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Prospero's cell : Lawrence Durrell and the quest for artistic consciousness Brigham, James Albert 1965

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PROSPERO'S CELL LAWRENCE DURRELL AND THE QUEST FOR ARTISTIC CONSCIOUSNESS by JAMES ALBERT BRIGHAM B.A., University o f B r i t i s h Columbia, I 9 6 3  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OP THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF Master o f Arts i n the Department of English We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA June, I 9 6 5  In p r e s e n t i n g the  this  thesis  fulfilment of  r e q u i r e m e n t s f o r an a d v a n c e d d e g r e e a t t h e U n i v e r s i t y  British  Columbia,  1 agree that  the Library  a v a i l a b l e f o r r e f e r e n c e and s t u d y . mission  f o r extensive  p u r p o s e s may his  in partial  be g r a n t e d  representatives,,  cation  of this  w i t h o u t my w r i t t e n  Department o f  for financial  permission.  English  The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h V a n c o u v e r 8, C a n a d a  4 August  thesis  by t h e Head o f my  It i s understood  thesis  Columbia  1965  s h a l l make i t f r e e l y  I f u r t h e r agree that  copying o f t h i s  per-  for scholarly  D e p a r t m e n t o r by  that  gain  of  copying o r  shall  publi-  n o t be a l l o w e d  ii  ABSTRACT The purpose o f t h i s t h e s i s i s t o c o n s i d e r t h e movement toward and achievement  of a r t i s t i c consciousness  on t h e p a r t o f Lawrence D u r r e l l .  The emphasis i s on the e a r l y work, p a r t i c u l a r l y P r o s p e r o ' s C e l l , I s l e " , R e f l e c t i o n s On A M a r i n e Venus, D u r r e l l * s p u b l i s h e d w i t h Henry M i l l e r , and " C i t i e s , P l a i n s and P e o p l e " .  "Prospero's  correspondence  The 1937-1946 p e r i o d  was chosen because i t was t h e p e r i o d w h i c h D u r r e l l s p e n t i n Greece i n a v o l u n t a r y e x i l e from England.  A d i s c u s s i o n o f t h e poems and a r t i c l e s f r o m  t h i s p e r i o d and o f t h e l a t e r A l e x a n d r i a Q u a r t e t , w h i c h t r a c e s t h e growth toward a r t i s t i c consciousness w i t h i n the l i m i t s o f the  i n a more o b j e c t i v e way, was n o t p o s s i b l e  thesis.  C h a p t e r I i s a c o n c i s e commentary on " C i t i e s , P l a i n s and P e o p l e " , w h i c h the c o n t r o l l i n g s y m b o l , P r o s p e r o , i s seen t o be a ' p e r s o n a Durrell.  D u r i n g t h e c o u r s e o f the c h a p t e r ,  in  for  1  ' a r t i s t i c consciousness*  is  d e f i n e d as * s e n s i t i v i t y t o t h e happenings o f t h e e x t e r n a l w o r l d c o u p l e d w i t h i n t e n s e i n t r o s p e c t i o n and s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n w h i c h a l l o w t h e a r t i s t t a k e f r o m h i s i n n e r b e i n g the power embodied i n h i s e l u s i v e  'furies'  in  o r d e r t o mold t h e e v e n t s o f h i s environment i n t o what i s c a l l e d ' a r t , ' means o f communication w i t h h i s r e a d e r . *  to  the  The method used i s one o f b r i e f  o b s e r v a t i o n s on the meaning o f s p e c i f i c l i n e s i n t h e poem, a copy o f w h i c h has been i n c l u d e d as an a p p e n d i x . Chapter I I d i s c u s s e s i n "Prospero's I s l e " , the chapter,  an a r t i c l e p u b l i s h e d i n 1939.  discusses  i n The Tempest,  seen  The f i r s t p a r t o f  " ' T h i s Rough M a g i c ' " , i s concerned w i t h P r o s p e r o ' s  of a r t i s t i c consciousness Innocence",  t h e i m p o r t a n c e o f P r o s p e r o f o r D u r r e l l as  achievement  and p a r t t w o , "The P a r a d i s e o f  the meaning o f t h a t achievement  for Durrell.  iii  Chapter III, "The Quality of Silence", concentrates on Prospero's Cell and Reflections On A Marine Venus,  Part one, "'The Heraldic Universe"*, i s  a discussion of the influence of the Greek landscape on Durrell, corroborated by references to Henry Miller's The Colossus of Maroussi, "'To Move Towards Creation'", sums up the growth toward a r t i s t i c consciousness and ends with Durrell's leaving the islands to return to Europe and the larger context of the world. In general, the thesis shows the importance of a r t i s t i c consciousness for Durrell, discussing his concern with the dualism which he saw typified in and initiated by Descartes, and showing the solution which he found i n isolation and introspection i n the Greek islands between 1937 and 1946,  iv  TABLE OP CONTENTS  Chapter  I.  II.  Page  COMMENTARY ON "CITIES, PLAINS AND PEOPLE"  "PROSPERO'S ISLE"  1  25  •This Rough Magic (26) 1  The Paradise o f Innocence (37)  III.  THE QUALITY OF SILENCE  47  •The Heraldic Universe' (48) •To Move Towards Creation' (68)  BIBLIOGRAPHY  79  APPENDIX  83  1  CHAPTER I  COMMENTART ON "CITIES, PLAINS AND PEOPLE"  2  This thesis i s concerned with the growth toward a r t i s t i c consciousness as seen i n the works and letters of Lawrence Durrell during the period 1937-1946. That growth i s chronicled i n Prospero's Cell, Reflections On A Marine Venus, Durrell's letters to Henry Miller, and "Cities, Plains and People", the t i t l e poem of a volume of verse published i n 1946,  Chapter  One comments on that poem. •Once i n idleness was my beginning.*  This f i r s t line foreshadows the  introspection and reflection which, as the poem progresses, becomes necessary for the development of a r t i s t i c consciousness. Night was to the mortal boy Innocent of surface like a new mind Upon whose edges once he walked In idleness, i n perfect idleness.  (5)  As a child, Durrell's mind was a 'new mind.' Like the night, i t was 'innocent of surface,' and he walked upon i t s edges because he had no need to understand i t s workings. Saw the Himalayas like lambs there S t i r their huge joints and lay Against his innocent thigh a stony thigh.  (10)  The child and nature have an affinity, especially i n line 10, i n which the mountains are personified as having 'a stony thigh.'  Like the Himalayas,  the child i s 'innocent.' On draughty corridors to Lhasa Was my f i r s t school In faces l i f t e d from saddles to the snows. The child i s , at this point, starting on the road of the a r t i s t .  He i s the  passive observer of the people i n caravans stopping 'to drink Tibet,• to become intoxicated by the mystery and religious awe carried by the winds blowing from the mountains.  3  In t h i s world, between the r i g i d i t y of the B r i t i s h c o l o n i a l system and the s p i r i t u a l i t y o f Tibet, ' l i t t l e known o f better then or worse' (27) indicates the lack o f any i n t e r n a l chaos on the part of the boy.  There i s ,  instead, a unity of s p i r i t which D u r r e l l loses when he returns to England and which he spends a great deal of time attempting to regain.  Indeed,  t h i s unity i s the same as a r t i s t i c consciousness, f o r i t allows the a r t i s t to stop worrying about the condition o f h i s inner being and concentrate on the external world from which he takes h i s material.  To a l l who turn and s t a r t descending The long sad r i v e r o f t h e i r growth: The tidebound, t e p i d , causeless Continuum o f t e r r o r s i n the s p i r i t , I give you here unending  (35)  In idleness an innocent beginning U n t i l your pain become a l i t e r a t u r e .  (40)  In these l i n e s D u r r e l l dedicates his poem to those who, l i k e himself, have l e f t the innocent world o f the c h i l d and come to grips with the 'causeless . . . t e r r o r s i n the s p i r i t . '  From the place of idleness the  'soft klaxons [are] crying / Down to the plains and s e t t l e d c i t i e s ' (24-25) i n order to point out to the i n d i v i d u a l who i s not psychologically u n i f i e d the needlessness o f h i s personal i n t e r n a l fears. Those who went forward Into t h i s honeycomb o f silence often Gained the whole world: but often l o s t each other. Like the characters i n Porster's Passage To India who go into the •honeycomb o f s i l e n c e ' which i s the Marabar Gave, 'those who went forward' i n the poem have come to a r e a l i z a t i o n o f t h e i r true natures.  The  necessary r e t r e a t i n t o introspection which y i e l d s a r t i s t i c consciousness ' f o r the writer may alienate those around him, and i t was i n the Greek islands that D u r r e l l achieved unity and at the same time l o s t two wives.  4  At this point i n his l i f e , however, Durrell did not go to Tibet but returned with his parents to England: But he for whom steel and running water Were roads, went westward only To the prudish c l i f f s and the sad green home Of Pudding Island o'er the Victorian foam.  (50)  This section of the poem i s consistent with Durrell's attitude to England in The Black Book, i n which he sees the situation i n England as stoltifying and calls i t 'the English death.'  Line 51 i s an adequate example: the  c l i f f s are 'prudish' and the home, while 'green,' i s 'sad.*  Line 52, 'Of  Pudding Island o'er the Victorian foam,* needs no comment. Here a l l as poets were pariahs. Some sharpened l i t t l e f o l l i e s into hooks To pick upon the language and survive.  (55)  Durrell tempered this attitude to England's effect on her writers i n an interview i n The Paris Review: •my heroes of my generation, the Lawrences, the Norman Douglases, the Aldingtons, the ELiots, the Graveses, their ambition was always to be a European. It didn't qualify their Englishness i n any way, but i t was recognized that a touch of European f i r e was necessary, as i t were, to ignite the sort of dull sodden mass that one became living i n an unrestricted suburban way.'^ It i s against the 'dull sodden mass' that Durrell i s striking out when he describes the business witches i n their bowlers, The blackened Samsons of the green estate, The earls from their cockney-boxes calling £.] And {he] knew before i t was too late, London Could only be a promise-giving kingdom.  (65)  Julian Mitchell and Gene Andrewski, "The Art of Fiction XXIII: Lawrence Durrell," i n The Paris Review, No. 22 (Autumn-Winter, 1959-60), 37 1  5  London, and therefore England, can only give promises to her young men.  