey, " c o n f e s s i o n . " In each case, the use of such a paradigm makes sense i n terms of the t o t a l theme on which the au tob iog raph i ca l work i s based. Beg inn ing, then , as c l o se to the l i v e d events as p o s s i b l e , we can assume from l e t t e r s and j o u r n a l s t ha t John Henry Newman went abroad w i th h i s f r i e n d H u r r e l l Froude and Froude ' s f a t h e r i n December, 1832. A f t e r t ou r i n g the Mediterranean and v i s i t i n g Naples and Rome, Newman dec ided , aga in s t the adv ice of h i s f r i e n d s , to v i s i t S i c i l y . At one p o i n t , he 42 mentions the p o s s i b i l i t y of a companion, but tha t p r o j e c t must have f a l l e n 41 through. On A p r i l 9 t h , 1833, he set o f f f o r Naples on h i s own. In Naples, he bought p r o v i s i o n s , h i r ed or bought three mules, and engaged the s e r v i ce s of one Gennaro as a se rvant . On A p r i l 19th, he l e f t Naples by sea and reached Messina on the 21st. Newman's tou r of S i c i l y seems t o have been s ucce s s f u l de sp i te some bad weather, some r a t he r p r i m i t i v e i n n s , h i s i n a b i l i t y to c l imb Etna , and h i s d i s cove ry t h a t the chestnut t rees of Trecastagne were nothing more than roots cut l e v e l w i th the ground. I f he had never f a l l e n i l l , he might have remembered only the scenery, of which h i s l e t t e r s are f u l l , and the h i s t o r i c a l enthusiasm tha t had f i r e d h i s v i s i t and which he fue l l ed by re read ing Thucydides. One v a l l e y i n p a r t i c u l a r i n s p i r e s him w i th i t s serene beauty ( L e t t e r s , I, 397). There he f e e l s a t r u l y r e l i g i o u s s p i r i t , j u s t i f y i n g the hope e a r l i e r expressed from Rome i n a l e t t e r to h i s s i s t e r Jemima: " Sp r i ng i n S i c i l y ! I t i s the nearest approach t o Paradise of which s i n f u l man i s capable. I set out on Eas ter Monday" ( L e t t e r s , I, 377-78). In l a t e r y e a r s , however, i t was h i s i l l n e s s t ha t made S i c i l y memorable. I t f i g u r e s i n the Apolog ia of 1864, t h i r t y - o n e years l a t e r , as the s p i r i t u a l " c r i s i s " immediately preceding h i s involvement i n the Oxford Movement. The meaning he a sc r ibe s to i t can be t r a ced from the e a r l i e s t accounts t ha t Newman wrote to h i s f r i e n d s , Rogers and W i l b e r f o r c e , i n 1833 to t h i s d e f i n i t i v e account given i n the Apo log ia i n 1864. From August, 1834, he began a p r i v a t e j ou rna l account of h i s i l l n e s s . He wrote t h i s i n p ieces u n t i l 1840. He then reread and e d i t e d i t i n 1842, 1855, 1874, and 1876, before f i n a l l y handing i t over t o Anne Mozley f o r p u b l i c a t i o n . 43 In 1869, Newman saw h i s i l l n e s s as one of three t ha t had marked h i s l i f e a t important p o i n t s . T r i s t r am quotes from h i s Journa l en t ry f o r June 25th , 1869: Another thought has come on me, that I have had th ree great i l l n e s s e s i n my l i f e , and how have they t u r ned -ou t ! - The f i r s t keen, t e r r i b l e one, when I was a boy of f i f t e e n , and i t made me a C h r i s t i a n — w i t h exper iences before and a f t e r , awful and known only t o God. My second, not p a i n f u l , but ted ious and s h a t t e r i n g , was tha t which I had i n 1827, when I was one of the Examining Masters , and i t too broke me o f f from an i n c i p i e n t l i b e r a l i s m , and determined my r e l i g i o u s course. The t h i r d was i n 1833, when I was i n S i c i l y , before the commencement of the Oxford Movement. 42: Newman always denied any s i g n i f i c a n c e i n h i s own p a r t i c i p a t i o n i n the Movement, so the S i c i l i a n i l l n e s s , here, as i n the Apo l o g i a , i s not d i r e c t l y connected w i th the Oxford Movement. In the Apo l o g i a , however, the connect ion i s one of dramatic p l a c i n g which creates i t s own f i c t i o n a l c a u s a l i t y . Here, one has to cons ider i t as the t h i r d of three important i l l n e s s e s , and look back to the opening statement — "and how have they turned ou t ! " — to f i n d the c a u s a l i t y operat ing i n Newman's f i c t i o n a l i s i n g mi nd. Newman's i l l n e s s was undoubtedly s e r i o u s . He s u f f e r e d prolonged high feve r i n a p r i m i t i v e i n n , f a r from f a m i l y and f r i e n d s , tended by one servant . He gave Gennaro Froude ' s address i n Oxford so t ha t news of h i s death would reach h i s f a m i l y . Recent ly mobi le aga i n , but s t i l l very weak, Newman w r i t e s to h i s p u p i l , F r ede r i c Rogers, from Palermo on June 5 t h , e x p l a i n i n g h i s delayed r e t u r n : 44 I have not been weatherbound or s h i p l e s s , taken by Barbary p i r a t e s , or s e i z ed as a propagandist f o r L i b e r a l i s m . No; bu t , you w i l l be so r r y t o hear, conf ined w i t h a very dangerous f e ve r i n the very centre of S i c i l y f o r three weeks. ( L e t t e r s , I, 404-405) He exp l a i n s t ha t the weather has been unusua l l y wet f o r the time of y e a r , t ha t S i c i l y has s u f f e red an epidemic of f e v e r , and tha t he h imse l f had s u f f e red hardships t ha t some e x t r a expense cou ld have avo ided. From my re tu rn to Catania I s i ckened. When the idea of i l l n e s s f i r s t came upon me I do not know, but I was ob l i ged on May 1 to l i e down f o r some time when I had got h a l f through my day ' s j ou rney ; and the next morning I cou ld not proceed. This was at Leon fo r te , above one hundred mi le s from Palermo. Three days I remained at the inn there w i t h the f eve r i n c r e a s i n g and no medical a i d . On the n i gh t of the t h i r d day I had a strange (but p r o v i d e n t i a l ) not ion tha t I was q u i t e w e l l . So on the next morning I ordered the mules, and se t o f f t o G i r g e n t i , my d e s t i n a t i o n . I had not gone f a r when a d i s t r e s s i n g choking f e e l i n g ( c o n s t r i c -t i on ? ) of the t h roa t and chest came on; and a t the end of seven mi le s I l a y down exhausted i n a cab in near the road. Here, as I l a y on the ground, a f t e r a t ime , I f e l t a hand at my pu l s e ; i t was a medical man who by chance was a t hand, and he p re s c r i bed f o r me, and enabled me by the evening t o get to Castro Giovanni (the anc ient Enna). ( L e t t e r s , I, 407) Even here, w i t h i n days of h i s r ecove ry , Newman regu la te s h i s prose so tha t h i s e f f e c t s are c reated e s s e n t i a l l y by rhythm. " S i ckened " becomes dramatic as the f i n a l word of a shor t sentence. The semi-co lon i n the next weaving sentence set s o f f the q u i e t announcement tha t he cou ld not proceed. His d i s t ance from Palermo i s important. Then there are b i b l i c a l echoes, p o s s i b l y q u i t e unconsc ious, i n the words and wordings: "Three days I remained at the i n n " and "On the n ight of the t h i r d day. " The lack 45 of medical a i d f i n d s prominence at the end of a sentence. The not ion tha t he i s we l l i s s trange but p r o v i d e n t i a l , a po i n t t ha t he w i l l develop l a t e r . He does not approach the p h y s i c a l l y g raph ic u n t i l he quest ions the choking f e e l i n g , l i e s down exhausted, and i s l y i n g on the ground when a hand appears a t h i s pu l se . Here and here only does he become the s u b j e c t i v e v i c t i m , and even here w i thout any dramatic emphasis on the phy s i c a l f ea tu re s of h i s b o d i l y wretchedness. The d o c t o r ' s p rox im i t y being not by hab i t but by chance deve lops: that, p r o v i d e n t i a l note e s t a b l i s h e d e a r l i e r . One wonders whether Castro Giovanni i s i d e n t i f i e d as the anc ien t Enna because Newman i s too much a s cho l a r to f a i l of t ha t note , or because he i s conscious of the i m p l i c a t i o n s f o r h i s own endangered s t a t e . This r e f e r -ence disappears a f t e r the l e t t e r to W i l b e r f o r c e . I t prov ides a pagan a l l u s i o n , a f t e r a l l , which i s perhaps i n app rop r i a te i n so empha t i ca l l y C h r i s t i a n a paradigm. I t was at Leonforte tha t Newman gave h i s servant Froude ' s address but , he cont inues to Rogers, " a t the same time express ing to him a c l e a r and con f ident c o n v i c t i o n tha t I should not d i e . The reason I gave was tha t 'I thought God had work f o r me . " ' I t i s cur ious tha t a t t h i s stage of Newman's t e l l i n g , or maybe to t h i s correspondent (who was, however, a l i f e l o n g f r i e n d ) , Newman f e e l s the need to q u a l i f y such a statement: "I do not t h i n k . t h e r e was anyth ing wrong i n t h i s , on c o n s i d e r a t i o n . " The r e s t o f the l e t t e r to Rogers concerns h i s treatment and recovery at Cast ro G i ovann i , more g raph ic i n phy s i c a l d e t a i l ("I cou ld not r a i s e mysel f i n bed or feed myse l f " ) and more human ("I had a l l through the feve r corresponded w i th the doctor i n ( r e a l l y very good) L a t i n . " The l e t t e r ends on the much more convent iona l note of the t r a v e l l e r abroad, bear ing one echo of h i s e a r l i e r expecta t i ons of Eden: 46 And now you w i l l say my exped i t i on to S i c i l y has been a f a i l u r e . By no means. Do I repent of coming? Why, c e r t a i n l y I should not have come had I known tha t i t was a t the danger of my l i f e . I had two object s i n coming--to see the a n t i q u i t i e s and to see the country. In the former I have f a i l e d . . . . But . . . I d i d not know before nature could be so b e a u t i f u l . I t vs a country . I t passes b e l i e f . I t i s l i k e the Garden of Eden, and though i t ran i n the l i n e of my a n t i c i p a t i o n s (as I s a y ) , i t f a r exceeded them. ( L e t t e r s , I, 408) Wi th in days of h i s i l l n e s s , t hen , Newman i s ab le to be f l i p p a n t w i th a c l o se f r i e n d , Barbary p i r a t e s , and h imse l f as a propagandist f o r L i b e r a l -ism being e q u a l l y absurd reasons f o r de lay . The i l l n e s s on which we have concentrated here prov ides only two paragraphs of a long l e t t e r . His t r a v e l s , road c o n d i t i o n s , i n n s , and scenery supply the r e s t . Only verba l echoes h i n t at r e l i g i o u s connota t i on s , and these could be pa r t of the unconscious s t y l e of a learned and r e l i g i o u s man. Even g iven the s e l f - c o n s c i o u s , l i t e r a r y s t y l e of the l e t t e r , i f Newman had w r i t t e n no more about h i s i l l n e s s i n S i c i l y , i t would never have become an auto -b i og raph i ca l event. In J u l y , however, W i l be r f o r ce wrote to cong ra tu la te Newman on recovery from the i l l n e s s of which W i l b e r f o r c e had heard i n d i r e c t l y . Newman r e p l i e d w i th a b r i e f account of the f e v e r , and then , more f u l l y on August 4 th . T r i s t r am notes tha t t h i s more s i g n i f i c a n t l e t t e r was ignored by Mozley i n her c o l l e c t i o n , but tha t Newman h imse l f borrowed i t from W i l b e r f o r c e ' s widow i n 1876 and " t r a n s c r i b e d i t h imse l f , om i t t i ng the more ephemeral passages" ( T r i s t r a m , p. 117). Pa r t of the s i g n i f i c a n c e of t h i s l e t t e r may be exp la ined by the d i f f e r e n c e between Newman's r e l a -t i o n s h i p w i th Rogers and w i t h W i l b e r f o r c e , pa r t by the p a r t i c u l a r l e t t e r t o which he i s i n t h i s case responding. 47 The account tha t Rogers had rece i ved e i g h t or n ine weeks e a r l i e r i s now played down. I t i s b r i e f e r and rece i ve s l e s s impetus from rhythm and connota t i on : I was taken i l l f i r s t at Ca tan i a , a f t e r spending two n ight s ( u n w i l l i n g l y ) i n the open a i r . When I got to Leonforte i n the very heart of the count ry , I broke down. For three days I l a y w i thout any medical a s s i s t an ce . On the morning of the f o u r t h [not the n ight of the t h i r d ] a not ion se i zed me [strange (but p r o v i d e n t i a l ) ] t ha t my i l l n e s s was a l l f ancy ; so I se t out on my mule. A f t e r seven mi le s i n g reat d i s t r e s s from a s o r t of s u f f o c a t i n g f e e l i n g , I was fo rced to betake myself to a hut by the ways ide, where I l a y the g rea te r pa r t of the day. On a sudden I found f i n g e r s at my pu l s e ; a medical man happened by chance t o be i n a ne i gh -bour ing co t t age , and they c a l l e d him i n . On tha t evening I got t o Castro G iovann i , the anc ient Enna, where I was l a i d up three weeks. Not t i l l I got home cou ld I persuade myself I was not i n a dream; so strange has every th ing been to me. ( T r i s t r a m , p. 118) 'W i l be r fo r ce has, asked Newman f o r "something of what passed i n [ h i s ] mind dur ing a l l [he had] gone through" ( L e t t e r s , I, 412, J u l y 13th). Newman devotes the r e s t of t h i s l e t t e r to a na l y s i s of why, though he gave h i s servant d i r e c t i o n s i n case of h i s death , he d i d not f e e l he would d i e . "I hope i t was not presumpt ious, " he beg ins , and exp l a i n s t ha t though he had to act as i f he would d i e , he " cou ld not help s a y i n g 1 . . ".' I t h i nk God has work f o r me y e t . 1 " Indeed, the inn was l o ne l y and wretched and h i s mind was wandering, but he d i d r e ce i ve a r e v e l a t i o n tha t he was one of God's E l e c t ; t ha t h i s own s i n s had " l e d God thus to f i g h t aga in s t [ h im ] ; " t h a t he had been w i l f u l i n h i s determinat ion to v i s i t S i c i l y ; t ha t three years before to the day he had res igned h i s post as Tutor i n a manner 48 tha t was, he now r e a l i s e d , hasty and impa t i en t ; t ha t he had preached a u n i v e r s i t y sermon aga in s t w i l f u l n e s s the very day before he l e f t Oxford, thus seeming to p r e d i c t h i s own condemnation; t ha t he had maybe cher i shed resentment aga in s t the P rovos t ; t ha t i n him was f u l f i l l e d the t e x t , I Co r i n th i an s x i , 29-32: For he t ha t eateth and d r i n ke th unwo r th i l y , ea te th and d r i n ke th damnation to h i m s e l f , not d i s c e r n i n g the Lo rd ' s body. For t h i s cause many are weak and s i c k l y among you, and many s l eep . For i f we would judge ou r se l ve s , we should not be judged. But when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, t ha t we should not be condemned w i th the wo r l d . Above a l l , he had not run counter to any ad v i c e , so he had "not s inned aga in s t the l i g h t " (a l i n e t ha t he apparent ly repeated o f ten at the t ime , which occurs i n every account hence fo r th , and wh ich , by 1864 and the w r i t i n g of the Apo l og i a , he i s no longer ab le to e x p l a i n ) . He decides he w i l l walk i n the way of God's commandments, pu t t i n g mysel f i n the way of His mercy, as i f He would meet me ( I s a i . x x v i . 8 ) . And s u r e l y so He d i d , as I l a y i n the hut; and though I have no d i s t i n c t remembrance of the whole mat te r , y e t i t c e r t a i n l y seems l i k e some i n s t i n c t which He put w i t h i n me, and made me f o l l o w , t o get me to Castro G iovann i , where I had a comfortab le room, and was attended to most ho sp i t ab l y and k i n d l y . ( T r i s t r a m , pp. 118-19) 49 The account of the i l l n e s s i t s e l f i s comparat ive ly condensed and l i t e r a r i l y i n s i g n i f i c a n t , but p a r e n t h e t i c a l terms l i k e " p r o v i d e n t i a l " are a m p l i f i e d . By August, i n other words, Newman, s t i l l s u f f e r i n g from h a i r lo s s and a s l i g h t cough, was able to w r i t e of h i s i l l n e s s i n terms of God's pun i sh -ment f o r h i s s i n s and God's mercy and e l e c t i o n f o r d i v i n e work. I t i s not s u r p r i s i n g tha t a devout, s e l f - c o n s c i o u s , and i n t r o s p e c t i v e man should have seen a se r i ous i l l n e s s as a d i v i n e v i s i t a t i o n . He seems a l s o to have had f o r a long wh i l e a keen sense of the p o s s i b i l i t i e s of martyrdom and of h i s own t a l e n t s f o r mess ian ic l e ade r s h i p . As e a r l y as 1822 he had w r i t t e n i n h i s j o u r n a l : Let me go through s i c k n e s s , p a i n , pove r t y , a f f l i c t i o n , reproach, p e r s e c u t i o n , any t h i ng of w o r l d l y e v i l , i f i t i s to promote Thy g l o r y . 0 save me from a use less l i f e , keep me from burying my t a l e n t i n the e a r t h . ( T r i s t r a m , p. 188) Newman seems to have held h imse l f i n r ead i ne s s , so. to speak, to have been prepared f o r the k ind of adventure tha t would c l a r i f y h i s purpose i n l i f e . His own percept ion of h imse l f prov ides the " a n t i c i p a t i o n " needed f o r n a r r a t i v e . The e q u i l i b r i u m from which h i s s t o r y s t a r t s may best be desc r ibed as p s ycho log i ca l d i s e q u i l i b r i u m . Newman a r r i v e d i n S i c i l y a t a p a r t i c u -l a r l y t u r bu l en t stage of h i s l i f e . In the sp r i ng of 1829, he, Robert W i l b e r f o r c e , and Hur re l Froude, a l l Oxford t u t o r s , had come i n t o c o n f l i c t w i th t h e i r Provost about P e e l ' s r e e l e c t i o n to Pa r l i ament . The tens ion a t O r i e l had been f u r t h e r increased by c o n f l i c t i n g assumptions about the r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s of t u t o r s to students (Newman, p r e d i c t a b l y , see ing i n h i s t u t o r i a l r o l e a personal and r e l i g i o u s m i s s i o n ) . The c o n f l i c t had 50 become i n t o l e r a b l e . Newman had been depr ived of p u p i l s and had re s i gned . In a d d i t i o n to these a n x i e t i e s , so much a par t of h i s d a i l y l i f e , Newman was deeply concerned about the Whig suppress ion of bene f i ce s . He went abroad w i t h the Froudes, i t i s c l e a r from h i s l e t t e r s , f a r more i n t e n t on England than on the d e l i g h t s of the Medi terranean. To Rogers on March 5 t h , he w r i t e s from Rome: "I long to be back, y e t wish to make the most of being out of England, f o r I never wish to leave i t aga in " ( L e t t e r s , I, 362). Again to h i s mother, from Naples, he w r i t e s on A p r i l 17th: "My on ly lo s s i s t ha t o f t ime , which I grudge . . . because I am impat ien t to get home" ( L e t t e r s , I, 392). Desc r ib ing the absurd appearance of h i s equipage to h i s s i s t e r H a r r i e t , he w r i t e s from Catan ia on A p r i l 25th: "Nor had I any such exuberance of s p i r i t s as would bear me up aga in s t the r i d i c u l o u s n e s s of my e x t e r i o r " ( L e t t e r s , I, 396). Cont inu ing the same l e t t e r from Syracuse on A p r i l 27 th , he adds: "I never thought t h i s e xped i t i o n was to be one of p leasure o n l y , f o r I wished to see what i t was to be s o l i t a r y and a wanderer" ( L e t t e r s , I, 3 9 8 ) — a very d i f f e r e n t reasoning here from tha t g iven to Rogers on June 5 t h , a f t e r h i s i l l n e s s , t ha t he had come " t o see the a n t i q u i t i e s and to see the coun t r y . " These l e t t e r s t ha t precede the t r i p t o S i c i l y conta in many such h i n t s t ha t h i s expec ta t i on o f p leasure i s s l i g h t , t ha t the journey i s i n some sense a duty , a r i t u a l s epa ra t i on of the hero from s o c i e t y . In the same l e t t e r to Jemima i n which he w r i t e s of sp r i ng i n S i c i l y as a c l o se approach t o Pa rad i s e , he a l s o w r i t e s : " i t w i l l be f a r more d e l i g h t f u l i n r e t r o s p e c t than i n a c tua l performance" ( L e t t e r s , I, 377). To H a r r i e t , on A p r i l 25th , he repeat s : "I was s e t t i n g out on an exped i t i on which would be p leasant i n memory r a the r than i n performance" ( L e t t e r s , I, 396). 51 But S i c i l y was not out of the blue to become a t r i a l of Newman's s t rength i n s o l i t u d e . He and Froude were both f u l l of a sense of m i s s i on . "The s t a t e of the Church i s d e p l o r a b l e , " he w r i t e s to h i s mother from Naples on February 28th. " I t seems as i f Satan was l e t out of p r i s on t o range the whole ear th aga in. . . . I begin to hope t ha t England a f t e r a l l i s t o be the 'Land of S a i n t s ' i n t h i s dark hour, and her Church the s a l t of the e a r t h " ( L e t t e r s , I, 358). I f the Church was endangered by Whig suppress ion o f benef ices and by l i b e r a l i s m w i t h i n i t s own ranks (Newman f e l t t ha t h i s i l l n e s s i n 1827 broke him o f f " f rom an i n c i p i e n t l i b e r a l i s m " ) , these two f e l t tha t they cou ld r e s t o re i t s s t reng th and i n t e g r i t y . Together they worked on the " Ly ra A p o s t o l i c a . " " I t w i l l commence (I hope) i n May," he w r i t e s to J . F . C h r i s t i e from Rome; "but of course be s i l e n t " ( L e t t e r s , I, 370). To Rogers he w r i t e s of the u s e f u l -ness t o others o f verse t ha t one can w r i t e w i thout being a poet (and indeed he i s not one! ) : "I am so convinced of the use of i t , p a r t i c u l a r l y  i n times of exc i tement , t ha t I have begun to p r a c t i c e myse l f , which I never d i d be fo re ; and s i nce I have been abroad, have thrown o f f about s i x t y shor t c o p i e s , which may serve a c e r t a i n purpose we have i n v iew" ( L e t t e r s , I, 366; my i t a l i c s ) . T h i r t y years l a t e r , w r i t i n g the Apo l o g i a , Newman remarks on the p e r s i s t e n t v i s i o n through the " L y r a A p o s t o l i c a , " beginning w i t h " A n g e l i c Guidance," which he wrote at Whitchurch wh i l e w a i t i n g f o r the down mai l t o Falmouth to begin h i s t r i p abroad: Are these the t r a ck s of some unear th l y F r i e n d , His f o o t - p r i n t s , and h i s v e s t u r e - s k i r t s of l i g h t , Who . . . . . . . i n dreams of n i ght F igures the scope, i n which what i s w i l l end? Were I C h r i s t ' s own, then f i t l y might I c a l l That v i s i o n r e a l . . -.• .43 52 In Rome the two v i s i o n a r i e s borrowed a Homer, and Froude chose as t h e i r motto " the words i n which A c h i l l e s , on r e tu rn i ng to the b a t t l e , says 'You s h a l l know the d i f f e r e n c e , now tha t I am back again. ' " - ^ In the Apo l o g i a , t o o , Newman r e l a t e s tha t he responded to Card ina l Wiseman's courteous i n v i t a t i o n to re tu rn w i t h the words tha t they had a work to do i n England. I t i s here, t oo , t ha t he e x p l a i n s : " E s p e c i a l l y when I was l e f t by myse l f , the thought came upon me t ha t de l i v e r ance i s wrought, not 45 by the many but by the few, not by bodies but by persons . " Much of the r e l i g i o u s c r i s i s t ha t he saw so q u i c k l y i n h i s i l l n e s s can be a t t r i b u t e d to Newman's preoccupat ion w i th problems at home and to h i s i n tense awareness of the t r u t h of h i s own v i s i o n of h i s r e s p o n s i -b i I i t y as, a l eader of the Eng l i sh church. Freedom from t u t o r i a l d u t i e s , ex ten s i ve i n f l u e n c e as a u n i v e r s i t y preacher , and tha t f e r ven t b e l i e f i n h i s own t a l e n t s f o r m i s s i onary work and f o r martyrdom revea led i n h i s j o u r n a l as e a r l y as 1822, would be enough to account f o r h i s need t o t e s t h i m s e l f , C h r i s t l i k e , i n the w i ldernes s and, more i m p o r t a n t l y , t o recogn i se a f t e r the event tha t tha t was what he had done. But Newman was a l s o , i n the words of Abbe Bremond, " l e p lus auto -biographique des hommes" (quoted by T r i s t r a m , p. 143). That i s , he not only wrote about h imse l f con t inuous l y i n one form or another , but he a l s o saw h i s l i f e i n terms of pa t te rn s and landmarks. His very pe rcept i on of h imse l f f a l l s i n t o f i c t i v e shapes. He honoured c e r t a i n days, f o r i n s t an ce , such as 12th A p r i l , which was the date i n 1822 when he was admitted to an O r i e l F e l l owsh i p , or J u l y 14th^ which was the date i n 1833 of Keb l e ' s A s s i z e sermon, which Newman saw as the notab ly s i n g l e event tha t opened the Oxford Movement. We have noted the s i g n i f i c a n c e t ha t he found i n 1869 f o r three i l l n e s s e s s u f f e r ed i n h i s youth. The f i r s t l ed to h i s conve r s i on , 53 the t h i r d was fo l l owed immediately by the beginning of the Oxford Movement, but the second served no c l e a r e r purpose than to save him from i n c i p i e n t L i b e r a l i s m . This was a vague enough achievement, s u r e l y , but " l e p lus autobiographique des hommes" sees the whole p a t t e r n ; he sees l i b e r a l i s m as the road not t aken , and he sees the s p e c i f i c and n e c e s s a r i l y dramatic po in t at which the a l t e r n a t i v e route was chosen. T r i s t r a m ' s c o l l e c t i o n of au tob iog raph i ca l w r i t i n g s i nc ludes a l so a r e vea l i n g ha l f -page begun when Newman was only e l e ven : John Newman wrote t h i s j u s t before he was going up to Greek on Tuesday, June 10th, 1812, when i t only wanted 3 days to h i s going home, t h i n k i n g of the time (at home) when look ing at t h i s he s h a l l r e c o l l e c t when he d i d i t . ( T r i s t r a m , p. [5]) Th is e a r l y consciousness of the present as a s i g n i f i c a n t p o r t i o n of the about- to-be past cont inues w i th the add i t i on s made over the yea r s : At school now back aga in . And now at A l t on . . . how qu ick time passes and how ignorant are we of f u t u r i t y . . . A p r i l 8 t h , 1819 Thursday. And now at Oxford . . . F r iday February 16th, 1821 - -And now i n my rooms at O r i e l Co l l e ge , a Tu to r , a Pa r i s h P r i e s t and Fe l low. . . . September 7, 1829. Monday morning. 1/4 past 10. And now a C a t h o l i c at Maryvale and expect ing soon t o set out f o r Rome. May 29, 1846. And now a P r i e s t . . . September 23, 1850. And now a C a r d i n a l . March 2, 1884. T r i s t r am c a l l s t h i s "An Autobiography i n M i n i a t u r e . " I t spans seventy-two yea r s , and i t deals i n the present moment as p o t e n t i a l memory. 54 The accuracy of such memory and i t s s u i t a b i l i t y f o r the audience tha t he soon thought of as i n e v i t a b l e seems to have preoccup ied Newman f o r much of h i s l i f e . T r i s t r am notes tha t he began keeping a j o u r n a l i n 1820. Newman r e f e r s to i t at the opening of the Apo log i a as "such r e c o l -l e c t i o n s of my thoughts and f e e l i n g s on r e l i g i o u s s u b j e c t s , which I had at the time tha t I was a c h i l d and a boy, - - such as had remained on my mind w i th s u f f i c i e n t prominence to make me then cons ide r them worth 46 r e c o r d i n g . " Th i s j o u r n a l he t r an s c r i bed w i th a d d i t i o n s i n 1823 and cont inued u n t i l 1828. He r e t r a n s c r i b e d the whole dur ing the Lent of 1840, t h i s time w i th omiss ions. On December 31, 1872 (the end of the year i s , of course, t o the autob iog raph ic mind another s i g n i f i c a n t p o i n t at which to end and begin t h i n g s ) , he began recopy ing , t h i s t ime w i th even more omiss ions. A l l the superseded copies were c a r e f u l l y burned i n 1874. I t i s hard f o r the casual d i a r i s t to understand how a j o u r n a l en t r y can become superseded. The autob iographer , on the other hand, can dec ide t ha t any m a t e r i a l i n h i s l i f e i s outdated by v i r t u e of a superseding v i s i o n t h a t c reates coherences unsuspected at the t ime , because of h i s consciousness of h i s audience, and because of h i s wish to c rea te the only acceptab le reading of h i s l i f e . To t h i s e x t e n t , then , Newman i s f a l s e to h i s own cons tant i n s i s -tence tha t a " l i f e " can be composed only from l e t t e r s and j o u r n a l s t ha t minimise b i o g r aph i c a l i n t e r p r e t a t i o n and r e v e a l , s imp l y , the i nne r man. "Why cannot a r t r i v a l the l i l y or the rose? " he asks i n "The Last Years of S t . Chrysostom." "Because the co lour s of the f l owe r are developed and blended by the f o r c e of an inward l i f e ; wh i l e on the other hand, the l i g h t s and shades of the p a i n t e r are d i l i g e n t l y l a i d on from w i thou t . . . . even 47 i f the o u t l i n e i s unbroken, the co l ou r i ng i s muddy. In the same b r i e f d i s c u s s i o n , however, he de f ines " L i f e " as "a n a r r a t i v e which impresses 55 the reader w i t h the idea of moral u n i t y , i d e n t i t y , growth, c o n t i n u i t y , 48 p e r s o n a l i t y " : u i n other words, w i th a r t . (We lea rn something of Newman's s e l f - p e r c e p t i o n , by the way, from h i s devot ion t o S t . Chrysostom, the go lden-throated o r a t o r , adherent of the t rue r e l i g i o n aga in s t the d e s t r u c t i v e powers of sch i sm, which banish him from the cent re of the c i v i l i s e d wor ld t o the w i l d s of the Eux ine l ) Newman i s " l e p lus autobiographique des hommes" not only because he i s i n t r o s p e c t i v e , s e l f - c o n s c i o u s , and a r t i c u l a t e , but a l s o because he i s c on s t an t l y e x e r c i s i n g h i s own powers of i n t e r p r e t a t i o n , t r y i n g t o keep the co l ou r v i v i d , but showing more concern f o r the unbroken o u t l i n e than f o r the l i g h t s and shades. Any au tob iog raph i ca l account , t h e r e f o r e , t ha t he has l e f t , represents a pa l impsest r a the r than a t r an spa ren t c h r o n i c l e . Even the e n t r i e s i n the autobiography i n m in i a tu re are loaded w i th the s e l f - con sc i ou sne s s of s i g n i f i c a n t events w i t h i n the g iven pe r s pec t i v e of f u t u r e memory. For an e x e r c i s e i n memory, however, we should tu rn to the s p e c i a l j o u r n a l account of h i s i l l n e s s i n S i c i l y . I t p rov ides by f a r the longest and most g raph ic account of h i s i l l n e s s . I n t e rna l da t i ng e s t ab -l i s h e s tha t Newman wrote t h i s account a t i n t e r v a l s from August 31, 1834 to March 25, 1840. He began w r i t i n g a f t e r he had f i r s t seen the i l l n e s s as s i g n i f i c a n t r a t h e r than merely d ramat ic , and cont inued through the most a c t i v e and t u r b u l e n t years of h i s l i f e i n the Ang l i can Church. He then made f u r t h e r notes and changes a l l s c rupu lou s l y dated 1842, 1855, 1874, and 1876. In 1885, Newman sent a copy of the account t o Anne Mozley f o r p u b l i c a t i o n . I n t e r e s t i n g l y enough, t h i s account i s more d i s j o i n t e d , more v i v i d , l e s s s e l f - c o n s c i o u s , more r e v e a l i n g than the l e t t e r s to Rogers and W i l b e r -f o r ce which were w r i t t e n more immediately a f t e r the event. The dated 56 r e v i s i o n s prov ide e x p l a n a t i o n s , " i t s t ruck me camomile would do me good (as being a t o n i c & stomachic. March 8 1840);" l a t e f l a s he s of memory: " ( Febr . 6, 1843. We had a s pecu l a t i on about having a l i t t e r made, on which I might be c a r r i e d to Pa le rmo. ) " Or they are d i s c r e e t ; d i o r r h e a , c o s t i v e -ness, and r e t e n t i o n of u r i n e , f o r example, become " c h o l e r a " and " the other comp la i n t . " Th is account i s , o therw i se , les s t a i l o r e d than the o the r s . L i t t l e or no d i s t i n c t i o n i s made between the p h y s i c a l l y and the s p i r i -t u a l l y s i g n i f i c a n t . More d e t a i l i s g iven of people coming and go ing , of Newman's encounters w i th s e r van t s , d o c t o r s , beggars, c i t i z e n s . There i s even a diagram of h i s room at Cas t ro Giovanni... C l e a r l y , Newman needed to keep h i s own memory a l e r t f o r d e t a i l de sp i t e the overview which we have seen he was so s peed i l y able to take. Th is account a l s o adds a few emphases tha t may be worth no t i n g . As be fo re , Newman a t t r i b u t e s h i s i l l n e s s to punishment f o r s e l f - w i l l , but f o r the f i r s t time i n d i c a t e s tha t t h i s not ion i s e n t i r e l y s u b j e c t i v e : "I f e l t I had been very s e l f w i l l e d — t h a t the Froudes had been a g S t my coming, so a l s o (a t Maples) the W i lbe r fo r ce s - -pe rhaps the Neales.& Andersons-- I s a i d to mysel f Why d id no one speak out? Say h a l f a word? Why was I l e f t now t o i n t e r p r e t t h e i r meaning?" ( T r i s t r a m , pp. 124-25. My i t a l i c s ) He develops the ideas e a r l i e r suggested i n the l e t t e r to W i l be r f o r ce tha t he had been i n subord ina te to h i s P rovos t , t ha t h i s , own sermon on w i l f u l n e s s had f o r e t o l d h i s own f a t e , and tha t he would now l i t e r a l l y walk i n God's way by l eav ing Leonforte f o r Cast ro G iovann i . But he has the advantage now of h i n d s i g h t , and can w r i t e of the d e v i l ' s ob s t r uc t i n g him, "I cou ld almost th ink the d e v i l saw I am to be a means of u se fu l ne s s , & t r i e d t o dest roy me" ( T r i s t r a m , p. 122). For he can now po in t to the beginning of the Oxford Movement and add: " a l t o g e t h e r my 57 name, which was not known out of Oxford c i r c l e s before I went abroad, i s now known p r e t t y g e n e r a l l y " ( T r i s t r a m , p. 123). A r e v e a l i n g passage f o l l ows i n which he sees h imse l f as a pane of g l a s s , ab le to t r an sm i t heat though i n f a c t c o l d , as having a l l the t a l e n t s f o r a great r e l i g i o u s leader but being a t heart ho l low. Undoubtedly h i s admirers imagine tha t they f i n d here the h u m i l i t y of the s a i n t , and h i s de t r a c t o r s a s u c c i n c t statement of the t r u t h . What i s important i n seeing t h i s as an au tob i o -g raph i ca l document i s to r e a l i s e the s e l f - t o r m e n t t ha t undoubtedly accom-panies such degrees of i n t r o s p e c t i o n , and the s u b j e c t i v i t y of the judgement which the same man as a r t i s t can then f a s h i o n . In t h i s case, as the conc lu s i on of the j o u r n a l account would suggest, a pa r t of the f a s h i o n i n g , whether con sc i ou s l y or no t , de s i r e s sympathy: The thought keeps p res s ing on me, wh i l e I w r i t e t h i s , what am I w r i t i n g i t f o r ? For myse l f , I may look at i t once or tw ice i n my whole l i f e , and what sympathy i s there i n my l ook ing at i t ? Whom have I, whom can I have, who would take i n t e r e s t i n i t ? . . . This i s the s o r t of i n t e r e s t which a w i f e takes and none but s h e - - i t i s a woman's i n t e r e s t — a n d tha t i n t e r e s t , so be i t , s h a l l never be taken i n me. . . .1 w i l l i n g l y g i ve up the posses-s i on of t ha t sympathy, which I f e e l i s not , cannot be, granted t o me. Ye t , not the le s s do I f e e l the need of i t . Who w i l l care to be t o l d such d e t a i l s as I have put down above? S h a l l I ever have i n my o l d age s p i r i t u a l c h i l d r e n who w i l l take an i n t e r e s t such as a w i f e does? ( T r i s t r a m , pp. 137-38) I t i s f o r h i s s p i r i t u a l c h i l d r e n tha t Newman f i n a l l y submits t h i s manu-s c r i p t f o r p u b l i c a t i o n , long a f t e r the Apo log ia has regained him h i s wide i n f l u e n c e w i t h the B r i t i s h p u b l i c and e s t a b l i s h e d h i s d i s t i n c t i o n i n the C a t h o l i c church. These d e t a i l s , by 1885, have become f o r a l l who may read them s imply a d d i t i o n a l c o l ou r i n g f o r a p i c t u r e whose c l e a r 58 o u t l i n e the Apo log ia has a l ready e s t a b l i s h e d . R e a l i s i n g tha t he had t h i s j o u r n a l account complete by 1864, we can apprec i a te the r i go rous e l i m i n a -t i o n of d e t a i l t ha t the n a r r a t i v e l i n e and dramatic c a u s a l i t y i n the Apo log ia demanded. "What I s h a l l produce, " Newman wrote to R.W. Church i n A p r i l , 1864, 4° " w i l l be l i t t l e , but par t s I w r i t e so many times ove r . " J To Rogers i n May he w r i t e s : " I t i s not much i n bu l k , but I have to w r i t e over and over again from the nece s s i t y of d i g e s t i n g and compress ing. " The s t o r y , the o u t l i n e i s impor tant , the compression e s s e n t i a l , f o r the Apo log ia i s to be " the t rue key t o my whole l i f e ; I must show what I am, t ha t i t may be seen what I am not , and tha t the phantom may be ex t ingu i shed which g ibbers i n s tead of me. I wish to be known as a l i v i n g man, and not as a scarecrow which i s dressed up i n my c l o t he s . . . . I now f o r the f i r s t time 51 contemplate my course as a who le . " - The d i f f e r e n c e between the two accounts may be l i k ened to the con t ra s t s t ha t Hardy e f f e c t s i n The Dynasts between uncomprehending, swarming humanity and the overview of the body of Europe taken by the s p i r i t s of the P i t i e s , and the Year s , and so on. Newman's account of h i s i l l n e s s i n the Apo log ia i s the b r i e f e s t of them a l l , y e t i n i t s context a t the end of Pa r t One of the f i n a l , 1865 v e r s i o n , the most d ramat ic . From the many po s s i b l e d e t a i l s and i n t e r -p r e t a t i o n s Newman e x t r a c t s only those t ha t make sense i n t h i s p a r t i c u l a r n a r r a t i v e and adhere t o the pa t te rn t ha t we c a l l " c onve r s i o n . " The context i s g iven w i t h great c a re : We se t out i n December, 1832. . . . Exchanging, as I was, d e f i n i t e T u t o r i a l l abou r s , and the l i t e r a r y q u i e t and p leasant f r i e n d s h i p s of the l a s t s i x y e a r s , f o r f o r e i g n coun t r i e s and an unknown f u t u r e [ e q u i l i b r i u m and s e p a r a t i o n ] , 59 I n a t u r a l l y was led to t h i nk [ a n t i c i p a t i o n ] t ha t some inward changes, as w e l l as some l a r ge r course of a c t i o n , was coming upon me.52 Avo id ing C a t h o l i c s , apart from a few c a r e f u l l y noted i n s t an ce s , Newman was d r i ven back upon h imse l f and f e l t h i s " s e p a r a t i o n . " England was i n my thoughts s o l e l y , and the news from England came r a r e l y and i m p e r f e c t l y . The B i l l f o r the Suppress ion of the I r i s h Sees was i n p rogres s , and f i l l e d my mind. I had f i e r c e thoughts aga ins t the L i b e r a l s . 5 3 He mentions the beginning of the " L y r a A p o s t o l i c a " w i th i t s aggress ive motto, h i s sense tha t de l i v e r ance i s wrought by persons, not bod ie s , the importance of the phrase, an e a r l y f a v o u r i t e w i th him, " E x o r i a r e  a l i q u i s ! " and of Southey ' s " Tha i aba . " I began to th ink tha t I had a mi s s ion . • • • When we took leave of Monsignore Wiseman, he had cour teous l y expressed a wish tha t we might make a second v i s i t to Rome; I s a i d w i th great g r a v i t y , "We have a work to do i n Eng land. " I went down at once to S i c i l y , and the present iment grew s t ronger . I s t r uck i n t o the middle of the i s l a n d , and f e l l i l l of a f eve r at Leonforte.54 So f a r the d e t a i l i s t ha t o f con tex t ; of a n x i e t y , of m i s s ion r e i n f o r c e d by the meeting w i th Wiseman, and by l i t e r a r y a l l u s i o n s tha t emerge i n h i s mind as a p p r o p r i a t e l y as b i b l i c a l t e x t s to those seeking guidance. His i s o l a t i o n i s suggested by the otherwise unnecessary d e t a i l t ha t he had s t ruck i n t o the middle of the i s l a n d . In the course of the f e v e r , which i s not d e t a i l e d at a l l , h i s servant i s m y s t i f i e d by the two 60 key sentences: "I have not s inned aga in s t the l i g h t , " and "I have a work to do i n England" ( D i s e q u i l i b r i u m , I n i t i a t i o n , Recogn i t i on ) . He does not need to d i scuss w i l f u l n e s s or even a s t rugg le w i th Satan (he i s , a f t e r a l l , underp lay ing h i s own l eade r sh ip of the Oxford Movement), so long as the sense of e x a l t i n g mis s ion emerges even from d e l i r i u m . Had Newman assumed a more s i g n i f i c a n t r o l e as leader i n the Oxford Movement, i t i s i n t e r e s t i n g t o specu la te on the larger r o l e that h i s f eve r might have played i n t h i s n a r r a t i v e as the source of i n s p i r a t i o n from which h i s l eade r sh ip d e r i v e d . The context of t h i s s t a r k l y abbrev ia ted n a r r a t i o n rece i ve s i t s c l o s u r e , i t s purpose, i t s sense of s p i r i t u a l c a u s a l i t y , i t s new e q u i l i b i r u m i n the he ro ' s r e tu rn and the f u l f i l m e n t of h i s a n t i c i p a t i o n at the end of t h i s f i r s t P a r t : At l a s t I got o f f a ga i n , and d i d not stop n ight or day . . . t i l l I reached England and my mother ' s house. My brother had a r r i v e d from P e r s i a only a few hours before. Th i s was on the Tuesday. The f o l l o w i n g Sunday, J u l y 14th, Mr. Keble preached the A s s i ze Sermon i n the U n i v e r s i t y P u l p i t . I t was pub l i shed under the t i t l e of "Na t i ona l Apostasy. " I have ever cons idered and kept the day, as the s t a r t of the r e l i g i o u s movement of 183 3 . 55. Walter E. Houghton desc r ibes Newman's t heo r i e s of s t y l e and of biography as s t a r t i n g from the same o r i g i n , the need to image f o r t h the inner man. Newman h imse l f , however, de f ines s t y l e as "a t h i n k i n g out i n t o language," which may, i n t h i s ca se , be paraphrased as the process of autobiography. That se r i ou s f e ve r s u f f e red over t h i r t y years e a r l i e r i s no longer merely an i s o l a t e d event i n the l i f e of a h i g h l y s e l f - c o n s -c i o u s , a r t i c u l a t e man w i th a c l e a r sense of h i s own t a l e n t s . I t s con-61 comitant i n t r o s p e c t i o n , s e l f - c h a s t i s e m e n t , and i n t i m a t i o n of d i v i n e e l e c -t i o n have prov ided the f i c t i o n a l " c r i s i s " t ha t a l t e r s the l i f e of the convert i n which a mis s ion i s recognised and out of wh ich, w i th a l l the tens ions and f r u s t r a t i o n s of de lay on the journey home, t ha t mi s s ion i s , i n r e t r o s p e c t , r e a l i s e d . Whether from a keen sense of devout modesty or because of the low-key r h e t o r i c w i th which he intends to convince h i s P ro te s tan t readers t ha t he, not Kings l e y , i s t e l l i n g the t r u t h , Newman c l e a r l y underplays the p o t e n t i a l of h i s n a r r a t i v e . We have seen from l e t t e r s and j o u r n a l e n t r i e s t ha t h i s sense of ferment and m i s s i o n , fo l l owed by the g r a v i t y of h i s i l l n e s s and the importance of h i s pa r t i n the Oxford Movement could w e l l have l ed to a major convers ion s t o r y . Despite the muted tones , however, and the underp lay ing of events t ha t were o f a c tua l ser iousness and seen by him at the time as s i n g i f i c a n t , Newman has c reated an emotional shape of a n t i c i p a t i o n / r e c o g n i t i o n / f u l -f i l m e n t , or s e p a r a t i o n / i n i t i a t i o n / r e t u r n and, i n t h i s paradigm, h i s i l l n e s s p lays a c e n t r a l p a r t . By r e t a i n i n g and us ing the mythic shape, i n however muted a form, Newman lends weight to the ser iousness of h i s concerns and a suggest ion of i n e v i t a b i l i t y to t h e i r consequences. Whereas Newman takes major events i n h i s l i f e and bur ies t h e i r s ke le ton i n h i s f i n a l s t o r y to c rea te an almost s u b l i m i n a l persuas ion of c r i s i s , De Quincey begins w i t h events seen at f i r s t as r e l a t i v e l y i n s i g -n i f i c a n t but from which he e laborates a major f i c t i o n . L ike Newman r e s -ponding to K ings ley by d e s c r i b i n g the h i s t o r y of h i s r e l i g i o u s op in ions i n order to demonstrate h i s love of t r u t h , so De Quincey w r i t e s h i s Confessions of an Eng l i s h Opium-Eater ad hominem, i n d i g n a n t l y r epud i a t i n g C o l e r i d g e ' s a s s e r t i o n tha t he had turned to opium as an adventurous vo l up -tuary by e l a b o r a t i n g those s u f f e r i n g s of h i s youth tha t made opium a 62 necessary p a l l i a t i v e . Both Newman and De Quincey have a p a r t i c u l a r concern. Both are anxious t o be b e l i e v e d , and both of them e l abo ra te f i c t i o n s i n order t o a t t a i n c r e d i b i l i t y . L i ke Newman, George Moore, and Hale White, De Quincey kept on t e l l i n g the s t o r y of h i s l i f e . De Qu incey ' s problem i n w r i t i n g about h i s l i f e , however, i s one of c o n t i n u i t y and n a r r a t i v e t e n s i o n , of a ch i e v -ing a shape l a r ge r than an essay, of f i n d i n g or en fo r c i ng a coherent v i s i o n of h imse l f and h i s l i f e s t o r y . Moore, who wrote f i v e au tob iog ra -ph i e s , d i scusses the problem of w r i t i n g f o r j o u r n a l s and f i nd s t ha t he " cou ld not l ea rn to see l i f e p a r a g r a p h i c a l l y . [He] longed t o g ive a personal shape to something, and personal shape could not be achieved i n 56 a paragraph nor i n an a r t i c l e . " De Qu incey ' s autobiography i s a r e -working of a r t i c l e s t ha t had appeared i n T a i t ' s Edinburgh Magazine beginning i n 1834, i n Hogg's I n s t r u c t o r i n 1851, and i n Blackwood 's  Magazine i n 1845. I t f a i l s as autobiography p r e c i s e l y because the e s s a y i s t always wins. De Qu incey ' s b ro ther c a l l e d him " the p r i n ce of P e t t i f o g u l i s e r s , " a name tha t V i r g i n i a Woolf f i n d s app rop r i a te . She c a l l s h i s autobiography "as d r o p s i c a l and shapeless as each sentence i s symmetr ical and smooth," and remarks on how strange i t i s t ha t " the s e n s i b i l i t y which was on the a l e r t to warn him i n s t a n t l y i f a sound c lashed or a rhythm f lagged f a i l e d 57 him complete ly when i t came to the a r c h i t e c t u r e of the who le . " De Quincey h imse l f w r i t e s of h i s autobiography as a work " con fes sed ly rambl ing , . . . whose very d u t y . l i e s i n the p leasant paths of v a g r a n c y , " 5 ^ thereby j u s t i f y i n g h i s t o r i e s of the Female I n f i d e l , of two I r i s h R e b e l l i o n s , of h i s b rother P i nk , of e i gh teenth -century t r a v e l , and of the customs of Oxford. Yet i t i nc ludes poignant essays , t o o , on h i s e a r l y ch i ldhood t ha t demonstrate h i s powers of c o n t r o l l e d , s u b j e c t i v e w r i t i n g . 63 As pa r t of h i s constant e f f o r t s to w r i t e about h i s l i f e , De Quincey a l s o kept p lann ing to record h i s opium dreams, but l i k e the p leasure dome of Kubla Khan, nothing i n f a c t ever got b u i l t . I t i s t o ch i ldhood tha t he repeated ly r e t u r n s . The e x p l i c i t i n t e n t i o n of the f i r s t e d i t i o n of h i s Confess ions (1822) i s to t e l l the dreams induced by opium, but t h i s i n t e n t i o n i s never r e a l i s e d . The Confess ions i n c l ude an extended account of De Qu incey ' s ch i ldhood i n s t e a d , on the grounds tha t t h i s w i l l c reate "some prev ious i n t e r e s t of a personal s o r t i n the confes s ing s u b j e c t , apart from the matter of the con fe s s i on s , which cannot f a i l t o render the 59 confess ions themselves more i n t e r e s t i n g . " When De Quincey r e v i s ed h i s Confess ions i n 1856, i t might be assumed that he would add m a t e r i a l at the end, i n other words, f i n a l l y w r i t e about h i s dreams. In f a c t , to Ian J a c k ' s i n d i g n a t i o n , he does noth ing of the s o r t but g ives i n s tead an even f u l l e r account of h i s e a r l y y e a r s , thus throwing the work out of p r o p o r t i o n , accord ing t o Jack , and moving c l o s e r to autobiography, which Jack i n s i s t s i s no pa r t of h i s o r i g i n a l i n t e n t i o n . In the S u s p i r i a de P r o f und i s , which c a l l s i t s e l f a sequel to the Confess ions , De Quincey indulges once again not i n dreams but i n memories of ch i l dhood . Ian Jack and Esther Salaman agree t ha t the rev i sed Confess ions of 1856 i s i n f a c t weaker than the 1822 v e r s i o n . Jack makes some c l o se t e x t u a l comparisons and stands on f i r m ground when he says " t he re i s a f l a bb i ne s s about the 1856 v e r s i o n , when i t i s compared w i th tha t of 1 8 2 2 . " 6 0 The s i g n i f i c a n c e of the 1856 v e r s i o n , however, l i e s not i n the g a r r u l i t y of the veteran e s s a y i s t but i n h i s c a r e f u l impo s i t i on of coherence and c a u s a l i t y on the e a r l i e r t e x t . Whereas ch i l dhood , f o r example, had e a r l i e r been in t roduced merely " [ a s ] c r e a t i n g some prev ious 64 i n t e r e s t of a personal s o r t i n the confess ing s u b j e c t , " i t becomes " a t p resent , and at t h i s po i n t . . . i nd i spensab le as a key to the proper understanding of a l l which f o l l o w s " (p. 113). De Quincey h imse l f f e l t t ha t here he had f i n a l l y mastered a coherent n a r r a t i v e , i t s e f f e c t s set i n motion by c l e a r and adequate causes. Even i n the 1822 ve r s i on of h i s Confes s ions , De Quincey sees the p o t e n t i a l n a r r a t i v e s i g n i f i c a n c e of h i s departure from Manchester Grammar School . "The morning came," he w r i t e s , "which was t o launch me i n t o the w o r l d , and from which my whole succeeding l i f e has, i n many important p o i n t s , taken i t s c o l o u r i n g " (p. 354). The e a r l y v e r s i o n , however, does not e l abo ra te any causa l connect ions between h i s l eav i ng school aga in s t the wishes of h i s guardians and h i s subsequent dependence on opium. The reason f o r l eav i ng school i s s l i g h t . De Quincey f e e l s t ha t he i s a b e t t e r Grec ian than the headmaster and wishes to go d i r e c t l y t o U n i v e r s i t y . In the s e c t i o n of the autobiography c a l l e d "At Manchester Grammer Schoo l " (1853), a t i t l e g iven by Masson to d i s t i n g u i s h t h i s episode otherwise und i s t i ngu i shed from an account of De Qu incey ' s mother and u n c l e , De Quincey f i n d s school t e d i o u s , s u f f e r s from bad h e a l t h , and so re tu rns home. In the r e v i s e d Confess ions , by c o n t r a s t , the school i t s e l f r e ce i ve s i t s f i r s t d e t a i l e d d e s c r i p t i o n , and the d e c i s i o n t o leave school takes twen t y - f i v e pages, compared w i th two i n 1822. The e x t r a space i s con-sumed not by f l abby g a r r u l i t y but by the need to make the event i n e v i t a b l e and to se t i n motion a cha in of i n e v i t a b l e events t ha t can e x p l a i n the s u f f e r i n g s t ha t he has endured. De Quincey, a c c o r d i n g l y , weaves i n t o h i s s t o r y a sense of s i n and expu l s i on based on the Edenic paradigm. His f l i g h t from school i s l i n k e d even before i t takes p l ace w i t h war i n Europe and w i th the f a m i l i a r analogy of s torm, w i t h i n e v i t a b l e f o r c e s , 65 i n other words, l a r g e r than a mere boy. Th i s whole passage i s a s p e c i a l a d d i t i o n to the 1856 t e x t : 0, wherefore, then , was i t — t h r o u g h what i n e x p l i c a b l e growth of e v i l i n mysel f or i n O the r s - - t ha t now i n the summer of 1802, when peace was brooding over a l l the l a nd , peace succeeding to a bloody seven y e a r s ' war, but peace which a l ready gave s igns of breaking i n t o a f a r b l o o d i e r war, some dark sympathis ing movement w i t h i n my own hea r t , as i f echoing and repeat ing i n mimicry the p o l i t i c a l menaces of the e a r t h , swept w i t h storm-clouds across t ha t otherwise serene and r ad i an t dawn which should have heralded by approaching entrance i n t o l i f e . (p. 152) An incompetent doc to r , exacerbat ing De Qu incey ' s bad hea l th w i th bad med i ca t i on , cooperates w i t h other e v i l c i rcumstances i n t ha t he " sea led and r a t i f i e d tha t sentence of stormy sorrow then hanging over [ h i s ] head" (p. 153). Three separate persons, i n f a c t , made themselves u n i n t e n t i o n a l accompl ices i n t ha t r u i n (a r u i n reach ing me even at t h i s day by i t s shadows) which threw me out a homeless vagrant upon the ear th before I had accomplished my seventeenth yea r . (p. 153) The images of doom, e x p u l s i o n , innocent y ou th , and c on t r ad i c t ed hopes or expectat ions are f a r more evocat i ve of parad i se l o s t than of a b r i g h t and capable youth tak ing a u n i l a t e r a l d e c i s i o n to go home from s choo l . True to the theology of the s i t u a t i o n , De Quincey assumes h i s own r e s p o n s i b i l i t y f o r h i s f a l l but shares i t w i th the doctor and the head-master. 66 To personal r e s p o n s i b i l i t y f o r the event i s then added another cause, a d i r e c t metaphor f o r the i n e v i t a b l e ; l i k e the f u r i o u s i n s t i n c t t ha t d r i v e s t r i b e s of bu f f a l oe s to the s a l t - l i c k s or l o cu s t s or lemmings on t h e i r myster ious pa th , no po s s i b l e ob s tac l e having power " t o a l t e r or r e t a r d the l i n e of t h e i r i nexorab le advance" (p. 159), he determines to run away. In 1856, then , as by no means i n 1822 or i n any i n t e r ven i n g essay, De Quincey takes cons ide rab le pains to e s t a b l i s h the e q u i l i b r i u m f o r h i s n a r r a t i v e and i t s d i s r u p t i o n , the s e p a r a t i o n , i n Propp ' s and Campbel l ' s te rmino logy , of the hero from h i s f e l l o w s , and an a n t i c i p a t i o n i n t h i s case of d i s a s t e r whose f u l f i l m e n t i s common knowledge before he beg ins. We know,, because tha t i s where he s t a r t s , t ha t he turns t o opium a f t e r great s u f f e r i n g . We know, and t h i s knowledge informs h i s s t o r y , t ha t Adam and Eve endured great s u f f e r i n g when they were e xpe l l ed from Eden. In 1856, as i n 1822, he comes then to the morning which i s to launch him i n t o the w o r l d , but t h i s t ime the f i n a l , l i n g e r i n g look around the room i s i n t e r r u p t e d by a t r ance , "a f r o s t as of some d e a t h - l i k e r e v e l a t i o n " (p. 176). He f i n d s renewed w i t h i n him a h a t e f u l remembrance der i ved from a moment tha t he had long l e f t behind. Th is d e a t h - l i k e r e v e l a t i o n , t h i s h a te fu l remembrance i s of h i s v i s i t t o the Whispering G a l l e r y a t S t . P a u l ' s Ca thed ra l , where h i s f r i e n d ' s whisper at the f a r t h e r end reaches him "as a deafening menace i n tempestuous up roa r s . " Impressed by the h i s t o r y conta ined i n S t . P a u l ' s , and by the "solemn t r oph ie s of chance and change amongst mighty n a t i o n s , " he had been s u r p r i s ed then too by a t rance i n which he had been persecuted by the thought of the f a t a l i t y t ha t must attend an e v i l cho i ce . De Quincey desc r ibes h i s v i s i t t o 67 S t . P a u l ' s w i th Lord Westport i n chapter e i gh t of the autobiography, which i s c a l l e d "The Nation of London." F i r s t w r i t t e n f o r T a i t ' s i n 1834, and then r e v i s ed i n 1853, t h i s account conta ins no mention of the whisper tha t becomes so menacing. In 1856, however, i n the context of the r e v i s e d Confess ions , De Quincey recognises h i s Rubicon i n t h i s memory. A word once u t t e red cannot come back. A d e c i s i o n once acted on cannot be revoked. This t ime , when he leaves h i s room, the door c lo ses f o r ever . Th is f l i g h t from school and from h i s guardians becomes the unpar-donable f o l l y t ha t lays the foundat ion of De Qu incey ' s l i f e l o n g repentance. I t i s f u r t h e r compl icated by the l e t t e r con ta i n i ng money which has been i n c o r r e c t l y d e l i v e r e d to De Quincey and needs to be returned to the post o f f i c e a t Chester. L i ke the t rue s i g n i f i c a n c e of h i s departure from s choo l , and l i k e the whisper a t St . P a u l ' s , t h i s l e t t e r appears only i n the r e v i s ed ve r s i on of the Confess ions. I t serves no other purpose here than t o dramatise De Quincey ' s d e c i s i o n to leave s c h o o l ; i t compl icates the i s sue by imposing on i t an appearance of r e a l and immediate g u i l t . The burden of the l e t t e r determines De Quincey to tu rn to Chester r a t he r than to the Lakes. The burden i s both of r e s p o n s i b i l i t y and, now tha t he i s running away from s c h o o l , of the s u sp i c i on of a g u i l t y connect ion between r e c e i p t of the money and h i s own evas ion of a u t h o r i t y . The l e t t e r i s opp re s s i ve , and De Quincey longs " ( l i k e C h r i s t i a n i n Bunyan's a l l e g o r y ) to l a y down [ h i s ] sou l -weary ing burden at the f e e t of those who could s ign [ h i s ] c e r t i f i c a t e of a b s o l u t i o n " (p. 183). When he manages to have the l e t t e r r e d e l i v e r e d , he i s " r e l ea sed—sudden l y re lea sed and f u l l y - - f r o m the i n i q u i t o u s load of r e s p o n s i b i l i t y t h r u s t upon [h im]" (pp. 190-191). The l e t t e r , however, i s i n c i d e n t a l , an event subserv ient to the pressures 68 of the n a r r a t i v e . Release from t h i s burden leaves De Quincey s t i l l w i th the knowledge " t h a t the s i t u a t i o n was one w i thout hope. . . . i n r e a l i t y [he] had no p a l l i a t i o n to produce" (pp. 196-197). De Qu incey ' s O r i g i n a l S in l i e s i n h i s departure from s choo l . He r e v i s e s h i s d e s c r i p t i o n of t h i s event i n order to show how, l i k e Adam and Eve, he i s r e spon s i b l e f o r h i s cho ice and y e t how, s i nce Adam and Eve have long s i nce f a l l e n , h i s s t o r y , based on t h e i r s , a l lows him no cho i ce . His outcas t s t a t e i s i n e v i t a b l e . Despite the c l o s i n g of t ha t door behind him as the s i n i s committed, we f i n d r e c o g n i t i o n of the s i n , the d i s e q u i l i b r i u m of h i s s t o r y , the i n i t i a t i o n i n t o h i s outcast s t a t e i n h i s sojourn i n the Welsh h i l l s . He knows he i s naked, to pursue the p a r a l l e l , but he has not ye t been ca s t out of Eden. The h ia tu s i s b r i e f , t r a n q u i l , a l u l l before the f i n a l s torm, the p r o p u l s i o n , once again desc r ibed as i n e v i t a b l e , t ha t d r i v e s him to seek h i s f o r tune i n London. I t i s as i f "some overmaster ing f i e n d , some i n s t i n c t of m i g r a t i o n , sor rowfu l but i r r e s i s t i b l e , were d r i v i n g [him] f o r t h " (p. 219). He leaves on a day of golden sunshine i n November, the l a s t b r i e f summer of the y e a r , l i k e the l i g h t e n i n g before death i n s i c k p a t i e n t s . His f a r e w e l l t o Wales i s h i s f a r e w e l l t o summer, to you th , and to peace. He con t ra s t s the almost s epu l ch ra l s t i l l n e s s of t ha t day w i th the rav ing and e v e r l a s t i n g uproar of the me t r opo l i s . S tay ing i n Shrews-bury, he f a l l s i n t o a t rance as f i e r c e winds roa r through the n i gh t . His mind has been f i l l e d by the Welsh mountains, " [ b ] u t now rose London—so le , dark, i n f i n i t e — b r o o d i n g over the whole c a p a c i t i e s of my hea r t " (p. 227). The rhythm, the vowels , the M i l t o n i c echo of the s p i r i t who w i th mighty wings outspred . Dove- l i ke s a t s t brooding on the vast Abyss 69 are ominous. More than eve r , he f e e l s , he stands on the b r i n k of a p r e c i p i c e . His senses are sharpened by the storm and by h i s s o l i t u d e i n a la rge and l o f t y room: " S t i l l , as I turned inwards to the echoing chambers, or outwards t o the w i l d , w i l d n i g h t , I saw London expanding her v i s i o n a r y gates t o r e c e i v e me, l i k e some dreadfu l mouth of Acheron" (p. 2 2 8 ) . 5 2 He has, i n f a c t , a p l a n , which i s mentioned on ly when i t can no longer i n t e r f e r e w i th the pressures of i r r e s i s t i b l e f a t e . He means to borrow money from a money-lender aga ins t the s e c u r i t y of h i s patr imony. Shar ing the money- lender ' s empty house, l i k e Dick S w i v e l l e r , w i t h a m i s t rea ted l i t t l e s e r v a n t - g i r l , he r e f e r s i r o n i c a l l y t o the c o l d , the gloom, the sad comfort they brought each other i n terms e voca t i ve of the outcast s t a t e . ' " The wor ld was a l l before u s , " 1 he quotes , "and we p i t ched our t en t f o r the n i gh t i n any spot we might f an c y " (p. 239). Extreme s u f f e r i n g , phy s i c a l and menta l , f u l f i l s , of cour se , the expec ta t i on aroused at the beginning of the n a r r a t i v e . I t represents the e q u i l i b r i u m tha t was sought. Only i n t h i s r e v i s e d ve r s i on of the Confes s ions , however, has De Quincey c reated s u f f i c i e n t cause to e x p l a i n tha t s u f f e r i n g , to render i t comprehensible. Comparison of the r e v i s e d e d i t i o n w i th the 1822 ve r s i on and w i th essays w r i t t e n i n the i n t e r v e n i n g years shows how De Quincey marsha l led whatever m a t e r i a l he cou ld f i n d to c reate t ha t coherent n a r r a t i v e form tha t d i s t i n g u i s h e s the Confess ions of 1856. I am r e l u c t a n t , however, to p lace Propp ' s and Campbel l ' s f rame-work on the n a r r a t i v e brought only to t h i s p o i n t . De Quincey shows us the hero separated indeed from h i s f e l l o w men and i n i t i a t e d through h e l l f i r e , but the r e t u rn w i t h g l o r y on h i s wings remains f o r the end of The Confes- s ions as a whole. De Quincey c la ims to w r i t e h i s Confess ions i n the f i r s t 70 p lace f o r i n s t r u c t i o n . J u s t as George Moore o f f e r s h i s book con ta i n i n g h i s l i f e - s t o r y as a Sav iour i n the form of a r t to redeem I re l and from serfdom to i t s p r i e s t s , so De Qu incey ' s a b i l i t y to t e l l h i s s t o r y , equa l l ed by h i s gradual r enunc i a t i on of opium, i s the g i f t w i th which he returns to humanity. More impor tant , however, than r i g i d a p p l i c a t i o n of n a r r a t i v e formulae i s our app re c i a t i o n through t e x tua l comparisons tha t De Quincey, l i k e Newman, c reates an e l abo ra te f i c t i o n out of p a r t i c u l a r events i n h i s l i f e i n order to e x t r a c t from them a p a r t i c u l a r meaning. Ending the Confess ions w i th the c l a im tha t h i s opium a d d i c t i o n i s v i r t u a l l y cu red, De Quincey uses the b i b l i c a l analogy again f o r one f i n a l e f f e c t . His s leep i s s t i l l " tumultuous; and, l i k e the gates of Parad i se to our f i r s t parents when l ook ing back from a f a r , i t i s s t i l l ( i n the tremendous l i n e of M i l t on ) 'With d read fu l faces t h rong ' d and f i e r y a rms ' " (p. 327). In p a r t , the purpose of t h i s re fe rence i s to c l o se a book tha t i s p a t e n t l y u n f i n i s h e d ; he has created an impress ive c a u s a l i t y but s t i l l f a i l s t o develop the r e s u l t s t ha t he o r i g i n a l l y promises, to record h i s opium dreams.. In pa r t i t i s a reminder o f the paradigm on which h i s s t o r y i s based. The 1856 Confessi6ns d i f f e r so markedly from the 1822 ve r s i on and from the i n t e r ven i n g au tob iog raph i ca l sketches p r e c i s e l y by adher ing to t h i s mythic shape. We may be j u s t i f i e d by the f a c t and the nature of these r e v i s i o n s i n c a l l i n g t h i s l a s t of De Qu incey ' s attempts a t autobiography a consummate work of f i c t i o n . In Shumaker's words, De Quincey has c reated a meaningful a r t form because he, l i k e Newman, Moore, and Hale White, does more than submit t o events . The events are s t i l l t h e r e , but they now rece i ve a form tha t conveys a c l e a r meaning. 71 I have c a l l e d t h i s chapter "The I n e v i t a b i l i t y of F i c t i o n / ' I have d i scussed very b r i e f l y the r o l e s p layed by percept ion and the w r i t t e n word to c reate a wor ld of as i f , a l i kenes s to or comparison w i th cont ingent r e a l i t y . Unable to l i f t any th ing out of l i f e and i n t o a r t w i thout t r a n s -forming i t , the autobiographer i s faced w i th the task of f i n d i n g compar i -sons w i th h imse l f and w i th the events i n h i s l i f e t ha t w i l l convey a c l e a r meaning to h i s readers . He c r e a t e s , a c c o r d i n g l y , a f i c t i v e s e l f to na r ra te the events of h i s l i f e and a f i c t i v e s t o r y to conta in those events . In order to exp lo re the mechanics of t h i s process to see how i t can be done, I have looked at the means whereby Hale White and George Moore have c reated na r ra to r s f o r t h e i r au tob iog raph i ca l works. The manner of man who t e l l s the s t o r y n e c e s s a r i l y a f f e c t s the k ind of s t o r y t ha t i s t o l d . A f i c t i v e n a r r a t o r may be acqu i red by f o l l o w i n g ru le -o f - thumb techn iques , but he tends to look as i f he were a l i v e , r e t a i n i n g t h e r e -fo re the i n d i v i d u a l i t y he de r i ve s from h i s author and imposing on h i s s t o r y the p a r t i c u l a r percept ions and emotions w i th which h i s author i n t e r p r e t s h i s l i f e . S i m i l a r l y , the process of t r a n s l a t i n g events i n any g iven l i f e i n t o a n a r r a t i v e need not lead to a mythic shape. As i t so o f ten does, however, and as these w i l l be the sub jec t of f u r t h e r s tudy , i t has seemed s e n s i b l e t o examine the process whereby two p a r t i c u l a r autobiographers have r e v i s ed t h e i r work i n such a way as to achieve a mythic shape. The nece s s i t y becomes apparent from an a r t i s t i c po i n t of v iew. Both Newman and De Quincey improve t h e i r s t o r i e s and strengthen t h e i r c l a im to our a t t e n t i o n by r e v i s i o n s t ha t b r i ng events i n t o the s e r v i c e of an over -r i d i n g mythic n a r r a t i v e . 72 Having looked at na r ra to r s and t h e i r s t o r i e s - i n - p r o c e s s , i t remains f o r us now to take one p a r t i c u l a r mythic shape at a time i n order to see how and why i t works i n the completed autobiography. 73 CHAPTER TWO CHILDHOOD: FROM INNOCENCE TO EXPERIENCE The Garden of Eden prov ides so f a m i l i a r an analogue f o r ch i ldhood tha t the merest a l l u s i o n s to i t set o f f c h a i n - r e a c t i o n s of comprehension. " [ I ] t was Adam and maiden," w r i t e s Dylan Thomas, The sky gathered again 1 And the sun grew round that very day. "They had entered the thorny w i l d e r n e s s , " George E l i o t w r i t e s of Tom and Maggie T u l l i v e r , "and the golden gates o f t h e i r ch i ldhood had f o r ever c losed behind them." Rousseau, Wordsworth, Leigh Hunt, t o name on ly a few, echo Genesis or Parad i se Lost as they set out i n t o the w o r l d ' s wide spaces. Use of Eden and i t s loss to de sc r i be ch i ldhood can be documented ad i n f i n i t u m . More to the po in t he re , however, than such documentation, I propose to examine the p a r t i c u l a r c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of t h i s myth that determine why i t i s so w ide l y used. What k ind of sense does i t make of the ch i ldhood of Everyman? The autobiographer who desc r ibes h i s c h i l d hood , t o whatever e x t e n t , as Edenic i s assuming more, whether consc iou s l y or n o t , than the usefu lness of a very good ya rn . He i s assuming w i th some j u s t i f i c a t i o n a s e n s i b l e equat ion between the s t o r y of h i s l i f e and tha t of humankind. The c h i l d ' s i n t e l l e c t and imag i na t i on , f o r example, have been de sc r i bed as deve lop ing along pat te rns tha t f o l l o w those o f the development o f the human race . Jean P i a g e t , f o r i n s t an ce , argues tha t c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s d i s p l a yed by the c h i l d may w e l l p rov ide c lues about adu l t s from e a r l y h i s t o r y or from contemporary p r i m i t i v e s o c i e t i e s . Wr i t i n g i n the 1970s, P iaget adheres 74 to the t he s i s of G. S tan ley H a l l , the American p ioneer of c h i l d - s t u d y , who wrote i n 1909 tha t " i n f a n c y , ch i ldhood and youth are three bunches of 3 keys to unlock the past h i s t o r y of the r a c e . " The f i c t i o n s , fu r thermore, t ha t men make to de sc r i be the process of c h i l d development are remarkably s i m i l a r the whole wor ld over. The n ineteenth -centu ry autob iographer, i n other words, does not s imply use the myth of Eden as a metaphor f o r ch i ldhood because t h i s myth has been enshr ined i n the conventions of western l i t e r a t u r e . Were he an east I nd ian , a Po l yne s i an , or a S i b e r i a n , he might w e l l use the same bas i c formula. I t i s not tha t a l l c r e a t i o n s t o r i e s are the same, but r a t he r tha t they share c e r t a i n c r u c i a l fea tu res i n common, those p a r t i c u l a r fea tu res tha t make sense of the u n i v e r s a l l y common aspects of e a r l y human development. What, then , are the main c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of the Edenic myth t ha t are commonly shared w i th other c r e a t i o n myths tha t enable i t t o make sense of ch i ldhood? Studying the p r i m i t i v e , myth-making mind, Lev i - S t rau s s a r t i c u l a t e s an important aspect of p r i m i t i v e comprehension tha t the best c h i l d r e n ' s s t o r y - t e l l e r s seem always t o have known i n t u i t i v e l y . He demonstrates how the p r i m i t i v e or c h i l d l i k e mind makes sense of exper ience by concep-4 t u a l i s i n g th ings i n terms of p o l a r oppos i te s . I t then searches f o r medi -a t i n g c a t ego r i e s . I t l e a r n s , f o r example, to conceptua l i s e the tempera-tu re continuum i n terms of the extremes of hot and c o l d . I t then mediates between these extremes to form the category warm. I t then mediates again between c o l d and warm and warm and hot , and so conceptua l i se s a continuum. S i m i l a r l y , c h i l d r e n most commonly l ea rn the extremes of nature and c u l t u r e and b u i l d t h e i r continuum w i th such anomalies as animals t ha t t a l k and wear c l o t h e s . (Peter Rabb i t , l o s i n g h i s coat and shoes i n the h o s t i l e 75 s e t t i n g o f Mr. McGregor 's garden, f l e e s f o r s a f e t y to the w i l d wood where, however, h i s mother goes shopping, cooks supper, and tucks her bunnies up i n bed.) Learning the u n r e a l i t y of the mediat ing category amounts to l ea rn ing the d i s c o n t i n u i t y between nature and c u l t u r e and a c q u i r i n g a s o p h i s t i c a t e d , u n c h i l d i s h percept ion of " r e a l i t y . " (When rag d o l l s cease to t a l k , when imaginary f r i e n d s are no longer r e a l , when f a i r i e s and Santa Claus cease to v i s i t i n the n i g h t , the modern c h i l d , t o o , i s p repar ing f o r more s u b s t a n t i a l knowledge; he i s l ea rn i ng t o lo se Eden.) Examining the Garden of Eden i n s t r u c t u r a l i s t terms, Edmund Leach argues c onv i n c i n g l y and i n d e t a i l tha t the s t o r y of c r e a t i o n poses a s e r i e s of oppos i t i on s tha t are mediated, each i n t u r n , to make sense along a continuum of exper ience . Water and dry l a n d , f o r example, represent oppo s i t e s , y e t p l an t s need both. F i sh and b i r d s mediate the oppos i t i on between sky and l a n d , s a l t water and f r e s h . The second Garden of Eden s t o r y f o l l o w s the oppos i t i on of Heaven and Earth w i t h the oppo s i -t i o n of man and garden and, w i t h i n the garden, of the Tree of L i f e and the Tree of Knowledge whose f r u i t br ings c e r t a i n death. The o r i g i n a l c r e a t i o n theme, i n other words, i s extended. I s o l a t ed ca tego r i e s l i k e man, l i f e , one r i v e r , " occur only i n i d e a l Pa rad i s e ; i n the r e a l wor ld th ings are m u l t i p l e and d i v i d e d ; man needs a p a r t n e r , woman: l i f e has a 5 p a r t n e r , d e a t h . " Oppos i t ions breed f u r t h