It  cannot and w i l l not f u l f i l l them. But Durrell found England to be *a window / Into the great sick-room, Europe*  ( 6 7 - 6 8 ) :  •I think that, as I say, i n England, living as i f we are not a part of Europe, we are living against the grain of what i s nourishing to our artists, do you see? There seems to be an ingrown psychological thing about i t , I don't know why i t i s . * 2  Like Eliot and Graves, his living i n Europe and serving part of his a r t i s t i c apprenticeship there has not qualified Durrell's 'Englishness' i n any way. However much he dislikes the English and their 'English death,' there remains a sense of being English and writing for England: 'But, mind you, that doesn't qualify one's .origins or one's attitudes to things. I mean i f I'm writing I'm writing for England — and so_long as I write English i t w i l l be for England that I have to write.*3 In lines 7 2 to 7 6 , Durrell expresses admiration for the Venerable Bede, but manages to restrict himself to Bede and attack the 'so many less' who were not like him: Here he saw Bede who softly Blew out desire and went to bed, So much the greater than so many less Who made their unconquered guilt i n atrophy A passport to the dead*  ( 7 5 )  Some of her writers and her position as a window on Europe are the good things about England, but 'for this person i t was never a landfall£j_ not a world as yet. Not a world.' Near the end of Part II, the reader i s asked to 'Reflect how Prosper© was born to a green c e l l ' ( 8 8 ) , In The Tempest Prosper© was not, i n fact, 2  3  T  he Paris Review, p. 3 7 The Paris Review, p. 3 8  6  'porn to a green c e l l . '  He reached i t a t a l a t e r stage i n l i f e , and i t was  here that he achieved the u n i t y of s e l f which allowed him to return t o the world outside the i s l a n d knowing that he would be a part of i t and not i s o l a t e d from i t i n h i s magic.  For D u r r e l l , Prospero i s a symbol o f the  u n i t y f o r which he i s seeking.  Lines 88 to 92 present a dichotomous  situation:  on the one hand there i s Prospero, 'born to a green c e l l , * and  on the other there are those who sing *We s h a l l never return, never be young again.*  To become p h y s i c a l l y young again i s impossible, but to  regain the u n i t y one had as a c h i l d i s not. was b o m to a green c e l l : *  Here i s the meaning of *Prospero  the u n i t y of s e l f which Prospero knew i n h i s  childhood, and which he had l o s t , has been regained.  He i s no longer l i k e  the English, *the p o t e n t i a l passion hidden, Wordsworth / In the dessicated bodies of postmistresses' (99-100).  So here at l a s t we d i d outgrow ourselves. As the green stalk i s taken from the earth, With a great j u i c y sob, I turned him from a Man To Mandrake, i n Whose awful hand I am.  (105)  The c h i l d has outgrown h i s childhood and has matured to the point that he has been 'taken from the earth,' but i n the process of growth he has l o s t his  s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , and must begin t o search f o r i t .  Lines 105 to 106  point out that D u r r e l l had 'turned him from a Man / To Mandrake.*  He  has made the c h i l d a magician, and that magician i s Prospero, who controlled the world around him by means of an acquired magic and not the innate power of the u n i f i e d i n d i v i d u a l .  The r o l e of the magician i s one step nearer t o  the achievement o f a r t i s t i c consciousness, but a t t h i s point i n the poem that consciousness has not been reached.  Part I I I i s an interpolated comment pointing toward the remainder o f the poem as a whole.  The c h i l d has not yet achieved a r t i s t i c eonsciousness,  7  and lines 107 to 110 foreshadow what i s to come: Prospero upon his island Cast i n a romantic form, When his love was f o l l y grown He laid his magic down,  (110)  The innate internal powers embodied i n love and emotion are far greater than those which are acquired, and these lines predict a time i n the development of the artist when his acquired magic i s no longer necessary.  Lines 111 to  118 point out that the search for truth* i s to be finalized without the 1  aid of magic, for Truth within the t r i b a l wells, Innocent inviting creature Does not rise to human spells But by paradox Teaches a l l who seek for her That no saint or seer unlocks The wells of truth unless he f i r s t Conquer for the truth his thirst.  (115)  The 'spells* with which Prospero causes the storm in the play are useless i n the search for *truth,* and w i l l be useless i n the quest for unification of the self.  These lines point up for Durrell a basic truth about the unity  of self for which he i s searching:  like the happiness he had lost, i t i s to  be found i n the innocence of the child which, as Part I of the poem shows, i s so basic as to parallel the primordial. The paradox l i e s i n the idea that truth can be found only by those who do not seek her, and this fact recalls the child who had no need to search for self-unity because he had never been told that he was not unified, Durrell*s reference to the 'Cartesian imperatives* of absolute doubt i n line 70 anticipates lines 125 to 131: he waited For black-hearted Descartes to seek him out With a l l his sterile apparatus.  (125)  8  Now man f o r him became a thinking lobe, Through endless permutation sought repose. By f r i g i d latinisms he mated now To the hard form of prose the cogent verb. The reference to 'black-hearted  Descartes' i s to the Cartesian theory of  dualism which postulates that the mind of man For t h i s reason, 'man  for  (130)  Durrell  l i n e 127 has a double connotation,  i s f a r superior to h i s body.  became a thinking lobe.*  'Sterile' i n  i n d i c a t i n g the c l i n i c a l conditions both  of the laboratory of the s c i e n t i s t and of the w r i t e r who  i s more concerned  with the d i s s e c t i o n of language than with creation, and the ultimate value, seen i n retrospect, of such practices f o r the writer who with them and goes no further i n his search.  contents himself  When we consider that *man  f o r him became a thinking lobe' we must also r e a l i z e that D u r r e l l i s commenting upon himself.  He i s attempting at t h i s point to solve his  dilemma by means of 'endless permutation,* To many luck may give f o r merit More p r o f i t a b l e teachers. To the heart A c r i t i c and a nymph: And an unflinching doctor to the s p i r i t .  (135)  The implication here i s that D u r r e l l ' s 'teachers,* the dissectors of language, were not p r o f i t a b l e . Because his heart did not at t h i s time have *a c r i t i c and a nymph,* he was  forced to struggle towards the unity  of s e l f which 'an unflinching doctor to the s p i r i t ' would have given  him  by cutting out the acceptance of Cartesian dualism. Lines 137 to 139 compare the body to a world, and there i s a foreshadowing of the movement through and away from the t e c h n i c a l hocuspocus of the magician toward a f r e e r means of expression founded on the i n t e r n a l forces of the i n d i v i d u a l . The members of the body gradually become 'doors' into the s e l f , a means of gaining entrance to s e l f -  9  realization.  The p a r a l l e l with the c h i l d who f i r s t of a l l investigates  the t i n y world which i s his body and comes to know himself before exploring the greater world which i s external to him comes to mind here, f o r there i s a s h i f t from the i n t e l l e c t u a l knowledge to the physical when D u r r e l l t e l l s how sex became A l e s s e r sort of speech, and members doors. Part V of the poem comments upon the r e s u l t of the 'endless permutation' attempted by the author: Faces may s e t t l e sadly Each i n t o i t s private death By business t r a v e l or fortune, Like the f a t congealing on a plate Or the fogged negative of labour Whose dumb f a s t i d i o u s rectitude Brings death i n l i v i n g as a sort of mate. Here however man might botch h i s way To God v i a Valery, Gide or Rabelais.  (145)  (150)  In The Paris Review, D u r r e l l has t h i s to say about the development of s t y l e : *I don't think anyone can, you know, develop a s t y l e consciously. I read with amazement, f o r example, of o l d Maugham writing out a page of Swift every d ay when he was trying to l e a r n the job, i n order to give himself a s t y l i s t i c purchase as i t were. I t struck me as something I could never do. No.. I think the writing i t s e l f grows you up, and you grow the writing up, and f i n a l l y you get an amalgam of everything you have pinched with a new kind of personality which i s your own. '^ Even i n h i s comment to the interviewers, D u r r e l l i s 'pinching,• f o r these l i n e s are an expanded paraphrase of what T. S. ELiot said i n The Sacred Wood i n 1920: Immature poets imitatej mature poets s t e a l ; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make i t into something better, or at l e a s t something  *  The Paris Review, pp. 52-53  10  d i f f e r e n t . A good poet w i l l usually borrow from authors remote i n time, or a l i e n i n language, or diverse i n interest.5 The importance of these comments f o r D u r r e l l i s that 'faces may s e t t l e sadly / Each into i t s private death' i f what i s 'pinched,* whether s t y l e or content, i s not 'made into something d i f f e r e n t . • a r t i s t w i l l be ' l i k e the f a t congealing on a p l a t e . '  The e f f e c t on the The 'dumb f a s t i d i o u s  rectitude _of] labour* w i l l r e s u l t i n a 'fogged negative:*  the a r t i s t ,  f o r a l l h i s attempts to create out o f h i s inner being, w i l l f i n d himself cut o f f at every turn from the s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n which should be a part o f his efforts. The use o f »sadly' i n l i n e 145, and that of 'death' i n l i n e 146, c a l l s to mind 'the sad green home' which D u r r e l l found i n England and the English •who made t h e i r unconquered g u i l t i n atrophy / A passport to the dead' (75-76).  The statement that 'man might botch h i s way / To God' (152-153)  through the copying o f the s t y l i s t i c apparatus o f Gide, Valery o r Rabelais i s a comment on the methods o f approaching a r t i s t i c consciousness, and the three writers to whom he r e f e r s are d e f i n i t e l y candidates f o r E l i o t ' s 'authors remote i n time, or a l i e n i n language.* The reference to the a r t i s t * s moving toward God i s o f i n t e r e s t , f o r D u r r e l l , i n learning h i s a r t through the copying of the techniques of others, i s l i k e Coleridge*s Ancient Mariner.  Both must move through a 'death i n  l i v i n g ' and, by means of r e p e t i t i o n , transcend the h a l f - l i f e .  The Mariner  w i l l reach God, and D u r r e l l w i l l achieve a r t i s t i c consciousness. Ultimately God and a r t i s t i c consciousness are synonymous i n one respect, f o r the writer, i n h i s capacity f o r organizing what he takes from h i s environment and  5  T. S. E l i o t , The Sacred Wood (London) University  (I960), p. 125  Paperbacks  11  recreating i t ' i n his own  image,• i s playing the r o l e of a d e i t y .  E a r l i e r i n the poem D u r r e l l indicates that the 'truth* f o r which he seeks l i e s ' i n the t r i b a l wells,* i n the primitive innocence of the c h i l d . Part VI of the poem continues t h i s idea: And i n the personal heart, weary Of the p i e r c i n g innocents i n parks (170) Who s a i l the rapt subconscious there l i k e swans, Disturbs and brightens with _November'sj tears, t h i n k i n g : 'Perhaps a f t e r a l l i t i s we who are b l i n d , While the unconscious eaters of the apple Are whole as ingots of a process Punched i n matter by the promiscuous Mind.*  (175)  •In the personal heart* D u r r e l l i s weary because he i s envious of the c h i l d r e n who  have what he does not: u n i t y .  The c h i l d r e n are ' p i e r c i n g i n 1  that t h e i r a b i l i t y to ' s a i l the rapt subconscious' i n a l l the unconcerned grace of swans disturbs him.  But there i s also an element of hope i n these  l i n e s , f o r there i s a r e a l i z a t i o n that the adult i s b l i n d and that c h i l d r e n who  innocent  have not yet become 'eaters of the apple* are 'whole as ingots.*  The opening l i n e s of Part VII are s i m i l a r to E l i o t * s *By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . .  *  This whole section i s s i m i l a r to the  "Thames daughters" portion of The Waste Land and, j u s t as i n ELiot*s poem, the presence of water points toward unity of s e l f : By the waters of Buda Uncomb and unlock them, Abandon and nevermore cherish Queer l i p s , queer hearts, hands. There to f u t u r i t y leave The l u c k i e r lover who's waiting As, l i k e a spring c o i l e d up, In the bones of Adam, l a y Eve. The attainment of u n i t y i s indicated i n 'the l u c k i e r l o v e r ' who, w i l l leave came there.  (190)  (195) presumably,  'the water of Buda* i n place of the weary 'personal heart'  who  He w i l l leave minus the Cartesian dualism which held him back,  12  l i k e Prospero who,  'when h i s love was f u l l y grown[,J  l a i d h i s magic down.*  On the s t r i c t l y autobiographical l e v e l , there i s a movement toward the Greek i s l a n d s i n Part VIII of the poem: So Time, the l o v e l y and mysterious With promises and blessings moves Through her swift degrees, So g l a d l y does he bear Towards the sad perfect wife, The rocky i s l a n d and the cypress-trees. Taken i n the pattern of a l l s o l i t a r i e s , An only c h i l d , of introspection got, Her only playmates, lovers, i n h e r s e l f .  (200)  D u r r e l l and h i s wife become not only an i n t e g r a l part of each other but also of the Greek landscape which bears ' i n ruins / The faces of the i n w e l l s ' (212-213).  innocents  At t h i s time, as Prospero's C e l l t e s t i f i e s , D u r r e l l  i s completely immersed i n every small d e t a i l of l i f e i n Greece, ' a l l f a r beyond the c u p i d i t y of verses / Or the lechery of images to t e l l ' (222-223). The f i n a l step i n the movement toward a r t i s t i c consciousness  occurred i n  t h i s period i n the i s l a n d s , f o r 'here worlds were confirmed i n him.' Differences that matched l i k e c l o t h Between the darkness and the inner l i g h t , Moved on the undivided breath of blue.  (225)  The important l i n e i s 224* f o r here there i s a l i g h t vs dark dichotomy i n which the outer darkness, as opposed to 'the inner light,» stands f o r the world of chaos and confusion which i s constantly t e r r i f y i n g those who not achieved s e l f - i n t e g r a t i o n . i n d i v i d u a l , l i e s i n l i n e s 228 to  have  The answer to these t e r r o r s , f o r the u n i f i e d 230:  Formed moving, trees asserted here Nothing but simple comparisons to The artist;?, s endearing eye.  (230)  For the unintegrated i n d i v i d u a l , these trees are a manifestation of the 'causeless continuum of t e r r o r s i n the s p i r i t , • but f o r D u r r e l l they are  13  nothing more than 'simple comparisons*'  Like Shakespeare's Gonzalo, who  saw a green land where Sebastian and Antonio saw only the terrors o f a desert i s l a n d , D u r r e l l i s able, through h i s own powers as t y p i f i e d i n the 'endearing eye,• to make o f h i s environment what he w i l l . 'Look' she might say 'Press here With your fingers a t the temples. Are they not the blunt uncut horns Of the small naked Ionian fauns?' Considering that l i n e s 240 to 242 r e f e r to one o f D u r r e l l ' s daughters o l d enough to walk with him along the shore, t h i s stanza, too, may w e l l r e f e r t o a new-born c h i l d .  The comparison o f the c h i l d to the 'small naked Ionian  fauns' c a r r i e s the concept o f the primitiveness of the c h i l d one step further, A second consideration here i s Nietzsche's theory that true a r t i s a r e s u l t of the e f f e c t on the exhausted Dionysiac o f the ordering, symbol-making Apollonian f o r c e s .  Fauns are t r a d i t i o n a l l y found i n the worshipping t r a i n  of Dionysus, and so the concern o f the c h i l d with 'the f i v e lean dogs o f sense' associates i t with the Dionysiac rather than the Apollonian, Concerned with the sensual, D u r r e l l i s caught up i n the Red P o l i s h mouth, Lips that as f o r the f l u t e unform, Gone round on nouns o r vowels, To u t t e r the accepting, calm 'Yes', or make t e r r i b l e verbs Like • I adore, adore',  (250)  D u r r e l l has become the 'persuader,' a milder form o f 'seducer,' so long hunted By your wild pack o f selves, Past peace o f mind o r even sleep, So longed f o r and so sought [.]  (255)  I t i s not completely c l e a r whether i t i s the 'persuader' or 'peace o f mind' which has been sought.  Ultimately, i t makes no difference, and I am i n c l i n e d  to accept 'peace o f mind' as the more suitable alternate, as i t f i t s the  14  general thought content of the poem. selves  1  The references to the •wild pack of  i n l i n e 254 and the 'mutinous crew of f u r i e s ' i n l i n e 271, however,  indicate that while D u r r e l l has achieved s e l f - u n i f i c a t i o n , he i s not yet i n c o n t r o l o f the various facets o f his inner being. Within a time of reading Here i s a l l my growth Through the bodies o f other selves, In books, by promise or perversity My mutinous crew of f u r i e s — t h e i r pleading Threw up at l a s t the naked s p r i t e Whose f l e s h and noise I am, Who i s my j a i l o r and my inward night.  (270)  These l i n e s , and especially 272 to 274, contain the basis f o r Groddeck's theory of the I t : 'I hold the view that man i s animated by the Unknown, that there i s within him an "Es," an " I t , " some wondrous force which d i r e c t s both what he himself does, and what happens to him. The affirmation ^ I l i v e " i s only c o n d i t i o n a l l y correct, i t expresses only a small and s u p e r f i c i a l part o f the fundamental p r i n c i p l e , "Man i s l i v e d by the It."'**  The  mutinous 'crew of f u r i e s ' i s the manifestation of the I t and the only means by which D u r r e l l can attempt to understand the force which i s c o n t r o l l i n g him.  The 'naked s p r i t e ' i s s i m i l a r t o the 'fauns' and the innocent c h i l d . By the w i l l o f the I t , h i s ' f u r i e s  1  have driven D u r r e l l to attempt to  communicate what he r e a l l y i s by means of h i s books.  The problem i n t h i s  attempt i s the vast gap between the w r i t e r and h i s reader: My darkness reaches out and fumbles at a typewriter with i t s tongs. Tour darkness reaches out with your tongs and grasps a book. There are twenty modes of change, f i l t e r and t r a n s l a t i o n between us.7  Georg Groddeck, The Book of The I t , i n t r o , Lawrence D u r r e l l (N.I.) Vintage (1961), p. 11 0  7  William Golding, Free F a l l (G.B.) Penguin (1963), p. 7  15  The last section of Part X i s concerned with the plight of Fedor and Anna, 'the last two vain explorers of our guilt.'  The reference to 'taws*  i n line 279 i s a veiled allusion to the writings of the Marquis de Sade, whom Pursewarden, one of the characters of the Alexandria Quartet, sees as •the f i n a l flower of [the] reason' which began with Descartes.  3  The 'taws'  refer to the flagellation practiced by many religious fanatics, and lines 292 to 294 are a further comment on the European situation, for Durrell sees Fedor and Anna, 'these hideous mommets' as 'westering angels' who have 9  become the emissaries of a God like Blake's Nobadaddy. So knowledge has an end, And virtue at the last an end, In the dark f i e l d of sensibility The unchanging and unbending; As i n aquariums gloomy On the negative's dark screen Grow the shapes of other selves, So groaned for by the heart, So seldom grasped i f seen.  (295)  (300)  With the. turning from the Apollonian to the Dionysiac earlier i n the poem, 'sensibility' comes to mean understanding based on the senses, and lines 295 to 298 describe the overpowering of purely intellectual knowledge and the false virtue of the English ('Wordsworth i n / The dessicated bodies of postmistresses') by sensibility.  Unlike Fedor and Anna, who tortured  the body i n order to achieve spiritual solace, Durrell has managed to overcome his earlier concentration on the mind i n order to f u l l y experience the world of the senses. 