e r oppos i t i on s t ha t p rov ide y e t f u r t h e r e xp l ana t i on s . Adam and Eve eat the fo rb idden apple ( t h i s e x p e r i -ence mediated by the hermaphrodite, immor t a l - - s k i n - s l o ugh i n g - - s e r pen t ) and l ea rn about sex and death. Sex, however, a l s o br ings l i f e . Notab ly , Eve does not become pregnant i n Parad i se . Parad i se belongs to a ( d i v i n e l y ) comic v i s i o n of the wor ld i n which nothing e s s e n t i a l l y changes. The myth, i n i t s va r y i ng forms, sets up these oppos i t i on s and t h e i r mediat ing c a t e g o r i e s ; i t p rov ides the 76 p r i m i t i v e and c h i l d i s h exp lana t i on of the f a c t s of l i f e , i t s o r i g i n s and i t s end. Sex, b i r t h , and death, however, cannot take p lace i n Eden. They belong to the t r o u b l e d , changing w i ldernes s beyond the garden. Wi lderness and garden represent the f i n a l po l a r oppos i tes of the paradigm; w i lde rnes s belongs to a d u l t s . Only c h i l d r e n , green and go lden, i n h a b i t the garden; when they leave the garden, they leave t h e i r ch i ldhood behind. L ike t h i s J udaeo -Ch r i s t i an myth of c r e a t i o n which i s obv ious l y of such importance to western c u l t u r e , other c r e a t i o n myths emphasise the same bas i c p o l a r oppos i t i on s and demonstrate the same ba s i c c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s as the Eden s t o r y . Man and woman belong to and con t r a s t w i th each other as do l i f e and death, east and west, sp r i ng and w i n t e r , day and n i g h t , l i g h t and dark. Again and aga i n , c r e a t i o n e s t a b l i s h e s man i n a happy spr ingt ime t ha t g ives way to the r i c h e r and sadder exper ience of change. (Some Russian autobiographies exempl i fy t h i s t r a n s i t i o n w i th p a i n f u l c l a r i t y . ) In S i b e r i a , f o r i n s t an ce , Good and E v i l contend even before the wor ld fi i s made. God c reates Lonely Man i n the very centre of the wor ld where the moon and the sun sh ine together because time stands s t i l l , and where the e t e r n a l cuckoo heralds e t e r n a l s p r i n g . God's c r e a t i o n , however, has been so damaged by the e v i l E r l i k t ha t man must now f i n d a woman and cont inue c r e a t i o n on h i s own. L ike Satan i n Eden, E r l i k enters a serpent and persuades Lonely Man and h i s woman to eat fo rb idden f r u i t , and so he br ings about t h e i r nakedness, s i c k n e s s , and death. The Hindu c r e a t i o n a l so opposes gods and demons, l i g h t and dark, immor ta l i t y and death. Yama and Yami, twin c h i l d r e n of the sun, b u i l d a garden on ea r th where animals and b i rd s may l i v e i n s a f e t y from the w i n te r of the wor l d . Here they agree to g ive b i r t h t o morta l men and, because men must d i e , Yama t h e i r f a t h e r takes on h imse l f the r e s p o n s i b i l i t y of dying 77 f i r s t so tha t he can lead f u t u r e generat ions from the unreal to the r e a l , from darkness to l i g h t , from death to immor t a l i t y . He knows tha t the s p r i n g -time of h i s garden i s not pa r t of the human l o t . As he d i e s , w i n te r encroaches on the garden he has b u i l t . The Norse c r e a t i o n , t o o , con t ra s t s the golden age of men and gods w i th the Ragnarok tha t w i l l end the wor ld . E v i l presents a constant f o r ce w i th which the gods must contend. With the death of Ba l de r , god of the s p r i n g , comes a w in te r tha t destroys a l l hope. Two wolves swallow the sun and the moon. Brother murders b ro ther . This i s wind time and wo l f time when no man i s spared. Darkness covers the wor ld and the f i n a l war of the gods br ings an end to the whole of c r e a t i o n . The po l a r oppos i t i ons i n each account are emphatic. Each s t o r y develops from a s t a b l e sp r i ng time to a w i n te r of change. The "promise " of youth g ives way to s ickness and death. Brother k i l l i n g b rother p a r a l l e l s the death of Abel a t the hands of Cain and the spar ing of no man i s equ i v -a l e n t to the f a l l e n generat ions tha t f o l l o w Adam and Eve. Two messages are common. The f i r s t i s t ha t death i s i n e v i t a b l e . The A f r i c a n c r e a t i o n myths e x p l a i n death s imply by means of a mistaken message or the i n t e r -ference of a t r i c k s t e r . Nothing more e l abo ra te i s a c t u a l l y necessary when the message i t s e l f i s so abso lu te . The second common message t ha t these s t o r i e s share connects death w i th sex. J u s t as Adam and Eve d i s cove r t h e i r nakedness, so Yami ' s e l abo ra te seduct ion of her twin b r o the r , Yama, int roduces change where there had been s t a b i l i t y . I t takes the s to ry from sp r i ng to w i n t e r . I t leads both to b i r t h and to death. Perhaps most i n t e r e s t i n g because both metaphor ica l and g r a p h i c a l l y e x p l i c i t , the Po lynes ian c r e a t i o n connects such impermanence w i th the loss of p e r f e c t i o n . The god l i k e hero, Maui, who harnesses the sun, f i s h e s up 78 l a nd , and s t e a l s f i r e f o r men, t r i e s a l s o to cross the th re sho ld of Night and Death to ensure tha t mankind need never cross i t . He journeys to the west where Death l i e s s l eep ing on the ground w i th her legs spread apa r t . I f he can cross the th re sho ld of obs id ian and greenstone between her th ighs and t r a v e l through her body, he w i l l dest roy her and men w i l l never d i e . He turns h imse l f i n t o a c a t e r p i l l a r f o r t h i s l a s t and most scandalous of h i s adventures, but a f a n t a i l explodes w i th l aughter . The goddess wakes. She k i l l s Maui i n an i n s t a n t and thereby ensures tha t a l l men w i l l meet death by the way of r e b i r t h ' . These p r i m i t i v e and " c h i l d i s h " exp lanat ions of the u n i v e r s a l Parad i se Lost make profound, c l e a r , and enduring sense not only because they e x p l a i n every th ing i n the wor ld tha t most c r i e s out f o r exp l ana t i on but a l s o because they i l l u s t r a t e an important aspect of every i n d i v i d u a l ' s maturat ion . Parad i se and Paradise Lost de sc r i be the con t r a s t t ha t ana ly s t s of ch i ldhood have remarked upon between c h i l d r e n ' s pe rcept ion of the wor ld as pa r t of themselves and t h e i r r e l a t i v e l y sudden r e a l i s a t i o n of i t s o the r -ness. A l l aspects of Eden are s i n g l e , t i m e l e s s , p e r f e c t , and unchanging. S i m i l a r l y , the young c h i l d ' s abso rpt ion of h i s world a l lows room f o r only one c rea tu re to e x i s t , h imse l f . He has no concepts w i th which t o d i s t i n -guish the w o r l d ' s working from tha t of h i s own mind. Wordsworth's e a r l i e s t memories, f o r example, de r i ve much of t h e i r power from h i s sense of the na tu ra l wor ld as an amazing extens ion of h imse l f : Along h i s i n f a n t ve ins are i n t e r f u s e d The g r a v i t a t i o n and the f i l i a l bond Of nature tha t connect him w i th the wo r l d . . . . For f e e l i n g has to him imparted power That through the growing f a c u l t i e s of sense Doth l i k e an agent of the one great Mind 79 Create , c r ea to r and r e c e i v e r bo th , Working but i n a l l i a n c e w i t h the works Which i t beholds.1 He exp lores h i s wor ld w i th a d e l i g h t not u n l i k e tha t of a baby ' s d i s cove ry of h i s own f e e t and f i n g e r s . Thomas Traherne conveys t h i s magic potency: The c i t y seemed to stand i n Eden, or to be b u i l t i n Heaven. The s t r e e t s were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, t h e i r c l o thes and gold and s i l v e r were mine, as much as t h e i r s p a r k l i n g eyes, f a i r sk ins and ruddy faces . The sk ie s were mine, and so were the sun and moon and s t a r s , and a l l the World was mine; and I the only s pec ta to r and enjoyer of i t .8 Dickens, t oo , captures t h i s same monomania w i th P i p ' s sensat ion tha t the church jumps over i t s own weathercock when the c onv i c t holds him upside 9 down. Loss of Eden co inc ide s w i th an adu l t pe rcept ion of the wor ld as not s i n g l e and a s t a b l e extens ion of the s e l f but m u l t i p l e and a l i e n . "What came to me," w r i t e s Edmund Gosse, "was the consciousness of s e l f , as a f o r ce and as a companion, and i t came as the r e s u l t of one or two shocks, which I w i l l r e l a t e . " 1 ^ Notab ly , Gosse ' s f i r s t shock i s h i s d i s covery tha t h i s f a t h e r i s not i n f a l l i b l e and.does not know eve r y th i ng . Separa-t i o n of one 's i d e n t i t y from the world r e s u l t s from shocks t ha t d i s cove r i t s impermanence, i n s e c u r i t y , and f l aw s . In terms of the u n i v e r s a l myth, such separa t i on r e s u l t s from d i s cove ry of the most a larming changes tha t man's mind can encompass, those of p r o c r e a t i o n , b i r t h , and death. The f e a t u r e s , then, tha t are commonly shared among c r e a t i o n myths de sc r i be and e xp l a i n the working of the i n f a n t mind. They present the 80 world as a permanent extens ion of the s e l f and de sc r i be the d i scovery of i t s otherness. They present the innocent and hea l thy body tha t d i s cove r s both i t s own s e x u a l i t y and the i n e v i t a b i l i t y of i t s death. They use metaphors i n common t o desc r ibe both permanence and change, metaphors l i k e sp r ing and w i n t e r , day and n i g h t , heat and c o l d , which are p a r a l l e l e d by the moral and emotional oppos i t i ons tha t so e s s e n t i a l l y concern young c h i l d r e n , oppos i t i on s l i k e b ig and s m a l l , bad and good, love and hate. The autobiographer who uses the Edenic myth to desc r ibe h i s own ch i ldhood i s no t , then , s imply tu rn ing t o an appropr i a te l i t e r a r y convent ion ; he i s borrowing a t o o l t ha t desc r ibes t r u t h s f o r h imse l f t ha t are t rue f o r every man. The d i s t i n c t and i n d i v i d u a l events of h i s s t o r y make sense to h imse l f and t o h i s reader w i t h i n a framework tha t renders t h e i r v a l i d i t y and g ives them meaning. For the autobiographer d e s c r i b i n g h i s own ch i l d hood , i n other words, t h i s p a r t i c u l a r myth works by enhancing the personal i n terms tha t are u n i v e r s a l l y t rue and c l e a r . The autobiographer tends a l s o t o emphasise the s a l i e n t fea tu re s of h i s ch i ldhood parad i se by the very process of attempt ing to recover i t f o r h i s n a r r a t i v e . He turns t o ch i l dhood , o f ten i n o l d age or a f t e r a se r ious i l l n e s s , as a r e v i v i n g act of memory. Such memory rev i ve s the e l d e r l y author both because i t recaptures tha t green and golden time and because i t , t oo , i s sacred and unchangeable. "The p re sen t , " w r i t e s George Moore i s no more than a l i t t l e a r i d sand d r i b b l i n g through the neck of an hou r - g l a s s ; but the past may be compared to a sh r i ne i n the coign of some s e a - c l i f f , wh i ther the whi te b i r d s of r e c o l l e c t i o n s come to roos t and r e s t awh i l e , and f l y away again i n t o the darkness. But the shr ine, i s . never deser ted . Far away up from the h o r i z o n ' s l i n e other whi te b i r d s come, wheel ing and c i r c l i n g , to take the p lace of those tha t have l e f t and are l e a v i n g . ( I , 247) 81 Memory, l i k e Eden, de f i e s change and death. Then, t oo , memory of ch i ldhood recaptures a time of very keen, c l e a r pe r cep t i on . W.H. Hudson r e c a l l s how h i s f i r s t s i g h t of f lamingoes exceeds by many degrees of d e l i g h t h i s exper ience on scores of l a t e r occas ions . "Has heaven a more d e l e c t a b l e s c en t , " wonders George Moore, " than the remembrance of a s y r i nga i n bloom?" ( I I , 263. My i t a l i c s . ) Wordsworth and Rousseau both s t r e s s the accuracy of remembered f e e l i n g . "I may omit or transpose f a c t s , " w r i t e s Rousseau, " o r make mistakes i n dates ; but I cannot go wrong about what I have f e l t " (p. 262). Emotions are conveyed by p r e c i s e p a r t i c u l a r s . Ruskin r e c a l l s the s o l i t u d e i n which h i s imag inat ion fastened onto the inan imate, the squares and co lour s i n a c a rpe t , knots i n the wood of the f l o o r , the b r i c k s i n neighbour ing houses, " t he sky, the caves, and pebb les , observable w i t h i n the w a l l s of 12 Eden." J o y c e ' s very young Stephen Dedalus i s e n t i r e l y composed of such d e t a i l e d and s p e c i f i c percept ions and sensa t i on s . Lawrence e s t a b l i s h e s the a u t h e n t i c i t y of the boy Paul Morel on the grounds of keen percept ions tha t become v i g n e t t e s ; they encapsulate the general mood or emotional connect ion i n the l i t e r a l , s p e c i f i c , immovable ob jec t l i k e h i s f a t h e r ' s neck, h i s mother ' s hands, the k i t chen t a b l e , or the f i r e p l a c e . Wordsworth r e f e r s to such percept ions as the t i e s That bind the pe r i s hab l e hours of l i f e Each to the o the r , and the cur ious props By which the wor ld of memory and thought E x i s t s and i s s u s ta i ned . (V I I , 461-465) Graham Greene desc r ibes t h i s i n t e n s i t y of pe rcept ion i n h i s strange e x p l o r a -t i o n of h imse l f through p r i m i t i v e A f r i c a i n Journey Without Maps. "I had 82 got somewhere new," he w r i t e s , "by way of memories I hadn ' t known I possessed. I had taken up the thread of l i f e from very f a r back, from so 13 f a r back as innocence. " And then, "one doe sn ' t b e l i e v e , of cour se , i n ' t h e v i s i o n a r y g leam, 1 i n the t r a i l i n g g l o r y , but there was something i n tha t e a r l y t e r r o r and the bareness of one 's needs. . . . The sense of t a s t e was f i n e r , the sense of p leasure keener, the sense of t e r r o r deeper and 14 pu re r . " F i n a l l y (and f o r the autob iographer , c r u c i a l l y ) , memory of ch i ldhood a l s o recaptures a time of s i g n i f i c a n t c r e a t i v i t y . Cobb remarks on our "widespread i n t u i t i v e awareness that c e r t a i n aspects of ch i ldhood exper ience remain i n memory as a psychophys ica l f o r c e - - a n e lan tha t produces the p res -15 sure to perce ive c r e a t i v e l y and i n v e n t i v e l y , t ha t i s , i m a g i n a t i v e l y . " The c h i l d enjoys what Wordsworth c a l l s " t h i s i n f a n t s e n s i b i l i t y , / G r e a t b i r t h r i g h t of our be ing " ( I I , 270-271). The very memory of i t s e x i s t ence serves as a s t imu l an t . (D ickens, f o r example, never managed to w r i t e a formal autobiography, but he p laces c h i l d r e n at the cent re of h i s most important nove l s . He a c t u a l l y imbues h i s f i c t i o n s w i th the nightmares of ch i ldhood to i l l u s t r a t e how t r u l y the c h i l d i s f a t h e r of the man, and t o redeem h i s l o s t adu l t s by a q u a l i t y of imag inat ion tha t br ings t h e i r ch i ldhood c l o se to them.) The autob iographer , t hen , uses t h i s myth as a metaphor to e x p l a i n un i ve r s a l t r u th s about h i s and every other c h i l dhood , and he enhances many of i t s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c q u a l i t i e s by the very nature of the au tob iog raph i ca l e n t e r p r i s e . The a c t i v i t i e s of memory, of p e r c e p t i o n , of imag i na t i on , and c r e a t i v i t y are exe r c i s ed upon the time when those q u a l i t i e s were f e l t most keenly. The q u a l i t i e s t ha t enhance Eden a l s o enhance the w r i t t e n word. The autobiographer borrows the myth and con t r i bu te s to i t ; the two feed 83 each o the r , because the myth i s not s imply a convenience tha t has become a convent ion; i t has the f o r ce of nece s s i t y to i t . Man i n h a b i t s i t as pa r t of h i s nature . Ju s t as autobiography i s an a c t i v e r e c r e a t i o n of the s e l f , so t h i s myth f o r ch i ldhood can be found both i n the process of c r e a t i o n and i n the product of the c reated s e l f . L ike autobiography, ch i ldhood i s r e l a t i v e l y unimportant i n l i t e r a -tu re u n t i l the tu rn of the n ineteenth century . W i l l i a m Blake was among the e a r l i e s t t o hear a c h i l d c a l l i n g from a c loud f o r him to p ipe a song about a lamb. His " r u r a l pen" and "happy songs" presuppose and, f o r h i s l i t e r a r y h e i r s , e s t a b l i s h the innocence of ch i l dhood. Rousseau had a l ready i n s i s t e d that man i s born f r ee but l i v e s everywhere i n cha in s . "How can 16 the b i r d t ha t i s born f o r j o y , " Blake adds, " S i t i n a cage and s i ng ? " J u s t over a decade l a t e r , Wordsworth complains t h a t , though " [hjeaven l i e s about us i n our i n f a n c y , " Shades of the pr i son-house begin to c l o se Upon the growing boy.17 Rousseau, B l ake , and Wordsworth, i n f a c t , launched the Romantic C h i l d "as a symbol of innocence and the l i f e of the i m a g i n a t i o n . " Parents and nurses have s u re l y always been f ond , but i t i s worth remarking on the o r i g i n a l i t y of t h i s d i s cove ry of the c h i l d . P h i l i p p e A r i e s prov ides profuse i l l u s t r a t i o n of the prev ious i n s i g n i f i c a n c e of 19 c h i l d r e n i n European s o c i e t y . C h i l d m o r t a l i t y and the lack of p r i v a t e f am i l y l i f e both d e f l e c t e d a t t e n t i o n from c h i l d r e n . S i x teen th - cen tu r y e d u c a t i o n i s t s began to a s se r t the innocence of ch i ldhood and the r o l e of educat ion i n c h i l d development. Not u n t i l the seventeenth cen tu r y , however, d i d French vocabulary s t r e t c h to i n c l ude d e f i n i t i o n s of the var ious stages of c h i l dhood , t o d i s t i n g u i s h , f o r example, a baby from a schoolboy. Gradu-a l l y , through the seventeenth and e ighteenth c e n t u r i e s , c h i l d r e n were 84 dressed i n other than adu l t s t y l e s . A r i e s g ives evidence of parents i n c r e a s i n g l y mourning f o r dead c h i l d r e n w i th a new s e n s i b i l i t y t ha t suggests tha t the c h i l d ' s s o u l , t o o , i s immorta l . I n c r e a s i n g l y , the f a m i l y assumed i t s moral and s p i r i t u a l f u n c t i o n w i th c h i l d r e n at i t s hea r t h , and n i ne teen th -century s o c i e t y was primed to hear the c a l l of the p ipe r at the gates of dawn. A study of the s imultaneous emergence of the s i g n i f i c a n c e of the c h i l d i n l i t e r a t u r e , of autobiography, and of the novel would almost c e r -t a i n l y demonstrate a c l o se l i n k between the Romantic e x p l o r a t i o n of the s e l f and the development of p sychoana ly s i s . Peter Coveney po in t s to the concern tha t Romantic and ana l y s t share " t o i n t e g r a t e the human p e r s o n a l i t y 20 by surmounting i n s e n s i t i v i t y to c h i l d h o o d . " Awareness of the s i g n i f i -cance of ch i l dhood , of course, a l lows the h i s t o r i c a l l y - m i n d e d autobiographer to de sc r i be and e x p l a i n h imse l f i n terms of h i s beg inn ings. Excavat ion of one ' s own ch i ldhood from the vantage-po int of ma tu r i t y l ead s , n e c e s s a r i l y , t o the d i s cove ry of f requent causal connect ions . Such causa l connect ions may desc r ibe s imple cha rac te r t r a i t s or se r i ous problems. For the auto -biographer who desc r ibes phases of h i s l i f e i n terms of mythic paradigms, causal connect ions extend from se l f - unde r s t and i ng to s e l f - p r e s e n t a t i o n . Even though the reader does not know the w r i t e r , f o r example, and does not know i n d e t a i l "what happens nex t , " use of the myth d i r e c t s h i s expec-t a t i o n s , l i m i t s the k ind of t h i ng tha t can happen next. Rousseau i n h i s Confess ions and Wordsworth i n The Prelude may be cons idered the " founding f a t h e r s " of ch i ldhood i n autobiography, and both make e l abo ra te use of such causal connect ions both f o r personal d e t a i l and i n terms of ch i ldhood as Eden. At the personal l e v e l , f o r example, Rousseau desc r ibes how he read novels as a c h i l d and so became a man of 85 f e e l i n g . He read P l u t a r c h , and thence de r i ve s h is p r i de and h i s hatred of s e r v i t u d e . His aunt was m u s i c a l , so he loves music. He was tu to red i n the count ry , so he loves the country. Rousseau makes such a neat l i s t of f a c t o r s a f f e c t i n g h i s development tha t he i s able to summarise: "Such were the f i r s t a f f e c t i o n s of my dawning y e a r s ; and thus there began t o form i n me, or to d i s p l a y i t s e l f f o r the f i r s t t ime , a heart a t once proud and a f f e c t i o n a t e " (p. 23): S i m i l a r l y , Wordsworth's a na l y s i s of h i s ch i ldhood aims to show the nurture and enforcement i n h i s case of the poe t i c s p i r i t : For t h i s , d i d s t t hou , 0 Derwent! winding among grassy holms Where I was l ook ing on, a babe i n arms, Make cease less music t ha t composed my thoughts To more than i n f a n t s o f t n e s s , g i v i n g me Amid the f r e t f u l dwe l l i ng s of mankind A f o r e t a s t e , a dim ea rne s t , of the calm That Nature breathes among the h i l l s and groves. ( I , 274-281) Not i n v a i n , he f e e l s , d i d the wisdom and s p i r i t of the un iver se i n t e r t w i n e the pass ions tha t b u i l d up the human soul ( I , 406-407). Nor was i t w i th vu lgar aim tha t the very Presence of Nature, V i s i on s of the H i l l s , Souls of l one l y p laces d i d make The sur face of the u n i v e r s a l ea r th With triumph and d e l i g h t , w i t h hope and f e a r , Work l i k e a sea. ( I , 473-475) The assumptions tha t both Rousseau and Wordsworth make about the Edenic paradigm are c l e a r , e x t e n s i v e l y developed, and s i g n i f i c a n t to l a t e r w r i t e r s . Few other autob iographers , i ndeed, have given such lengthy 86 attention to childhood; most often childhood f i l l s only a chapter or two of a long L i f e . We sha l l look f i r s t , therefore, at Rousseau and Words-worth in order to see the myth at work as a metaphor that shapes each man's presentation and narration of his own past. For more examples of the function of th i s par t i cu la r myth in autobiography we can then turn b r i e f l y to the works of Moore, who describes the f i n i t e permanence that Eden and memory of Eden enjoy in common, and then to Aksakoff, Gorky, Tolstoy, Hudson, and De Quincey, a l l of whom describe most poignantly the manner in which innocence i s lo s t . Rousseau's Eden l i e s at Bossey where he and his young cousin l i ved and studied with a M. Lambercier. He enumerates the advantages of l i f e at Bossey over his previous l i f e in Geneva. Two years in the v i l l a ge "brought [him] back to the stage of childhood" (p. 23). He learned to enjoy games as a re laxat ion from work. The country was a fresh experience for him. "Indeed the taste that I got for i t was so strong that i t has remained inextinguishable, and the memory of the happy days I spent there has made me long reg re t fu l l y for a country l i f e and i t s pleasures at every stage of my existence" (p. 24). Intense nostalgia for paradise r a t t l i n g the "mind-forg 'd manacles" of l a te r years i s a common hallmark of childhood memories. Pater, for example, refers to "that beautiful dwell ing-place [which] lent the r e a l i t y of concrete out l ine to a pecul iar ideal of home, which throughout the rest of [Marius 1] l i f e he seemed, amid many d i s t ract ions of the s p i r i t , to be 21 ever seeking to regain. " Such was the harmony between Rousseau and his cousin, and such the gentleness of the i r guardians that, i f only the manner of the i r l i f e at Bossey had lasted longer, Rousseau speculates, " i t could not have f a i l e d 87 to f i x [ h i s ] cha rac te r f o r ever " (p. 25). He i s wrong, of course. Maggie T u l l i v e r promises t o love P h i l i p Wakem and k i s s him as she k i s se s her b ro the r . But when they meet aga in : The promise was v o i d , l i k e so many other sweet, i l l u s o r y promises of our ch i l dhood ; vo id as promises made i n Eden before the seasons were d i v i d e d , and when the s t a r r y blossoms grew s i de by s ide w i th the r i p en i n g peach— impos s i b l e to be f u l f i l l e d when the golden gates had been passed.22 L ike King Henry ' s o l d men who, when a l l s h a l l be f o r g o t , w i l l y e t remember w i th advantages those th ings tha t gave them p l e a s u r e , au tob i o -graphers f r e q u e n t l y r e tu rn to ch i ldhood i n o ld age or from t h e i r s i ckbeds . Rousseau's J u l i e o r i g i n a t e s i n such a memory: "which was the sweeter f o r the innocence a s soc i a ted w i th i t . . . . Soon I saw a l l around me the persons I had f e l t emotion f o r i n my youth. . . . My blood caught f i r e , my head turned de sp i t e i t s grey ha i r s . . . " (p. 397). Wordsworth's r e juvena t i ng memories of ch i ldhood a l s o a r i s e out of the purposeless blank of h i s present moment. Rousseau has ba re l y thought of Bossey f o r more than t h i r t y y ea r s : But now [ s i c k and i n t r o u b l e ] t ha t I have passed my prime and am d e c l i n i n g i n t o o ld age, I f i n d these memories r e v i v i n g as others f ade , and stamping themselves on my mind w i th a charm and v i v i dne s s of o u t l i n e tha t grows from day to day. I t i s as i f , f ee l i n g , my l i f e escaping from me, I were t r y i n g to recapture i t a t i t s beg inn ings, (p. 31) The momentum of h i s memory moves h i s n a r r a t i v e i n t o the present tense: 88 I remember p laces and people and moments i n a l l t h e i r d e t a i l . I can see the man- or maid-servant b u s t l i n g about the room, a swallow f l y i n g i n at the window, a f l y a l i g h t i n g on my hand w h i l e I am saying my l e s son . I can see the whole ar range-ment of the room i n which we l i v e d . . . . (p. 31) Permanence of the memory both depends upon and conveys the s t a b i l i t y of Eden. Gosse, f o r example, remembers w i th i n tense c l a r i t y the even f l ow of h i s l i f e w i th h i s parents but f i n d s tha t he cannot r e c a l l severa l unusual weeks t ha t he spent w i th other c h i l d r e n . The pe r i phe r a l d i s -appears. Only those aspects of ch i ldhood tha t are constant or important become permanent and a b i d i n g . George Moore a l s o f i nd s h i s ch i l dhood , at the end of three long volumes of s e l f - e x p l o r a t i o n , qu i t e amazingly i n tense and i n t a c t . His imag inat ion preserves the phy s i c a l r e a l i t i e s of h i s su r round ings , de sp i t e t h e i r ev ident change and decay w i th the passage of t ime. Moore 's f i n a l v i s i t i n I r e l and i s t o Moore H a l l . ' " Y o u ' v e a f i n e memory, God b les s i t , ye r honour , ' " says the groom. Here the o ld man conf ronts not only h i s own ch i ldhood but a l s o i t s sacredness, i t s i n a b i l i t y to a l t e r , and i t s continuous presence. The C o l o n e l , f o r i n s t an ce , "threw open the door of the summer room . . . and i n an i n s t a n t the room returned to what i t had been f o r t y years be fo re , my f a t h e r s i t t i n g a t the rosewood t a b l e i n the even ing, d r i n k i n g a l a rge cup of t e a , t e l l i n g me s t o r i e s of Egypt and the Dead Sea, Baghdad, the Euphrates and the Ganges, s t o r i e s of monkeys and a l l i g a t o r s and h ippopotami, s t o r i e s t ha t a boy l o v e s " ( I I I , 224). This pa s t , moreover, i s a l ready f a m i l i a r to readers of Moore 's book, because he has e a r l i e r remembered h i s love of these s t o r i e s and the way i n which he embarrassed h i s f a t h e r by i n s i s t i n g i n company on a l l the exaggerat ions tha t made them e x c i t i n g . 89 Moore H a l l , endowed w i t h Moore 's memories of c h i l d hood , cannot be seen to have changed. He can ba re l y see the garden because i n i t s p lace stands the e i gh teenth -centu ry garden of h i s memory. C e r t a i n l y no change can be made i n i t s f u t u r e . The brothers stand together by the r u i n s of the greenhouse. They used to s t e a l grapes even when the door was l ocked . Moore 's f a t h e r had once beaten him w i th a horsewhip f o r breaking the panes. Now they are two e l d e r l y men, and the Colonel has saved the b r i c k s i n case Moore should wish to r e b u i l d tha t same greenhouse. But the ru i n s are the end. Once one has gone back to the beginning,, any k ind of change i s impos s ib le . Memory and n a r r a t i o n can preserve Moore H a l l i n t a c t even to the greenhouse w i th the grapes i n s i d e , and they w i l l keep e q u a l l y complete and i n f r a n g i b l e the i d e n t i t y of the n a r r a t o r through whom, i n t h a t j o i n t pa s t , a l l these th ings e x i s t . Eden i s not sub jec t to change, but i t i s , n e c e s s a r i l y , l o s t . Rousseau loses h i s innocence i n a dramatic f a sh ion at the hands of M i l e . Lambercier. He d i scover s an admixture of sensual p leasure w i th pain i n the beat ing she admin i s te r s . So keen i s the p leasure tha t he provokes a second bea t i n g , at which M i l e . Lamberc ier , c l e a r l y no f o o l , decides such punishment i s not producing the de s i r ed e f f e c t and e j e c t s the two boys from her bed and from her room. Henceforward, Rousseau laments, "I had the honour, w i l l i n g l y though I would have dispensed w i th i t , of being t r ea ted as a b i g boy" (p. 26). For two f u r t h e r pages Rousseau e labora tes t h i s " f i r s t and most p a i n f u l step i n the dark and miry maze of [ h i s ] con fe s s i on s " (p. 28). He has eaten the fo rb idden f r u i t and knows h imse l f to be naked. The p r i c e of such knowledge and shame must be e j e c t i o n from the garden of innocence. Rousseau s u f f e r s a complete ly d i f f e r e n t punishment f o r a 90 cr ime he has not committed. His outrage at such i n j u s t i c e a l t e r s h i s wor ld a b s o l u t e l y : We l i v e d as we are t o l d the f i r s t man ' l i v ed i n the e a r t h l y pa r ad i s e , but we no longer enjoyed i t ; i n appearance our s i t u a t i o n was unchanged, but i n r e a l i t y i t was an e n t i r e l y d i f f e r e n t k ind of e x i s t e n c e . No longer were we young people bound by t i e s of r e s p e c t , i n t imacy , and conf idence to our guard ians ; we no longer looked on them as gods who read our hea r t s ; we were les s ashamed of wrongdoing, and more a f r a i d of being caught; we began to be s e c r e t i v e , to r e b e l , and t o l i e . A l l the v i ce s of our years began to co r rup t our innocence and to g ive an ugly tu rn to our amusements. Even the country no longer had f o r us those sweet and s imple charms tha t touch the hea r t ; i t seemed to our eyes depress ing and empty, as i f i t had been covered by a v e i l t ha t c loaked i t s beau t i e s . We gave up tending our l i t t l e gardens, our herbs and f l owe r s . We no longer went out to s c r a t ch the su r face of the ground and shout w i th d e l i g h t at f i n d i n g one of the seeds we had sown beginning to sprout , (pp. 30-31) Rousseau, s t i l l a boy, re turns t o Geneva, desc r ibes two loves and two d i s a s t r ou s a p p r e n t i c e s h i p s , suggests t ha t he might have had the p e r f e c t l i f e as a good workman, husband, f a t h e r , c i t i z e n , but h i s f a t e has been sea led i n f i c t i o n more f i r m l y than i n f a c t . S t r ay i ng beyond the c i t y l i m i t s one even ing, he i s shut out s ide the gates of Geneva. A casual i n c i d e n t tha t be fe l many apprent ices g ives him the j unc tu re he needs. Book Two, l i k e Parad i se Los t , X I I , 646, l i k e Wordsworth's P re l ude , I, 14, more immediately l i k e Genesis 3, 23-24, f i nd s Rousseau marching " c o n f i d e n t l y 23 out i n t o the w o r l d ' s wide spaces" (p. 54). One value of a . f a m i l i a r myth i s t ha t very s l i g h t verba l c lues l i k e t h i s one persuade the reader to make a l l the necessary i n f e r ence s . As we have seen w i th De Qu incey ' s departure from s c h o o l , a s l i g h t mistake can 91 be turned i n t o a monstrous s i n by s imple equat ion w i th the f a l l of man. Rousseau has e x p l i c i t l y and p a i n f u l l y desc r ibed h i s t a s t e of the knowledge of good and e v i l i n terms of d i s cove ry of h i s own s e x u a l i t y . Many pages, many adventures l a t e r , he needs only to use t h i s phrase to remind us t ha t he has f a l l e n and tha t now, - l i k e the c l o s i n g of the door f o r De Quincey, the l o ck i n g of the gates of Geneva fo rce s him to accept the i n e v i t a b l e consequences of h i s loss of innocence and leave Eden behind him f o r e v e r . Rousseau i s too young and f o o l i s h to apprec i a te h i s l o s s a t the t ime , 24 but he does spend the r e s t of h i s l i f e reseek ing h i s l o s t Eden. He rec reates i t b r i e f l y a t Les Charmettes w i th "mamma." "Here begins the shor t per iod of my l i f e ' s happiness " (p. 215), he w r i t e s about h i s time at Les Charmettes, reminding us of the t r an s i ence of Eden even before he recon s t ruc t s i t . He prays f o r these times t o pass s l ow l y through h i s memory, and h i s memory answers h i s p rayer . There i s some confus ion about t h i s country p lace where Rousseau was so happy w i th "mamma." I t may even have been bought f o r W i t zen re id who succeeded Rousseau i n Mme. de Warens' a f f e c t i o n s . C e r t a i n l y Rousseau was not there alone w i th Mme. de Warens f o r the two summers tha t he d e t a i l s so l o v i n g l y . Ye t , "I r e c a l l t ha t time i n i t s e n t i r e t y , " he w r i t e s , "as i f i t e x i s t e d s t i l l " (p. 216). His r ou t i ne i s a happy one of s tudy, f o l l owed by the tendance of bees and pigeons and garden. "Mamma" i s h i s constant and l o v i n g companion. Return t o Les Charmettes f o r a second summer i s " l i k e r e s u r r e c t i o n i n t o Pa rad i se " (p. 222). Rousseau leaves Les Charmettes because of a suspected polypus on h i s heart which can be t r ea ted at M o n t p e l l i e r . His a f f a i r w i th Mme. de Larnage, h i s fun w i th the medical students a t M o n t p e l l i e r (h i s polypus a l l but f o r g o t t e n ) , and h i s conscious determinat ion to r e tu rn from p leasure 92 to duty suggest a les s than p e r f e c t Eden. Yet cons ide rab le tens ion and foreboding b u i l t i n t o h i s r e tu rn prepares d r a m a t i c a l l y f o r another mythic f a l l . He f i nd s W i t zen re id i n h i s p lace at Les Charmettes, and suddenly h i s whole being i s thrown complete ly upside down. He i s a lone. L i f e holds no f u r t h e r j o y or hope: I, who even from ch i ldhood had never contemplated my ex i s tence apar t from he r s , found myself f o r the f i r s t time a lone. I t was a f r i g h t f u l moment; and those which f o l l owed i t were j u s t as dark. I was s t i l l young, but tha t p leasant f e e l i n g of j o y and hope tha t en l i ven s youth l e f t me f o r e v e r . From tha t t ime , as a s e n s i t i v e be ing , I was ha l f - dead . I cou ld see nothing before me but the sad remains of a savour les s l i f e ; and i f sometimes afterwards some thought of happiness awakened my d e s i r e s , i t was no longer a happiness t ha t was r e a l l y my own. I f e l t t ha t i f I obta ined i t I should not r e a l l y be happy, (p. 249) Rousseau desc r ibes h i s l a s t attempt to rega in "mamma's" a f f e c t i o n s i n terms of a l i e n a t i o n and.perpetual l o s s : I had returned to r ed i s cove r a past which no longer e x i s t e d and which could not be reborn. I had s c a r c e l y been w i th her f o r h a l f an hour when I f e l t t ha t my o ld happiness was dead f o r ever . . . . [H]ow could I bear to be superf luous bes ide her to whom I had once meant e v e r y t h i n g , and who cou ld never cease to be every th ing to me? . . . [T]he i nces sant r e tu rn of so many sweet memories aggravated my sense of what I had l o s t . (p. 256) Once more he sets out i n t o the w o r l d ' s wide spaces, t h i s time f o r P a r i s . This f i r s t pa r t of the Confess ions was w r i t t e n at Wootton i n England i n the autumn and w in te r of 1766. Rousseau apparent l y cons idered the work 93 complete at the t ime , i n s i s t i n g tha t here he must stop and only t ime , i f h i s memory descends to p o s t e r i t y , might l i f t the v e i l . This f a l l , i n other words, i s f i n a l . In the second h a l f of the Confes s ions , however, w r i t t e n i n P a r i s i n 1775-76, he desc r ibes two more Edenic i n t e r l u d e s and two more expu l s ions i n t o the w i l de rne s s . The f i r s t , a t Mme. d ' E p i n a y ' s Hermitage, f i l l s the lengthy n in th book, and i s co loured throughout by r eg re t f o r Les Charmettes. Mme. l e Vasseur, Therese ' s mother, i s e x p l i c i t l y the serpent man ipu la t ing h i s f r i e n d s behind h i s back. His departure i s sudden, en fo r ced , takes p lace i n w i n t e r , and represents " the catast rophe which d i v i ded [ h i s ] l i f e i n t o two such d i f f e r e n t p a r t s , and which from a t r i v i a l cause produced such t e r r i b l e e f f e c t s " (p. 441). His f i n a l Eden i s the i s l a n d r e t r e a t of B ienne, from which he i s e v i c t e d , again i n w i n t e r , at the end of Book Twelve. Rousseau loses each surrogate Eden through h i s own f o l l y , one might say through the f a i l i n g s of cha rac te r f i x e d by the f i r s t f a l l , or through the c r u e l t y or s i n f u l n e s s of h i s f e l l o w men. The s p e c i f i c causes f o r each los s are i r r e l e v a n t . Eden i s pa r t of the pa s t , an e s s e n t i a l l y i r r e t r i e v -able p lace of innocence and j oy . . No r e c o n s t r u c t i o n can s u r v i v e . Men have dreamed of r e c o n s t r u c t i o n i n terms of an e a r t h l y pa r ad i s e , a U top i a , a New Jerusa lem, maybe a r e v o l u t i o n tha t w i l l a l t e r the bleak wor ld of m a t u r i t y , maybe of c r e a t i v e powers tha t keep the adu l t wor ld green and golden. (Chr i s topher M i lne re tu rns to The Enchanted P laces only to r e a l i s e 25 t h a t h i s f a t h e r was r e c o n s t r u c t i n g h i s own ch i ldhood w i t h the Pooh books. ) E s s e n t i a l l y , each surrogate Eden, every attempted r e c o n s t r u c t i o n , r e p r e -sents a desperate de f i ance of m o r t a l i t y . That o r i g i n a l t r ee i n the Garden of Eden was not merely the t r ee of knowledge but a l s o the t r ee of death. 