'The negative's dark screen,' on which Durrell sees 'the shapes of other selves,' calls to mind the earlier use of the 'fogged  negative*(149)  as exemplifying the result of the concentration on the c l i n i c a l aspects of 8  Lawrence Durrell, Balthazar (London) Faber (1958), p. 247  16  w r i t i n g to the complete denial of the emotional sources of i n s p i r a t i o n . Here, however, the 'negative' i s not 'fogged' but rather shows, i f even for  a f l e e t i n g moment, the various ' f u r i e s ' which D u r r e l l i s attempting to  take under control i n order to translate them into words.  Although these  'other selves' are 'seldom grasped,' when they are taken under control they provide the power f o r creation.  These l i n e s point up the dichotomy i n every a r t i s t .  On the one hand  there i s the passive observer, through and around whom everything flows, who records the events of the external world and shapes them to h i s l i k i n g . On the other hand there i s the a r t i s t who wages continual war with the i n v i s i b l e forces of h i s own mind.  Paradoxically, the a r t i s t does not want  to endure the pain caused by h i s ' f u r i e s , ' but he must come to grips with them before he can createj  they are, therefore, 'the shapes of other  selves, / So groaned f o r by the heart.* consciousness:  This i s the d e f i n i t i o n of a r t i s t i c  s e n s i t i v i t y to the happenings of the external world coupled  with intense introspection and s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n which allow the a r t i s t to take from h i s inner being the power embodied i n h i s elusive *furies* i n order to mold the events of h i s environment i n t o what i s c a l l e d  'art,'  the means of communication with h i s reader*  Art has l i m i t s and l i f e l i m i t s Within the nerves that support them.  (310)  D u r r e l l draws a p a r a l l e l here between l i f e and a r t , and he i s able to do so because both are founded on and bounded by the l i f e of the body and a r t i s t i c consciousness i s only able to function as long as the body which supports i t functions.  The response to the world around him through h i s senses  rather than h i s i n t e l l e c t u a l capacity i s the point toward which D u r r e l l has been moving i n the poem, f o r the response which i s not conditioned by and  17  based almost wholly on the sensual i s extremely limited. So better with the happy Discover than the wise Who teach the sad valour Of endurance through the seasons.  (315)  The meaning of these lines i s straightforward.  The opposition between the  'happy' and the 'wise' l i e s i n the difference between those who are sensually oriented and those who base their existence on the purely intellectual. Durrell sees a valour i n 'endurance,' but no value. Through the ambuscades of sex, The f o l l i e s of the w i l l , the tears, Turning, a personal world I go To where the yellow emperor once Sat out the summer and the snow, And searching i n himself struck o i l , Published the f i r s t great Tao.  (330)  The writer must f i r s t see himself as 'a personal world' before he can begin to present a cohesive picture of his world to the reader, for the external world i s at last embodied i n the writer and what he writes i s therefore about himself rather than about his environment.  'The yellow emperor'  refers to Lao Tzu, author of the Tao Te Ching, one of the oldest Chinese philosophical classics.  This work propounds a predominantly passivist  doctrine, based upon a pre-recognition of the self which w i l l enable the individual to be a part of his environment.  The Durrell-Miller letters  indicate a profound interest i n the Tao Te Ching; both writers feel that Lao Tzu holds pertinent answers for them. This section of the poem describes the conditions under which the book i s traditionally supposed to have been written.  Lao Tzu approached the Keeper of the Pass and asked admittance.  In return for the favour, the Keeper, recognizing the wise man, asked him to write a book. The result was the Tao Te Ching.9 ^  Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, trans. D. C. Lau (G.B.) Penguin (1963), p.9  18  Which a l l confession can only gloze And i n the Consciousness can only spoil Apparent opposition of the two Where unlocked numbers show their fabric.  (335)  The true Tao, the 'way' which i s beyond a l l else and yet a part of a l l , i s unnameable and, except as i t i s perceived and understood by the Unconscious, unknowable. Part of the doctrine put forward by Lao Tzu concerns 'apparent opposition,' the idea that nothing except the Tao i s absolute and that where one thing exists i n the world, so must i t s opposite.-*- Durrell must become 0  conscious of the fusion and interdependence of seemingly opposite things. Without that understanding he cannot be the creator, for he cannot control what he does not understand. Lines 337 to 340 outline the general doctrine of the Tao, i n which Lao Tzu defines the Many and the None As base reflections of the One.  (340)  The 'Many' are the 'myriad creatures' who w i l l be set at rest because man follows the 'way,' and the 'None' refers to Lao Tzu's somewhat confusing idea that something can be made from nothing: The myriad creatures i n the world are born from Something, and Something from Nothing.H The important point here i s that everything i s a 'base reflection of the One' which i s the tao. This presents a seeming paradox:  on the one hand  there i s the tao which i s beyond a l l comprehension i n terms of magnitude and influence, and on the other there i s the tao which i s embodied i n every enlightened individual.  However, the latter i s merely the former as  manifested i n the actions of believers, and so they are the same. 1 0  Tao Te Ching, Book One, XXVI, 59-59a, p. 83  1 1  Tao Te Ching, Book Two, XL, 89, p. 101  19  D u r r e l l begins the next stanza of Part XII with an application of Lao Tzu's theory of opposites to the concept of the •double,• r e f e r r i n g to s p e c i f i c l i t e r a r y cases: What b i f i d Hamlet i n the maze Wept to f i n d ; the doppelganger Goethe saw one morning go Oyer the h i l l ahead; the man So gnawed by promises who shared The magnificent responses of Rimbaud.  (345)  Goethe and Rimbaud f i t the pattern of the a r t i s t who i s both the passive observer and the i n t e r n a l l y torn man.  Hamlet does not seem to f i t u n t i l i t  i s remembered that, a f t e r having passed through a period of feigned madness, he reaches s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n and i s able to p a r t i a l l y control h i s environment to  h i s own  ends.  A l l that we have sought i n us, The a r t i s t by h i s greater cowardice In sudden brush-strokes gave us clues Hamlet and Faust as front-page news.  — (350)  These l i n e s give a greater u n i v e r s a l i t y to what D u r r e l l has said previously about the a r t i s t , f o r here the a r t i s t i s seen o b j e c t i v e l y as one who records the  t r i a l s of mankind i n 'sudden brush-strokes.'  The 'cowardice* of the  a r t i s t i s an i r o n i c a l comment on Society's b e l i e f that the a r t i s t does nothing.  But Society's view i s wrong.  The a r t i s t i s t r y i n g to do something:  to present •Hamlet and Faust as front-page news* and bring to the attention of  h i s audience t h e i r need to resolve the dualism which i s a r e s u l t of the  Cartesian doctrine. The yellow emperor f i r s t confirmed By one Unknown the human calculus, Where f e e l i n g and idea, Must f a l l within t h i s space, This personal landscape b u i l t Within the Chinese c i r c l e ' s calm embrace.  (355)  20  Through the power of the tao, the artist i s able to reconcile 'feeling and idea' i n order to create.  They f a l l i n harmony i n the 'personal landscape*  which i s the artist, and i t i s their reconciliation which allows him to create and communicate, having discovered the 'calm embrace' of 'the Chinese c i r c l e ' which i s psychological unity.  The  Dark Spirit, sum of a l l That has remained unloved, Gone crying through the world: The source of a l l manufacture and repair  (360)  i s the force which drives the artist to communicate, the dark thing at his core which i s not understood by things external to i t , not even the artist, but which desires to be loved.  Akin to Durrell's 'furies', i t i s invoked  here that i t might 'Quicken the giving-spring / In ferns and birds and ordinary people' that they, like the artist, might attempt to communicate with others, That a l l deeds done may share, By this our temporal sun, The part of living that i s loving, Tour dancing, a beautiful behaviour.  (365)  This i s also a prayer that a l l men might find the 'way,' the force which knows and i s unknowable, sees and i s unseeable, Darkness, who contain The source of a l l this corporal music, On the great table of the Breath Our opposites i n pity bear, Our measure of perfection or of pain, Both trespassers i n you, that then Our Here and Now become your Everywhere.  (370)  It i s through 'the source of a l l this corporal music' that man w i l l control his own situation.  The music with which Prospero calms the storm i n The  Tempest i s the music of Ariel, the sprite who i s the product of his magic. The 'music' which allows the artist to structure and control his situation, however, i s not the product of externally acquired powers but a 'corporal music' that comes from within.  21  Part XIII describes the peaceful l i f e of Lao Tau, pointing out the difference between appearance and  reality:  His palace f e l l to ruins But his heart was i n r e p a i r . Like that of Lao Tzu, the world of the a r t i s t i s contained i n him, and he i s peopled by the Tao Te Ching's 'myriad creatures,• h i s 'wild pack of other selves,'  As these are recognized  and brought under c o n t r o l , the  world becomes quiescent and the a r t i s t can merely contemplate.  personal Should the  •furies* be freed, however, he i s l i t e r a l l y driven to communicate his pain through w r i t i n g .  