94 Wordsworth understands h i s F a l l i n terms of f a i l u r e of the imag i na t i on , of a d i s c o n t i n u i t y between h i s r i c h e s t percept ions of l i f e and those percep-t i on s that are accepted i n the d u l l e r world of men. He i d e n t i f i e s the poe t i c s p i r i t , fu r thermore, as the s p i r i t of the c h i l d tha t does not commonly s u r v i v e . Reconst ruct ion of c h i l dhood , t hen , serves to r e s u r r e c t t h i s p o e t i c s p i r i t . B r i e f memories are adequate to s t imu l a t e h i s c r e a t i v e powers, to r e v i ve h i s mind, and help him choose h i s theme. He q u i c k l y f i n d s tha t h i s road l i e s p l a i n before him because he narrows h i s d i r e c t i o n t o one purpose which combines both the deeds of h i s l i f e and the doing of h i s poem, making the poem an enactment of i t s own purpose. He chooses, i n other words, l i k e an honest s teward, to render h i s account and show whence he fetches h i s poe t i c g i f t . The Pre lude both analyzes and j u s t i f i e s the c a l l i n g of an In fant Samuel. Un l i ke Rousseau, who s t a te s h i s desperate purpose and plunges wi th commendably unShandyan dec i s i venes s i n t o the f a c t s of b i r t h and parentage, Wordsworth's autobiography takes an ep i c form. He begins i n medias r e s . He beg ins , t h e r e f o r e , not w i th pa rad i s e , but w i th the i n v i g o r a t i n g memory of parad i se s t r i k i n g a man who has a l ready f a l l e n . More e x p l i c i t l y and empha t i ca l l y than Rousseau, Wordsworth demonstrates the interdependence between Eden and memory and the c r e a t i v e powers tha t they generate. His f a l l i s i m p l i c i t i n h i s need to r e tu rn t o h i s youth i n order to r e s t o r e h i s c r e a t i v e powers. Taking a survey of a man's mind, The Pre lude shows how Wordsworth, l i k e Rousseau, f a l l s again and aga in . Descent becomes a major s t r u c t u r a l image f o r the poem. At Cambridge, i n London, i n France a f t e r the Revo l u t i on , the poet s u f f e r s from a temporary a l i e n a t i o n of the s p i r i t t ha t threatens p o e t i c m o r t a l i t y . Wordsworth, however, combines i n h imse l f the q u a l i t i e s both of Kea t s ' s Saturn and of h i s Hyper ion. He i s by turns the dying god and the god of the new day. 95 Sa tu rn , f o r example, i l l u s t r a t e s h i s deva s ta t i ng f a l l from power w i th two s i g n i f i c a n t examples. F i r s t l y , he has gone away from h i s own bosom; he has l e f t h i s s t rong i d e n t i t y , h i s r e a l s e l f . Secondly, he cannot c r e a t e , form, or fa sh ion f o r t h another un i ve r se . The Pre lude opens on a calmer note , but the poet has "escaped/From the vas t c i t y , " a notor ious a n t i t h e s i s to Eden; h i s sou l has shaken o f f the burden of i t s unnatural s e l f . The gent le breeze t ha t fans h i s cheek meets a correspondent breeze w i t h i n to break up a long-cont inued f r o s t . Although he, l i k e M i l t o n ' s Adam and Eve, and l i k e Rousseau, f i n d s [t]he ea r th i s a l l before me," he i s not d e s p a i r i n g ; the v i r t u e of beginning i n medias res i s t ha t one t r a v e l s not forwards i n t o tha t bleak wo r l d , but back t o Those r e c o l l e c t e d hours tha t have the charm Of v i s i o n a r y t h i n g s , those l o v e l y forms And sweet sensat ions t ha t throw back our l i f e , And almost make remotest i n fancy A v i s i b l e scene, on which the sun i s s h i n i n g . ( I , 631-635) Wordsworth redeems the t ime , fash ions f o r t h h i s un i v e r s e , through memory. Hyperion demonstrates the s i g n i f i c a n c e of memory f o r a f u l l r e a l i s a t i o n of i d e n t i t y and c r e a t i v e powers. To Mnemosyne, v i s i t i n g him i n the morning t w i l i g h t (the dawn, the s p r i n g , the beginning of h i s day ) , and f i n d i n g him sad, he says: " Fo r me, dark, dark , And p a i n f u l v i l e o b l i v i o n sea l s my eyes: I s t r i v e to search wherefore I am so sad, U n t i l a melancholy numbs my l imbs ; And then upon the grass I s i t , and moan, L ike one who once had wings."26 96 Hyperion i s e s s e n t i a l l y v o i c i n g Mark Twain ' s compla int t ha t youth i s wasted on the young; the present moment, w i thout memory and wi thout context, i s r e l a t i v e l y meaningless. Youth, of cour se , i s wasted on the young s p e c i f i c a l l y because i t i s not f i n i s h e d , i t does not form a f i n i t e memory, and has a c co rd i n g l y no meaning, can be subjected to no exp lana t i on or d e f i n i t i o n . A s i g n i f i c a n t va lue of the myth of Eden f o r the autob iographer , then , l i e s i n i t s e f f i -c i ency i n r e cap tu r i n g the endless q u a l i t y of ch i ldhood w i t h i n the framework of the f i n i t e . The in tense p e r f e c t i o n tha t Eden de f ines and desc r ibes der i ves no smal l pa r t of i t s i n t e n s i t y from the f a c t t ha t i t i s f i n i s h e d . (Could Adam and Eve, one wonders, t r u l y app rec i a te the garden before they were cas t i n t o the w i ldernes s ? ) Once again the myth demonstrates i t s c o m p a t i b i l i t y both w i th the commonest fea tu re s of the i n d i v i d u a l psyche and w i th the n a r r a t i v e needs of the autobiographer. L ike Hyper ion, who reads a wondrous lesson i n Mnemosyne's face and f i n d s tha t "Knowledge enormous" makes a god of him, Wordsworth hopes to renew h i s c r e a t i v e powers by e x e r c i s i n g h i s memory on c h i l d hood , the time f o r him of purest harmony w i th nature and t he re fo re of f i n e s t c r e a t i v i t y . F l ee ing from the c i t y and the mature years t ha t have deadened the f l ow of h i s i n t e r n a l l i f e , the poet sees h imse l f as "a P i l g r i m r e s o l u t e " on the " road tha t po inted toward the chosen Va le " ( I , 91 and 93). He shakes o f f the burden of h i s unnatura l s e l f and can breathe aga in , i n h a l i n g promise of another s p r i n g . The new sp r i ng i s r e a l i s e d by the memory of ch i ldhood t ha t re s to re s h i s f a i t h i n h i s c r e a t i v e powers and i n the ba s i c harmony of h i s i d e n t i t y . These two he combines i n t o the work which i s a t once a poem and a r e c r e a t i o n o f h i s o r i g i n a l pa rad i se . 97 Wordsworth's boyhood sounds r a the r h e a l t h i e r than many. Out i n a l l weathers, as the saying goes, i n the r i v e r , on the h i l l s i d e s , w i th f r i e n d s , on h i s own. He r e c a l l s i n c i d e n t s not u n l i k e those t ha t appear i n most autobiographies of ch i l dhood . One time he s t e a l s a boa t - - S t . August ine s t e a l s some pears. On other occas ions , he goes s ka t i ng or r i d i n g or f i s h i n g or he f l i e s h i s k i t e or p lays cards . Un l i ke many o the r s , however, he sees these happy times as not e n t i r e l y l o s t i f he can s t i l l tap the s t rength of t h e i r g i f t . Wordsworth r econ s t ruc t s the essence, t h e r e f o r e , not the mere event. He s tud ie s h i s s p i r i t u a l growth and sees i t as e s s e n t i a l l y o r gan i c , i n tune w i th the natu ra l wo r l d . Wordsworth's cho ice of organ ic imagery i s c e r t a i n l y app rop r i a te g iven the growth of a young boy i n the open coun t r y s i de . I t i s worth n o t i n g , however, the common use and the f l e x i b i l i t y of such imagery among au tob iog -raph ies of ch i l dhood . Rousseau not only yearns f o r the count ry ; he s p e c i f i -c a l l y remembers p l a n t i n g smal l gardens and watching them sprout . When outcas t from Eden, he l o s e s , t empo ra r i l y a t l e a s t , a l l i n t e r e s t i n gardening. Edmund Gosse r e f e r s to h i s soul as a l i t t l e c h i l d " p l a n t e d , not as i n an o rd ina ry open f l ower -bo rde r or c a r e f u l l y tended s o c i a l p a r t e r r e , but as on a ledge, s p l i t i n the g r a n i t e of some mountain" w i th no hope of s a l v a t i o n f o r 27 any r o o t l e t t ha t s t rayed beyond i t s i nexo rab le l i m i t s . Wordsworth uses organ ic imagery les s f o r n a r r a t i v e purpose than to convey the q u a l i t y of h i s growth. " F a i r seed-t ime had my s o u l , " he w r i t e s , both i n h i s n a t i v e b i r t h p l a c e and " In that beloved Vale to which e re l ong/ We were t r a n s p l a n t e d " ( I , 300-305). The " immortal s p i r i t " grows l i k e harmony i n music. L i ke the b i o l o g i c a l analogy, mus ica l harmony suggests a c y c l i c a l range of p o s s i b i l i t i e s from which s e l e c t i o n s once made become 98 i n e v i t a b l e , s a t i s f y i n g , and b e a u t i f u l . In the natu ra l w o r l d , i n mus ica l harmony, and i n the human s p i r i t , d i s co rdant elements are somehow r e c o n c i l e d to move or c l i n g together i n one s o c i e t y . A l l the i n g red i en t s of the poe t ' s youth have borne a needful pa r t i n making up the calm ex i s t ence tha t i s h i s when he i s worthy of h imse l f . Th is na tu ra l or organ ic analogy i s sus ta ined to emphasise the harmony t ha t i s resought i n r e c r e a t i o n . The poet remembers h imse l f as a smal l boy ho ld ing unconscious i n t e r cou r s e w i th beauty Old as c r e a t i o n , d r i n k i n g i n a pure Organic p leasure from the s i l v e r wreaths Of c u r l i n g m i s t , or from the l e v e l p l a i n Of waters co loured by impending clouds ( I , 563-566), or gather ing as i t seemed Through every ha i r - b r ead th i n t ha t f i e l d of l i g h t , New p leasure l i k e a bee among the f l ower s ( I , 577-580); o r , a ga i n , d r i n k i n g the v i s i o n a r y power and deeming "not p r o f i t l e s s those f l e e t i n g moods/Of shadowy e x u l t a t i o n " ( I I , 311-313). Such harmony w i th the na tu ra l wor ld desc r ibes an e s s e n t i a l aspect of Eden. Man i n t h i s context i s powerful because untrammeled, pure and t he re f o re keenly pe r cep t i ve and aware. Both the o r i g i n a l Eden, then , and t h i s e x e r c i s e of memory enables him to r e t a i n those " t r u t h s tha t wake,/To pe r i s h never . " Wordsworth ce leb ra te s an Edenic ch i ldhood by means of the poetry tha t spr ings from i t and which holds i t f o r e ve r s t i l l . The event s , t oo , t ha t stand out i n Wordsworth 's memory, do not r e l a t e him merely to other hea l thy c h i l d r e n who run w i l d i n the count ry -s i d e . His s o u l , we r e c a l l , was f o s t e r ed a l i k e by beauty and by f e a r . Episodes of f e a r or s u f f e r i n g are seen as 99 ; Severer i n t e r v e n t i o n s , m i n i s t r y More p a l p a b l e , as best might s u i t [Na tu re ' s ] aim. ( I , 355-356) When he s t e a l s a boat , he i s admonished by the looming peak t ha t s t r i d e s a f t e r him as i f i t were a l i v e . When he poaches animals from other hunte r s ' snares , he hears low breath ings coming a f t e r him. From the f i r s t dawn of c h i l dhood , h i s soul i s b u i l t of a l l the human pass ions i n t e r t w i n e d . Not i n v a i n , he knows, does the in forming ' soul of the un iver se thus " p u r i f y " the "elements of f e e l i n g and of thought, " and " s a n c t i f y " Both pain and f e a r , u n t i l we recognise A grandeur i n the beat ings of the hea r t . ( I , 410-414) Recogn i t ion of d i v i n e purpose spr ings not from Eden but from Eden remembered. The g i f t s he has rece i ved must be acknowledged by the q u a l i t y of h i s " pe rpe t -ual b e n e d i c t i o n " on them. Through them he can c reate the p e r p e t u a l l y present l i f e of a r t t ha t expu l s i on from Eden den ies . Memory, i n f a c t , comes as redeemer to f a l l e n man. Words l i k e " p u r i f y " and " s a n c t i f y " de r i ve from an e a r l y baptism i n sun and water , from a sense of s p e c i a l s e l e c t i o n more commonly enjoyed by f e r ven t members of a fundamenta l i s t f a i t h . In s p i r i t , Wordsworth i s not u n l i k e a born-again C h r i s t i a n . He f i n d s i n h imse l f " t h a t f i r s t g reat g i f t , the v i t a l s o u l , " and recogn i ses a constant and favourab le i n t e r v e n -t i o n on h i s beha l f by the c r e a t i v e powers of the un i ve r se . No adventure of the growing boy, no aspect of the na tu ra l wor ld i s wasted. Even i n a group of c h i l d r e n g a l l o p i n g " i n uncouth r ace " through the ru ined abbey at Furness, Wordsworth i s a f f e c t e d by 100 tha t s i n g l e wren Which one day sang so sweet ly i n the nave Of the o l d church . . . So sweet ly 'mid the gloom the i n v i s i b l e b i r d Sang to h e r s e l f , t ha t there I cou ld have made My d w e l l i n g - p l a c e , and l i v e d f o r ever there To hear such music. ( I I , 118-128) I f he goes b i r d ' s - n e s t i n g , a mean, i n g l o r i o u s p lunderer y e t the end Was not i gnob le . Oh! When I have hung Above the raven ' s ne s t , by knots of grass And h a l f - i n c h f i s s u r e s i n the s l i p p e r y rock But i l l - s u s t a i n e d , and almost (so i t seemed) Suspended by the b l a s t t ha t blew amain, Shou lder ing the naked c r a g , oh, a t t ha t time While on the p e r i l o u s r i dge I hung a l one , With what strange ut te rance d i d the loud dry wind Blow through my ear ! the sky seemed not a sky Of ea r th - -and w i th what motion moved the c l ouds ! ( I , 330-339) The c h i l d ' s landscape i s informed w i th s p i r i t u a l meaning, g i v i n g a ra re s t rength to the growing youth when he i s exposed to the cruder world of men: The props of my a f fec t i on s , were removed, And ye t the b u i l d i n g s tood , as i f sus ta ined By i t s own s p i r i t . ( I I , 279-281) Or aga in : Thus wh i l e the days f l ew by, and years passed on, From Nature and her over f lowing soul I had rece i ved so much, tha t a l l my thoughts Were steeped i n f e e l i n g ; I was only then Contented, when w i th b l i s s i n e f f a b l e I f e l t the sentiment o f Being spread O 'er a l l t ha t moves and a l l t ha t seemeth s t i l l ; 101 O 'er a l l t h a t , l o s t beyond the reach of thought And human knowledge, to the human eye I n v i s i b l e , ye t l i v e t h to the hea r t . ( I I , 396-405) I f he seems to r e f e r to the Holy Ghost, we must remember tha t he i s a favoured be ing. The Prelude i s i n s p i r e d from the very outset by the breath of l i f e . Loss of t h i s g i f t would mean death f o r the poet f o r whom the poem of h i s l i f e i s a form of l i f e on i t s own. The poem ce leb ra te s i t s own l a s t i n g l i f e , the pe renn ia l s p r i ng tha t i t de r i ve s from the p o e t ' s sacred ch i l dhood . Beside po s s i b l e lo s s of such a g i f t , mere loss of l i f e i s r e l a t i v e l y i n s i g n i f i c a n t . L ike Rousseau's d i s cove ry of h i s own s e x u a l i t y , however, the d i s cove ry or r e a l i s a t i o n of death destroys the innocence of ch i ldhood w i th a larming f requency. Death i s l e s s e a s i l y accommodated i n t o l i f e than sex. I t s long shadow reaches i n t o the e a r l i e s t years and casts a b l i g h t on Eden. Wordsworth 's most g raph ic exper ience of phy s c i a l death i s worth c o n t r a s t i n g i n t h i s context w i th a s i m i l a r exper ience t ha t t raumat i sed the young Serge Aksakof f . Roving alone by the banks of E s thwa i te , Wordsworth comes at t w i l i g h t across a p i l e of c l o t h e s . G radua l l y a crowd gathers . A boat puts out w i th g rapp l i ng hooks, and At l a s t , the dead man, 'mid tha t beauteous scene O f . t ree s and h i l l s and water , b o l t up r i gh t Rose, w i th h i s gha s t l y f a c e , a spect re shape Of t e r r o r ; y e t no sou l -debas ing f e a r , Young as I was, a c h i l d not nine years o l d , Possessed me, f o r my i nner eye had seen Such s i gh t s be fo re , among the sh i n i ng streams Of f ae ry l a nd , the f o r e s t of romance. The i r s p i r i t hal lowed the sad spec tac l e With decora t i on of i d e a l g race; A d i g n i t y , a smoothness, l i k e the works Of Grec ian a r t , and purest poesy. (V, 448-459) 102 Wordsworth's scene here, as so o f t e n , i s perce ived as a s t i l l f o r the mind to contemplate. Aksakoff a l s o presents h i s exper ience i n terms of the ba s i c con t ra s t between the l i v i n g wor ld and the dead man. He a c t u a l l y witnesses the t r a n s i t i o n from l i f e to death, however, and h i s reading does nothing to lessen h i s shock. His f i r s t sp r i ng i n the count ry , w i t h the ground f looded and swampy a f t e r the l ong ,w in te r snows, and then f i n a l l y a l i v e and n e g o t i a b l e , br ings him to an ecs tasy tha t cu lminates w i th the f e s t i v i t i e s of Easter Day. Then, very suddenly, w i th everyone watch ing , the drunken m i l l e r drowns i n the f looded r i v e r . Aksakoff has read and heard, he t e l l s us, t ha t people do d i e . Indeed, he has r e c e n t l y endured the shock of h i s own g r and fa the r ' s death: Ye t , f o r a l l t h i s , the death of the m i l l e r , who under my very eyes had walked and sung and t a l k e d and then i n s t a n t l y disappeared f o r e v e r , produced on.my mind a d i f f e r e n t and much more powerful impress ion. . . . I was se i zed w i th a b l i n d f ea r t ha t something s i m i l a r might happen at any moment to my f a t h e r or mother or a l l of us.28 Wordsworth's imag inat ion i s so a l l i e d w i th the immutable s t r u c t u r e s -of Nature and A r t t ha t he does not s u f f e r . He could not imagine the shock exper ienced by young Aksakof f at seeing a l i v i n g man become suddenly dead. He would f i n d such s u f f e r i n g sou l -debas ing . To admit A k s a k o f f s f e a r t ha t such sudden death cou ld happen to one 's parents or onese l f would be to l i m i t the wor ld not only to the mutable but to the d i s t i n c t l y f a l l i b l e . Most men, however, do not belong to the happy, happy Wordsworthian few. Aksakoff i s d i s t i n c t l y vu l ne rab le to these ba s i c fea r s t ha t a l l the s a fe t y one knows, the s t ronges t and su re s t people on whom one r e l i e s , indeed one ' s own body t ha t i s so c e r t a i n l y a l i v e , a l l s h a l l c e r t a i n l y be broken 103 i n p ieces l i k e a p o t t e r ' s v e s s e l . Death, l i k e sex, i n t roduces change too ex tens i ve and d i s r u p t i v e f o r parad i se to c on ta i n . I t i n t roduces i n s e c u r i t y and a sense of otherness to the c h i l d whose wor ld becomes a c c o r d i n g l y a l i e n and u n c o n t r o l l a b l e . Gosse, we have seen, desc r ibes t h i s shock i n terms of h i s d i s covery tha t h i s f a t h e r i s d i s t i n c t l y f a l l i b l e . S i m i l a r l y , Rousseau loses re spect f o r and in t imacy w i th h i s guard ians : "we no longer looked on them as gods who read our hea r t s " (p. 30). Gosse and Rousseau desc r ibe a phase of maturat ion wh ich, i n one form or another , i s i n e v i t a b l e . That death prov ides the most f o r c i b l e shock, however, and the most v i o l e n t a l i e n a t i o n may best be demonstrated by Johnson ' s subconscious response to the death of h i s mother. I t i s s i g n i f i c a n t i n t h i s context tha t the novel t ha t steamed out of him at high speed to pay the expenses of her funera l should have been the s t o r y of a young man who d i scover s a f t e r very b r i e f exposure to the i l l u s i o n s of the wor ld tha t Eden, even as a p r i s o n , i s the on ly good p lace to be. The subconscious power of Johnson ' s response to death, l i k e the i n e v i t a b i l i t y of Gosse ' s d i s covery of h i s f a t h e r ' s human f r a i l t y , s ub s t an t i a t e s y e t again the e f f i c i e n c y w i th which t h i s myth conta ins and de f ines common p s ycho l og i ca l t r u t h s , making them po r t ab l e and e x p l i c i t f o r the autob iog rapher 1 s convenience. A k s a k o f f ' s f i r s t i n t i m a t i o n of death i s brought by a g a l l o p i n g horseman who r e c a l l s the congregat ion to church a f t e r the Sunday s e r v i c e , announces the death of the Empress Ca the r i ne , and demands an oath of a l l e - " g iance to the new Tsar. Soon a f t e r t h i s d i s cove ry tha t even an empress can d i e , the smal l Seryozha i s prepared f o r h i s g r and f a the r ' s death. For days the f a m i l y t r a v e l s through the Russian w i n te r to be present a t the deathbed. The journey i s strenuous and d i s t r a c t i n g , but the image of death c o n t r o l s Seryozha ' s imag ina t i on : 104 My c h i e f f e a r was, t ha t g randfather would begin to say goodbye to me and would d i e w i th h i s arms around me; h i s arms would s t i f f e n , so tha t I cou ld not be re leased from t h e i r g rasp; and i t would be necessary to bury me i n the ea r th w i th him. . . . The t e r r o r of t h i s thought seemed to para l y se my heart .30 The s e n s i t i v e c h i l d seems t o en large on tha t c apac i t y common i n ch i ldhood f o r i d e n t i f y i n g w i t h a s i t u a t i o n or assuming an i n e v i t a b l e involvement. The servants casua l l y , t e l l him t ha t the body i s s t i f f and one eye i s c l o s ed . He f a l l s i n t o d i s g race w i th a l l h i s r e l a t i o n s f o r h i s h y s t e r i c a l avoidance of the p r o p r i e t i e s of v i s i t i n g the corpse. Despite h i s involvement w i th death , and h i s f e a r of i t , Aksakof f does not p l o t h i s autobiography so tha t any s p e c i f i c exper ience of death r e s u l t s i n a sudden lo s s of innocence. Rather, having spent h i s e a r l y ch i ldhood under h i s mother ' s i n tense and neu ro t i c s u r v e i l l a n c e , he learns to i d e n t i f y w i th and love h i s f a t h e r and matures to the po i n t at which he i s sent away from home to s choo l . This departure from ch i l dhood , as i n e v i -t a b l e and ye t as emphatic as Leigh Hunt ' s departure from s c h o o l , f o l l o w s 31 on the h i g h l y emotional death of h i s grandmother. Four s i g n i f i c a n t deaths i n one shor t ch i ldhood prov ide a major pa r t of the emotional s t r u c t u r e of A k s a k o f f s autobiography. Each death moves the s t o r y of the boy ' s development one stage f u r t h e r . Each death a f t e r the f i r s t i n vo l ve s a s t r ugg l e w i th vas t d i s tances and w i th the elements of a Russian w i n t e r . Each prov ides a r e c o g n i t i o n and an involvement i n the bas i c f ea r s of e x t i n c t i o n tha t mature i n t o an a b i l i t y to be independent of the f a n t a s i e s of s e c u r i t y , of what Pater c a l l s "home as a p lace of t r i e d 32 s e c u r i t y , " o r , i n other words, to leave c h i l d i s h th ings behind. Each such episode a l s o demonstrates the c l o se connect ion tha t s ub s i s t s between 105 the r e a l i t y and the metaphor, between ch i ldhood and the myth of Eden tha t desc r ibes i t . Had any journey caused by a death taken p lace i n summer, Aksakoff would merely have found other d e t a i l s w i th which to convey the t e r r i b l e knowledge tha t death b r i n g s , i t s d i s r u p t i o n of s e c u r i t y , of peace, and of harmony between the c h i l d and h i s wo r l d . Gorky ' s c h i l dhood , a l t o ge the r more t raumat ic than t ha t of Ak sako f f , 33 a l s o moves from death to s i g n i f i c a n t death. He opens h i s s t o r y w i th the image of h i s f a t h e r ' s body on the f l o o r . I t i s long and wh i t e . The toes are s t r ange l y splayed out. The f i n g e r s are d i s t o r t e d . Black d i s c s of copper co ins sea l the once sh i n i ng eyes. His k ind face has darkened. His teeth are n a s t i l y , f r i g h t e n i n g l y , bared. The b u r i a l day i s wet. Frogs, t r y i n g to escape from the grave, are thrown back i n by the c lods of e a r t h . The f r o g s ' deaths are more v i v i d to the boy than h i s f a t h e r ' s . Frogs are l i k e A k s a ko f f ' s m i l l e r , one moment l i v i n g and then very suddenly dead. The small boy i s immediately concerned w i t h the f r og s . Gorky, of course, i s not adhering to the n a r r a t i v e sequences of the Edenic myth. He p rov i de s , t h e r e f o r e , an e x c e l l e n t example of the way i n which s l i g h t ve rba l reminders of the myth can serve the autob iog rapher ' s needs. Verbal reminders tune us i n to a common language more s i g n i f i c a n t than the p a r t i c u l a r i t i e s of d i f f e r e n t exper ience . They serve to con t r a s t the expec ta t i on tha t they arouse w i th the r e a l i t y t ha t Gorky de s c r i be s . They enable him, a l s o , to en r i ch many aspects of t ha t r e a l i t y w i th the f u l l resonance tha t the myth bestows. His f a t h e r ' s death a f f e c t s Gorky more g r adua l l y than t ha t of the f rogs i n h i s f a t h e r ' s grave; i t throws him, an ou t ca s t , onto h i s mother ' s c razy and b r u t a l r e l a t i o n s . Years l a t e r , he begins to f i c t i o n a l i s e h i s f a t h e r i n t o another outcast l i k e h imse l f but romant i c i sed by vagueness, a k ind of Oedipus: 106 At n i g h t s , when I l a y s l e e p l e s s , gazing a t the dark blue sky, and the t r a i l of s t a r s s l ow ly s a i l i n g across the heavens, I used to i nvent sad s t o r i e s , which centred on my f a t h e r , who was always on the road a l one , wa lk ing somewhere w i th a s t i c k i n h i s hand and a shaggy dog at h i s hee l s .34 Gorky ' s mother leaves him w i th her pa ren t s , r e t u r n i n g to him occa-s i o n a l l y and b r i e f l y to r e i n f o r c e her c e n t r a l r o l e i n a l l h i s f a i r y t a l e s and legends. He exper iences much b r u t a l i t y , s qua l o r , s i c k n e s s , and a r i c h sense of h i s own pas t . His mother ' s marr iage, however, ends one p o r t i o n of h i s ch i l dhood . Her s u i t o r w i l l buy the boy some p a i n t s , which he does not want. The s u i t o r ' s mother i s dressed a l l i n green to the very ha i r s on her wart which creep over her c l e a n , y e l l o w , w r i n k l ed s k i n . Her dead hand smel l s of c a r b o l i c soap and incense. His d i s t r u s t and sense of be t r aya l bear comparison w i th those of Alyosha Karenin on h i s meeting w i th Vronsky, or of Dav id .Copper f i e ld on h i s i n t r o d u c t i o n to the Murdstones. As he watches the wedding droshky bounce away around the co rne r , something w i t h i n h i m , l i k e De Qu incey ' s door, l i k e the Gates of Geneva, bangs shut , c lo ses up. Yet he i s no t , even now, e n t i r e l y a lone. His c razy o ld grandmother s leeps outdoors w i th him through the magical summer n i g h t s . Together they enjoy a b r i e f Eden. Woken by the sun, w i th the apple leaves shaking o f f the dew, w i t h vapour r i s i n g from the b r i g h t green g ra s s , the sky t u rn i ng a deeper and deeper l i l a c and one l a r k s i n g i n g , the boy f e e l s t ha t "every f l ower and sound seeped l i k e dew i n t o my hea r t , f i l l i n g me w i t h a calm 35 j o y . " He shuns companions, w i sh ing to p r o t e c t the sanctuary tha t he has b u i l t and made b e a u t i f u l out of the ugly p i t where Uncle Peter committed s u i c i d e . "Th i s was the most peacefu l and impress ionab le pe r iod of my l i f e , and i n tha t summer a f e e l i n g of conf idence i n my own powers was born i n me and strengthened from day to day. " 107 Young Gorky ' s Eden i s destroyed by the r e tu rn of h i s mother, b i t t e r l y unhappy w i th her husband. She has two bab ie s , both of whom d i e s l ow l y i n i n f ancy . Her husband beats her. The grandparents ' marriage i s a l s o d i s i n -t e g r a t i n g a f t e r decades of h o s t i l i t y . When h i s mother d i e s , there i s no home f o r Gorky anywhere. His g randfather t e l l s him to fend f o r h imse l f , and turns him out of the house. A f t e r h i s f a t h e r ' s death , he t r a v e l s by r i v e r to a new home. Many years o l de r and tougher, h i s mother ' s death sends him out i n t o the w i l de r ne s s . "And so , " he w r i t e s , i n c l e a r and convent iona l terms, "I went out i n t o the wor ld . " 37 Gorky ' s " w o r l d , " l i k e Rousseau's, i s a w i l de rne s s . The phras ing i s conven t i ona l . I t desc r ibes the equa l l y convent iona l f a i r y - t a l e you th , h i s red spotted handkerch ief knotted around h i s w o r l d l y goods, s e t t i n g o f f on a journey to seek h i s f o r t une . I t desc r ibes the p h y s i c a l , f i n a n c i a l , and emotional independence of the youth who no longer l i v e s at home. Most i m p o r t a n t l y , i n each case, i t de sc r i be s the sense each c h i l d achieves of separate i d e n t i t y , of the need to r e l y only on one se l f , of the otherness of a l l other people. P i p , t o o , d e l i g h t e d t o leave the marshlands of h i s g u i l t behind him, f i n d s he cannot get o f f the coach t o b id a decent f a r e w e l l t o Joe , "and i t was now too l a t e and too f a r t o go back, and I went on. And 38 the mis t s had a l l solemnly r i s e n now, and the wor ld lay spread before me." His world i s a w i l d e r n e s s , t o o , dominated by h i s i n c r ea s i n g r e s p o n s i b i l i t y f o r the g u i l t t ha t he thought he had l e f t behind. " W i l l they ever r e t u r n , " To l s toy asks i n Ch i ldhood, " t h a t f r e shne s s , t ha t innocence, t ha t need f o r love and s t reng th of f a i t h tha t one possessed i n ch i ldhood? What time could ever be b e t t e r than the time when the two g rea te s t v i r t u e s — i n n o c e n t ga i e t y and a boundless appe t i t e f o r l ove—were 39 one ' s so le i n c e n t i v e s i n l i f e ? " Even Gorky would i n c l ude the g a i e t y . When 108 T o l s t o y ' s c h i l d re tu rns t o h i s ch i ldhood home i n Youth, he does f i n d t h a t p laces can ho ld the r i c h scent of Eden: Everyth ing was the same, only i t had a l l grown s m a l l e r , lower, wh i l e I seemed to have grown t a l l e r , heav i e r , and rougher; but the house took me j o y f u l l y i n t o i t s arms even as I was and every f l o o r b o a r d , every window, every s tep on the s t a i r s and every sound awoke i n me a host of images, f e e l i n g s , and i n c i d e n t s from the happy i r r e c o v e r a b l e past.40 The house i s a l s o imbued, however, w i th memories of h i s mother ' s death. Her death, i n f a c t , pervades the work. The smal l boy begins ChiIdhood by e x p l a i n i n g ear ly -morn ing tear s w i th a f i c t i t i o u s dream about h i s mother ' s death. ChiIdhood ends w i t h the f a m i l y t r a v e l l i n g home from Moscow to the mother ' s deathbed. L i ke young Aksako f f , t h i s boy t r a v e l s i n w i n t e r . But h i s mother ' s death does not f i l l him w i th ho r ro r . Rather, De Q u i n c e y - l i k e , he f a l l s i n t o a t r ance . Memory, imag i na t i o n , and r e a l i t y prove too s t rong a combinat ion. "I d o n ' t know how long I remained i n t h i s c o n d i t i o n , I d o n ' t know what i t con s i s t ed o f ; I on ly know tha t f o r a time I l o s t a l l consciousness of my ex i s t ence and exper ienced a k ind of e x a l t e d , i n e f f a b l y sweet, so r rowfu l f e e l i n g of p l e a s u r e . " F o r me," he adds, i n e v i t a b l y , " the happy time of ch i ldhood ended w i th the death of my mother 42 and a new era began—the era of boyhood." The m o r t a l i t y r a te of i n f a n t s and, indeed, t h e i r p a ren t s , was much h igher a hundred years ago than i t i s today. Yet these autob iograph ies do not t r e a t death as a commonplace. No autobiographer can pass i t by wi thout comment. Most e i t h e r remember s p e c i f i c deaths as c r u c i a l t o t h e i r 109 ch i l dhood , or make su re , at l e a s t , t ha t these deaths take t h e i r app rop r i a te p lace i n the exper ience of the autobiography. None, perhaps, knows or achieves t h i s so e f f e c t i v e l y as De Quincey. De Quincey never achieved the formal a r c h i t e c t u r e of an au tob i o -graphy, though he repeated ly t o l d the s t o r y of h i s l i f e i n one form or another. L i ke Newman, as we have seen, he might be c a l l e d " l e p lus  autobiographique des hommes." He i s c on s t an t l y concerned to revea l " h i s own s e c re t sp r ings of a c t i o n and r e s e r v e , " to exp lo re not the a c t i v i t i e s but the emotions tha t c rea te the un i t y of be ing. To do t h i s , he returns con s t an t l y to h i s ch i l dhood . The Autob iograph ic Sketches opens w i th a r e p r i n t e d s e c t i o n from S u s p i r i a de Profundi ' s , here c a l l e d "The A f f l i c t i o n of Ch i l dhood . " Quite apart from the s p e c i f i c re fe rences to Parad i se Lost i n the opening pages, t h i s essay i l l u s t r a t e s once again the powers of the 43 Edenic paradigm to conta in and e x p l a i n ch i ldhood exper ience. De Quincey begins w i th h i s sense of l o s s , as d r a m a t i c a l l y f i c t i o n a l -i s ed as any account so f a r . "About the c l o se of my s i x t h y e a r , " he w r i t e s , "suddenly the f i r s t chapter of my l i f e came t o a v i o l e n t t e r m i n a t i o n ; t ha t chapter wh ich, even w i t h i n the gates of recovered pa rad i s e , might me r i t a remembrance. ' L i f e i s f i n i s h e d . ' was the s e c r e t m i s g i v i ng of my 44 heart . . . 'now i s the blossoming of l i f e w i thered f o r e v e r . 