These are the a l t e r n a t i n g periods of introspection and  intense c r e a t i v i t y which every w r i t e r experiences and which D u r r e l l mentions i n the i s l a n d books and his l e t t e r s to M i l l e r . Ego, my dear, and i d Lie so profoundly h i d In space-time void, though f e e l i n g , While contemporary, slow, We conventional lovers cheek to cheek  (400)  Inhaling and exhaling go.  (405)  D u r r e l l sees the ego playing a female r o l e i n the agonies of c r e a t i v i t y .  It  i s dominated and seduced by the i d and forced to play the part which the i d demands of i t , but by Lao Tzu's d e f i n i t i o n the ego remains superior: In the union of the world, The female always gets the better part of the male by s t i l l n e s s . Being s t i l l , she takes the lower p o s i t i o n . 1 2  This process i s the psychological equivalent of the sexual intercourse described i n l i n e s 403 to 405, but i t i s l i g h t n i n g - l i k e as ppposed to the 'contemporary, slow* pace of the p h y s i c a l act.  The e s s e n t i a l difference i s  that the psychological forces are 'profoundly h i d / In space-time void.» The  'sexual ambuscade' to which D u r r e l l submits i n l i n e 326 i s the rape of  the ego by the i d , r e s u l t i n g i n an agony which increases ' u n t i l [ t h a t j pain 12  Tao Te Ching, Book Two,  LXI, 141 -  141a  22  become a literature' (40). Dear Spirit, should I reach, By touch or speech corrupt, The inner suffering word, By weakness or idea, Though you might suffer Feel and know, Pretend you do not hear.  (415)  The four possible ways to reach the conflict i n the mind are touch, speech, weakness and idea, but a l l of these are inadequate.  What the artist really  wishes to say, what he formulates i n his mind, i s not what f i n a l l y reaches the paper.  There i s an indecisiveness as to whether the artist w i l l ever  reach 'the inner suffering word,' or whether he must continue to make attempts to approximate what he feels.  In a l l this, because the 'Spirit' i s a part  of the artist, and because i t forces him to write i n order that i t might express i t s e l f , i t must 'suffer / Feel and know' what i s happening. Part XV concludes Durrell's tracing of the development of a r t i s t i c consciousness and reaffirms the basic forces of l i f e from which the artist takes his strength. Addressing the reader, Durrell attempts to reach the community from which he i s isolated: See looking down motionless How clear Athens or Bremen seem A mass of rotten vegetables Firm on the diagram of earth can l i e j And here you may reflect how genus epileptoid Knows his stuff; and where rivers Have thrown their switches and enlarged Our mercy and our knowledge of each otherj Wonder who walks beside them now and why, And what they talk about.  (430)  (435)  Durrell, like the Chinese i n Teats's "Lapis Lazuli", has reached again the ' l i t t l e half-way house' of his childhood, and he can look down upon ' a l l the tragic scene' and comment upon i t .  The desecration of the earth has been  accomplished by the 'genus epileptoid,' those who do not have control of  23  themselves and have only succeeded In d i r e c t i n g the chaos and not c o n t r o l l i n g it.  The unchanging foree of nature i s embodied i n the r i v e r s , f o r , unlike  the disturbed and disturbing creatures of l i n e 431, the r i v e r s have *enlarged / Coir mercy and our knowledge of each other.*  The r i v e r s , l i k e Mark Twain's  M i s s i s s i p p i , are f i n a l l y a r t i s t s i n that they change the face of the earth t o t h e i r own l i k i n g .  I t makes no difference 'who walks beside them now  and  why,• f o r they too w i l l have to undergo what D u r r e l l has undergone i n order to f i n d the consciousness which not only y i e l d s c r e a t i v i t y i n the a r t i s t i c sense but also i n the sense that l i v i n g i t s e l f i s an a r t . The l a s t stanza of Part XV deals with the same sense of negation which E l i o t found i n the world and which he described i n The Waste Land, but i t also proposes a solution to the problem: There i s nothing to hope f o r , my Brother. We have t r i e d hoping f o r a future i n the past. Nothing came out of that past But the r e f l e c t e d d i s t o r t i o n and some Enduring, and understanding, and some brave. Into t h e i r c o o l embrace the awkward and the s i n f u l Must be put f o r they alone Know who and what to save.  (440)  In the past, the hope f o r the future was based upon 'the wise / Who the sad valour / Of endurance through the seasons* (313-315)*  teach  those who  understood with t h e i r i n t e l l e c t s but d i d not t r u l y know with the passion of the a r t i s t .  'Their cool embrace,' t h e i r c l i n i c a l d i s s e c t i o n of the  world and of l i f e , must be set a f i r e by the a r t i s t s who are *awkward and s i n f u l * i n the eyes of Society, f o r only those who have found i n the basic forces of l i f e  'our mercy  and  our knowledge of each other* 'know who  what to save.' For Prospero remains the evergreen C e l l by the margin of the sea and land, Who many c i t i e s , plains, and people saw  and  24  Yet by his open door In sunlight f e l l asleep One summer with the Apple i n his hand.  (455)  In Part XVI, D u r r e l l , as Prospero, has attained the unity of s e l f f o r which he has been searching  and i s tempted, not by the vicarious i n t e l l e c t u a l  pursuits, but *to slumber and to sleep.*  D u r r e l l has returned to the 'green  c e l l ' which he had f o r f e i t e d with h i s pursuit o f i n t e l l e c t u a l knowledge, the earthly paradise i n which he began as a c h i l d .  He s t i l l retains the  capacity f o r t r u t h , but he w i l l f i n d i t i n the sensuality o f the sunlight rather than i n i n t e l l e c t u a l searching.  Like the Prospero who returns to  Milan and Naples at the end of The Tempest, he has re-entered the world from which he had i s o l a t e d himself.  Durrell's choice of Prospero as a  •persona' i s f i t t i n g , f o r as Chapter Two w i l l show, Prospero's development of a r t i s t i c consciousness i n The Tempest i s very s i m i l a r to D u r r e l l ' s development as seen i n " C i t i e s , Plains and People", the i s l a n d books, and the l e t t e r s .  CHAPTER I I "PROSPERO'S ISLE"  26  'THIS ROUGH MAGIC* The importance of Prospero for Durrell i s clearly stated i n a semfscholarly conjectural article published i n the Tien H'sia Monthly i n 1939. After attempting to prove that Corcyra (Corfu) i s the scene of Shakespeare*s The Tempest, Durrell discusses Prospero's reference i n the "Epilogue" to his earlier abjuration of his magical powers: And then: the renunciation of ProsperoJ Concealed behind this fantasy surely there i s a clear statement of the a r t i s t i c problem — the problem which finds expression i n Faust, i n the Abbey Theleme of Rabelais (which i s only another Prospero's i s l e ) : the problem, I make so bold to say,, which the great artist shares with the saint. Here i s the pure statement of the case — for a l l who have ears to hear. Prospero's last words are a beatitude.-^ Earlier i n his article Durrell draws a parallel between Prospero and St. Spiridian, the patron saint of Corfu, and i n the above quotation he i s discussing 'the problem . . . the great artist shares with the saint.'  For Durrell, Prospero i s 'the great a r t i s t ' who has attained  the necessary artistic consciousness. Having presented Prospero's renunciation, Durrell goes on to i t s importance: The magician's renunciation of his power i s one of the most profound things i n Shakespeare: he puts himself at the mercy of the elements which he has learned so painfully how to control. Perhaps Prospero i n these lines shows that he had discovered the paradox i n things; he had discovered that he who comes down to earth finds himself nearest to heaven. It i s a lesson which a l l magicians must learn sooner or later: whether they be saints or poets. 13 Lawrence Durrell, "Prospero's Isle", i n Tien H'sia Monthly (Shanghai), September, 1939, p. 138 14 "Prospero's Isle", p. 139  27  The 'lesson which a l l magicians must learn' comes out clearly i n the Durrell-Miller correspondence between the summers of 1936 and 1938. these letters, the references to Hamlet are important,  In  Durrell sees i n  Hamlet, unlike Prospero, the failure to synthesize the inner and outer selves.  According to these early letters, there i s a quality of loneliness  in Hamlet which Durrell also finds i n himself.  The problem for Durrell i s  England: But as the play goes on, the inner Hamlet, no longer Prince, grows and begins to strip his fellow characters of their masks. The great shock i s to find himself alone i n l i f e , with no contact, not even with that sweet but s i l l y l i t t l e wretch Ophelia. There i s a parallel here with Hamlet, for Durrell saw a similar problem with the society which demanded that Hamlet be Prince rather than himself: Then, realising that he should really turn away from these fakes to his real self, he feels the pressure of society suddenly on him. He i s forced to be the Prince, however much his private Hamlet suffers. It i s a marvellous p i c t u r e . of psychic and social disorganisation i n an individual . . . My birth and upbringing? I was born in India. Went to school there — under the Himalayas. The most wonderful memories, a brief dream of Tibet u n t i l I was eleven. Then that mean, shabby l i t t l e island up there wrung my guts out of me and tried to destroy anything singular and unique i n me.17 Durrell considers Hamlet to be a step toward the integration which Prospero achieves with the outer world at the end of The Tempest which i s a result of the unification of his b i f i d nature, a process which Durrell feels i s necessary for the artist. In January of 1937, Durrell f e l t he 'was born to be Hamlet's l i t t l e 15 Lawrence Durrell and Henry Miller, A Private Correspondence, ed. George Wickes (London) Faber (1963), p. 2o" Hereinafter referred to as Letters. 1 6  Durrell, Letters, p. 26  17 Durrell, Letters, p. 60  28  god-child. ° ,L  In " C i t i e s , Plains and People" (1946), however, D u r r e l l  i s no longer Hamlet but Prospero, a d e f i n i t e i n d i c a t i o n that he f e l t he had attained a u n i t y of s e l f .  D u r r e l l makes h i s reason f o r being no longer  able to associate himself with Hamlet quite c l e a r : Shakespeare and Lawrence and Co. have been crippled from the s t a r t by being unable to r e a l i s e themselves. Consequently the f i n a l drama, the Hamlet, when they wrote i t , was entangled i n t h e i r own diseases, held down by them. ^ So i t i s Prospero, and not Hamlet, whom D u r r e l l sees as Shakespeare's f i n a l expression of the u n i f i e d i n d i v i d u a l and the consciously c o n t r o l l i n g artist. In The Tempest, Shakespeare presents Prospero as the magician  who,  through h i s a r t , attempts to control the environment i n which he has been stranded.  Prospero i s i n e x i l e from Milan, i s cut o f f from society, just  as h i s island i s not, as Donne says, *a part of the main.•  His ' f u l l poor  c e l l * i s a p h y s i c a l p a r a l l e l of the s i t u a t i o n i n Milan before he  was  deposed, a s i t u a t i o n which was the r e s u l t of h i s dedication to the arts, a dedication which resulted i n h i s i s o l a t i o n from h i s people and  Antonio's  usurpation: And Prospero, the prime duke, being so reputed In d i g n i t y , and f o r the l i b e r a l arts Without a p a r a l l e l , those being a l l my study — The government I cast upon my brother, And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt i n secret studies. When D u r r e l l speaks of 'black-hearted Descartes' i n " C i t i e s , Plains and  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 59 19  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 52  William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, Scene i i , 11. 73-77, i n The Complete Works, ed. G. B. Harrison (N.I.).Harcourt, Brace (1952). A l l , o t h e r references to the play w i l l be i n t e r n a l l y documented. 2 0  29  People", he i s r e f e r r i n g to the theory of dualism.  Prospero, i n h i s  negation of a l l that i s physical i n favour o f what i s i n t e l l e c t u a l , i n h i s neglect of h i s people i n favour of the l i b e r a l a r t s , i s l i k e a Cartesian, f o r Descartes proved, at l e a s t to h i s own s a t i s f a c t i o n , that the mind i s f a r superior to the body: I ask them to make an object of study o f t h e i r own mind and a l l the attributes attaching to i t , of which they f i n d they cannot doubt, notwithstanding i t be supposed that whatever they have at any time derived from t h e i r senses i s f a l s e ; and I beg them not to d e s i s t from attending to i t , u n t i l they have acquired the habit of perceiving i t d i s t i n c t l y and of b e l i e v i n g that i t , can be more r e a d i l y known than any corporal thing. The crux of The Tempest i s i n Prospero's attitude to Caliban, the manifestation of the gross p h y s i c a l , and the f i n a l r e c o n c i l i a t i o n o f Prospero with h i s former enemies, who had usurped him because of t h e i r gross desires. Many Shakespearean c r i t i c s , among them Derek Traversi, have concluded that Prospero brought h i s enemies to h i s i s l a n d to e f f e c t the r e c o n c i l i a t i o n which takes place at the end of the p l a y . play that would indicate that t h i s i s so;  2 2  But there i s nothing i n the  indeed, a l l o f Prospero's comments,  as the following quotation w i l l show, tend to indicate that he wants t o punish them: 'Let them be hunted soundly. a l l mine enemies' (17, i ,  263-264).  At t h i s hour / L i e at my mercy  This statement i s not that of a man  intent on welcoming h i s former enemies as brothers. Rather, the words are of one dedicated to vengeance, and f o r t h i s reason the reader i s not prepared f o r h i s speech to A r i e l at the beginning of the next a c t :  Rene Descartes, Objections and Replies, Postulate I I , trans. E. S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross, i n Great Books of the Western World, v o l . 31, p. 131 22 Derek Traversi, Shakespeare: University Press (1953), p. 194  The Last Phase (Stanford) Stanford  30  Though with t h e i r high wrongs I am struck to the quick. Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my f u r y Do I take part. The r a r e r action i s In v i r t u e than i n vengeance. They being penitent, The sole d r i f t of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, A r i e l . My charms 1*11 break, t h e i r senses 1*11 restore, And they s h a l l be themselves (V, i , 25-32). In an o v e r a l l view of the play, these l i n e s denote the change i n Prospero which i s i n d i c a t i v e o f h i s s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , the point which D u r r e l l f e l t a l l a r t i s t s must reach before they can t r u l y create.  Unlike Hamlet, whose  attempts at a f u l l understanding of himself and h i s own capacities were aborted, Prospero can, rather than k i l l h i s enemies, take the step which w i l l reconcile him with them.  He has achieved the balance between  emotional and i n t e l l e c t u a l which i s necessary f o r the integration o f the i n d i v i d u a l and society. That t h i s balance exists i s made obvious by a comparison of the preceding quotation with l i n e s which come before i t i n the p l a y : Ari.  Your charm so strongly works *em That i f you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender.  Pro.  Dost thou think so, s p i r i t ?  Ari.  Mine would, s i r , i f I were human.  Pro.  And mine s h a l l . Hast thou, which art but a i r , a touch, a f e e l i n g Of t h e i r a f f l i c t i o n s , and s h a l l not myself, One o f t h e i r kind, that r e l i s h a l l as sharply, Passion as they, be k i n d l i e r moved than thou art? (V, i , 17-24)  The way i n which A r i e l brings about the change i n Prospero i s a subtle one, and the words used by both characters i n these l i n e s :  'affections*,  *touch*, 'feeling', ' r e l i s h * , 'passion*: are those associated with the emotional and not the i n t e l l e c t u a l side of man.  Prospero's reference  to h i s •fury* i n the following l i n e s i s an admission on h i s part that a  31  capacity other than i n t e l l e c t u a l does e x i s t f o r him, and t h i s r e a l i z a t i o n , coupled with the c o n t r o l l i n g action of h i s 'nobler reason 'gainst [ h i s ] fury,' indicates the control he now has over himself, f o r any subsequent action on h i s part w i l l be a product of t h i s balance between i n t e l l e c t u a l and physical rather than of h i s 'art*.  He has become 'human', the l e v e l  which, according to the Elizabethan concept of an h i e r a r c h i c a l universe, i s below angelic and above animal* At  the beginning of Act V, Prospero has reached s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n and  unity, and h i s treatment of Alonso and company i n the closing scenes of that act i s j o v i a l .  The masque which the King of Naples witnesses before  A r i e l appears as Fate i n Act I I I , Scene i i i i s set against the r e a l i t y which he sees i n Act V when Prospero reveals Ferdinand and Miranda,  The  dream device which was a precursor to the pronouncement of eternal p e r d i t i o n on Alonso was a product of the i n t e l l e c t u a l l y - o r i e n t e d hatred of Prospero, but when Alonso sees Ferdinand and Miranda together, although he f i r s t mistakes them f o r an apparition, he f u l l y recovers from the dreamworld i n which he had been placed.  E a r l i e r i n the play, Prospero had t o l d  Ferdinand thbt 'We are such s t u f f / As dreams are made on • . .' (IV, i , 156-157),  I f h i s words have significance i n the play, they r e f e r to the  dream-reality i n t e r p o l a t i o n which leads his enemies to penitence and f i n a l reconciliation.  The importance of these l i n e s l i e s i n human l i f e as a  b a s i s f o r dreams.  Here i s the a r t i s t i c s i t u a t i o n :  dream-world based on r e a l i t y j  the creation of a  the organization of r e a l i t y i n the mind of  the a r t i s t i n order to produce a response i n the audience which i s cathartic i n D u r r e l l ' s sense, whether the work i s comedy or tragedy. D u r r e l l ' s comments on the a r t of the Twentieth Century point to t h i s need for  catharsis, and h i s view of i t s purpose i n the drama hints at h i s need  for  catharsis i n h i s own  life:  32  The only j u s t i f i c a t i o n f o r the a r t of s t a s i s which i s XXth century art i s i n the p r e c i p i t a t i o n of c r i s i s * The c r i s i s i n the drama p r e c i p i t a t e s the c r i s i s i n the audience — and thus the c a t h a r t i c p r i n c i p l e of change of stance — the reborn s e l f , ' 2  Within The Tempest, the a r t i s t i s Prospero, and i t i s by means of the dream state and the masque that he reveals the truths of t h e i r situations to the others on the i s l a n d .  The job of the a r t i s t , to present •Hamlet  and Faust as front-page news,' as D u r r e l l says i n " C i t i e s , Plains and People", i s to involve h i s audience i n a c r i s i s which w i l l change t h e i r l i v e s , w i l l bring about 'the reborn self,') and t h i s i s what he achieves. In a l e t t e r written i n the winter of 1936, D u r r e l l r e p l i e s to M i l l e r ' s request f o r information about Hamlet: Why every one i s puzzled by poor Hamlet i s because they always t r y to see a r e l a t i o n between the external b a t t l e . . . and the inner one. A f a i l u r e , because the inner and outer r e a l i t y move along separate planes, and only seldom meet. There's your d i a l e c t a l interplay, but through the r e a l i t y always the magic i s seen. ^ 2  There are two  'battles' happening i n Hamlet, the external one between the  Prince and Claudius, and the i n t e r n a l one i n which Hamlet i s t r y i n g to understand himself.  The external b a t t l e i s the ' r e a l i t y ' of the play, but  the 'magic' to which D u r r e l l r e f e r s i n h i s l e t t e r i s the dream.  The problem  of the a r t i s t who i s attempting to control the external world, h i s raw material, i s the fusion of that world with the dream i n order to produce a catharsis i n h i s audience.  