1 " With the death of h i s s i s t e r E l i z a b e t h , he loses the peace and c e n t r a l s e c u r i t y belonging to a love t ha t i s past a l l understanding. Her death i s an event AC t ha t runs " a f t e r [ h i s ] steps f a r i n t o l i f e . " In r e t u r n i n g to h i s ch i l dhood a f t e r promis ing t o r e l a t e h i s dreams, De Quincey, l i k e so many of h i s l i t e r a r y contemporar ies , shows a remark-ab le a n t i c i p a t i o n of Freud. Despite h i s c l e a r percept ion of Angel Infancy and the ho l i ne s s of love among c h i l d r e n , he i s not merely i ndu l g i n g i n the n o n o s t a l g i a common to s i c k and e l d e r l y autob iographers . He i s assuming t ha t i n ch i ldhood l i e s the source of the complex emotions and sensat ions of the man, of what Woolf c a l l s the "anguish tha t f o r ever f a l l s and r i s e s and 46 casts i t s arms upwards i n d e s p a i r . " As e a r l y as the 1822 ve r s i on of the Confess ions , he assumes, as we have seen, t ha t d e t a i l s of h i s ch i ldhood w i l l c reate "some prev ious i n t e r e s t of a personal s o r t i n the confes s ing s u b j e c t , apart from the matter of the con fe s s i on s , which cannot f a i l to render the confes s ions themselves more i n t e r e s t i n g " ( p . 349). His s i s t e r ' s death, f o r example, c l e a r l y prepares him f o r the smal l se rvant i n London (Dick S w i v e l l e r ' s March ioness ) , f o r Ann of Oxford S t r e e t and the Daughters of Lebanon, f o r a l l h i s c l o se k i n sh i p s w i th l o s t and w a i f l i k e women. For , when he leaves h i s s i s t e r ' s deathbed, he knows that"{t|he worm was a t [ h i s ] 47 heart . . . the worm tha t cou ld not d i e . " De Qu incey ' s immediate exper ience of death , fu r thermore, i s of a dreaml ike nature. Standing i n h i s s i s t e r ' s room, between an open window and a dead body on a summer's day, he hears a solemn wind begin to blow, the saddest he has ever heard. " I t was a wind tha t might have swept the 48 f i e l d s of m o r t a l i t y f o r a thousand c e n t u r i e s . " In s p i r i t he r i s e s as i f on b i l l o w s i n p u r s u i t of the throne of God tha t f l e e s away f o r eve r on a s ha f t of l i g h t . The v i s i o n of s t i l l n e s s and e t e r n i t y and lo s s r o l l s from image t o image u n t i l i t i s complete. The v i s i o n ends, and he passes f o r -ever from h i s s i s t e r ' s room. The f i n a l i t y of the " f o r e v e r s " of h i s losses haunts him. S o l i t u d e s t r e t che s out the s cept re of f a s c i n a t i o n even to the i n f a n t of s i x years o l d . L ike many of these autobiographers of c h i l dhood , W.H. Hudson a l s o re tu rns to memories of h i s ch i ldhood i n South America when he i s an o l d , s i c k man. Be t te r known, perhaps as a n a t u r a l i s t than as an autob iographer , I l l Hudson i s c l e a r l y f a m i l i a r w i t h the common l i t e r a r y convent ions . His n a r r a t i v e l acks the drama of De Qu incey ' s or G o r k y ' s , but i s comparable w i th t ha t of Aksakof f f o r i t s r amb l i ng , s e n s i t i v e a p p r e c i a t i o n of d e t a i l and i t s a b i l i t y t o convey the d e l i c a t e emotions tha t are s i g n i f i c a n t i n a c h i l d ' s day-to-day e x i s t ence . His c louds of g l o r y , accord ing to a l l accounts t ha t he has r e c e i v e d , ceased t o be v i s i b l y t r a i l e d by the time he was th ree . He remembers h imse l f on ly as "a l i t t l e w i l d animal running about on i t s hind l e g s , amazingly i n t e r e s t e d i n the wor ld i n which i t found i t s e l f . " 4 9 The most important event of Hudson's c h i l dhood , " t he f i r s t t h i ng 50 i n a young l i f e which brought the e t e r n a l note of sadness i n , " i s the death of h i s o l d dog, Cassar. Hudson, l i k e De Quincey, i s only s i x at the t ime. His d i s cove ry of the r e a l i t y of death and b u r i a l c on t r a s t w i th h i s rapturous d e l i g h t i n nature and e x i s t e n c e , a d e l i g h t which he f e e l s has only been adequately expressed by some r e l i g i o u s my s t i c s . The dog ' s death in t roduces a t e r r i b l e new darkness, the f ea r of death. For the most p a r t , however, l i f e i s on ly beginning to open up f o r the small boy. He i s g iven h i s own pony and a l lowed to go as f a r from home f o r as long as he l i k e s . He f e e l s l i k e a young b i r d when on f i r s t q u i t t i n g the nest i t suddenly becomes conscious of i t s power to f l y . He con s t an t l y d i s cove r s and t h r i l l s t o new d e l i g h t s i n the na tu ra l wo r l d . L i t t l e y e l l o w f i n che s s i ng i n g reat f l o c k s amid the huge peach t rees i n pink bloom. As we have seen, h i s f i r s t s i g h t of f lamingoes exceeds by many degrees of d e l i g h t h i s exper ience on scores of l a t e r occas ions . L ike Aksako f f , he t h r i l l s , t o o , to the chase and f e e l s a p r i m i t i v e l u s t f o r the k i l l . 112 Hudson's boyhood i s comparable to A k s a k o f f s and a l s o to Wordsworth's f o r i t s exper ience of nature and f o r the b a s i c a l l y even tenor of i t s f l ow . L i ke Aksakoff r a t he r than Wordsworth, Hudson f e e l s no great c a l l i n g . His Eden i s t r u l y innocent i n i t s l ack of a l l s e l f - c on s c i ou sne s s . His f i f t e e n t h y ea r , however, "was a time of g reat events and se r ious changes, b o d i l y and menta l , which p r a c t i c a l l y brought the happy time of [ h i s ] boyhood to an 51 end. " Hudson con t rac t s typhus i n Buenos A i r e s and i s s t ruck dumb dur ing the i l l n e s s . He spends h i s f i f t e e n t h b i r t h d a y , a conva le scent , g rapp l i ng f o r the f i r s t time w i th h i s i d e n t i t y , h i s d e s t i n y , and the l i k e l i h o o d of h i s having any c o n t r o l over e i t h e r . I t was as though I had only j u s t become consc ious ; I doubt tha t I had ever been f u l l y conscious be fo re . I had l i v e d t i l l now i n a parad i se of v i v i d sense-impress ions i n which a l l thoughts came to me sa tu ra ted w i th emotion, and i n tha t mental s t a t e r e f l e c t i o n i s w e l l - n i g h imposs ib le .52 Hudson's e a r l y hor ro r has been death. This wound i s p a r t i a l l y healed when he lea rns of the immor ta l i t y of the s o u l , but h i s understand-ing of death prov ides an analogy f o r the t r a n s i t i o n now f a c i n g him from boyhood to manhood: To pass from boyhood to manhood was not so bad as d y i n g ; never the le s s i t was a change p a i n f u l to contemplate. That e v e r l a s t i n g d e l i g h t and wonder, r i s i n g to r a p t u r e , which was i n the c h i l d and boy would w i the r away and v an i s h , and i n i t s p lace there would be tha t d u l l low kind of s a t i s f a c t i o n which men have. . . . And now i t seemed tha t I was about to lose i t - - t h i s g lad emotion which had made the wor ld . . . an enchanted realm . . . i t would be l o s t as e f f e c t u a l l y as i f I had ceased to see and hear and p a l p i t a t e , and my warm body had grown co l d and s t i f f i n death , and, l i k e the dead and the l i v i n g , I should be unconscious of my lo s s .53 113 Indeed, no other f lamingo matches the beauty of the f i r s t he ever saw. The feve r t ha t s t r i k e s a t so s u s c e p t i b l e an age f o r contemplat ion i s f o l l owed by rheumatic f e ve r and heart t r o u b l e . The maturing youth learns to cons ider s u r v i v a l an adequate redemption. Yet h i s i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of h i s lo s s and i t s r e l a t i o n to death i s among the most s e n s i t i v e , the t r u e s t to the paradigm, and, i n many ways, the most f l e x i b l e . He speaks of boyhood not as l o s t w i t h the banging of a gate but receding w i th s u f f e r i n g and thought. He r e t a i n s the knowledge of j o y and keenly f o l l owed access to i t s source i n nature. But Eden, neve r t he l e s s , has f aded, and t h i s s i c k and e l d e r l y man, l i k e a l l the o t h e r s , i s r e c a l l i n g a golden time t ha t cannot come aga in . And i f death and ending seem more s i g n i f i c a n t than the j o y once known, tha t i s because j o y , l i k e death , i s hard to record from i n the  middest. Loss of Eden i s the on ly k ind of death f o r which we have a r e t r o s p e c t . The only c e r t a i n t y about everyone ' s Eden i s t ha t i t i s l o s t . Because i t i s l o s t , Eden belongs to memory and can be r e t r i e v e d as a completed aspect of the pas t . As a completed aspect of the pa s t , Eden i s a l s o p e r f e c t . L i ke childhood., i t i s untouchable, beyond the reach of any f u r t h e r t r an s i ence or damage. Because i t i s permanent, Eden a l s o belongs to the wor ld of a r t where i t can e x i s t i n a constant present tense l ook ing as i f i t were a l i v e , the r e s u l t of a c r e a t i v i t y d e r i v i n g from i t s o r i g i n a l e x i s t e n c e . Because i t i s s i n g l e and permanent, Eden stands i n sharp con t r a s t both to the mu l t i tud inous " o thernes s " of the wor ld out s ide i t s gates and to the shocks and changes to which m o r t a l , f a l l e n man i s c on s t an t l y sub jec ted . Eden, t hen , encapsulates a mythic past f o r the human r a ce , represents p s y cho l og i ca l r e a l i t i e s i n the i n fancy of every human being and, combining the general and the personal essences of what i s f e l t on both counts to be 1 1 4 t r u e , becomes the most e f f i c i e n t myth, as form and con tent , f o r the auto -biographer who hopes to convey some e s s e n t i a l t r u th s about h imse l f f o r others to understand. When parad i se i s l o s t , and when the t r ee of l i f e i s guarded by the angel w i th the f laming sword, Adam and Eve s p i t from t h e i r mouth the withered apple seed and set out i n t o the w i l de rne s s . Hand i n hand, two sexed, shamed be ings , born to d i e , they are the f i r s t of the human adven-t u r e r s who set out to seek t h e i r f o r t u n e , t h e i r spotted handkerch iefs c on ta i n i n g a l l t h e i r w o r l d l y goods. Adam and Eve journey to f i n d a new home and make a new l i f e i n the w i l de rne s s . For the maturing c h i l d whose development t h e i r expu l s i on r ep re sen t s , t h i s journey becomes a quest. This quest f o r i d e n t i t y and purpose i n the pos t -Eden ic wor ld forms the sub jec t of the next chapter . 115 CHAPTER- THREE YOUTH: THE HEROIC JOURNEY AND THE PROCESS OF ART The young man and woman who a r e , m e t a p h o r i c a l l y , ca s t out of Eden undertake an i n e v i t a b l e journey. They are fo rced from t h e i r ch i ldhood garden i n t o the w i lde rnes s where they must earn t h e i r bread by the sweat of t h e i r brow, b r i ng f o r t h t h e i r c h i l d r e n w i th p a i n , and behave i n general l i k e s e n s i b l e grown-ups. The i r journey represents a r i t e of passage, a p a r t i c u l a r metamorphosis, which i s ce l eb ra ted i n a rchetypa l myth, i n r e l i g i o n , i n l i t e r a t u r e , and i n the everyday l i f e of s o c i e t i e s both p r i m i t i v e and s o p h i s t i c a t e d . I t marks the process o f Coming of Age. Margaret Mead desc r ibes the s t rong and s t r u c t u r e d s o c i e t y i n Samoa, which " i gnores both boys and g i r l s from b i r t h u n t i l they are f i f t e e n or s i x t een years of age. Ch i l d ren under t h i s age have no s o c i a l s t and ing . . . . But at a year or two beyond puberty . . . both boys and g i r l s are . . . i nves ted w i th d e f i n i t e o b l i g a t i o n s and p r i v i l e g e s i n the community l i f e . " 1 Such o b l i g a t i o n s and p r i v i l e g e s are recognised i n many western s o c i e t i e s by assumption of the r i g h t s t o work, to marry, to vo te , or to be cons idered f u l l y r e spon s i b l e f o r a c r ime. Ma tu r i t y s u f f i c i e n t f o r such en te rp r i s e s de r i ve s from the q u a l i t y of exper ience t h a t brought an end t o Eden. The maturing i n d i v i d u a l no longer perce ives the wor ld as s i n g l e , u n a l t e r a b l e , an extens ion of h imse l f and h i s w i l l . P e r ce i v i n g the w o r l d , r a t h e r , as mutable and e s s e n t i a l l y other than h imse l f , the maturing youth accepts the o b l i g a t i o n s and p r i v i l e g e s of coming of age by "making a l i f e " f o r h imse l f i n some way, or of a l t e r i n g h i s w o r l d , engaging i n a s t r u gg l e e i t h e r f o r personal s u r v i v a l or the atta inment of an i d e a l , or both. His s t r u gg l e and s u r v i v a l , of course, are represented by Adam's sweating to t i l l the 1 1 6 wi ldernes s i n order to ea t . J u s t as Adam's enjoyment of Eden represents a s i g n i f i c a n t phase i n the p s ycho log i ca l development of the c h i l d , so h i s phy s i c a l s t r ugg l e f o r s u r v i v a l represents a p s y c h o l o g i c a l l y s i g n i f i c a n t phase f o r the maturing youth. The ado lescent can reason about the f u tu re and he i s an i d e a l i s t . He i s capable of ab s t r a c t thought and f ree s h i m s e l f , as P iaget d e s c r i b e s , from the conc re te , " l o c a t i n g r e a l i t y w i t h i n a group of p o s s i b l e t r a n s f o r -mat ions . " This i s " the age of g reat i d e a l s and of the beginning of t h e o r i e s , 2 as w e l l as the time of s imple present adaptat ion t o r e a l i t y . " I t i s a time of t r a n s i t i o n , of e x p l o r a t i o n , and of the t e s t i n g of va r ious po s s i b l e r o l e s i n order to f i n d the secure i d e n t i t y t ha t makes sense both to the i nner person and to the outer wor ld . Secure i d e n t i t y i s a t t a i n e d s p e c i -f i c a l l y by the sense tha t the adolescent can make of h i s r o l e and h i s c a p a b i l i t i e s i n the r e a l wor ld . E i sens tadt desc r ibes t h i s stage as that at which " the i n d i v i d u a l 1 s p e r s o n a l i t y acqu i res the bas i c p s ycho l og i ca l mechanism of s e l f - r e g u l a t i o n and s e l f - c o n t r o l , when h i s s e l f - i d e n t i t y 3 becomes c r y s t a l l i z e d . " Graduation from a p ro tec ted t o an autonomous s t a t e i s i n e v i t a b l e . I t i ncu r s both s t r e s s and a sense of adventure. C r u c i a l l y , dur ing t h i s pe r i od of tenuous i d e n t i t y and purpose, egocentr ism i s one of the most enduring fea tu re s of adolescence. . . .[T]he adolescent not only t r i e s to adapt h i s ego to the s o c i a l environment but , j u s t as e m p h a t i c a l l y , t r i e s to ad jus t the environment to h i s ego. . . . [X]he adolescent goes through a phase i n which he a t t r i b u t e s an u n l i m i t e d power to h i s own thoughts so tha t the dreams of a g l o r i o u s f u t u r e of t rans forming the wor ld through ideas . . . seems to be not only fantasy but a l s o an e f f e c t i v e a c t i on which i n i t s e l f mod i f i e s the e m p i r i c a l wor ld .4 117 The journey-metaphor, which de r i ve s from those r i t e s of passage t ha t t ransform the c h i l d i n t o an a d u l t , i s p a r t i c u l a r l y e f f i c i e n t at de s c r i b i n g both t h i s phase of e x p l o r a t i o n , s t r e s s , and atta inment of i d e n t i t y and the way i n which the i n d i v i d u a l e xp l a i n s h imse l f w i t h i n a s o c i a l and h i s t o r i c a l con tex t . I t desc r ibes both the stage of l i f e f o r the maturing i n d i v i d u a l and the p l a c e , or a r r i v a l , of t ha t i n d i v i d u a l i n h i s wor ld . I t i s worth remembering, however, that journey i s a metaphor of d u r a t i o n ; i t does not l i m i t i t s usefu lness to t h i s phase of l i f e . I t suggests, indeed, a movement tha t l a s t s u n t i l death , and the adventures that occur may occur at any age. The j ou rney , i n other words, can be seen to de r i ve i t s p a r t i c u l a r pa t te rns from exper iences tha t are e s p e c i a l l y important i n adolescence or e a r l y you th , but the metaphor i s u se fu l i n general f o r d e s c r i p t i o n of the whole of a recordab le l i f e . Among the vary ing modes i n which d i f f e r e n t s o c i e t i e s recognise the t r a n s i t i o n from ch i ldhood t o m a t u r i t y , c e r t a i n fea tu res recur again and aga in . I f we look b r i e f l y at these common featu res we can see how they accumulate i n t o t h i s s i g n i f i c a n t n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn tha t recurs i n au tob iog -raphy. F a m i l i a r i t y both w i th the sources f o r the n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn and w i th the sense tha t i t makes of i n d i v i d u a l exper ience can help us to see i n the journey not s imply a convention common to western l i t e r a t u r e but a l s o a metaphor c r u c i a l to autobiography by v i r t u e of i t s d e s c r i p t i v e and exp lana -t o r y powers. Whether i t shapes the whole n a r r a t i v e or merely prov ides i n t e r n a l metaphors and a l l u s i o n s , the jou rney , l i k e pa r ad i s e , prov ides a s i g n i f i c a n t and s en s i b l e metaphor w i th which the autobiographer can des-c r i b e important fea tu res of h i s development and exper ience. Bruno Bet te lhe im desc r ibes the complex i ty of r i t e s t ha t i n i t i a t e boys and g i r l s i n t o the f u l l l i f e of t h e i r community. Sec l u s i on p lays 118 an important p a r t . The C a r r i e r Indians of B. C. apparent ly i s o l a t e a g i r l f o r severa l years at the onset of menst ruat ion. For the A u s t r a l i a n a b o r i g i n e , i n i t i a t i o n i s a r e b i r t h . Sec lu s i on and r e b i r t h commonly make 5 use of long winding paths and a l l - b u t i n a c c e s s i b l e , womb-like caves. Mi rcea E l i ade emphasises the f requent c r u e l t y of such r i t e s wh i ch , at the very l e a s t , e n t a i l separa t ion from the mother, i s o l a t i o n , po s s i b l y under the s upe r v i s i on of a gu ide, and vary ing forms of the enactment of death and r e b i r t h . ^ C l e a r l y , the youth must put o f f c h i l d i s h th ings and h i s s o c i e t y makes sure tha t he i s seen t o do j u s t t h a t . R i t u a l transforms the chronos of many y e a r s ' exper ience i n t o the ka i r o s wherein the c h i l d becomes a man. Propp ' s Morphology of the F o l k t a l e supports the assumption tha t such a journey e n t a i l i n g s e p a r a t i o n , death or wounding, and r e b i r t h or r e tu rn i s a common fea tu re of the n a r r a t i v e imag i na t i on . ^ He desc r ibes the f unc -t i on s of the character s as s t a b l e , constant elements i n a f a i r y - t a l e , c o n s t i t u t i n g the fundamental components of the t a l e . The sequence of these fundamental components i s always i d e n t i c a l . The main f unc t i on s of the hero as Propp desc r ibes them bear c l o se comparison w i th the r i t e s of passage desc r ibed by Be t te lhe im or E l i a d e . The hero, accord ing t o Propp, leaves home, i s t e s t e d , rece i ve s magical powers or he l p , meets an enemy i n b a t t l e , i s wounded but v i c t o r i o u s , and returns home to r e c o g n i t i o n and power. This p r e c i s sk ips a l l the permutat ions , but i t i s worth mentioning tha t the hero ' s e xped i t i on begins w i th some v i l l a i n y to be remedied or some lack t o be f i l l e d and tha t the f a i l u r e to r ece i ve r e c o g n i t i o n on re tu rn home may nece s s i t a t e d i s p l a y of the he ro ' s i d e n t i f y i n g wound or magic g i f t . To the common fea tu re s of i n i t i a t i o n descr ibed by Be t te lhe im and E l i a d e , s e c l u s i on or s o l i t u d e , the presence of a gu ide, winding or tor tuous paths , 119 remote r e t r e a t s , death and r e b i r t h , Propp ' s l i s t adds a s t r ugg l e i n which the hero i s wounded but v i c t o r i o u s and a magic power or redemptive g i f t which.the hero br ings back from h i s o r d e a l . This wounding and the subsequent a c q u i s i t i o n of power de sc r i be the c e n t r a l exper ience of the i n i t i a t i o n , the descent i n t o the underwor ld, or the conve r s i on , which w i l l form the sub jec t of Chapter Four. Here i t i s s imply worth remembering Campbel l ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of the " s tandard path of the mytho log ica l adventure of the he ro , " which we examined i n Chapter One as a s t r u c t u r a l m o t i f , and which he desc r ibes as "a m a g n i f i c a t i o n of the formula represented i n the r i t e s of passage: s e p a r a t i o n - - i n i t i a t i o n - -o r e t u r n . " When the mytho log i ca l hero sets out on h i s adventures , he too i s separated from h i s f a m i l y and h i s s o c i e t y and must s t r ugg l e w i th the hardships of h i s way. S p e c i f i c a l l y , he encounters fabulous f o r c e s , i s v i c t o r i o u s over them, and re tu rns w i t h the power to bestow a boon on h i s f e l l o w men. Henderson descr ibes the p s ycho l og i ca l counterpar t of the archetype as a . s i g n i f i c a n t rupture of c o n t i n u i t y , an o r d e a l , a t r i a l of Q s t rength on the road' t o " i n d i v i d u a t i o n , " which i s u l t ima te m a t u r i t y . The process of i n d i v i d u a t i o n need no t , of course, take p lace at matu r i t y . Arno ld Toynbee prov ides many pages of names of the heroes who have found a j ou rney , an absence, c r u c i a l t o t h e i r assumption of power. Only common knowledge of the complete paradigm, indeed, could make sense of the death of the Mess iah, of Barbarossa, or King A r thur . Having w i t h -drawn from t h e i r f e l l o w men, they are bound to re tu rn w i th hea l i ng on t h e i r wings. One v a r i a n t form of the journey desc r ibes the f ound l i n g who becomes k ing (Oedipus, Perseus, Romulus), prophet (Moses), or god (Zeus and Je su s ) . Another v a r i a n t desc r ibes the p e r i l o u s quest. ( U n d e r h i l l desc r ibes the myst ic quest as an i n e v i t a b l e stage on the road to s p i r i t u a l consc iousness. 120 The v a r i a n t s , l i k e the o r i g i n a l , i n s i s t on a formula tha t en jo in s s o l i t u d e , the con f r on ta t i on of some fo r ce s t ronger than the hero, a t ax i ng s t r u g g l e , a v i c t o r y , and a re tu rn t o s o c i e t y w i th the hero now endowed w i th s p e c i a l gnosis or power to help h i s f e l l o w men. "Th i s i s e v i d e n t l y , " Toynbee conc ludes, "a mo t i f of cosmic range. C e r t a i n l y , autobiography has adopted t h i s " m o t i f " as an important n a r r a t i v e p a t t e r n . "The most comprehensive and c e n t r a l of a l l Romantic 12 themes," Frye notes , " i s a romance w i th the poet f o r he ro . " His l i f e , l i k e a l l o the r s , i nc ludes c e r t a i n t y p i c a l stages, l i k e d i s c o ve r i n g who one i s and what one can do, t ha t f a l l i n t o t y p i c a l forms. His autobiography, a c c o r d i n g l y , w i l l depend on shapes tha t o f t were thought but n e ' e r , he hopes, so w e l l expressed. The " a r t i s t - h e r o , " a f t e r a l l , " l i k e the hero w i th a thousand f a c e s , i s always the same man and the c o n f l i c t s he faces 13 are e s s e n t i a l l y the same c o n f l i c t s . " For the Romantic w r i t e r , however, the journey tends to desc r ibe a l i e n a t i o n from s o c i e t y (Esau or Ishmael r a t e h igher than Jacob and I s aac ) , and an i nner search f o r the dark , hidden ground of i d e n t i t y between man and nature. He i s , fu r thermore, s e l f -consc ious. For him, the journey desc r ibes the a c t i v i t y of h i s l i f e as he has l i v e d i t , the a c t i v i t y of a c q u i r i n g se l f - knowledge , and, perhaps c l o s e l y r e l a t e d to t h i s l a s t as a form of a c t i v e r e c o g n i t i o n , the a c t i v i t y of w r i t i n g h i s l i f e i n t o a L i f e . The "process of c r e a t i n g , " w r i t e s Ehrenzweig, " i s always r e f l e c t e d i n the work of a r t and . . . represents i t s minimum con-t e n t . " 1 4 Autobiography lends i t s e l f t o being i t s own sub jec t -mat te r . Quite apart from the occas iona l sensat ion t ha t one i s l ook ing i n t o m i r r o r s t ha t show images of onese l f look ing i n t o m i r r o r s , there i s a l s o the p r a c t i c a l f a c t t ha t the author begins h i s s t o r y at i t s end; he must desc r ibe how he 121 has reached the po i n t from which he w r i t e s . That he i s where he i s must be a foregone conc l u s i on . No one turns t o the end of an autobiography to f i n d out what happens t he re . An autobiography, t h e r e f o r e , needs to accumulate meaning as d i s t i n c t from a c t i o n , and the journey-metaphor i s p a r t i c u l a r l y u se fu l f o r t h i s purpose. Todorov connects the a c t i v i t i e s of journey w i th n a r r a t i o n f o r the a c q u i s i t i o n or accumulat ion of knowledge. Odysseus, f o r example, t e l l s the s t o r y of h i s l i f e to seven d i f f e r e n t people on seven d i f f e r e n t occa -s i o n s , the v a r i a n t s i n t ha t s t o r y being determined both by the i n t e r l o c u t o r and the t ime of t e l l i n g . "Every one of Odysseus' n a r r a t i v e s i s determined by i t s end, by i t s po i n t of a r r i v a l : i t serves to j u s t i f y the present s i t u a t i o n . These n a r r a t i v e s always concern something which has a l ready been done, they l i n k a past to a p resent : they must end by an '"I . . . 15 here . . . now. ' " Todorov f u r t h e r desc r ibes two Odysseuses i n the Odyssey: one has the adventures , the other t e l l s them. I t i s d i f f i c u l t t o say which of the two i s the main cha rac te r . . . . I f Odysseus takes so long to r e tu rn home, i t i s because home i s not h i s deepest d e s i r e . . . . Odysseus r e s i s t s r e t u r n i n g to I thaca so t ha t the .story <can. cont inue . The theme of the Odyssey i s not Odysseus' r e tu rn t o I t haca ; t h i s r e tu rn i s , on the c o n t r a r y , the death of the Odyssey, i t s end. The theme of the Odyssey i s the n a r r a t i v e forming the Odyssey, i t i s the Odyssey i t s e l f J 6 The a p p l i c a b i l i t y of t h i s connect ion to autobiography has a l ready been suggested i n the d i s cu s s i on of the au tob iog raph i ca l n a r r a t o r : h i s ex i s tence i s nece s s i t a ted by the t r a n s l a t i o n of l i f e i n t o n a r r a t i v e ; i t can serve to f r ee the o r i g i n a l sub jec t from i n h i b i t i o n s and t o prov ide him w i th a vo i ce and s t y l e , and i t i s e s s e n t i a l i n order to br idge the gap between the then of a c t i o n and the now of n a r r a t i o n . Odysseus r e s i s t s an ending i n h i s l i f e because he i s r e s i s t i n g an end to h i s L i f e . C lear i d e n t i t y and knowledge achieved through 122 the n a r r a t i v e e s t a b l i s h the s t r ugg l e and the journey of l i f e beyond the e x t i n c t i o n of death. L i ke the Odysseus who nar rates the adventures, the n a r r a t o r of The Quest of the Holy G r a i l c on s t an t l y a n t i c i p a t e s events and avoids s u r p r i s e s . "The r e a d e r ' s i n t e r e s t . . . does not come . . . from the quest ion which h a b i t u a l l y provokes such i n t e r e s t : what happens next? We know, from the beg inn ing , what w i l l happen, who w i l l f i n d the G r a i l , who w i l l be punished and why. The i n t e r e s t i s generated by a very d i f f e r e n t que s t i on : what i s the G r a i l ? " 1 ^ Two kinds of i n t e r e s t de r i ve from two kinds of n a r r a t i v e . The f i r s t i s a n a r r a t i v e of the doing of event s , what Todorov c a l l s "a n a r r a t i v e of c o n t i g u i t y , " the second i s "a n a r r a t i v e of s u b s t i t u t i o n s , " which accords meaning to events . In t h i s case, "we know from the s t a r t that Galahad w i l l complete the quest v i c t o r i o u s l y ; the n a r r a -t i v e of c o n t i g u i t y i s w i thout i n t e r e s t . But we do not know p r e c i s e l y what the G r a i l i s , so tha t there i s occas ion f o r an e n t h r a l l i n g n a r r a t i v e of s u b s t i t u t i o n s , i n which we s l ow ly a r r i v e at comprehension of what was 18 given from the beg inn ing . " Gawayn and Lance lo t need adventures to r e l a t e which only the good kn ight Galahad enjoys . As the sage e x p l a i n s , adventures are the s igns and appa r i t i o n s of the Holy G r a i l . The G r a i l , Todorov 19 conc ludes, " i s noth ing but the p o s s i b i l i t y of n a r r a t i v e . " One i s reminded of the e tymo log i ca l connect ion between n a r r a t i o n and knowledge. L ike these na r ra to r s desc r ibed by Todorov as f i n d i n g through n a r r a t i v e the meaning f o r a journey whose end i s known, the autob iographer , r e l a t i n g the process of s e l f - d i s c o v e r y , n e c e s s a r i l y a t t r i b u t e s more s i g n i f i c a n c e to meaning than to a c t i o n . By us ing the jou rney , moreover, as h i s metaphor both f o r l i f e and i t s n a r r a t i o n , he ensures tha t h i s ending prov ides not s u r p r i s e but connect ion w i th a l l the par t s complete, a r e c o g n i t i o n of the s t a r t i n g - p l a c e seen as i f f o r the f i r s t t ime. 123 A r t as the means of the d i s c o ve r i n g of the s e l f becomes a Romantic Quest i n i t s own r i g h t . The blank page wa i t s l i k e a w i ldernes s f o r the s e l f - c o n s c i o u s " I " t o begin i t s journey. When a quest i s s u c c e s s f u l , moreover, words cover the barren space; v i c t o r y br ings f e r t i l i t y t o the 20 waste land. The autobiography becomes the g i f t desc r ibed by Propp, the gnosis or power a s c r i bed by Toynbee and Campbell as the achievement of the journey. The author/hero may be maimed i n h i s s t r u g g l e , but as Odin, Jacob, or Hephaistos know, c r i p p l i n g i s o f ten the p r i c e of knowledge. Indeed, he may d i sappear , subsumed i n t o the w r i t t e n L i f e . J u s t as the a rchetypa l journey o u t l i v e s i t s many t r a v e l l e r s , so the w r i t t e n L i f e remains i n f r a n g i b l e long a f t e r the l i f e of the man who w r i t e s i t . Four au tob iog raph i ca l works w i l l exempl i f y some ways i n which auto -biographers commonly use the metaphor of the jou rney : C a r l y l e ' s S a r t o r  Resartus , Wordsworth's P re lude , Rousseau's Confess ions , and George Moore 's H a i l and Fa rewe l l . Together, they span a wide pe r i od of t ime. Over a hundred years l i e between p u b l i c a t i o n i n France of Rousseau's Confess ions and p u b l i c a t i o n i n England of Moore 's Hai1 and Farewel1. Rousseau i n t r o -duces a s o l i p s i s t i c , ' i n t r o s p e c t i v e genre which George Moore needs to r e v i t a l i s e w i th a t r an s f u s i o n of o b j e c t i v i t y , s e l f - e f f a c e m e n t , the assump-t i o n tha t the a r t i s t e x i s t s only f o r a r t ' s sake. Between these two, C a r l y l e w r i t e s a f lamboyant t r e a t i s e masked as an autobiography, or an autobiography masked as a n o v e l , or a novel con ta in ing autobiography and t r e a t i s e , or a l l t h r e e , and Wordsworth w r i t e s two d r a f t s of a long poem designed as l e t t e r s to a f r i e n d . These w r i t e r s and t h e i r l i f e - s t o r i e s fo rm, indeed, an odd combinat ion. They have l i t t l e i n common except t h e i r wish to w r i t e about themselves, t h e i r conscious a r t i s t r y , and t h e i r d e l i b e r a t e e x p l o r a -t i o n of autobiography as an a r t form. I t i s , a c c o r d i n g l y , s i g n i f i c a n t f o r 124 the g e n e r a l i t y and usefu lness of the metaphor of the journey tha t a l l four w r i t e r s should make i t so c e n t r a l t o t h e i r work. They do not merely cover d i s t ance s . They do not s imply a l l u d e to the r i v e r of l i f e f l ow ing i n t o the sea of death. They demonstrate the connect ion they f i n d between movement and imag ina t i on ; they enact the tortuous journey of s e l f - r e v e l a t i o n , the process of autobiography. They a l l observe i n va ry ing degrees the pa t te rn of s e p a r a t i o n , i n i t i a t i o n , and r e t u r n . Wordsworth and C a r l y l e t r a ce t h i s pa t te rn i n the r i v e r s of t h e i r l i v e s , Moore i n h i s search f o r h i s I r i s h i d e n t i t y , Rousseau only i n a dream that he cannot r e a l i s e . Each i n s i s t s on the v i r t u e of h i s quest and the r i chnes s of the g i f t he b r i ng s . For each one, the process of autobiography transforms h i s l i f e i n t o a f i c t i o n which desc r ibes both the making of h i s s t o r y and the hero he chooses to be. Of these fou r t r a v e l l e r s , C a r l y l e i s the most generous to the ana l y s t i n t ha t he adheres more f u l l y than the others to the d e t a i l e d p o s s i b i l i t i e s of the metaphor. F i r s t l y , he r e l a t e s the adventures of Teu fe l sd rbckh , a man who t r a v e l s both i n body and i n thought; he takes h i s p i l g r i m - s t a f f and sets o f f around the w o r l d , and he evolves the amazing Ph i losophy of C lo thes . Then, he prov ides an e d i t o r i a l vo i ce to na r ra te Teu fe l s d rbckh ' s process of s e l f - e x p l o r a t i o n , t o t r a ce the phy s i c a l journey and t o unravel the meaning of the Clothes Ph i losophy. For Teufe l sdrbckh and f o r h i s e d i t o r , the journey prov ides the shape and meaning of the work. Beginning i n confus ion of purpose and p o s s i b i l i t i e s , we f i n d , by the end, t ha t we have " t r a v e l l e d some months of our L i f e - j o u r n e y i n p a r t i a l s i g h t of one another" ( I I I , 298), and conclude w i th a c l e a r sense of a r r i v a l . The t a i l o r , or f a b r i c a t o r , i n other words, makes the very process of patch ing h i s s t o r y together as important as the s t o r y i t s e l f . No s a r t o r , a f t e r a l l , can s u r v i ve except r e s a r t u s . The progress of one, the process of 125 the o the r , amount to the same t h i n g . As Frye w r i t e s : " I d e n t i t y and s e l f -r e c o g n i t i o n begin when . . . the g reat twins of d i v i n e c r e a t i o n and human r e c r e a t i o n have merged i n t o one, and we can see that the same shape i s 21 upon bo th . " In t h i s case, l i f e i s once again t r a n s f i g u r e d i n t o L i f e . Teufe l sdrockh e s t a b l i s h e s h i s s o l i t u d e ( important f o r any s i g n i -f i c a n t journey) w i th the awful que s t i on : '"Who am J_; the t h i ng tha t can say " i " ? " 1 He fea r s that the s e c r e t of man's being i s s t i l l l i k e the s ph i nx ' s s e c r e t f o r ignorance of which he w i l l s u f f e r the worst death of a l l , a s p i r i t u a l death. ' " The w o r l d , w i th i t s loud t r a f f i c k i n g , r e t i r e s i n t o the d i s t a n c e ; and . . . the s i g h t reaches f o r t h i n t o the vo id Deep, and you are alone w i th the Un iverse, and s i l e n t l y commune w i th i t , as one myster ious Presence w i th a n o t h e r ' " ( I , 53). Teufe l sdrockh i s a na tu ra l s o l i t a r y . No biography can be gathered from h i s home town of Weissnichtwo. He i s a s t ranger t h e r e , merely wafted to the p lace by c i rcumstance. C u r i o s i t y has indeed b e s t i r r e d h e r s e l f about him, but been s a t i s f i e d w i th most i n d i s t i n c t r e p l i e s . For h i m s e l f , he i s "a man so s t i l l and a l t o ge the r u n p a r t i c i p a t i n g " ( I , 17), t ha t quest ions demand unusual d e l i c a c y . He i s ab le t o d i v e r t i n t r u s i o n s . He i s spoken of s e c r e t l y as p a r e n t l e s s , E v e r l a s t i n g , a Wandering Jew. In h i s l o ne l y tower, by the f eeb l e rays of h i s s i n g l e t a l l o w - l i g h t , Teufe l sdrockh broods through the va s t , vo id n i g h t , separate from the teeming v a r i e t i e s of l i f e , ' " a l o n e w i t h the S t a r s ' " ( I , 23). His s e l f - s e c l u s i o n i s g o d l i k e , i n d i f f e r -ent. "Here, perched-up i n h i s high Wahngasse watch-tower, and o f t e n , i n s o l i t u d e , out-watching the Bear, i t was tha t the indomitab le I nqu i re r fought a l l h i s b a t t l e s w i th Dulness and Darkness; here , i n a l l p r o b a b i l i t y , t ha t he wrote t h i s s u r p r i s i n g Volume on C lo thes " ( I , 27). In what he c a l l s the d e s t i t u t i o n of h i s w i l d d e s e r t , th i s . I shmae l acqu i res the g rea te s t of 126 a l l possess ions , S e l f - h e l p , but i t i s a d e s e r t , howling w i t h savage monsters. He s t r e s se s the s o l i t u d e w i t h which he undertakes h i s wo r l d -p i I g r image , unable to escape from h i s own shadow. (Mephistopheles e xp l a i n s to the bewi ldered Faust that everywhere he goes i s h e l l ; f o r the uncondemned man i t i s important t o remember t h a t he c a r r i e s h i s own sou l w i t h him, t ha t there i s no p o s s i b l e f l i g h t from one se l f , tha t a phy s i c a l journey can heal the soul only i n s o f a r as i t i s a l s o a s p i r i t u a l journey. For the auto -biographer who undertakes e s s e n t i a l l y a journey i n search of h imse l f , the phy s i ca l journey becomes, by c o n t r a s t , a va luab le analogy f o r h i s search. ) Teufe l sdrbckh r e f e r s t o h imse l f as the Wanderer. He sees h imse l f l eav ing Weissnichtwo much as the Hebrews l e f t t h e i r s e r v i t ude i n Egypt. More p r o s a i c a l l y , w i th some i r r i t a t i o n , the e d i t o r sees him as a l i t t l e boat l eav ing the f l e e t t o s a i l o f f by sextant and compass of i t s own. The e d i t o r ' s annoyance seems j u s t i f i e d by the he ro ' s i n s t a n t catastrophe on Ca lypso ' s i s l a n d , ye t the ennobl ing of the wonderful s poo f - s t o r y of Blumine by such analogy w i th the Odyssey r e i n f o r c e s the importance of Teu fe l sd rbckh ' s e n t e r p r i s e . The s t o r y of Blumine deserves a moment's a t t e n t i o n . In tone r e m i n i s -cent of "The Rape of the Lock," t h i s episode parodies a main f ea tu re of he ro i c adventure, the he ro ' s brave encounter w i th a fabulous enemy i n order to win a b e a u t i f u l l ady . Notab ly , the s t o r y of Blumine der i ves e n t i r e l y from e d i t o r i a l c on jec tu re . I t i s the e d i t o r who imagines t ha t Teufe l sdrbckh must have been ushered i n t o the gardenhouse, i f not f o r A e s t h e t i c Tea, then maybe f o r Mus ica l Cof fee. The Wanderer advances w i t h foreboding and f i n d s h i s Queen of Hea r t s , Blumine. He must go f o r t h and meet h i s d e s t i n y . His i n t e r ven i n g monster takes the form of "one ' P h i l i s t i n e 1 ; who even now, t o the genera l wear ines s , was dominantly p o u r i n g - f o r t h P h i l i s t i n i s m . . . l i t t l e w i t t i n g what hero was here en te r i ng to demolish h im! " ( I I , 140) 127 A P h i l i s t i n e at A e s t h e t i c Tea or Mus ica l Coffee needs demol i sh ing w i th " S o c r a t i c , or r a t he r Diogenic u t t e r a n c e s " ; he a l s o serves as a metaphor f o r h is o r i g i n a l , the P h i l i s t i n e from Gath who threatened the whole army of Sau l . The equat ion l i k en s Teufe l sdrockh to the young David who l e f t h i s f a t h e r ' s f l o c k s to save I s r a e l , maybe even t o God's other w a r r i o r , Samson, who destroyed the whole temple of the P h i l i s t i n e enemy. A t e a -par ty bore, i n other words, threatens not only the p leasure of the pa r t y but a l s o the s u r v i v a l of c i v i l i s e d s o c i e t y , c e r t a i n l y the s u r v i v a l of the Chosen Hero. The e d i t o r ' s w i l d surmise, t ak i ng t h i s form of parody, a l e r t s us t o Teu fe l sd rockh ' s r e a l encounter w i th a fabulous enemy, which i s the main adventure of h i s journey . Whereas the mock-hero leaves the exped i t i on to s a i l by h i s own compass, meets Calypso, overcomes an enemy to win her , i s made immortal by a k i s s , but then r e j e c t e d and s u r e l y des t royed, the t rue hero makes the d i s t r e s s t ha t f o l l ows from h i s misp laced love a cause f o r h i s journey. "He q u i e t l y l i f t s h i s P i l g e r s t a b ( P i l g r i m - S t a f f ) , ' o l d business being soon wound u p ' ; and begins a perambulat ion and circumambu-l a t i o n of the terraqueous G lobe! " ( I I , 147). D i s t raught by the f i n a l blow, however, the s i g h t of Blumine marr ied to Towgood, Teufe l sdrockh meets an apparent ly in superab le monster i n the form of de spa i r . J u s t as the P h i l i s t i n e i s Teu fe l s d rockh ' s enemy i n the gardenhouse, so de spa i r , or the E v e r l a s t i n g No, confronts him midway on h i s journey. L ike Dante and Bunyan before him, C a r l y l e endows h i s monster of the s p i r i t w i t h a s p e c i f i c c ha r a c t e r ; Teu fe l s d rockh ' s b a t t l e i s w i th the Time P r i n ce or Dev i l h imse l f . L i f e becomes "who l l y a dark l a b y r i n t h " ( I I , 152) along which the hero stumbles, f l y i n g from spec t re s . G u i l t l e s s , he t r a v e l s l i k e Cain or the Wandering Jew, w r i t i n g h i s Sorrows of 128 Teufe l sdrbckh over the whole su r face of the ea r th w i th h i s f o o t p r i n t s . L i ke Goethe w r i t i n g ^ h i s Sorrows of Werter before the s p i r i t f reed her -s e l f , and he cou ld become a Man," so "Your Byron pub l i shes h i s Sorrows of  Lord George, i n verse and i n prose, and cop iou s l y o therw i se : your Bona-par te represents h i s Sorrows of Napoleon Opera, i n an a i l - t o o stupendous s t y l e . . . . Happier i s he who . . . can w r i t e such mat te r , s i nce i t must be w r i t t e n , on the i n s e n s i b l e E a r t h , w i th h i s shoe-so les on l y ; and a l s o su r v i ve the w r i t i n g t h e r e o f ! " ( I I , 156-157) Teu fe l s d rbckh ' s soul drowns i n a quagmire of d i s g u s t . He f i nd s n e i t h e r P i l l a r of F i r e by n ight nor P i l l a r of Cloud by day to guide him. He trembles w i t h an i n d e f i n i t e , p i n i n g f e a r . Heaven and ear th become the boundless jaws of a monster w a i t i n g to devour him. He i s saved by sudden conve r s i on , which rushes over h i s soul l i k e a stream of f i r e , r e l e a s i n g him from f e a r , enab l ing him to stand up i n p r o t e s t aga ins t the immeasurable, i n d i f f e r e n t Steam-Engine of non-ex i s tence t ha t has threatened to dest roy him. Teu fe l sd rbckh 1 s v i c t o r y i n t h i s b a t t l e does not win him-a lady. Rather more s i g n i f i c a n t l y , i t achieves the answer t o h i s o r i g i n a l q ue s t i o n ; he knows now who he i s . He dares to stand up and c a l l h imse l f a man. His encounter w i th h i s monster i s worth quot ing a t length because i t demon-s t r a t e s an e n t i r e l y conscious use of the paradigm, operat ing i n t h i s case w i t h i n a C h r i s t i a n framework: Name i t as we choose: w i th or w i thout v i s i b l e D e v i l , whether i n the na tu ra l Desert of rocks and sands, or i n the populous moral Desert of s e l f i s h -ness and basenes s , - - to such Temptation are we a l l c a l l e d . Unhappy i f we are not! Unhappy i f we are but Hal f -men, i n whom tha t d i v i n e handwr i t ing has never b lazed f o r t h , a l l - s u b d u i n g , i n t rue sun-sp lendour; but qu i ve r s dub ious l y amid meaner l i g h t s : 129 or smoulders, i n d u l l p a i n , i n darkness , under e a r t h l y vapours!- -Our Wi lderness i s the wide World i n an A t h e i s t i c Century; our Forty Days are long years of s u f f e r i n g and f a s t i n g : neve r t he l e s s , to these a l s o comes an end. Yes, t o me a l s o was g i v en , i f not V i c t o r y , y e t the consciousness of B a t t l e , and the r e so l ve to persevere t h e r e i n wh i l e l i f e or f a c u l t y i s l e f t . To me a l s o , entangled i n the enchanted f o r e s t s , demon-peopled, d o l e f u l of s i g h t and of sound, i t was g i v e n , a f t e r wea r i e s t wanderings, to work out my way i n t o the h igher s u n l i t s l o p e s — o f t ha t Mountain which has no summit, or whose summit i s i n Heaven on l y ! ( I I , 184) Teu fe l sd rockh ' s v i c t o r y over despa i r o r , m e t a p h o r i c a l l y , death , i s f u r t h e r s i g n i f i e d by h i s name, " d e v i l ' s dung," which suggests q u i t e s p e c i f i c a l l y t ha t he has journeyed through h e l l or the body of the d e v i l . Teu fe l sd rockh ' s j ou rney , cover ing the terraqueous g lobe , overcoming monsters both from out s ide and w i t h i n , wins no le s s a p r i z e than the Clothes Ph i lo sophy. L ike the Golden F l eece , the apples of the Hesper ides , f i r e , or the promise of s p r i n g , t h i s ph i losophy i s the g i f t w i th which he returns to h i s f e l l o w men. His e d i t o r , on the other hand, must work backwards from the known to the unknown on a p a r a l l e l journey of h i s own. He works from t h i s amazing g i f t of the Ph i losophy o f C lothes back t o the mystery of the man who evolved i t . His journey r i ng s loud w i th compla int s . His m a t e r i a l s are g iven him i n a s t a t e of con fu s i on , obfuscated by absurd degrees of metaphor. "Towards these dim i n f i n i t e l y - e x p a n d e d reg i on s , c l o s e -bo rde r i n g on the impalpable Inane, i t i s not w i thout apprehens ion, and perpetua l d i f f i c u l t i e s t ha t the E d i t o r sees h imse l f j ou rney ing and s t r u g g l i n g " ( I , 74). C l e a r , f i n a l l y , t ha t Teufe l sdrockh imagines h i s temptat ion i n the w i lde rnes s as the preface to h i s a p o s t o l i c work, " the somewhat exasperated and indeed exhausted E d i t o r " ( I I , 204) compla ins: "would thou hadst t o l d thy s i n g u l a r s t o r y i n p l a i n words! . . . Nothing but innuendoes, f i g u r a t i v e c r o t c h e t s : a 130 t y p i c a l Shadow, f i t f u l l y waver ing, p r o p h e t i c o - s a t i r i c ; no c l e a r l o g i c a l P i c t u r e " ( I I , 184-185). Teu fe l sd rbckh 1 s journey of l i f e begins i n the verdant parad i se of Entepfuhl ( ' " S l e e p on, thou f a i r C h i l d , " he apos t roph i se s , ' " f o r thy long rough journey i s at h a n d ! ' " [ I I , 90]) I t cont inues through the marshlands of school ("Green sunny t r a c t s there are s t i l l ; but i n t e r s e c t e d by b i t t e r r i v u l e t s of t e a r s , here and there s tagnat ing i n t o sour marshes of d i s -content " [ I I , 103]). Then the howling desert of u n i v e r s i t y precedes h i s redemption both of s e l f and of mankind. S i m i l a r l y , the e d i t o r begins h i s task f u l l of enthusiasm and hope, begins to lose h i s step w i t h concern t ha t t h i s confus ing pedant w i l l prove unpa latab le to the B r i t i s h reading p u b l i c , then f l ounder s complete ly among the s i x paper bags, each marked w i th a s ign of the z o d i a c , which conta in shreds and sn ips of paper covered w i th Teu fe l s d rbckh ' s s c a r c e l y l e g i b l e c u r s i v - s h r i f t , but f i n a l l y triumphs over h i s despa i r w i th the r e a l i s a t i o n tha t h i s desperate s t r ugg l e has indeed rec rea ted both the man and the work. Th is f r u s t r a t i n g e d i t o r i a l task has been h i s j ou rney , "A l a b o r i o u s , perhaps a thank less e n t e r p r i s e " from which h i s f e l l o w men may de r i ve "some morsel of s p i r i t u a l nourishment" ( I I I , 292). His e f f o r t to s o r t and s e l e c t h i s ma te r i a l s has ensured the r e a d e r ' s sense of composit ion as a cons tan t , present a c t i v i t y . L ike Dante 's V e r g i l , he i s the r e a d e r ' s guide ( r ead ing , t oo , i s a process) over d i f f i c u l t country towards an important d i s cove ry . He forms a H e l l - g a t e br idge over Chaos. ( I t cannot be h i s sober c a l c u l a -t i o n but only h i s fond hope tha t many may t r a v e l by t h i s means w i thout a c c i den t , f o r i t i s a desperate br idge of r a f t s : " A l a s , and the leaps from r a f t to r a f t were too o f ten of a breakneck cha rac te r ; the darkness, the nature of the element, a l l was aga in s t u s ! " [ I l l , 268]) Ye t , the r i v e r 131 of Teu fe l s d rockh ' s h i s t o r y , t raced from i t s t i n i e s t f o u n t a i n s , i s not l o s t even though i t "dashes i t s e l f over t ha t t e r r i f i c Lover ' s Leap; and, as a mad-foaming c a t a r a c t , f l i e s who l l y i n t o tumultuous clouds of spray'.'! ( I I , 153) From pools and plashes f a r below the c a t a r a c t , the 'wor thy e d i t o r f i n d s once aga i n , though w i th d i f f i c u l t y , the general s t ream, " no r , l e t us hope . . . w i l l there be wanting . . . some t w i n k l i n g of a steady Po l a r S t a r " ( I I , 206). Teu fe l s d rockh ' s e d i t o r i s u n l i k e l y to lo se h i s bea r i ng s , f o r he acts as C a r l y l e ' s au tob iog raph i ca l n a r r a t o r and t he re fo re knows the end of h i s s t o r y . He s e l e c t s h i s f a c t s from the H o f r a t h ' s bundle. The s i x bags sea led w i th the s igns of the zod iac g i ve him gl impses of the i nner man. S e l e c t i n g and i n t e r p r e t i n g as best he can from h i s knowledge of the man and the f a c t s of h i s l i f e , the e d i t o r transforms a past l i f e i n t o a present a r t form. L ike the two main character s desc r ibed by Todorov i n the Odyssey, Teufe l sdrockh s u f f e r s and the e d i t o r recounts and t r i e s to e x p l a i n tha t s u f f e r i n g . C a r l y l e expands the e d i t o r i a l r o l e so tha t the e d i t o r ' s n a r r a -t i v e i n the present can express p i t y or contempt or p rov ide a c y n i c a l check on Teu fe l sd rockh ' s moods of the pas t . He wishes , f o r i n s t an ce , tha t " t h i s f a r r a go " would end, because h i s vo i ce i s t ha t of a l a t e r t ime e a s i l y d i s t i n g u i s h e d from the then of the emotional de spa i r . Notab ly , the d ia logue i n S a r t o r i s e s t a b l i s h e d on ly i n the work. The e d i t o r addresses T e u f e l s -drockh, but only on paper; not i n the then of Teu fe l s d r ockh ' s d i s t r e s s , but i n the t ime le s s now of the novel as a r t e f a c t . C a r l y l e ' s seve ra l vo ices ( T e u f e l s d r o c k h ' s , the e d i t o r ' s , even the H o f r a t h ' s ) enable him to deal w i t h tha t d i s c o n t i n u i t y of the p e r s o n a l i t y so keenly f e l t between the now of e d i t o r i a l d i s pa s s i on (or r e c o l l e c t i o n i n comparative t r a n q u i l l i t y ) and the then of pass ionate involvement when, c r u c i a l l y , the f u t u r e was not known. 132 Wordsworth, t o o , faces t h i s d i s c onnec t i on : so wide appears The vacancy between me and those days Which ye t have such s e l f - p r e sence i n my mind, That, musing on them, o f ten do I seem Two consc iousnesses, conscious of myself And of some other Being. ( I I , 28-33) Wordsworth i s a l s o e x p l i c i t l y concerned w i th the process of t u r n i n g h i s l i f e i n t o a work of a r t . He, t oo , chooses the theme of a l i f e - j o u r n e y based on and i n c o r p o r a t i n g mythic journeys i n order to convey the complex i -t i e s of h i s development and the process of s e l f - r e c r e a t i o n . For journey e s s e n t i a l l y desc r ibes movement towards a c l e a r or des t ined g o a l ; i t s i m p l i f i e s the landscape by p r e s c r i b i n g a purpose. Who doth not love to f o l l o w w i th h i s eye The windings of a p u b l i c way? the s i g h t , F a m i l i a r ob jec t as i t i s , hath wrought On my imag inat ion s i nce the morn Of ch i l dhood , when a d i sappear ing l i n e , One d a i l y present to my eyes , t ha t crossed The naked summit of a f a r - o f f h i l l Beyond the l i m i t s t ha t my f e e t had t r o d , Was l i k e an i n v i t a t i o n i n t o space Boundless, or guide i n t o e t e r n i t y . ( X I I I , 142-51) From the open school of such l one l y roads the young man learns to study "men as they are men w i t h i n themselves" ( X I I I , 226), to ded ica te h imse l f to h i s theme, "No other than the very heart of man" (X I I I , 241). Wordsworth c la ims a t the end of The Pre lude tha t he has t raced the stream of h i s own l i f e 133 From the b l i n d cavern whence i s f a i n t l y heard I t s na t a l murmur; f o l l owed i t to l i g h t And open day; accompanied i t s course Among the ways of Nature, f o r a time Lost s i g h t of i t bewi ldered and engulphed; Then given i t g ree t ing as i t rose once more In s t r e n g t h , r e f l e c t i n g from i t s p l a c i d breast The works of man and face of human l i f e . (XIV, 194-202) The course of Wordsworth's l i f e as t r aced both i n t h i s analogy f o r the autobiography and i n the complete poem, does indeed r u n , i n good au tob iog raph i ca l f a s h i o n , from b i r t h , through ch i ldhood and youth to e a r l y manhood, i n c l u d i n g the exper iences of the c i t y , of t r a v e l , of educa-t i o n and f r i e n d s h i p s and, most c r u c i a l l y , both the hope and the d i s a p p o i n t -ment he f e l t i n the French Revo lu t i on . The cont ingent r e a l i t i e s of t h i s process are l i n k e d w i th the poe t ' s s p i r i t u a l growth, which i s k i nd l ed and p ro tec ted by the na tu ra l wor ld around him. His depress ion and f a i l u r e of p oe t i c s p i r i t , blamed on the le s s p e r f e c t wor ld of men, are hea led , so tha t the r i v e r can be seen to r i s e once more i n s t r e n g t h , r e f l e c t i n g from i t s p l a c i d b r ea s t , l i k e the e a r l i e r a c t i v i t y of p o e t i c memory, the "works of man and face of human l i f e . " The a n t i c i p a t i o n of p o e t i c g i f t s has been f u l f i l l e d . Wi th in the framework of t h i s broad au tob iog raph i ca l j ou rney , Wordsworth i n t e r p o l a t e s smal l journeys tha t desc r ibe c e n t r a l exper iences i n h i s l i f e , d i s c o v e r i e s about h i s i d e n t i t y and c o n v i c t i o n of h i s p o e t i c g i f t . The adventure of the g ibbet demonstrates one of Wordsworth 's spots of t ime; no mere happening, t h i s , but an event , chronos transformed i n t o k a i r o s . "I remember w e l l , " he w r i t e s , That once, wh i l e ye t my inexper ienced hand Could s c a r c e l y hold a b r i d l e , w i th proud hopes I mounted, and we journeyed towards the h i l l s . ( X I I , 225-28) 134 The ac t of memory, the you th , the i n expe r i ence , the hope, and the journey are a l l committed to four l i n e s . An anc ient servant acts as gu ide , but some mischance separates the two. F r i gh tened, the youth dismounts and stumbles down the rough and stony moor to the bottom where a murderer had once been hung i n cha in s . The g i bbe t , corpse, and chains have long s i nce gone, but , l i k e the works of Ozymandias, the name remains: s t i l l , from year to year . . . The grass i s c l ea red away, and to t h i s hour The charac te r s are f r e sh and v i s i b l e . (X I I , 242-45) L i ke the beggar ' s l a b e l , l i k e The Prelude i t s e l f , these charac te r s s u f f i c e to convey " [ h ] i s s t o r y , whence he came, and who he was" (V I I , 642). F a l t e r i n g , f a i n t , the poet f l e e s back up the stony road l ook ing f o r h i s guide but f i n d i n g only the v i s i o n of the naked pool and the g i r l who bears a p i t c h e r on her head and walks aga in s t the wind. L i ke the beggar ' s l a b e l , the murderer ' s name br ings an abso lute knowledge that overwhelms the f i n d e r . Wordsworth loses h i s guide again at the Simplon Pass, and again he loses h i s way. In t h i s case, however, he i s a c t u a l l y d i r e c t e d to take the stony road d o w n h i l l . D isappointed to r e a l i s e that he has a l ready crossed the A l p s , t ha t he has f a i l e d to no t i ce the t r a n s i t i o n from one s i de to the o the r , he d i s cove r s t ha t hope, e f f o r t , e xpec ta t i on and d e s i r e , "And something evermore about to be" (V I , 608), s u f f i c e the soul b e t t e r than t r o p h i e s , t ha t the soul i s s t rong i n beat i tude That hides he r , l i k e the mighty f l o o d of N i l e Poured from h i s fount of Abys s in ian c louds To f e r t i l i s e the whole Egyptian p l a i n . (V I , 613-16) 135 For Wordsworth, t h i s bea t i tude i s Imaginat ion. An awful power, i t r i s e s from the mind ' s abyss L ike an unfathered vapour t ha t enwraps At once, some l one l y t r a v e l l e r . (V I , 595-96) Imagination takes the form of f e r t i l i s i n g water , f l o o d i n g the soul as the N i l e f l ood s otherwise barren land. Represented by wate r , imag inat ion acts as guide and redeemer both to Wordsworth i n l i f e and to Wordsworth i n the act of r e c r e a t i n g h i s l i f e i n t o poet ry . Hoping y e t t o c l imb the A l p s , he f i n d s h i s path i n f a c t leads downward w i th the cu r r en t of the stream. In d e j e c t i o n , h i s s i s t e r ' s v i t a l i s i n g i n f l u e n c e i s f e l t l i k e tha t of a brook tha t crosses and accompanies the road. Wordsworth l i n k s water qu i t e s p e c i f i c a l l y w i th the f e r t i l i t y of the c r e a t i v e s p i r i t i n h i s e a r l y address to the r i v e r Derwent, f a i r e s t of a l l r i v e r s , and i s a f r a i d to f i n d tha t the smal l brook i n h i s garden represents a more p l a u s i b l e metaphor f o r h i s own l i f e : The froward brook, who, soon as he was boxed Wi th in our garden, found h imse l f at once, As i f by t r i c k i n s i d i o u s and unk ind, S t r i pped of h i s vo i ce and l e f t t o dimple down (Without an e f f o r t and wi thout a w i l l ) A channel paved by man's o f f i c i o u s care . ( IV, 51-56) Such a p o s s i b i l i t y would be tantamount to p o e t i c dea r th . I t i s a watery road , t o o , t ha t leads Wordsworth to the top of a sharp r i s e to the uncouth shape of the deso la te s o l d i e r . In c on t r a s t to the c r i s e s of d i s covery which occur at the base of an unguided descent , t h i s steep ascent leads the poet proudly to a f f i r m h i s d e d i c a t i o n . The 136 s o l d i e r , fu r thermore, though guided i n f a c t by Wordsworth t o a p lace of r e s t , represents the myth i ca l guide so important to a s ucce s s f u l journey . Reaching f o r the oaken s t a f f t ha t he had dropped, as i f f o r the golden bough, which i s a l so i d l e u n t i l needed, t h i s " gho s t l y f i g u r e " moves by the poe t ' s s i de and answers h i s quest ions w i th calm detachment. L ike Aeneas w i t h the s y b i l , Wordsworth and the s o l d i e r journey " [ i ] n s i l e n c e through a wood gloomy and s t i l l " ( IV, 447). The p a r a l l e l s w i th Aeneas' journey are e x p l i c i t . L i ke Aeneas, Wordsworth d i s cover s h i s d e s t i n a t i o n on ly dur ing the course of h i s journey . At Snowdon, again a f t e r a steep ascent and again w i th "a t r u s t y gu ide , " the poet knows tha t he has reached the end of h i s journey and a t t a i ned " t h a t peace/Which passeth understand ing " (XIV, 126-127). So steep i s the ascent t h i s time tha t With forehead bent Earthward, as i f i n oppo s i t i on se t Aga ins t an enemy, [he] panted up With eager pace, and no le s s eager thoughts. (XIV, 28-31) Through the mi s t and dark , t r a v e l l e r s ' t a l k g i v i n g way to s i l e n c e , Wordsworth and h i s companions breast the ascent t o see the sun r i s e from the top of Snowdon. Notab ly , however, i t i s the moon tha t greets them, the r e f l e c t e d l i g h t , no t , one might say, the o r i g i n a l l i f e but the r e f l e c t i n g a r t . In concer t w i th the roa r of wate r s , t h i s " f u l l - o r b e d Moon" lends a v i s i o n , which appears to the poet the type Of a ma je s t i c i n t e l l e c t , i t s acts And i t s pos ses s ions , what i t has and c r ave s , What i n i t s e l f i t i s , and would become. 137 There I beheld the emblem of a mind That feeds upon i n f i n i t y , t ha t broods Over the dark abyss, i n t e n t to hear I t s vo ices i s s u i n g for th, t o s i l e n t l i g h t In one continuous stream; a mind sus ta ined By r e cogn i t i on s of transcendent power, In sense conduct ing to i d e a l form, In soul of more than morta l p r i v i l e g e . (XIV, 66-77) This f i n a l e q u i l i b r i u m , f o l l o w i n g the d i s r u p t i o n of d e s p a i r , f u l f i l l s the o r i g i n a l a n t i c i p a t i o n of c r e a t i v e genius w i th which the n a r r a t i v e began. Coming f u l l c i r c l e , the poet re tu rns to h i s beginnings i n order to f i n d h i s theme and prove h i s g i f t . His i n i t i a l journey has brought him, as such a journey shou ld , the h ighest b l i s s t ha t f l e s h can know, the consciousness of who he i s (XIV, 113-115). Because he i s a poet , i t has a l s o made him c e r t a i n t ha t he i s one of the few who . . . from t h e i r na t i ve se lves can send abroad Kindred mutat ions ; f o r themselves c rea te A l i k e e x i s t ence . (XIV, 93-95) The i n i t i a l journey i s equ i va l en t to the i nner l i f e of Teu fe l sd rockh . To t ransform h i s l i f e i n t o autobiography, the poet must take the second journey of compos i t i on , the e d i t o r ' s journey i n quest of h i s sub jec t and i n c r e a t i o n of h i s work. L i ke C a r l y l e ' s e d i t o r , but i n h i s own v o i c e , Wordsworth sets out con sc i ou s l y and e x p l i c i t l y to d i s cove r and dec l a re h i s theme. His search f o r a theme i s l i n k e d w i th h i s f e a r of a m o r t a l i t y t ha t encompasses not only man but even the works of man: 138 Things tha t a sp i r e to unconquerable l i f e ; And y e t we f ee l - -we cannot choose but f e e l — That they must p e r i s h . Tremblings of the heart I t g i v e s , to th ink tha t our immortal being No more s h a l l need such garments. (V, 20-24) I t i s a l so l i n k e d , of course, w i t h h i s wish to leave some monument behind him which pure hearts should reverence (V I , 56-57). He i d e n t i f i e s w i th the s p i r i t of the Arab of h i s dream, who appears l i k e a guide at h i s s i d e , indeed, empha t i ca l l y c lo se at h i s s i d e . Q u i x o t e - l i k e he r i d e s to rescue geometry and poe t r y , what Frye c a l l s " the two great instruments tha t man 22 has invented f o r t rans forming r e a l i t y , " from the wastes of t ime and the f l o o d of e x t i n c t i o n . Chid ing h imse l f f o r f a i l u r e to use the t a l e n t s he knows he has, the poet lapses i n a d v e r t e n t l y i n t o the sub jec t tha t p e r f e c t l y s a t i s f i e s a l l h i s needs: h imse l f . The very guide he looks f o r , whether wandering c loud or f l o a t i n g ob jec t on the r i v e r , turns out to be h i s own s e l f responding to the breeze, r e f l e c t i n g i n the water , r e t r ead i ng f a m i l i a r ground w i t h a new purpose. Any f u r t h e r appearance of a gu ide , l i k e the s o l d i e r , the guides on the Alps or on Mount Snowdon, or the s p i r i t of Co le r idge ever at h i s s i de ( I I I , 199), serves to support h i s s p i r i t s , to t e s t or a f f i r m h i s d e d i c a t i o n , but never to ques t ion h i s main d i r e c t i o n . The na r r a t o r exp l a i n s h i s task i n terms of a journey over v a r i ed landscape. He h imse l f i s a p i l g r i m , or home-bound l abou re r , i n search of a haven. Before the end of Book I, however, he recognises i n the ac t of memory a journey tha t re f re shes h i s poe t i c s p i r i t . The s t o r y of h i s l i f e prov ides a theme " [ s ] i n g l e and of determined bounds" ( I , 641). Having begun w i th the c e r t a i n t y tha t he could not miss h i s way, he now f i n d s t ha t h i s road l i e s p l a i n before him. Exp lanatory i n t e r j e c t i o n s repeated ly f i l l 139 i n the d e t a i l s of t h i s journey of memory and n a r r a t i v e . With the pass ing of e a r l y c h i l dhood , f o r example, the path becomes more d i f f i c u l t : and I f e a r That i n i t s broken windings we s h a l l need The chamois 1 s inews, and the e a g l e ' s wing. ( I I , 273-275) S o l i t u d e becomes as s i g n i f i c a n t as the world of Nature f o r e x p l o r a -t i o n of h i s i nner s e l f . His road runs through a count ry s ide tha t i s both around him and w i t h i n : and what I saw Appeared l i k e something i n myse l f , a dream, A prospect i n the mind. ( I I , 350-352) Indeed, h i s s t a t e of mind determines the phy s i c a l geography tha t shapes h i s path. (He i s , a f t e r a l l , a t r a v e l l e r whose t a l e i s only of h imse l f [ I I I , 195].) Having r e t r aced h i s l i f e up to an eminence, he descends i n t o a populous p l a i n . Apathy at Cambridge i s compared to a f l o a t i n g i s l a n d , an amphibious spot Unsound, of spongy t e x t u r e , y e t w i t h a l Not wanting a f a i r face of water-weeds And p leasant f l o w e r s . ( I l l , 333-336) Even t h i s easy t r a v e l l i n g w i t h the s h o a l , however, i s b e n e f i c i a l t o a mind t ha t has h i t h e r t o stood a lone: L i ke a lone shepherd on a promontory Who l a c k i n g occupat ion looks f a r f o r t h Into the boundless sea , and r a the r makes Than f i n d s what he b e h o l d s . ( I l l , 513-516) 140 In conc lu s ion he l i k e n s h i s song to a l a r k tha t has surveyed from great he ight the "Vast prospect of the world which I had been/And was" (XIV, 381-382). Even C a r l y l e i s not more e x p l i c i t about t h i s journey tha t the n a r r a t o r undertakes. His e d i t o r i s not i n top c o n d i t i o n , perhaps; most ly he complains about the hardships of the journey. Wordsworth's n a r r a t o r , on the other hand, i s p e r f e c t l y f i t . He t r a v e l s a road t ha t he has t r a v e l l e d be fo re , but t h i s t ime over the landscape of h i s s o u l ' s h i s t o r y . His words form the jou rney , r a the r l i k e the Mouse's Ta le i n A l i c e i n  Wonderland. He accuses h imse l f of l o i t e r i n g ( I I I , 579). He f i nd s a s o l i t u d e on the p u b l i c road at n i gh t t ha t i s more profound than tha t of path les s wastes. He i s f o reve r wa lk ing w i t h i n h i s n a r r a t i v e , i n the Lake D i s t r i c t , i n the l a b y r i n t h i n e s t r e e t s of London, on the con t i nen t . He i s journey ing over the smooth sands of Leven 's ample estuary when he r ece i ve s news of Robesp ie r re ' s death. His n a r r a t i v e pauses at the end of Book S i x , but then Win te r , on h i s accustomed journey from the n o r t h , b r ings renewed v i gour . The poet r e c a l l s h i s f i r s t attempts " t o p i t c h a vagrant t en t among/The unfenced regions of s o c i e t y " (V I I , 56-57). At the beginning of the n i n th book, he pauses aga in : Even as a r i v e r , - - p a r t l y ( i t might seem) Y i e l d i n g t o o l d remembrances, and swayed In pa r t by f e a r to shape a way d i r e c t , That would engulph him soon i n the ravenous s e a -Turns, and w i l l measure back h i s course, f a r back, Seeking the very regions which he crossed In h i s f i r s t ou t se t . . . . Or as a t r a v e l l e r , who has gained the brow Of some a e r i a l Down, wh i l e there he h a l t s For b rea th i ng - t ime , i s tempted to review The reg ion l e f t behind him. . . , So have we l i n g e r e d . ( IX, 1-17) 141 The s i g n i f i c a n t va lue of r e t r a c i n g one ' s s t ep s , of e x p l o r i n g f a m i l i a r landscapes, l i e s i n r e c o g n i t i o n . In t h i s journey of n a r r a t i v e as i n the o r i g i n a l journey of l i f e , a cqu i r i n g the consciousness of who one i s marks the success of the journey. The poem, or autobiography, both c reates and i s the p lace of a r r i v a l , a green landscape r e f e r t i l i s e d by the waters of the imag ina t i on . L ike Wordsworth's and C a r l y l e ' s , Rousseau's i nner landscape i s a l s o composed of j ou rney s . The f i r s t h a l f of h i s Confes s ions , indeed, bears c lo se a f f i n i t y w i t h the p e r i p a t e t i c nove l . Un l i ke Wordsworth 's n a r r a t o r , however, and C a r l y l e ' s e d i t o r , Rousseau f i n d s n a r r a t i o n more strenuous than l i v i n g . Whereas Wordsworth's n a r r a t o r and C a r l y l e ' s e d i t o r r e t r ead the ground of t h e i r b iographied s e l v e s , Rousseau i n confes s ion t r a v e l s a darker and rougher road than h i s e a r l i e r s e l f . C a r l y l e ' s e d i t o r must make sense of h i s c o l l e c t e d ma te r i a l s f o r h i s reading p u b l i c ; h i s journey p a r a l -l e l s t ha t of h i s hero. Wordsworth has grown up i n the Lake D i s t r i c t ; h i s au tob iog raph i ca l act c on s i s t s i n r e t r ead i ng i t s f a m i l i a r ways i n order to rega in the v i gour tha t w i l l enable him to r e con s t r u c t h i s l i f e . For Rousseau, however, there i s a harsh con t r a s t between the s u n l i t journeys of h i s youth and the miry maze of h i s con fes s ions . In the former, as i n the p e r i p a t e t i c n o v e l , r e v e l a t i o n or development of the hero takes second p lace to continuous movement, random encounters and adventures, the p l e a -sures of the road. In the au tob iog raph i ca l j ou rney , on the other hand, r e v e l a t i o n and awareness of the na r r a t o r count f o r more than the scenery through which he t r a v e l s . He has, a f t e r a l l , acqu i red the luggage of l i f e , and must t r a v e l w i th a l l the r e s p o n s i b i l i t y of a s o c i a l be ing. The continuous t r a v e l l i n g t ha t Rousseau enjoys i n h i s youth i s confessed ly i r r e s p o n s i b l e , undertaken e n t i r e l y f o r p leasure and f r e q u e n t l y 142 to the detr iment of a po s s i b l e ca ree r . The aging autobiographer comments wi th some i r ony on the youth he had been who gets h imse l f d i smissed from a good and promis ing p o s i t i o n , "though indeed not w i thout some d i f f i c u l t y , " i n order to pursue " the i n e f f a b l e b l i s s of a j ou rney " (p. 100). I f the p leasures of the journey are of f i r s t importance, however, they do a l s o c o n t r i b u t e to the development of the p e r i p a t e t i c hero. Rousseau i s q u i t e c l e a r about the value of such t r a v e l l i n g to h i s t a l e n t s and h i s c ha r ac te r : In t h i n k i n g over the d e t a i l s of my l i f e which are l o s t t o my memory, what I most r eg re t i s t ha t I d i d not keep d i a r i e s of my t r a v e l s . Never d i d I th ink so much, e x i s t so v i v i d l y , and exper ience so much, never have I been so much m y s e l f - - i f I may use tha t e xp re s s i on—a s i n the journeys I have taken alone and on f o o t . There i s something about walk ing which s t imu l a te s and en l i ven s my thoughts. When I s tay i n one p lace I can hard ly th ink a t a l l ; my body has to be on the move to set my mind go ing. (pp. 157-158) In every aspect of the l i f e t ha t he chooses t o r e v e a l , Rousseau c l e a r l y lacks d i s c i p l i n e . He f i n d s h i s imaginary worlds i n f i n i t e l y more a t t r a c -t i v e than the g r i nd of subserv ience, which o f f e r s the only a l t e r n a t i v e of h i s you th , or the demands of s o c i e t y when he has made h imse l f a name. I t i s as i f h i s heart and h i s b r a i n , as he puts i t , d i d not belong to the same person (p. 113). His f i n e s t work grows out of daydreams. He h imse l f i s f r ee i n h i s fantasy wor ld from the i n h i b i t i o n s of shyness or the p o s s i b l y worse f r u s t r a t i o n of being unable t o appear the same as he f e e l s he i s . S p e c i f i c a l l y , as he puts i t , good h e a l t h , independence, and p leasant country 143 serve to f r e e my s p i r i t , t o lend a g reate r boldness to my t h i n k i n g , to throw me, so to speak, i n t o the vastness of t h i n g s , so tha t I can combine them, s e l e c t them, and make them mine as I w i l l , w i thout f ea r or r e s t r a i n t , (p. 158) Even w i th freedom of movement, h i s methods of work are not u n l i k e scene-changing a t the opera i n I t a l y . L i ke the apparent d e s t r u c t i o n on the stage which g ives way to a d e l i g h t f u l s p e c t a c l e , so h i s w r i t i n g i s " b l o t t e d , s c r a t ched , confused, i l l e g i b l e . " "I have never been ab le to do anything w i t h my pen i n my hand," he conc ludes , "and my desk and my paper before me; i t i s on my wa lk s , among the rocks and t r e e s , i t i s at n i gh t i n my bed when I l i e awake, t ha t I compose i n my head" (p. 113). On s o l i t a r y walks along the l a ke s i de at Geneva, he d i ge s t s h i s p lan f o r P o l i t i c a l  I n s t i t u t i o n s , meditates a h i s t o r y of the V a l a i s , and plans a prose tragedy on Lucrece. At the Hermitage, he sets as ide h i s afternoons f o r wa l k s , and reckons tha t the f o r e s t of Montmorency i s h i s s tudy. His output i s p r o l i f i c . He t r u s t s to the sheer weight of h i s papers and h i s p u b l i c a t i o n s to s i l e n c e i l l - w i s h e r s who de r ide h i s s i n c e r i t y i n l o v i ng s o l i t u d e . But the wor ld i s too much w i th him. His Confess ions respond, w i t h f requent b i t t e r n e s s , to the s o c i e t y he has t r i e d to avo id . His journey over h i s own past f e e l s l e s s l i k e the open road than l i k e a "dark and miry maze" (p. 28). Wel l might he con t r a s t " the vastness of t h i n g s " w i th the confus ion and i n s t a b i l i t y of h i s own emotions, h i s i n a b i l i t y to shape or co l ou r h i s l i f e i n any way tha t he would l i k e . S i g n i f i c a n t l y , however, the shape t ha t he fo rce s onto i n t r a n s i g e n t events i s e s s e n t i a l l y the shape o f the journey paradigm, of s e p a r a t i o n , i n i t i a t i o n , and r e t u r n . He cons iders h imse l f an o r i g i n a l , i s o l a t e d man, t o t a l l y i n d i v i d u a l . He craves r u r a l s o l i t u d e , which g ives him freedom 144 of s p i r i t . His happiest memories, l i e i n the country. With P a r i s , however, and l i t e r a r y and mus ica l success , he achieves both fame and n o t o r i e t y . He courts and i s repu l sed by the high s o c i e t y and the s o c i e t y of the men of l e t t e r s among whom he i s a genius both courted and desp i sed. B rave ly he a t tacks t h i s monster of s o c i e t y w i th h i s pen. Wounded but f i e r c e , Soc i e t y r e t a l i a t e s , and Rousseau i s f o r ced to f l e e . An o ld and s i c k man, he turns again to the country f o r r e t r e a t , to the p u r s u i t of botany, to a desperate quest f o r the parad i se he has l o s t . Needless to say, h i s e a r l y years are smirched w i th misdeeds and s u f f e r i n g and h i s middle years see r e cogn i t i o n and p r o s p e r i t y . Yet Rousseau's attempt to enforce t h i s n a r r a -t i v e pa t te rn desc r ibes i n pa r t the process of t rans fo rming cont ingent r e a l i t y i n t o a s t o r y f o r others t o understand. Despite h i s v a l i a n t p u r s u i t of the paradigm, however, Rousseau never does manage t o re tu rn to h i s s t a r t i n g p l a c e . A f t e r a l l the c a r e f r e e , s u n l i t j ou rney s , h i s Confess ions lose t h e i r end i n a miry maze f o r seve ra l important reasons. F i r s t l y , he i s a p ioneer i n d i f f i c u l t count ry ; he exp lores and revea l s h i s own complex c h a r a c t e r , admi t t i ng to p e c u l i a r l y shameful misdeeds. Memories embarrass him. He has taken a p u b l i c s tance , b u i l t h i s r epu ta t i on on q u a l i t i e s t ha t he h imse l f has f a i l e d t o ma in ta i n . His e xp l o r a t i on s are conv i n c i n g l y r u t h l e s s and o r i g i n a l . P u r s u i t of such o r i g i n a l i t y almost c e r t a i n l y must produce misshapen c r ea t i on tha t w i l l not conform to a shape t ha t makes sense f o r o ther s . Secondly, Rousseau i s l o s t i n the p o l i t i c a l i n - f i g h t i n g of P a r i s i a n s o c i e t y . He makes f a s t f r i e n d s h i p s and loses them. He p laces abso lute t r u s t and f i nd s h i s conf idences become p u b l i c knowledge. He f e e l s at once innocent and g u i l t y , a ided and oppressed, and then, as the book progresses , i n c r e a s i n g l y per secuted, but by whom he i s never sure. In con t r a s t to the 145 f r ee journeys of h i s y ou th , he now endures the "wandering l i f e " to which he sees he i s "condemned." He cons iders h imse l f "a f u g i t i v e upon the e a r t h " (p. 548). He begins Book Twelve as a work of darkness; he suspects a p l o t aga in s t him but loses h imse l f " i n the obscure and tor tuous windings of the tunnels which lead to i t " (p . 