D u r r e l l considers 'Shakespeare, Lawrence and  Go.' to have f a i l e d i n t h e i r attempts to place before t h e i r audiences the necessity f o r the integration of the dual nature of 23  D u r r e l l , L e t t e r s , p. 224  24  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 26  man.  33  It i s the fusion of the dream and the external world which produces a r t i s t i c expression of any sort. outer r e a l i t y . '  There are two r e a l i t i e s ,  'the inner and  The inner r e a l i t y , the dream, i s each i n d i v i d u a l ' s response  to a thing or an event, f o r the early D u r r e l l a response which he attempts to transcribe i n order to present i t to an audience.  In r e p l y to a l e t t e r  from N i l l e r about surrealism, D u r r e l l states emphatically that 'I believe f i r m l y i n the i d e a l of cementing r e a l i t y with the dream, but I do not believe the rest of t h i s stuff,» ^ 'the r e s t of t h i s s t u f f being the 2  purposes of surrealism as a theory of a r t according to surrealism.  Durrell  believes the a r t i s t must communicate the truth as he_ sees i t by means of 'something magical which we recognize i n dream and which makes the face of the sleeper relax and expand with a bloom such as we rarely see i n waking life.'  The dream, before i t can be communicated, must provoke a catharsis  i n the a r t i s t , f o r i t i s t h i s response that the a r t i s t i s attempting to impart. That every i n d i v i d u a l responds i n his own way to any given object or occurrence i s pointed up i n M i l l e r ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of h i s and D u r r e l l ' s t r i p to the astronomical observatory near Athens. through the telescope, D u r r e l l exclaimed,  When he saw the Pleiades  'RosicrucianJ' This i d i o s y n c r a t i c  response i s not the exception but the r u l e , says M i l l e r : For D u r r e l l and f o r myself r e a l i t y l a y wholly beyond the reach of [the astronomers'] puny instruments which i n themselves were nothing more than clumsy r e f l e c t i o n s of t h e i r circumscribed imagination locked forever i n the hypothetical prison of l o g i c . 2 7  And f i n a l l y , even when to my own eye and the eye of the astronomer (the Pleiades] possesses the same dimensions, the same b r i l l i a n c e , i t d e f i n i t e l y does 25  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 19  26  Henry M i l l e r , The Colossus of Maroussi (N.Y.) New Directions (1958), pp. 31-32. Hereinafter referred to as Colossus. 27  Colossus, p. 103  34  not look the same to us both — Durrell*s very exclamation i s s u f f i c i e n t to prove t h a t . ^ 8  The  'hypothetical p r i s o n of l o g i c ' from which D u r r e l l was t r y i n g to escape  i n the e a r l y parts of " C i t i e s , Plains and People" i s the Cartesian proposition that the mind and the body are d i s t i n c t , and thaft the former i s f a r superior to the l a t t e r .  In order to achieve integrated consciousness  the i n d i v i d u a l must fuse the s p i r i t u a l and the physical, the Apollonian and the Dionysiac, the dream and the r e a l i t y .  The l a t t e r process has been  treated at some length i n regards Shakespeare's (and Prospero's) technique i n The Tempest and the process o f a r t i s t i c creation.  I t remains to discuss  the two former i n respect to t h e i r r o l e s i n the play and i n the d i a l e c t i c of the growth toward a r t i s t i c consciousness.  In h i s a r t i c l e on The Tempest as quoted e a r l i e r i n t h i s chapter, D u r r e l l said that perhaps Prospero had discovered 'that he who comes down to earth finds himself nearest to heaven.• i s l i k e Goethe's Faust.  In t h i s discovery Prospero  The perfection i n the l i b e r a l arts of which he  boasts to Miranda i s very much l i k e Faust's, and Faust achieves a recognition of h i s s i t u a t i o n i n Part I I which i s s i m i l a r to Prospero's renunciation of h i s powers at the end of The Tempesti A fool*, who t h i t h e r turns h i s b l i n k i n g eyes And dreams h e ' l l f i n d h i s l i k e above the skies. Let him stand fast and look around on earth; Not mute i s t h i s world to a man of worth. Why need he range through a l l eternity? Here he can seize a l l that he knows to be. Thus l e t him wander down h i s earthly dayj When s p i r i t s spook, l e t him pursue h i s wayj Let him f i n d pain and b l i s s as on he s t r i d e , He! every moment s t i l l u n s a t i s f i e d . 9 2  2 8  Colossus, p. 104  9 Goethe, Faust, trans. G. M. P r i e s t , Part I I , Act V, 11443 11452, i n Great Books o f the Western World, V o l . 47, p. 278. Hereinafter referred to as Faust, 2  35  The preceding quotation i s a renunciation of Faust's powers, f o r he i s the ' f o o l ' f o r having made a pact with Mephistopheles which w i l l cost him h i s soul.  Here there i s a second s i m i l a r i t y between Prospero and Faust, f o r  both men have conjured up agents of supernatural powers i n order to increase t h e i r control of the world, and both have made pacts with these s p i r i t s i n return f o r t h e i r a i d , Faust to give up h i s soul and Prospero to release Ariel.  The perfection to which both men  them by t h e i r supernatural servants.  aspire, however, i s n u l l i f i e d f o r  A r i e l indicates to Prospero that the  magician lacks an emotional capacity, that deficiency keeping him from being 'human' l i k e Alonso and Gonzalo.  Mephistopheles, on the other hand, becomes  f o r Faust the manifestation of the grosser aspect of the necromancer's nature: Together with t h i s rapture That brings me near and nearer t o the gods, Thou gav'st the comrade whom I now no more Can do without, though, cold and insolent, He lowers me i n my own sight, transforms With but a word, a breath, thy g i f t s to nothing. Within my breast he fans with busy zeal A savage f i r e f o r that f a i r , l o v e l y form. Thus from desire I r e e l on to enjoyment And i n enjoyment languish f o r desire.30 The state which Faust describes here, the giving over of himself to purely physical pleasures, opposes the necessary balance which allows the i n d i v i d u a l to be human as much as Prospero's pursuit of purely i n t e l l e c t u a l matters. From t h i s point of view, A r i e l i s the representative of i n t e l l e c t u a l i t y i n The Tempest and Caliban i s the epitome of the grossly p h y s i c a l . As Traversi reminds us, the t i t l e of the play has both actual and symbolic s i g n i f i c a n c e , ^  1  and the same i s true of the characters. The p l o t  3°  Faust, Part I, 11. 3240-3250  ^  Traversi, p. 194  36  and the interplay of personalities shed light upon the movement of Prospero toward self-realization.  There are two types of magic mentioned i n the play:  the intellectual powers of Prospero and the natural magic of Sycorax, the mother of Caliban.  At one time Ariel's mistress, Sycorax could not completely  control him, 'for [Ariel] wast a s p i r i t too delicate / To act her earthy and abhorred commands' (I, i i , 272-3).  Consequently, Ariel suffered the  imprisonment from which Prospero freed him.  Ariel's treatment at the hands  of Sycorax i s the subjugation of the intellectual to the physical, the reverse of the Cartesian ideal, while the situation which exists during the action of the play, the subjugation of Caliban to Prospero, i s the norm. At the end of Act 17 Prospero has not approached the desired balance between the intellectual and the physical. He considers Caliban 'A devil, a born devil, on whose nature / Nurture can never stick' (17, i , 188-9), but this quality i s Caliban's saving grace.  Unlike Stephano and Trinculo, Antonio  and Sebastian, he i s pure nature and therefore not subject to any judgment of good and e v i l based on traditional Elizabethan concepts.  He i s not  'human', and therefore cannot be expected to possess the balance between the intellectual and the physical from which any variation i s a condition of e v i l .  Prospero must realize f i n a l l y that Caliban i s as much a part of  him as Ariel i s , for as Henry Miller points out, the great physicians have always spoken of Nature as being the great healer. That i s only partially true. Nature alone can do nothing. Nature can cure only when man recognizes his place i n the world, which i s not i n Nature, as with the animal, but i n the human kingdom, the link between the natural and the divine.' 2  Colossus, p. 77  37  THE PARADISE OF INNOCENCE The l e t t e r s which pass between D u r r e l l and Henry M i l l e r i n the period just preceding and during the time chronicled i n Prospero s C e l l are f i l l e d 1  with D u r r e l l o u t l i n i n g his.attempts to f i n d himself and M i l l e r ' s l u c i d and guiding r e p l i e s .  Throughout t h i s period D u r r e l l and M i l l e r are thinking  along very much the same l i n e s .  The tone and thought of M i l l e r ' s Colossus  of Maroussi, the retrospective l o g of a t r i p made during 1939 to v i s i t D u r r e l l and tour the Mediterranean, are s i m i l a r to those of Prospero's C e l l and the bulk of t h e i r communication i s concerned with the a r t i s t and the growth toward a r t i s t i c consciousness which was outlined i n the previous chapter. the  There i s no mention of Prospero as the consummate a r t i s t i n either  l e t t e r s or the Colossus.  Nevertheless, as we have seen, the protagonist  and c o n t r o l l i n g force of The Tempest became the symbol of achievement f o r D u r r e l l i n " C i t i e s , Plains and People", h i s reminiscent view of h i s own development.  In 1937, D u r r e l l writes to M i l l e r about h i s need f o r h i s l i t e r a r y 'double', Charles Norden.  Trying to persuade D u r r e l l to drop the pseudonym  under which he had written Panic Spring, M i l l e r r e p l i e s : A man can f a l l down, can underdo himself, can go haywire. But he ought not to d e l i b e r a t e l y incarnate a l e s s e r s e l f , a ghost, a substitute. The whole thing i s a question of r e s p o n s i b i l i t y and willingness to accept one's fate, one's punishment, as well as one's reward. I think that i s only too p a i n f u l l y c l e a r , i f you ask yourself. You want Charles Norden to be the scapegoat. But i n the end i t w i l l be L. D. who w i l l be obliged to k i l l . Charles Norden. That's the "double" theme . . . Aaron's Rod i s a good book, on t h i s score — Lawrence suffered from i t too. And he knew i t . I t was a l i t t l e d i f f e r e n t , but fundamentally the same  38.  