544). Then, t oo , de sp i te the many journeys of the second h a l f of h i s s t o r y , h i s e a r l y years of "vagabondage, f o l l i e s , and hardsh ips " (p. 169) must con t r a s t w i th the e s t a b l i s h e d career of a p u b l i c f i g u r e . The journeys of the youth can be sunny p r e c i s e l y because they combine hea l th and freedom and unknown p o s s i b i l i t i e s . With age, i l l - h e a l t h , and d i sappo intments , however, only the r e l i g i o u s or the i r r e p r e s s i b l e remain buoyant. Aga in , the journeys of youth are t o l d w i th happy memories. Time tha t approaches the present becomes more confused, lacks a c l e a r sense of an ending. "Now," he w r i t e s , "my s t o r y can only proceed at haphazard, accord ing as the ideas come back i n t o my mind" (p. 574). Rousseau's maze leads him i n t o i n c r ea s i n g darkness. He does not accomplish the de s i r ed r e t u r n , but he does achieve a g i f t f o r h i s f e l l o w men. The g i f t c on s i s t s not only of the w r i t t e n work but a l s o of the thread he has unwound on h i s way through the maze i n search of h imse l f . His own cha rac te r has developed paranoid i n s e c u r i t i e s and fea r s as w e l l as o r i g i n a l t a l e n t s , so h i s search f o r h imse l f becomes as much a j u s t i f i c a t i o n as a con fe s s i on . Indeed, he assumes pardon f o r c on fe s s i on , and i s a cco rd i ng l y s t r i d e n t at the assumed h o s t i l i t y of h i s reader s . S e l f - p i t y , even pe tu l ance , i r r i t a t e , the reader w i th a constant sense of emotional b l a c k m a i l . He even seems, worst of s i n s i n an autob iographer , u n r e l i a b l e as a n a r r a t o r , l a r g e l y because other character s i n the t e x t respond to s i t u a t i o n s i n ways tha t make more sense o f them than Rousseau does h imse l f . His wor ld i s 146 s o l i p s i s t i c , h i s vo i ce plangent. But tha t thread he unwinds on h i s way i n t o the dark has proved a remarkable g i f t . He may be c o r r e c t tha t h i s e n t e r p r i s e has no precedent, but hosts of autobiographers have f o l l owed h i s example. The a r t i s t , however, to be more c l e a r l y s u c c e s s f u l , needs to stand out of h i s own l i g h t . A hard task f o r a man whose sub jec t i s h i m s e l f , but achieved w i th such d e l i b e r a t e consciousness by George Moore tha t h i s con-23 temporar ies accused him of w r i t i n g pure f i c t i o n i n p lace of autobiography. L ike Rousseau, Moore was a p u b l i c f i g u r e at the time of w r i t i n g . (Seamus O ' S u l l i v a n enter s a tobaccon i s t s at Moore's heels "w i t h the mad idea of 24, buying two c i g a r s of e x a c t l y the same brand which we had seen him s e l e c t . " ) L ike Rousseau, Moore i s i nvo l ved i n the p o l i t i c a l and s o c i a l l i f e of h i s t ime. L i ke Rousseau, Moore has d r i f t e d through h i s youth aware of h i s t a l e n t s but unable to d i s c i p l i n e h i s ene r g i e s , submi t t ing to every i n f l u e n c e tha t o f f e r s him a po s s i b l e d i r e c t i o n . L ike Rousseau, t o o , Moore has enemies even among h i s f r i e n d s . Moore would i n s i s t on a c r u c i a l d i f f e r e n c e between them, nonetheless . When Edward Martyn t e l l s him tha t he has begun h imse l f out of no th ing , "deve lop ing from the mere sponge to the ve r t eb ra te and upward," (he might w e l l have s a i d the same of Rousseau), Moore concedes the v a l i d i t y of the d e s c r i p t i o n , but would add to such na tu ra l development the unusual f ea tu re of complete and conscious a r t i s t r y . He i s , he would add, " a t once the s c u l p t o r and the b lock of marble of [ h i s ] own d e s t i n y " ( I I I , 62). Moore's book begins w i t h a dream of a book as he wanders i n the Temple i n the e a r l y hours of the morning i n s p i r e d by Edward Martyn ' s wish to w r i t e h i s p lays i n I r i s h . I t ends w i th h i s bleak r e tu rn from I re l and many years l a t e r , having been i n p roces s , l i k e Moore's l i f e , the whole 147 w h i l e , and f i n a l l y d i c t a t i n g not only i t s own end but a l s o h i s l i v e departure. For one of Moore's most remarkable achievements i s t h i s sense of autobiography and l i f e as present and p a r a l l e l process and journey . Moore's method of n a r r a t i o n revea l s t h i s a c t i v i t y by means of a continuous present tense, a stream of consciousness t ha t moves back and f o r t h i n time and i s i n t e r r u p t e d by the present moment. "My garden i s an enchantment i n the s p r i n g , " he w r i t e s , "and I s i t bewitched by the s u n l i g h t and by my i d e a " ( I I , 134). "My gardener ' s rake ceased suddenly, and, opening my eyes, I saw him s n a i l - h u n t i n g among the long blades of the i r i s e s " ( I I , 142). H imse l f as a p i c t u r e of r e v e r i e i s , moreover, Nature ' s p i c t u r e . "My se l f , an e l d e r l y man, l y i n g i n an armchair l i s t e n i n g to the f i r e , i s a f a r be t t e r symbol of r e v e r i e than the young g i r l t ha t a p a i n t e r would p lace on a stone bench under s u n l i t t r e e s " ( I I I , 21). His memories r i s e and f a l l w i th the f i r e . He s t i r s them w i th the c oa l s . He i s i n t e r r u p t e d by a v i s i t o r . His dreams, moreover, come as a d i r e c t r e s u l t of h i s i n a b i l i t y to read, an i n a b i l i t y t ha t d i s t u r b s him because reading i s such a wor th -wh i l e occupat ion f o r a man of l e t t e r s . In t h i s case, however, he i s a man of l i f e - i n t o - l e t t e r s . He v i s i t s the pa s t , "and drowsing i n my arm-c h a i r , unable t o read, the sadness tha t I had exper ienced returned t o me, and I f e l t and saw as I had done t h i r t y years be fo re " ( I I I , 9 ) . He cas t s a net tha t " i s woven of f i n e s i l k f o r the capture of dreams, memories, hopes, a s p i r a t i o n s , sorrows, w i th here and there a s ec re t shame" ( I I , 17). Such a process , l i k e the process of l i f e , i s s e l f - e x p l a n a t o r y and s e l f -r e v e a l i n g . A sudden thought, f o r i n s t ance , da r t i n g across h i s mind, leaves a sentence u n f i n i s h e d , and he wonders what s o r t of man he i s . " [T ]hat day, s i t t i n g under my a p p l e - t r e e , i t seemed to me tha t I had suddenly come upon the s e c r e t l a i r i n which the soul hides i t s e l f " ( I I , 23). The 148 process of f inding his own ident i ty involves the cracking of his English mould, the overthrow of the Englishman who wrote Esther Waters by the Irishman always latent in him. The f u l l r ea l i s a t i on of th i s Irishman, furthermore, can only be achieved by return to Ireland and, per s i s tent l y , return to his own I r i sh past. Just as memory and narration provide continuous action through three volumes, so also is the hero of the autobiography in frequent physical movement. He walks the streets of London, climbs s ta i r s to v i s i t f r iends , travels by t r a i n to Bayreuth for the Wagner season, travels down to Sussex, back and forth to Ireland, by b icycle with AE in search of Druid gods, by t r a i n to the west coast, and f i n a l l y back to London. Moore i s aware that repet i t ion of any journey necessari ly a l ter s the memory that now receives a second impression. He wishes, for instance, to a l t e r his happy memories of a spring-time r ide to a gypsy f a i r in the Sussex downs, so he takes the same r ide again in foul February weather. By ju s t analogy, his narrat ive journey a l ter s the journey of his l i f e ; he makes sense of his experience as part of the I r i sh l i t e r a r y movement by converting that experience into the mythic journey of the hero. Moore i s ca l led to I reland 's serv ice. He comes as her hero in an hour of need, to resurrect her a r t , to inaugurate a new era of culture. Yet Ireland i s also the monster that stands in his way. She fades into a speck on the horizon of his l i f e , but then returns suddenly in tremendous bulk to fr ighten him. She i s an ugly hag extort ing youth and promises from her heroes. She i s a god demanding human s a c r i f i c e . She i s a human, not merely a geographical en t i t y . Wi l l she meet him, he wonders, as a fr iend or as an enemy? W i l l she appear from the boat as small as a p ig ' s back or, rather, as a land of extraordinary enchantment? On a r r i v a l in 149 Dub l i n , Moore f i nd s tha t Edward Martyn i s submi t t i ng h i s dramas to the Church f o r approva l . The Countess Cathleen plays t o hoots and h i s s e s . Between the s t r ang l eho l d of the Church and the ignorance of the peop le , I r e l and meets Moore as an enemy. Moore separates h imse l f from the comfort and c u l t u r e of Europe i n the f i r s t volume of h i s autobiography, i n i t i a t e s h imse l f as an Irishman i n the second, but must r e t u r n , atque i n perpetuum, i n the t h i r d to t e l l h i s s t o r y . His ph y s i c a l t r a v e l s take him e s s e n t i a l l y from England to I r e l and and back again to England. His n a r r a t i v e journey begins w i th the aging author i n search of h imse l f ("bad A r t i s bad because i t i s anonymous. The work of the great a r t i s t i s h imse l f " [ I I I , 102]). I t ends w i th r e d i s -covery of Moore H a l l , h i s e a r l y ch i l dhood , and h i s r e a l i s a t i o n tha t he can only f u l f i l h i s mi s s ion by l eav ing a l l t h i s behind him. " A r t i s a personal r e t h i n k i n g o f l i f e from end t o end, " he w r i t e s , "and f o r t h i s reason the a r t i s t i s always e c c e n t r i c " ( I I I , 103). He comes to I r e l and i n a s p r i n g -time of hope, and leaves on a c o l d , b leak February morning, u n i n s p i r e d , humble, but ready now to complete the work of l i b e r a t i o n because h i s eyes have seen and h i s heart has f e l t the s t o r y tha t he has to t e l l . Autobiography i s a strange form f o r a sacred book tha t can redeem the I r i s h people. By t rans forming l i f e i n t o a r t , however, i n the process of r ecogn i s i ng youth change to age and the he ro i c past become the complex p resent , Moore overcomes the monster that he f i n d s i n I r e l a n d ' s i n t r a c t -a b i l i t y and c h r o n i c l e s a t the same time h i s own he ro i c s e l f - s a c r i f i c e . (There i s no use f o r brave deeds unless there be c h r o n i c l e r s t o r e l a t e them.) Memory and n a r r a t i o n , fu r thermore, remove the process from l i f e i n which Moore H a l l decays and the young boy grows o l d , the loved beauty 150 becomes the worn hag, the young l o ve r an impotent, e l d e r l y man, the he ro i c venture a bubble bu r s t i n g i n t o t h i n a i r . For the process becomes e n t i r e l y tha t of a r t , a constant present a f t e r a l l the dreams. The l i f e - w r i t i n g succeeds where the l i f e i t s e l f cou ld not i n b r i n g i ng l i t e r a t u r e to I r e l a n d , o r , to use the terms of h i s Wagnerian a l l u s i o n s , i n r e f o r g i n g the sword tha t lay broken i n M imi ' s cave ( s i c ) . I d e n t i f i c a t i o n of t h i s e l d e r l y aesthete w i th S i e g f r i e d , the w a r r i o r -hero, demonstrates a s i g n i f i c a n t value of such metaphor f o r autobiography. I t a l lows Moore, i n t h i s i n s t an ce , to make h i s po i n t very c l e a r l y wi thout the s o l i p s i s t i c b l u r t ha t confuses Rousseau. Both men's autobiographies end i n apparent p u b l i c f a i l u r e , but metaphor enables Moore to e s t a b l i s h the succe s s fu l r e a l i s a t i o n of the t rue purpose of h i s journey which i s the r e a l i s a t i o n of h i s own i d e n t i t y . He i s not S i e g f r i e d , of course, but the he ro i c analogy desc r ibes Moore's s e c u r i t y i n h i s r o l e s as Irishman and a r t i s t ; as S i e g f r i e d can r e p a i r the broken sword and f i g h t , so Moore can combine these two main featu res of h i s i d e n t i t y and achieve s p e c i f i c a l l y h i s autobiography. The he ro i c metaphor i n general desc r ibes more than the w i s h f u l t h i n k i n g i n which every ado lescent i ndu l ge s ; i t desc r ibes the main ach ieve -ment of every mature a d u l t , t ha t of secur ing an i d e n t i t y t ha t i s of va lue to h imse l f and to h i s s o c i e t y . J u s t as the journey desc r ibes the quest f o r i d e n t i t y , so the hero def ines the f u l l e s t p o s s i b l e s e c u r i t y t ha t such an i d e n t i t y has been ach ieved. Rousseau's f a i l u r e to c o n t r o l the l a s t pa r t of h i s Confess ions i s a l i t e r a r y f a i l u r e to re so l ve the metaphor w i th which he has begun, to b r i ng i t t o i t s necessary conc l u s i on . He f i n d s , i n e f f e c t , no s en s i b l e metaphor f o r h i s l i f e other than the anx i e t y tha t i t s journey re tu rn to Eden. Given the a f f i n i t y between the l i t e r a r y metaphor 151 and the p s ycho l og i ca l s t a t e tha t i t d e s c r i b e s , i t i s f a i r t o assume tha t Rousseau's l i t e r a r y f a i l u r e stems from a personal f a i l u r e which he i n f a c t d e s c r i b e s , though not i n these terms; un l i k e C a r l y l e , Wordsworth, and Moore, Rousseau never matured beyond the adolescent phase. . He has no c l e a r sense of i d e n t i t y to de s c r i be . He can reach no end to h i s j ou rney , no s e n s i b l e p lace of r e t u r n . The mythic journey tha t i s based on i n i t i a t i o n r i t e s which are ex te rna l man i fe s ta t i on s of and d i r e c t i v e s f o r i n t e r n a l developments i s of p a r t i c u l a r va lue to autobiography because i t combines personal and p u b l i c t r u th s w i th the means f o r express ing those t r u t h s . The case of Rousseau would suggest, however, t ha t the metaphor cannot f u n c t i o n any f u r t h e r than i t s d e s c r i p t i o n of the man i t rep re sent s . I t i s not an autonomous e n t i t y to which the L i f e may be made to conform. Rather, i t spr ings from the o r i g i n a l l i f e , makes sense of t ha t l i f e , and cannot f u n c t i o n beyond the sense tha t i t makes. 152 CHAPTER' FOUR MATURITY: CONVERSION OR DESCENT INTO THE UNDERWORLD Despite i t s apparent ly r e l i g i o u s con tex t , conve r s i on , l i k e the journey or l o s t innocence, can be t raced back to the time of pagan l i t e r a -tu re and e a r l y mythology where i t desc r ibes descent i n t o the underworld. As pa r t of the he ro i c j ou rney , i t exp lores i d e n t i t y and purpose. L ike the myth of Eden, i t enr iches the meanings of b i r t h and death. L i ke the metaphors of Eden and the he ro i c j ou rney , fu r thermore, convers ion der i ves from a s p e c i f i c p s ycho l og i ca l c o n d i t i o n which i s not as i n e v i t a b l e as ch i ldhood or adolescence but i s , nonethe les s , very common. This i s a c o n d i t i o n of i d e n t i t y c r i s i s , of s e l f - d o u b t , and d e s p a i r , f o l l owed by a dramatic sense of r e s u r r e c t i o n to a c l e a r s e l f and a c l e a r purpose. Whereas the j ou rney , however, desc r ibes the process of s e l f - d i s c o v e r y , convers ion desc r ibes r e c o g n i t i o n of the s e l f i n terms tha t f r e q u e n t l y suggest d i s covery of an apparent ly o b j e c t i v e meaning i n l i f e , a meaning which i s i n some fundamental sense d i f f e r e n t from what had been assumed to be the case. I t represents a r e ve r s a l whereby Teu fe l sd rbckh , f o r example, d i s cover s t ha t he i s born not of the d e v i l , but of God, that he i s not a l i e n but pa r t of the wo r l d . Equa l l y , i t represents a r e ve r s a l s imply i n the p s ycho l og i ca l c o n d i t i o n i t d e s c r i be s ; Wordsworth makes no new d i s covery about who he i s , but he regains the e q u i l i b r i u m tha t a l lows him to be a poet. By r e p l a c i n g i d e n t i t y c r i s i s w i th a sense both of s e l f and of purpose, convers ion centres on r e a l i s a t i o n of t ha t c r u c i a l aspect of the maturing process noted e a r l i e r i n d i s cu s s i on of the j ou rney , the s a t i s f a c t o r y harmony between the i n d i v i d -ual and h i s environment. Ne i ther the meaning a s c r i bed to l i f e nor the 153 process of the convers ion need have any grounding i n r e l i g i o n beyond the c o n t r i b u t i o n made by r e l i g i o n to the metaphor. J u s t as the language of r e l i g i o n can prov ide an analogue f o r s e cu l a r exper ience , so C h r i s t i a n i t y borrows from c l a s s i c a l sources the metaphors tha t most e f f e c t i v e l y desc r ibe common exper iences . C h r i s t i a n p i l g r i m s seeking " f e m e halwes, kowthe i n sondry l ondes , " represent a rephras ing of the anc ient s t o r y of man's i n e v i t a b l e journey. For pagan and C h r i s t i a n a l i k e , t ha t journey takes him through the V a l l e y of the Shadow of Death. For many kn ights p r i c k i n g on the p l a i n , H e l l or the Underworld i s the c e n t r a l p lace of i n i t i a t i o n . Death i s the monster con f r on t i n g the hero. V i c t o r y i s not exper ienced as s u r v i v a l but as a second b i r t h . " I t was l i k e an abnormal b i r t h , " w r i t e s St . P a u l , "and the l a s t enemy t o be abo l i shed i s d e a t h . " 1 W r i t i n g about themes of descent as a common f ea tu re of the poe t i c imag ina t i on , Frye desc r ibes a " n i g h t w o r l d , o f ten a dark and l a b y r i n t h i n e wor ld of caves and shadows where the f o r e s t has turned subterranean. . . . I f the meander-and-descent pat terns of p a l e o l i t h i c caves , " he adds, "a long w i th the pa i n t i n g s on t h e i r w a l l s , have anything l i k e the same k ind of s i g -n i f i c a n c e , we are here r e t r a c i n g what a r e , so f a r as we know, the o l de s t 2 imag ina t i ve steps of humanity." Frye enlarges the scope f o r t h i s imagina-t i v e journey w i th h i s reminder t ha t the dark and l a b y r i n t h i n e wor ld i s " e i t h e r the bowels and b e l l y of an ear th -monster , or the womb of an e a r t h -3 mother, or bo th . " He c i t e s Tiamat of Mesopotamian myth, the pr imeval c rea tu re whose body formed the created wor ld . We have seen how Maui, hero of Po lynes ian legend, f a i l e d i n h i s attempt t o t r a v e l through the body of death and re tu rn w i th the g i f t of l i f e . Frye c a l l s t h i s "d i sappearance of the hero, a theme which o f ten takes the form of sparagmos or t e a r i n g 154 to p i e c e s . " Whether the hero i s de s t royed , i n which case h i s achievement becomes a posthumous bequest, or s imply wounded before r e t u r n i n g to the wor ld above, t h i s encounter w i th some form of death i s c e n t r a l to i n i t i a -t i o n . Th is c e n t r a l t r i a l of he ro i c s t r e n g t h , and the reward of such he ro i c e f f o r t w i th s p e c i a l gnos i s , may be desc r ibed as the main fea tu re s of con-ve r s i on. In anc ien t t imes , t h i s t r i a l i s made of Orpheus f o r l o v e , of Herakles as an a c t of heroism, of Odysseus and Aeneas f o r understanding s u f f i c i e n t to save both themselves and t h e i r people. When Odysseus learns tha t he can only reach home a f t e r c on su l t i n g T e i r e s i a s i n the Under-w o r l d , he throws h imse l f down on C i r c e ' s bed t o weep. "Th i s news broke my h e a r t , " he t e l l s A l c i n ou s . "I sat down on the bed and wept. I had 5 no f u r t h e r use f o r l i f e , no wish to see the sunshine any more." His s a i l o r s hear the news w i th equal despondency. Ye t , as Odysseus t e l l s h i s mother ' s shade, he has no cho ice but to come down to Hades. He learns about h i s f u t u r e from T e i r e s i a s . He rece i ve s i n t e l l i g e n t adv ice from h i s f r i e nd s among the dead. They are sources of f i n i t e exper ience which i s easy to understand because i t i s complete. For Odysseus and f o r Aeneas, the knowledge they gain from t h e i r v i s i t s to the underworld determines the conc lu s i on of t h e i r s t o r i e s . C h r i s t , t o o , the redemptive hero of a new e r a , descends i n t o H e l l , r i s e s again on the t h i r d day, and ascends i n t o heaven to l i v e i n power and g l o r y f o r ever more. His r o l e i n t h i s context i s d i r e c t l y comparable to that of Yama i n the Hindu myth of c r e a t i o n , or Maui i n the Po lynes ian myth. He conquers death to save h i s fellowmen from dy ing . Later C h r i s t i a n s have tended to i n t e r n a l i s e heaven and h e l l ; i t forms pa r t of the landscape of human nature. M i l t o n , w i th a l l h i s c a r e f u l geography, presents H e l l as 155 an inescapable s t a t e of mind. For Mephi s topheles , as we have mentioned, even Fau s t ' s study i s H e l l and he cannot escape. F a l l e n man conta ins both good and e v i l w i t h i n h i m s e l f , and convers ion to a h igher s t a t e i nvo l ve s the harrowing of a very p r i v a t e h e l l — p r i v a t e , and y e t , as the l ongev i t y of the metaphor would suggest, u n i v e r s a l . Though convers ion was not a common r e l i g i o u s phenomenon i n the days when gods were l e n i e n t and t r a v e l l e d i n herds, i t was, as Nock po in t s out , a f requent aspect of p h i l o s o p h i c a l t r a i n i n g . The schools of ph i losophy were compet i t i ve and c la imed the l o y a l t y of t h e i r adherents; they a l s o o f f e red answers to the t roub led i n q u i r e r . Convers ion, rep re sent ing a d ramat ic , e x c l u s i v e , or speeded-up ve r s i on of man's journey through h e l l to the achievement of some i n v a l u a b l e pe rcept ion or gnos is i s not e x c l u s i v e l y a by-product of C h r i s t i a n i t y . C h r i s t i a n s s imply use d i f f e r e n t names f o r what they f i n d than those of the e a r l y ph i l o s ophe r s , o r , l a t e r , than the terminology of the s e cu l a r exper ience i n which r e v e l a t i o n leads to knowledge. W i l l i a m James, e xp l o r i n g the psychology of conve r s i on , c a l l s i t "a normal ado lescent phenomenon, i n c i d e n t a l t o the passage from the c h i l d ' s smal l un iver se to the wider i n t e l l e c t u a l and s p i r i t u a l l i f e of m a t u r i t y . " ^ Car l Jung, f o r example, descr ibes a momentous exper ience on h i s way home from school one day: suddenly f o r a s i n g l e moment I had the overwhelming impress ion of having j u s t emerged from a dense c l oud . I knew a l l at once: now I am myself1 I t was as i f a w a l l of mi s t were at my back, and behind t ha t w a l l there was not y e t an ' I . ' But at t h i s moment I came upon myse l f . P r e v i ou s l y I had e x i s t e d t o o , but eve ry th ing had merely happened to me. Now I happened to myse l f . Now I knew: I am mysel f now, now I e x i s t . P r e v i ou s l y I had been w i l l e d to do t h i s and t h a t ; now I w i l l e d . ^ 156 As a man i f e s t a t i on of "an a c t i v e s ub l im ina l s e l f , " such convers ion f r e q u e n t l y occurs i n o l de r people too. Dante s p e c i f i e s middle age f o r h i s dark n ight of the s o u l : Midway t h i s way of l i f e we ' r e bound.upon, I woke to f i n d mysel f i n a dark wood, 1Q Where the r i g h t road was who l l y l o s t and gone. W i l l i a m James desc r ibes such los s of d i r e c t i o n , con fu s i on , lack of hope or purpose, a sense of d i v i ded w i l l , as v i r t u a l l y commonplace: Now i n a l l of us, however c o n s t i t u t e d . . . does the normal e v o l u t i o n of cha rac te r c h i e f l y c o n s i s t i n the s t r a i g h t e n i n g out and u n i f y i n g of the inner s e l f . The h igher and the lower f e e l i n g s , the u se fu l and the e r r i n g impu l ses , begin by being a comparative chaos w i t h i n u s - -they must end by forming a s t a b l e system of , f unc t i on s i n r i g h t subord inat ion.11 The more i n t e n s e , s e n s i t i v e , or psychopath ic the c h a r a c t e r , the more l i k e l y i s extreme tu rmo i l at t h i s s tage, b r i n g i ng c o n v i c t i o n of s i n , s e l f - l o a t h i n g , or de spa i r . "Were we w r i t i n g the s t o r y of the mind from the pure l y na tu ra l h i s t o r y po i n t of v iew, w i th no r e l i g i o u s i n t e r e s t whatever, " he con t i nue s , "we should s t i l l have to w r i t e down man's l i a b i l i t y to sudden and complete 12 convers ion as one of h i s most cur ious p e c u l i a r i t i e s . " Convers ion, i n other words, i s a p s y cho l og i c a l phenomenon common i n a l l ages, e x c l u s i v e to no creed or even, indeed, to r e l i g i o n . I t i s commonly exper ienced as: a s t a t e of de spa i r or t o t a l apathy, f o l l owed by d i s g u s t , t r i a l , or c r i s i s , and then by a new i l l u m i n a t i o n , James's-"sense of h igher c o n t r o l , " a p o s i t i v e ec s ta sy . I t f i n d s a b i o l o g i c a l p a r a l l e l i n f eve r where the term c r i s i s i s a l s o used, and where c loseness 157 t o death i s superseded by recovery i n t o l i f e . I t i s a l s o common f o r the r e l i g i o u s convert to speak of h i s c r i s i s as an i l l n e s s and h i s completed convers ion as a r e tu rn to h e a l t h . S t i l l s t r u g g l i n g w i th doubts , f o r example, S t . Augustine r e f e r s to " those whose h e a l t h f u l a f f e c t i o n s I heard 13 o f , t ha t they had res igned themselves who l l y to thee t o be cu red . " Dickens f r equen t l y passes h i s character s through a se r i ous i l l n e s s before 14 they can see the wor ld and t h e i r pa r t i n i t c l e a r l y . Whether represented by f e v e r , an arduous descent i n t o the depths of the w o r l d , or the depths of one se l f , or merely a sense of confus ion and de spa i r , the process of convers ion e n t a i l s f i n d i n g the app rop r i a te answer. Dante exp lores the depths of H e l l , i n t e r p r e t i n g the un i v e r s e , as Dorothy Sayers puts i t , i n terms of h i s own s e l f - e x p l o r i n g , and f i n d s both B e a t r i c e and God. Odysseus red i s cove r s I thaca. Aeneas ensures the foundat ion of Rome. S t . August ine i s shown the abso lute s i m p l i c i t y of the cho ice he has to make. Convers ion, i n other words, e n t a i l s the journey through h e l l , but i t a l s o ensures a way out aga in . Conversion hinges upon a c r u c i a l d i s cove ry about one se l f , or the purpose of l i f e , or the meaning of the un i ve r se , t ha t e n t i r e l y a l t e r s the conver t . S t . P a u l , of cour se , i s the a rch -conver t of the C h r i s t i a n e r a ; he e s t a b l i s h e s a c l e a r model f o r others to copy. Rousseau, who i s " conve r ted " to Ca tho l i c i sm i n the second book of h i s Confes s ions , and converts back to P ro te s tan t i sm i n Book E i g h t , makes l i t t l e of e i t h e r i n c i d e n t . His t r u l y important convers ion i s to the ph i losophy of l i f e f o r which he became d i s t i n g u i s h e d , and, i n d e s c r i b i n g t h i s , he f o l l ows the s te reotype f o r r e l i g i o u s convers ion e s t a b l i s h e d by S t . Pau l . To t h i s conve r s i on , Rousseau a sc r ibe s a Pau l i ne pass ion and d e t a i l . 158 Walking to Vincennes on a hot day, he reads the t o p i c t i t l e f o r the D i jon essay p r i z e : "Has the progress of the sc iences and a r t s done more to co r rupt morals or improve them?" "The moment I read t h i s , " he w r i t e s , "I beheld another un iverse and became another man" (p. 327). He reaches Vincennes i n a s t a t e border ing on d e l i r i u m . From tha t moment, a l l i s l o s t . He has become too hot on h i s walk and t h i s leads to the recurrence of h i s o ld kidney problems. He s u f f e r s f e ve r . He then renounces h i s post as c a sh i e r to the Rece iver -Genera l of F inance. His reform leads him to break the f e t t e r s of p r e j ud i ce w i th no f ea r of p u b l i c op i n i on . He g ives up gold l a c e , whi te s t o c k i n g s , h i s sword, h i s watch, even h i s f i n e l i n e n . He now con sc i ou s l y r a t i o n a l i s e s the s u r l i n e s s f o r which he became noted to harmonise not w i th h i s i n a b i l i t y t o handle s o c i a l graces but w i t h h i s new programme of independence and i n d i f f e r e n c e to op i n i on . Rousseau desc r ibes " t h i s i n t o x i c a t i o n " w i th v i r t u e as b r i n g i n g such e x h i l a r a t i o n tha t " t he re was nothing g reat or b e a u t i f u l t ha t can enter i n t o the heart of man, between ear th and heaven, of which I was not capable. . . . I was t r u l y t ransformed" (p. 388). Un fo r tunate l y f o r Rousseau, however, t h i s s t a t e of e u p h o n o conf idence l a s t s f o r only s i x y ea r s ; when i t leaves him, he f a l l s below h i s former l e v e l of s e l f - a s s u r a n c e , s u f f e r i n g t h e r e a f t e r continuous o s c i l l a t i o n s of s o u l , a permanent s t a t e of d i s tu rbance . Apart from such r e l a t i v e l y i d i o s y n c r a t i c personal exper iences recorded i n l i t e r a t u r e , whole sec t s of C h r i s t i a n s r e ce i ve adherents only a f t e r an avowedly Pau l i ne conver s ion . Edmund Gosse desc r ibes how the Plymouth Brethren wa i t u n t i l the path of s a l v a t i o n has been revea led i n such an aspect tha t [the conver t s ] would be enabled i n s tan taneous l y to accept i t . They would take i t c on s c i ou s l y , as one takes a g i f t from the hand that o f f e r s i t . Th i s ac t of t ak i ng 159 was the process of conve r s i on , and the person who so accepted was a c h i l d of God now, although a s i n g l e minute ago he had been a c h i l d of wrath The very root of human nature had to be changed, and i n the m a j o r i t y of cases , t h i s change was sudden, patent , pa lpab le .15 W i l l i a m Hale White i s r a the r more c y n i c a l about such r ou t i ne convers ion than Edmund Gosse: Before I went to c o l l e g e I had to be " a d m i t t e d . " In most D i s sent ing communities there i s a s i n g u l a r ceremony c a l l e d " admi s s i on . " . . . I t i s a d e c l a r a -t i o n t ha t a c e r t a i n change c a l l e d convers ion has taken p lace i n the s o u l . . . . As may be expected, i t i s very of ten i n a c c u r a t e l y p i c t u re sque , and i s framed a f t e r the model of the journey to Damascus. A s i n n e r , f o r example', who swears at h i s pious w i f e , and threatens t o beat he r , i s suddenly smi t ten w i th g idd iness and awful pa in s . [16 ] He throws h imse l f on h i s knees before her , and thenceforward he i s a "changed c h a r a c t e r . " (•., pp. 56-58) In The Autobiography of Mark Ru the r fo rd , w r i t t e n some t h i r t y years e a r l i e r than The Ea r l y L i f e , Hale White sha rp l y con t ra s t s t h i s mockery of convers ion so common i n d i s s e n t i n g chapels w i th the r e a l i t y t ha t he and many l i k e him exper i ence , as i f beyond the c a l l of duty , as an unexpected movement of the soul towards s a l v a t i o n : "Noth ing p a r t i c u l a r happened to me," he w r i t e s , " t i l l I was about f o u r t e e n , when I was t o l d i t was time I became converted" (Ab, p. 11). From t h i s c y n i c a l beg inn ing , he e l a b o r -ates the r e a l meaning of conve r s i on , the f a c t t ha t conve r s i on , even based on the Pau l i ne model, can be e n t i r e l y t r u e . There may have been prompt r e l ea se of unsuspected powers, and as prompt an imprisonment f o r ever of meaner weaknesses and tendenc ie s ; the r e s u l t being l i t e r a l l y 160 a pu t t i n g o f f of the o l d , and a p u t t i n g on of the new man. (Ab, p. 12) Not only does Rutherford be l i e ve t h i s , but he a l s o i l l u s t r a t e s i t i n human terms: . . . the exact counterpar t of conve r s i on , as i t was understood by the a p o s t l e s , may be seen whenever a man i s redeemed from v i c e by attachment to some woman whom he worsh ips , or when a g i r l i s rec la imed from id lenes s and v an i t y by becoming a mother. (Ab, pp. 12-13) Having g iven r e a l meaning to the term conve r s i on , Ru the r f o rd ' s cyn i c i sm about h i s own convers ion i s a c i d i c ; comparison w i th the emotional r e a l i t y i s used to c o n v i c t him pe r s ona l l y of meanness of s p i r i t and the community at la rge of gross hypoc r i s y : I knew tha t I had t o be "a c h i l d of God," and a f t e r a t ime professed myself to be one. . . . I was ob l i ged to dec l a re mysel f convinced of s i n ; convinced of the e f f i c a c y of the atonement; convinced tha t I was f o r g i v e n ; convinced tha t the Holy Ghost was shed abroad i n my hea r t ; and convinced of a g reat many other th ings which were the merest phrases. (Ab, p. 13) Such con fe s s i on , Rutherford notes, of s i n and conve r s i on , was never v i v i d or v a l uab l e . Admission e s s e n t i a l l y meant c l a n s h i p , not enl ightenment. I f Brother Holderness , a f t e r a l l , the t r a v e l l i n g d raper , who r e v e l l e d i n the h u m i l i t y of f i n d i n g h i s soul a mass of pu t r e f y i n g s o re s , had a c t u a l l y had one i n d i s c r e t i o n brought home t o him, he would have been v i s i t e d w i th suspension or e xpu l s i on . 161 Rutherford desc r ibes h i s formal convers ion i n terms t ha t con t r a s t i t s f i n e s t p o s s i b i l i t i e s and the a r i d i t y o f the p a r t i c u l a r which i s endorsed by the whole community. I t i s a l s o e f f e c t i v e l y cont ra s ted w i th h i s t r u l y se r i ous conve r s i on , wh ich , l i k e Rousseau ' s , i s n o n - r e l i g i o u s but r e f e r s to the Pau l i ne model. In h i s t h i r d year a t t h e o l o g i c a l c o l l e g e , on a day I remember as w e l l as Paul must have remembered afterwards the day on which he went to Damascus, I happened t o f i n d amongst a pa rce l of books a volume of poems i n paper boards. I t was c a l l e d " L y r i c a l B a l l a d s , " and I read f i r s t one and then the whole book. I t conveyed to me no new d o c t r i n e , and y e t the change i t wrought i n me could only be compared w i th t ha t which i s s a i d to have been wrought on Paul h imse l f by the D i v ine appa ra t i on . (Ab, p. 23) I t br ings to b i r t h i n Rutherford a hab i t of i nner r e f e r e n c e , a d i s l i k e f o r business tha t does not touch the s o u l , a r e c r e a t i o n of the supreme d i v i n i t y . I t i s t h i s k ind of exper ience of convers ion tha t i s rooted i n human psychology. I t takes many forms, but the v a r i a t i o n s tend to merge i n t o a pa t te rn tha t remains recogn i sab le whatever the occas ion . A.D. Nock d i scus ses the way i n which d i f f e r e n t accounts of convers ion do not r e p r e -sent " the l i t e r a l t r u t h — a t l e a s t not the whole t r u t h , f o r a process of convers ion as looked at af terwards by the man h imse l f commonly assumes a new co lou r . Few of us are capable of e n t i r e l y f a i t h f u l autobiography. Yet the main l i n e s are c l e a r and s i g n i f i c a n t . " 1 ' ' Or, as S a l l u s t i u s puts i t : " A l l t h i s d i d not happen a t any one time but always i s : the mind 1 o sees the whole process a t once, words t e l l of pa r t f i r s t , pa r t second." 162 Even i n the mind, before the ac t of w r i t i n g , a p r i v a t e exper ience of convers ion must be made to conform to a recogn i sab le g e n e r a l i t y . Jonathan Edwards knew t h i s : A r u l e rece i ved and e s t a b l i s h e d by common consent has a very g r ea t , though t o many persons an i n -s en s i b l e i n f l u e n c e i n forming t h e i r not ions of the process of t h e i r own exper ience. . . . Very o f ten t h e i r exper ience at f i r s t appears l i k e a confused chaos, but then those pa r t s are s e l e c ted which bear the nearest resemblance to such p a r t i c u l a r steps as are i n s i s t e d on; and these are dwelt upon i n t h e i r thoughts, and spoken of from time to t ime , [19] t i l l they grow more and more conspicuous i n t h e i r v iew, and other par t s which are neg lected grow more and more obscure. Thus what they have exper ienced i s i n s e n s i b l y s t r a i n e d , so as to b r i ng i t t o an exact conformity to the scheme a l ready e s t a b l i s h e d i n t h e i r minds.20 Ju s t as the journey can lead to I thaca or Rome or the C e l e s t i a l C i t y or the centre of s e l f , so convers ion can be to a ph i losophy or a r e l i g i o u s f a i t h , a s ecu l a r percept ion of s e l f and the w o r l d , a c a l l i n g , or the meaning of l i f e . Whatever the s p e c i f i c content , the form remains much the same. Convers ion, fu r thermore , f u l f i l s prophecy by making ev ident what was always t he re . L ike a prophet, the convert w r i t e s from the vantage po i n t of h i s converted s t a t e ; l i k e the na r r a to r s of The Odyssey or The Quest  f o r the Holy G r a i l , l i k e every autob iographer , he knows as he t e l l s h i s s t o r y what has happened at i t s end. Having reached the h igh-water mark of h i s s p i r i t u a l c a p a c i t y , the convert orders h i s exper ience so t ha t i t i s meaningful f o r a l l men and he h imse l f i s merely r ep re sen t a t i v e or exemplary. Having found the answers, he must p roc l a im them to a l l who have ears to hear. I f these men, l i k e Lazarus come back from the dead, cannot t e l l us 163 a l l , they do at l e a s t r e l a t e t h e i r death and r e b i r t h i n a manner t ha t a l l can recogn i se . At the cent re of the journey desc r ibed by Wordsworth and C a r l y l e , each autobiographer p laces h i s own descent i n t o the underworld. We have seen the succes s fu l conc lu s ion of t h e i r j ou rney s , the a u t h o r i t y w i th which each autobiography concludes i t s e x p l o r a t i o n of i d e n t i t y and purpose. Here we s h a l l look at the c r i s i s t ha t i s c e n t r a l t o each journey. For Wordsworth and C a r l y l e , as f o r Aeneas and Odysseus, t h i s episode i s c e n t r a l to the journey but f unc t i on s a l so as a d i s t i n c t episode i n i t s own r i g h t . I t s p o s s i b l e sepa ra t i on from the journey metaphor may be seen i n i t s use by John S t ua r t M i l l . Of a l l the autob iograph ies s tud ied here, M i l l ' s i s the most p r o s a i c , the l e a s t imag i na t i v e , the l e a s t l i k e l y t o be i n f l uenced by l i t e r a r y conventions or the a t t r a c t i o n s of p oe t i c l i c e n c e . M i l l c e r t a i n l y does not see h i s ch i ldhood as Edenic or h i s l i f e as a journey . He does, however, desc r ibe what was most probably a nervous breakdown as a c r i s i s of i d e n t i t y , as a conver s ion . Whereas Wordsworth and C a r l y l e , i n other words, use a l l the resources of the n a r r a t i v e pa t te rn f o r the journey and i nc lude a c e n t r a l c r i s i s of convers ion as a descent i n t o the underwor ld, M i l l uses on ly tha t element t ha t matches h i s d e s c r i p t i v e needs. The on ly extended metaphor i n M i l l ' s autobiography i s t ha t of h i s conver s ion . Ju s t as i t seems f a i r t o assume tha t Rousseau's n a r r a t i v e journey was prevented from reach ing i t s necessary conc lu s ion by i t s e s s e n t i a l adherence to h i s p s ycho log i ca l c o n d i t i o n , so i t seems p l a u s i b l e tha t M i l l was d r i ven by the urgency of h i s need to de sc r i be h i s mental c r i s i s t o use t ha t pa t te rn t ha t could desc r ibe i t most e f f i c i e n t l y . Whereas Rousseau's i nner l i f e impeded h i s metaphor, M i l l ' s i nner l i f e c reated one. 164 M i l l , Wordsworth, and C a r l y l e were a l l e xcep t i ona l men who rece i ved the hear ing t ha t prophets c l a i m , who both led and represented t h e i r t ime , who wrote under the shadow of Goethe, were a f f e c t e d by Romantic s e l f -consciousness and s e l f - a n a l y s i s , and f o r whom, a l l t h r e e , the o b j e c t i f i e d worship of deus de deo was t r a n s f i g u r e d i n t o t h e i r i n d i v i d u a l se lves h o l d -ing the lamp and knocking at the door as Ecce homo. A l l three men exper -ienced some s i g n i f i c a n t change of hear t . A l l th ree w r i t e w i th a purpose and from a s p e c i a l po in t of v iew. In d i f f e r e n t s t y l e s and w i t h d i f f e r e n t v o i c e s , a l l three present two se lves and would be capable of say ing tha t the e a r l y s e l f had seen through a g la s s d a r k l y , whereas the tw ice -born s e l f saw c l e a r l y face to f a ce . I t i s no t , t h e r e f o r e , s u r p r i s i n g , t o f i n d the three of them l i s t e d i n Thomas Hardy ' s notebook as authors to be turned 21 to i n times of de spa i r . Commemorating the one hundredth ann iver sary of M i l l ' s b i r t h i n 1906, Thomas Hardy r e c a l l s going as a young man to hear M i l l speak. He and h i s f r i e n d s knew M i l l ' s L i b e r t y by h e a r t , and he was moved t o hear the " r e l i -gious s i n c e r i t y of h i s speech, " and to see the prophet who " s tood bare-headed, and h i s vast pa le brow, so t h i n - s k i nned as to show the blue v e i n s , s loped back l i k e a s t r e t c h i n g up land, and conveyed t o the observer a cur ious 22 sense of p e r i l o u s exposure. M i l l was j u s t i f i e d i n assuming tha t the development of h i s mind would prov ide a u se fu l record f o r h i s f e l l o w men. He wrote i t , a c c o r d i n g l y , w i th great c a r e , w i th many r e v i s i o n s over a wide span of t ime : I t i s i n t h i s way tha t a l l my books have been composed. They were always w r i t t e n at l e a s t twice over; a f i r s t d r a f t of the e n t i r e work was completed to the very end of the s u b j e c t , then the whole begun again de novo; but i n c o r p o r a t i n g , i n the second w r i t i n g , a l l sentences and par t s of sentences of the o ld d r a f t which appeared as 165 s u i t a b l e to my purpose as anything which I cou ld w r i t e i n l i e u of them. I have found great advan-tages i n t h i s system of double r e d a c t i o n . I t combines, b e t t e r than any other mode of composi-t i o n , the f reshness and v igour of the f i r s t concept ion w i th the s upe r i o r p r e c i s i o n and completeness r e s u l t -ing from prolonged thought.23 As the autobiography of the development of a mind, t h i s book rece i ve s much the same treatment as a system of l o g i c and i s q u i t e as d e l i b e r a t e as an essay on l i b e r t y . Jack S t i l l i n g e r ' s e d i t i o n of the e a r l y d r a f t , w i t h annotat ions tha t g ive y e t e a r l i e r readings of words, phrases , and even whole passages, i n d i c a t e s the r i g ou r w i th which emotional b iases were co r rec ted t o leave as c l e a r l y as p o s s i b l e a p i c t u r e only of the mind, as w e l l as the adjustments, e i t h e r from d i s c r e t i o n or from a l t e r e d v i s i o n , that were made to the emphases. Summarising the q u a l i t y of M i l l ' s r e v i s i o n s i n h i s i n t r o d u c t i o n , S t i 1 l i n g e r po in t s to the inc reased detachment of s t y l e . W r i t i n g about the c r i s i s i n h i s mental h i s t o r y , f o r i n s t an ce , M i l l r e f e r s o r i g i n a l l y to onetime pleasures as now " i n d i f f e r e n t or d i s g u s t i n g . " He r ev i s ed t h i s phrase to read " i n s i p i d and i n d i f f e r e n t , " and f i n a l l y added the comparison between h i s d e j e c t i o n and " the s t a t e . . . i n which converts t o Methodism u s u a l l y 24 a r e , when smit ten by t h e i r f i r s t c o n v i c t i o n of s i n . ' " He beg ins , i n other words, by defus ing the q u a l i t y of h i s own emotion and ends by detaching tha t emotion a l t o ge the r from the s p e c i f i c a l l y personal and o b j e c t i f y i n g the whole exper ience onto a pa t te rn tha t conta ined and def ined i t . " In a l l p r o b a b i l i t y , " he a l s o adds, "my case was by no means so p e c u l i a r as I f anc i ed i t , and I doubt not t ha t many others have passed through a s i m i l a r s t a t e " (p. 111). 166 With r e v i s i o n , M i l l shows increased awareness of an audience. He c o n t r o l s outbursts of egot i sm, om i t t i n g e n t i r e l y or a l t e r i n g the terms i n which he mentions h i s work and h i s pa r t i n d i s cu s s i on s and debates. He s u b s t i t u t e s g e n e r a l i t i e s f o r exper iences f i r s t g iven as s p e c i f i c a l l y personal and omits many d e t a i l s . " I t i s a f u l l e r and more v a r i ed l i f e , " 25 S t i l l i n g e r comments, " t h a t he presents i n the e a r l y d r a f t . " More s i g n i f i c a n t l y , he tones down d e s c r i p t i o n s of h i s f a t h e r , h i s f a m i l y , and the more unfortunate aspects of h i s educat i on . With an "access of c h a r i t y " towards h i s f a t h e r and h i s f a t h e r ' s f r i e n d s , M i l l omits t o mention h i s f a t h e r ' s temper or the mocking c a r i c a t u r e s w i th which he would c o r r e c t h i s son ' s read ing . Whereas M i l l o r i g i n a l l y f e e l s t ha t the s e v e r i t y of h i s educa t i on , making i t an educat ion of f e a r r a t h e r than of l o ve , acted as an unfavourable moral agency on h i s boyhood, he l a t e r he s i t a t e s to pronounce 26 whether he l o s t or gained by such s e v e r i t y . By adding comparisons between h i s f a t h e r and Bentham, M i l l so f tens the f i n a l account i n t o a v i r t u a l eulogy. S i m i l a r l y , the cons ide rab le handicaps tha t he o r i g i n a l l y a t t r i b u t e s to h i s educat ion r e ce i ve less emphasis i n the f i n a l v e r s i o n . He omits whole pages de s c r i b i n g h imse l f as t o t a l l y u n f i t f o r everyday l i f e and incapab le o f a c t i o n o r d e c i s i o n . Indeed, h i s dependence upon h i s f a t h e r i s r ev i s ed w i t h i n the t e x t tha t remains. His " taught o p i n i o n s , " f o r example, become h i s "adopted o p i n i o n s , " suggest ing some autonomy w i th which he can en large the bas i s of h i s i n t e l l e c t u a l c reed. The whole d i r e c t i o n of each r e v i s i o n con t r i bu te s to " the more formal and gene ra l i z ed cha rac te r of the l a t e r v e r s i o n , " the succes s i ve r e v i s i o n s w i t h i n the e a r l y d r a f t a l so showing " the same k ind of progress from p r i v a t e 27 to p u b l i c , and from p u b l i c to more p u b l i c v o i c e . " M i l l h imse l f might have f e l t t h i s autobiography t o be h i s c l o s e s t approximation t o a work of 167 c r e a t i v e a r t , " f o r i t i s the a r t i s t alone i n whose hands Truth becomes 28 impress ive and a l i v i n g p r i n c i p l e of a c t i o n . " Ac t i on and usefu lness were M i l l ' s constant sources of purpose. C l e a r l y , the o b j e c t i v i t y he a r r i v e d at here, i n w r i t i n g of the personal and t r auma t i c , becomes an a r t i s t i c achievement. M i l l never a t t a i n s to the q u a l i t y of a r t i s t r y t ha t he learned to admire i n Wordsworth and C a r l y l e , but he does achieve the wide a c c e s s i -b i l i t y t ha t cannot be found i n personal p a r t i c u l a r s but always e x i s t s i n embodying archetypes. M i l l s t a t e s the purpose of h i s autobiography at the very ou t se t : i t i s to be a u se fu l record of an unusual educa t i on ; i t may be of " i n t e r e s t and b e n e f i t " t o note the succes s i ve stages of a mind t ha t i s always p re s -s ing fo rward; i t f u l f i l s h i s wish to acknowledge " the debts which [ h i s ] i n t e l l e c t u a l and moral development owes t o other persons . " His r i gorous adherence to these three purposes i s apparent i n the very phras ing and at 29 no po in t wavers through the whole. Morley con t ra s t s M i l l ' s a na l y s i s of h i s mental h i s t o r y w i th the more f requent Sturm und Drang of the pe r iod and convers ions to t ranscendenta l i sm. The Autobiography i s not "a work of imag inat ion or a r t , but . . . the p r a c t i c a l record of the format ion of an eminent t h i n k e r ' s mental hab i t s and the success ion of h i s mental a t t i t u d e s ; and the format ion of such mental hab i t s i s not romance but the most arduous 30 of r e a l concerns . " M i l l c e r t a i n l y never loses s i g h t of the way i n which h i s problems may a l s o be problems f o r other people. Pa r t of h i s purpose c on s i s t s i n making s p e c i f i c problems very c l e a r . In the midst of h i s mental c r i s i s , a c c o r d i n g l y , he a s se r t s t ha t " the de s t i n y of mankind i n general was ever i n my thoughts , and could not be separated from my own. I f e l t t ha t the f l aw i n my l i f e must be a f l aw i n l i f e i t s e l f " (p. 114). Or, i n other words, " [ i ] f Bentham's theory of l i f e can do so l i t t l e f o r the i n d i v i d -31 u a l , what can i t do f o r s o c i e t y ? " 168 I t i s not s u r p r i s i n g , then , to f i n d h i s mental c r i s i s presented very l a r g e l y i n terms of quest ions tha t a r i s e and answers t ha t are p a i n -f u l l y found. He had been happy i n h i s o ld purposes and methods u n t i l he awakened from such enjoyment as from a dream. The waking r e a l i t y i s des-c r i bed as stemming from an e n t i r e l y r a t i o n a l que s t i on : i f a l l the object s i n h i s l i f e were f u l f i l l e d , would he be happy? The d i s t i n c t answer t ha t he would not comes, no t ab l y , from an " i r r e p r e s s i b l e s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s . " This vague g e n e r a l i t y , however, i s not a l lowed t o take over i n the d e s c r i p -t i o n of events. His hopelessness leads to two eminent ly r a t i o n a l d e c i s i o n s : not to ask such quest ions which confuse means w i th ends, and to c u l t i v a t e the i nner man. The f i r s t "now became the bas i s of my ph i losophy of l i f e , " and the second "became one of the c a r d i n a l po in t s i n my e t h i c a l and p h i l o -soph i ca l c reed " (p. 113). A f t e r exposing h imse l f to new i n f l u e n c e s , s o c i a l and l i t e r a r y , he adds: I f I am asked, what system of p o l i t i c a l ph i losophy I s u b s t i t u t e d f o r t ha t wh ich, as a ph i l o sophy , I had abandoned, I answer, no system: on ly a c o n v i c -t i o n tha t the t rue system was something much more complex and many-sided than I had p r e v i ou s l y had any idea of. (p. 123) The exp l o s i v e word, " c o n v i c t i o n , " i s toned down by the very reasonableness of i t s contex t . S i m i l a r l y , M i l l ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of Sa int -S imonian t h i n k i n g about h i s t o r y prov ides a reasonable metaphor f o r h i s personal exper ience : During the organ ic per iods (they sa id ) mankind accept w i th f i r m c o n v i c t i o n some p o s i t i v e c reed , c l a im ing j u r i s d i c t i o n over a l l t h e i r a c t i o n s , and 169 con ta i n i ng more or les s of t r u t h and adaptat ion to the needs of humanity. Under i t s i n f l u e n c e they make a l l the progress compatible w i th the c reed , and f i n a l l y outgrow i t ; when a pe r i od f o l l ows of c r i t i c i s m and nega t i on , i n which man-k ind lose t h e i r o l d c onv i c t i o n s w i thout a c q u i r -ing any new ones of a general or a u t h o r i t a t i v e c h a r a c t e r , except the c o n v i c t i o n tha t the o ld are f a l s e , (p. 215) D i scuss ing Comte's " n a t u r a l success ion of three stages i n every department of human knowledge," from t h e o l o g i c a l , to metaphy s i ca l , t o p o s i t i v e , M i l l acknowledges the re levance of these t heo r i e s on academic subject s to h i s own emotional unbalance. "Th i s d o c t r i n e , " he w r i t e s , "harmonized w e l l w i th my e x i s t i n g n o t i o n s , to which i t seemed to g i ve a s c i e n t i f i c shape" (p. 126). Given t ha t M i l l ' s e x p l i c i t concerns are so empha t i ca l l y t h e o r e t i c a l , i t i s a r e l i e f t o f i n d i n h i s subsequent anx ie t y over p h i l o s o p h i c a l neces-s i t y , which weighs on h i s ex i s t ence l i k e an incubus, an echo of S t . Augus-t i n e ' s equa l l y i n t e l l e c t u a l but more i n t e n s e l y emotional concern w i th f r e e w i l l : Mysel f when I was d e l i b e r a t i n g upon se r v i ng the Lord my God now, as I had long purposed, i t was I who w i l l e d , I who n i l l e d , I, I mysel f . I n e i t h e r w i l l e d e n t i r e l y , nor n i l l e d e n t i r e l y . Therefore was I at s t r i f e w i th myse l f , and ren t asunder by myse l f .32 M i l l , however, de sp i te the incubus, completes the episode w i t h h i s usual r e s t r a i n t : The t r a i n of thought which had e x t r i c a t e d me from t h i s dilemma seemed t o me, i n a f t e r y e a r s , f i t t e d to render a s i m i l a r s e r v i c e to o the r s ; and i t now 170 forms the chapter on " L i b e r t y and Neces s i t y " i n the conc lud ing book of my System of Log ic .^3 (p. 129) The form of M i l l ' s c r i s i s , as we have seen, as w e l l as a number of the remedies tha t he f i nd s f o r i t , are more c o n v e n t i o n a l , l e s s i n t e l l e c t u a l , than the main d r i f t of t h i s chapter i n h i s autobiography would suggest. Though i t i s t r i g g e r e d by a s imple q u e s t i o n , i t i s a ques t ion asked at a time of exhaus t i on , when he "was i n a d u l l s t a t e of nerves. . . . the s t a t e , I should t h i n k , i n which converts t o Methodism u s u a l l y a r e , when smit ten by t h e i r f i r s t ' c o n v i c t i o n of s i n ' " (p. 107). The detachment that enables him t o make such a q u i e t comparison only v e i l s the q u a l i t y of the a l l u s i o n borne out by words l i k e " c o n v e r t s , " and " s m i t t e n , " though he f e e l s bound t o p lace " c o n v i c t i o n of s i n " w i t h i n quota t i on marks. He desc r ibes the "d ry heavy d e j e c t i o n of the w i n te r of 1826-1827," dur ing which he d i d a l l th ings mechan i ca l l y , and from which he remembers "next t o no th i n g . " His t o l e r ance of hopelessness was exhausted, he could not imagine l i v i n g i n such a s t a t e beyond the y ea r , and then came h i s f i r s t r e l i e f . The exhaust ion and apathy common i n accounts of convers ion t a ke s , i n M i l l ' s case, the form of an i n a b i l i t y t o f e e l any emotion. He i s q u i t e c l e a r t ha t the lack a r i s e s from h i s educa t i on , t ha t the " h a b i t of a na l y s i s has the tendency to wear away the f e e l i n g s " (p. 109). For the f i r s t t ime he conf ronts what he desc r ibes Bentham as t o t a l l y i g n o r i n g , about h a l f of the "mental f e e l i n g s " t ha t human beings are capable o f , " i n c l u d i n g a l l 34 those of which the d i r e c t ob jec t s are s t a te s of t h e i r own mind. " L i ke Lou i sa Gradgr ind, he might cry to h i s f a t h e r : ' "what have you done, 0 f a t h e r , what have you done, w i t h the garden t ha t should have bloomed once, 35 i n t h i s g reat w i ldernes s h e r e ! 1 " And he would a l s o have had t o add: 171 ' " y o u have brought me to t h i s . Save me by some" other means! ' " His problem, however, i s even more se r ious f o r , not only does he f e e l t ha t h i s f a t h e r i s the l a s t person to whom he can t u r n , but he a l s o s u f f e r s from an i n a b i l i t y to con f ide i n anyone at a l l . He th i nk s f r e q u e n t l y of Macbeth 's appeal t o the doc to r , but " t he re was no one on whom I cou ld b u i l d the f a i n t e s t hope of such a s s i s t a n c e " (p. 108). Notab ly , the d o c t o r ' s r e p l y t o Macbeth i s t ha t the p a t i e n t must m i n i s t e r to h imse l f , and t h i s , i n v o l u n -t a r i l y , o r , as he puts i t , a c c i d e n t a l l y , M i l l does: I was r e ad i n g , a c c i d e n t a l l y , Marmontel ' s Memoires, and came t o the passage which r e l a t e s h i s f a t h e r ' s death , the d i s t r e s s e d p o s i t i o n of the f a m i l y , and the sudden i n s p i r a t i o n by which he, then a mere boy, f e l t and made them f e e l t ha t he would be every th ing t o them--would supply the p lace of a l l t ha t they had l o s t . A v i v i d concept ion of the scene and i t s f e e l i n g s came over me, and I was moved to t e a r s . From t h i s moment my burden grew l i g h t e r , (p. I l l ) Emotional r e l ea se through a reading w i th which he could obv ious l y i d e n t i f y very power fu l l y g ives evidence of what W i l l i a m James has c a l l e d the " a c t i v e s u b l i m i n a l l i f e , " and exp l a i n s the suddenness of the t r a n s i -t i o n from apathy and despa i r t o r e v i t a l i s e d f e e l i n g . Notab ly , Marmontel ' s i n s p i r a t i o n i s a l s o sudden. Th i s passage about r e p l a c i n g a dead f a t h e r i s as appropr i a te f o r M i l l as t ha t about p u t t i n g away concupiscence f o r S t . August ine. The r e a c t i o n , t oo , i s comparable. S t . Augus t ine ' s con-ve r s i on i s immediate: " i n s t a n t l y at the end of t h i s sentence, by a l i g h t as i t were of s e r e n i t y i n fu sed i n t o my hea r t , a l l the darkness of doubt 37 vanished away." For M i l l there i s a l s o "a smal l ray of l i g h t " and h i s burden grows l i g h t e r from " t h i s moment." L ike C h r i s t i a n , he weeps on l o s i n g h i s "burden. " More l i k e C h r i s t i a n than l i k e S t . Augus t ine , however, M i l l ' s convers ion i s only p a r t i a l and needs f u r t h e r nourishment. 172 The whole concept ion of M i l l ' s Autobiography assumes the development of cha rac te r through a s s o c i a t i o n and educat i on . So f u l l y d i d he l ea rn about l i f e from h i s f a t h e r tha t h i s c r i s i s stems p r e c i s e l y from the causes f o r which one might expect h i s f a t h e r to de spa i r . True t o the c a r e f u l p lann ing of the book, M i l l c reates a sense of causal nece s s i t y by des-c r i b i n g h i s f a t h e r , some f i f t y pages before h i s own conve r s i on , i n these terms: he had . . . s c a r c e l y any b e l i e f i n p lea su re . . . . The g rea te r number of m i sca r r i ages i n l i f e he cons idered to be a t t r i b u t a b l e .to.the- o v e r -va l u i ng of p l ea su re s . . . . He thought human l i f e a poor t h i ng a t be s t , a f t e r the f reshness of youth and of u n s a t i s f i e d c u r i o s i t y had gone by. . . . H e would sometimes say tha t i f l i f e were made what i t might be, by good government and good educa t i on , i t would be worth hav ing; but he never spoke w i th anything l i k e enthusiasm even of t ha t p o s s i b i l i t y , (p. 54) Not on l y , then , i s the c r i s i s comparable to c l a s s i c examples of r e l i g i o u s conve r s i on , but M i l l a l s o c reates a sense of causal nece s s i t y by the very o rder ing of h i s account. These s t r u c t u r a l f a c t o r s , combined w i th a s t y l i s t i c detachment and r e s t r a i n t comparable to John Hersey ' s account of the bombing of H i rosh ima, c rea te • an account t ha t i s s t r ange l y moving. (Both M i l l and Hersey w r i t e l i k e d i spa s s i ona te r epo r te r s about a p p a l l i n g human s u f f e r i n g . Both c reate a d i screpancy t ha t shocks between the exper ience and the s t y l e of the n a r r a t i o n . ) C a r l y l e ' s r e fe rence t o the Autobiography as t ha t of a machine i s only s u p e r f i c i a l l y t r u e . He was i gno r i ng the lack of a u t h o r i t y t ha t pervades M i l l ' s account of h i s c r i s i s , the r e c u r r i n g q u a l i f i c a t i o n s as he saw or though he saw and so on. Twice he admits to embarrassment at h i s " i n no way honourable d i s t r e s s . " 173 And h i s quotat ions from C o l e r i d g e , l i k e h i s d i s c u s s i o n s . o f C a r l y l e and Wordsworth, de r i ve e x p l i c i t l y from l a t e r exper iences than those tha t they help to de s c r i be . C e r t a i n l y , there i s r i g ou r and concen t ra t i on of purpose apparent i n M i l l ' s w r i t i n g . There i s no i r ony or humour. Cons-t r u c t i o n and s t y l e , toge ther , however, work to i n v a l i d a t e C a r l y l e ' s con-c l u s i o n and to support Mo r l ey ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of " the pa le flame of strenuous 38 s e l f - p o s s e s s i o n . " M i l l w r i t e s of Wordsworth's poetry as a medicine f o r h i s s t a t e of mind, p a r t l y because i t "seemed to be the very c u l t u r e of the f e e l i n g s , which I was i n quest o f , " and p a r t l y because I found tha t he too had had s i m i l a r exper ience to mine; tha t he a l s o had f e l t t ha t the f i r s t f r e s h -ness of you th fu l enjoyment of l i f e was not l a s t i n g ; but t ha t he had sought f o r compensation, and found i t , i n the way i n which he was now teach ing me to f i n d i t . (p. 116) L ike M i l l , t o o , Wordsworth w r i t e s an autobiography of h i s own mind, " t u r n i n g the mind i n upon h e r s e l f " ( I I I , 113). He a l s o has a d i s t i n c t purpose; he wishes to examine how f a r Nature and Education have q u a l i -f i e d him to w r i t e a " l i t e r a r y work tha t might l i v e " (Adver t i sement ) . L ike Mi 11 's Autobiography, t o o , The Prelude was h e a v i l y r e v i s e d , and w i th many of the same r e s u l t s : a tendency to g ene r a l i s e where e a r l i e r the t e x t had been pe r s ona l ; a tendency t o use the pas s i ve vo i ce and so achieve l e s s i n t imacy w i th a wider audience; a general ton ing down of s t a te s of f e e l i n g and you th fu l op in ions so t h a t , l i k e M i l l ' s r e v i s ed p re sen ta t i on of his: f a t h e r , the l a t e r ve r s i on of The Pre lude reads as an i m p l i c i t c r i t i c i s m of the w r i t e r ' s f i r s t impress ions . 174 Wordsworth i s q u i t e as r i go rous as M i l l i n exc lud ing or adapt ing and rear rang ing m a t e r i a l s i n order to achieve h i s e n t i r e l y s ing le -minded pur -pose. Wr i t ten i n pa r t t o t e s t h i s recovery from deep dep re s s i on , The  Prelude aims to t e s t and prove the s u r v i v a l of Wordsworth's p oe t i c g i f t . I t feeds on i t s theme. I t deals w i th the r i t e s of passage of the poet , cover ing the b i r t h , growth, bapt i sm, and con f i rmat i on of the p o e t ' s mind. I t must, a c c o r d i n g l y , i n c l ude the most se r ious t r i a l of a l l , the bleak depress ion tha t c a l l s the q u a l i t y of l i f e i n doubt. For M i l l , such depress ion suggests t ha t l i f e i s meaningless; f o r Wordsworth, i t threatens h i s source of l i f e , h i s c r e a t i v e s o u l . Conscious of h i s l i t e r a r y sources , Wordsworth presents h i s V a l l e y of the Shadow of Death i n two d i f f e r e n t ways; he in t roduces an equ i va l en t to the mythic underworld and, q u i t e s e p a r a t e l y , a r e c u r r i n g theme of personal conver s ion. The f i r s t i s represented by the c i t y of London. I t i s shaped by the mind but r e t a i n s , nonethe les s , an o b j e c t i v e cha rac te r of f a c t and p l a c e . The second i s represented by moments of unusual i n s i g h t tha t a l t e r h i s l i f e , h i s " spots of. t i m e , " but most extendedly by the poe t ' s mental c r i s i s dur ing the French Revo lu t i on . The Revo lu t ion was c e r t a i n l y an o b j e c t i v e f a c t , and c e r t a i n l y an apt o b j e c t i v e c o r r e l a t i v e f o r t u rmo i l of the inner man. Yet t h i s second expe r i ence , compared w i t h the v i s i t to London, i s e s s e n t i a l l y i n t e r n a l i s e d , a matter f o r the p r i v a t e soul and psyche. Of h i s s t rength wh i l e i n London, Wordsworth w r i t e s : Lo! eve ry th ing that was indeed d i v i n e Retained i t s p u r i t y i n v i o l a t e , Nay b r i g h t e r shone, by t h i s portentous gloom . Set o f f . ( V I I I , 655-658) 175 Indeed, Ne i ther v i c e nor g u i l t , Debasement undergone by body or mind, Nor a l l the misery f o rced upon my s i g h t , Misery not l i g h t l y passed, but sometimes scanned Most f e e l i n g l y , could overthrow my t r u s t In what we may become. (V I I I , 645-650) In London, l i k e Aeneas or Odysseus i n the underworld or Dante i n h e l l , Wordsworth i s an a f f e c t e d but i n v i o l a t e observer. Charon 's bark would s ink w i th him, because h i s person i s heav ier than the shades he sees around him. In France, on the other hand, h i s exper ience of the tu rmo i l around him i s i n t e r n a l i s e d to such an extent t ha t i t escapes from h i s conscious c o n t r o l ; i t takes, the form of nightmare: Then suddenly the scene Changed, and the unbroken dream entangled me In long o r a t i o n s , which I s t rove to p lead Before un ju s t t r i b u n a l s , — w i t h a vo i ce Labour ing, a b ra i n confounded, and a sense, D e a t h - l i k e , of treacherous d e s e r t i o n , f e l t In the l a s t p lace of refuge--my own s o u l . (X, 409-415) Wordsworth comes to London, as a l l t r a v e l l e r s come to t h e i r under-w o r l d , i n the middle of h i s journey . He summarises the exper ience a t the end of Book E i g h t , d e s c r i b i n g h imse l f as a " cu r i ou s t r a v e l l e r , who, from open day,/Hath passed w i t h torches i n t o some huge cave" ( V I I I , 560-561). L ike Aeneas and Odysseus, he i s " seek ing knowledge at t ha t t ime" (V I I I , 599). As f o r Odysseus, Aeneas, and Dante, moreover, the underworld commingles substance and shadow, l i g h t and dark, spect res and ghos t l y semblances. I t c on s i s t s both of f a c t and of v i s i o n , or of f a c t transformed i n t o v i s i o n 176 as the poet " s ee s , or t h i nk s he sees" ( V I I I , 565) t ha t s h i f t i n g panorama i n which he h imse l f remains the on ly s o l i d po i n t of r e f e rence . In Book Seven, t o o , where Wordsworth d e t a i l s h i s res idence i n London, he desc r ibes h imse l f as p leased " t o p i t c h a vagrant t e n t " (V I I , 56). London as h e l l i s not pa r t of h i s c o n d i t i o n , merely pa r t of h i s exper ience . I t s l a b y r i n t h s and hubbub prov ide a context f o r the streams of humanity, The comers and the goers face to f a c e , Face a f t e r f a c e . (V I I , 156-157) Noting among.the crowd " a l l specimens of man" (V I I , 221), the poet f e e l s t ha t 'The face of every one That passes by me i s a mystery ! ' (V I I , 628-629) L ike E l i o t , a f t e r him, whose crowd f lowed over London B r i d ge , so many I had not thought death had undone so many,39 Wordsworth watches U n t i l the shapes before my eyes became A second-s ight p r o ce s s i on , such as g l i d e s Over s t i l l mountains, or appears i n dreams. (V I I , 632-634) Par t of the knowledge der i ved from such r i c h but pas s i ve exper ience e n t a i l s the t rans fo rmat ion of e x t e r na l r e a l i t y i n t o p o e t i c v i s i o n : 177 Though reared upon the base of outward t h i n g s , S t ruc tu re s l i k e these the e x c i t e d s p i r i t main ly Bu i l d s f o r h e r s e l f . (V I I , 650-652) Indeed, he f ea r s the p l a c e s , peop le , and events Are f a l s e l y ca ta logued; th ings t ha t a r e , are not As the mind answers to them, or the heart Is prompt, or s low, to f e e l . (V I I , 669-671) He t u r n s , a c c o r d i n g l y , to S t . Bartholomew's F a i r as an epitome of the "b lank c o n f u s i o n , " Of what the mighty C i t y i s h e r s e l f , To thousands upon thousands of her sons, L i v i n g amid the same perpetua l w h i r l Of t r i v i a l o b j e c t s , melted and reduced To one i d e n t i t y , by d i f f e r e n c e s That have no law, no meaning, and no e n d -Oppress ion, under which even h ighest minds Must l abou r , whence the s t ronges t are not f r e e . (V I I , 722-730) Though the p i c t u r e weary the eye, however, and prove "an unmanageable s i g h t , "