problem. Not accepting oneself i n toto. integrating.^^  Not  The p a r a l l e l between D u r r e l l and Prospero l i e s i n t h e i r sharing of same problem [ o f ] not accepting oneself i n toto.* D u r r e l l * s tone i s one  of praise and awe,  that he considers him a true a r t i s t . i n 1945,  In the early l e t t e r s  and he repeatedly t e l l s M i l l e r  Much l a t e r i n the correspondence,  D u r r e l l c a l l s M i l l e r 'Prospero', a r e f l e c t i o n of h i s e a r l y  to the author of Tropic of Cancer, whom he saw view of the  'the  attitude  as possessing the true world-  artist.  For you there i s t h i s powerful t o t a l world u n r o l l i n g i t s e l f ; you are so deep i n i t that there i s not time f o r anything e l s e . With me i t i s d i f f e r e n t . The l i t t l e world, the heraldic universe, i s a c y c l i c , periodic thing i n me — l i k e a bout of drinking. I am not a permanent inhabitant — only on Wednesdays by i n v i t a t i o n . I enter and leave — and presto the ordinary i n d i v i d u a l i s born, the J e k y l l . ^ What D u r r e l l does not r e a l i z e at t h i s point i n his development i s that  'the  heraldic universe' i s the dream-world which he must recreate as an a r t i s t , Nietzsche points out i n The B i r t h of Tragedy that the a r t i s t ' i s , f i r s t  and  foremost, a Dionysiac a r t i s t , become wholly i n d e n t i f i e d with the o r i g i n a l Oneness, i t s pain and contradiction, as music, i f music may  and producing a r e p l i c a of that Oneness,  l e g i t i m a t e l y be seen as a r e p e t i t i o n of the world;  however, t h i s music becomes v i s i b l e to him again, as i n a dream s i m i l i t u d e , through the Apollonian dream influence.'35  That D u r r e l l f i n a l l y r e a l i z e d  the need f o r balance between s p i r i t u a l and i n s t i n c t u a l i s obvious i n a l e t t e r to M i l l e r written i n  1958:  5 5  M i l l e r , Letters, p.  108  3 4  D u r r e l l , Letters, pp. 105-106  " F r i e d r i c h Nietzsche, The B i r t h of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals, trans. Francis Golffing (N.I. )""A"hchor (1956), p. 38  39  Here's a quote from de Rougement to ponder and perhaps p i n up somewhere: "When under the pretence of destroying whatever i s a r t i f i c i a l — i d e a l i s i n g r h e t o r i c , the mystical ethics of 'perfection' — people seek to swamp themselves i n the p r i m i t i v e flood of i n s t i n c t , i n whatever i s primeval, formless and f o u l , they may imagine they are recapturing r e a l l i f e but a c t u a l l y they are being swept away by a torrent of waste-matter i?36  The need f o r i n t e g r a t i o n expressed i n The Tempest i s seen i n the r e l a t i o n s h i p of Prospero to A r i e l and Caliban, both on the symbolic and narrative l e v e l s .  The one character i n the play who i s u n i f i e d i s Gonzalo.  Of a l l the courtiers who have been cast upon the i s l a n d by the storm, only he i s considered by Prospero to be a f r i e n d .  The services which he rendered  to Prospero and Miranda when they were set a d r i f t showed a cognizance of both the i n t e l l e c t u a l and physical needs of the castaways.  Henry M i l l e r says o f humanity and human relationships that the great fundamental lack, which i s apparent everywhere i n our c i v i l i z e d world, i s the t o t a l absence of anything approaching a communal existence. We have become s p i r i t u a l nomads; whatever pertains to the soul i s d e r e l i c t , tossed about by the winds l i k e flotsam and jetsam.? 7  In Act I I , Scene i , 143-168, Gonzalo outlines what he would do with the i s l a n d i f he 'were the King on't.'  The society he would e s t a b l i s h i s i n  i t s d e s c r i p t i o n d e f i n i t e l y a communal one, with the emphasis on the innocence o f i t s people.  Indeed, he says, 'I would with such p e r f e c t i o n  govern, s i r , / To excel the Golden Age.*  Gonzalo might w e l l have been  answering the need M i l l e r sees, and while h i s proposed society i s U t o p i a n i t i s the emphasis on innocence that i s the important point i n the p l a n .  36  D u r r e l l , L e t t e r s , p. 345  ^  Colossus, p. 122  7  40  What D u r r e l l i s attempting to recapture i s the innocence of a childhood spent i n the Himalayas which he outlines i n " C i t i e s , Plains and People". I t i s impossible to return to the earthly paradise, but an approximation of that s i t u a t i o n can be attained with the integration of the personality. Indeed, the wonderful thing . . . i s the sloughing o f f of the b u i l t - i n man (the man of society, t r a d i t i o n , education, background, etc.) and the emergence of the new man r e l y i n g upon his i n t u i t i o n , knowing that whatever i t i s he i s p r a c t i s i n g i s "magic".' 8  In Act V of The Tempest Prospero's renunciation of h i s powers i s 'the sloughing o f f of the b u i l t - i n man' h i s previously b i p a r t i t e nature.  which i s attained with the fusion of But the renunciation of one magic must  lead, according to the above quotation, to another, a purer force based upon the natural power of the i n d i v i d u a l and not that of h i s books. t h i s happens with Prospero i s seen i n the opening l i n e s of the  That  "Epilogue":  Now my charms are a l l o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, Which i s most f a i n t . The magic of which man's integrated nature i s the well-spring i s by f a r the more powerful and important.  D u r r e l l e a r l i e r complained that he could  reach t h i s inner s e l f 'Only on Wednesdays, by i n v i t a t i o n .  1  h i s problem l i e s i n a l e t t e r from M i l l e r : So many times, when I am sorely b a f f l e d , I w i l l say to myself — "Write i t , put i t downi What difference whether i t makes sense or not." And then i t ' s as i f some panel inside one s l i d open, the musicians are there, the note i s sounded, the walls give way, the images beckon — and you f i n d yourself saying i t without knowing i t . F a t a l to pause and r e f l e c t . On.' OnJ U n t i l the strength gives out. Then, i n quiet, a f t e r a prayer of thanks, you read — and you see  3 8  M i l l e r , Letters, p.  380  The answer to  41  the traces of another's hand, God's maybe, or maybe your own, your concealed, your suppressed s e l f . A l l one.? 9  The music which M i l l e r mentions here, l i k e the music Nietzsche's Dionysiac hears, i s an ordered harmony, the sound o f the l y r e of Apollo which recreates the texture of r e a l i t y i n images which the a r t i s t w i l l communicate to h i s audience.  This music, with i t s i n t r i c a c i e s of melody, i s impossible to  transcribe\  i t can only be  approximated:  How often have I t o l d you that the books I wrote i n my head were the best, that nothing manifested i n p r i n t ever approaches them? What we put down on paper i s but a pale imitation, a f a i n t and faded remembrance of these sessions with the s i l e n t s p i r i t . The 'heavenly music' which Prospero summons A r i e l to play i n Act V, Scene i , i s external to the magician. realization j  At t h i s point Prospero has just reached s e l f -  i t i s important to note the p a r a l l e l i n M i l l e r ' s remarks  concerning the music of creation i n which he says that the r e s u l t i n g a r t form i s a product, not only of the mind of the a r t i s t , but of 'another's hand, God's maybe, or maybe your own, your concealed, your suppressed s e l f . A l l one.'  There are, therefore, two musics, the 'heavenly music' which i s  an aspect of the Apollonian forces, and another music which i s an innate part of the a r t i s t .  'Music i s the noiseless sound made by a swimmer i n the ocean of his own consciousness.' ^ 4  The sea which surrounds Prospero's island can be seen  symbolically as the 'ocean of consciousness', and the voyage to that i s l a n d as the search f o r s e l f .  The tempest, then, i s a disturbance i n the mind  3 9  M i l l e r , Letters pp. 380-381  4  0  M i l l e r , Letters, p. 381  4 1  M i l l e r , Letters, p. 132  42  which hinders the swimmer, f o r A r i e l ' s description of h i s actions during  the  storm draws the following r h e t o r i c a l question from Prospero: Who was so firm, so constant, that t h i s c o i l Would not i n f e c t his reason? ( I , i i , 206-8) In Hamlet, the Prince f e e l s 'a fever of the mad,'  and the constant  to which he submits himself i s a r e s u l t of the tempest within him. D u r r e l l i s experiencing  questioning In  1938  a similar situation:  What I have to say seems such a barren waste of self-questioning and argument . . . . I have cast i t i n t o a strange and novel form, that of a Euclidean proposition: f i r s t a l e t t e r from God to me explaining and enunciating the theorem; then a l e t t e r from me to God explaining who I am and what I have t r i e d to do. I have l o s t revolution and anarehy now and am swimming through hundreds of compass points towards myself. I t i s d i f f i c u l t and horrifying.* 2  The form i n which D u r r e l l has  cast h i s s e l f-questioning  i s founded upon  l o g i c , an impossible basis f o r any attempt to f i n d oneself.  In his case  the ' s t e r i l e apparatus' of Descartes only l e d him to the concept of dualism, into a b i f u r c a t i o n of h i s personality rather than toward the necessary integration.  In 1936  he t e l l s M i l l e r , 'I am discovering what I am.  i t ' s a b i t p a i n f u l because I started i n another d i r e c t i o n . ' *  3  Only  I t i s not  through l o g i c that the f u s i o n of the b i f i d aspects of the personality w i l l come.  The Meditations of Descartes, a r e s u l t of t h i s cold l o g i c , have  yielded the Logical Positivism which D u r r e l l f e e l s i s keeping Western from integration.  A quotation  from the "obiter d i c t a " o f Pursewarden, one  of two n o v e l i s t s i n The Alexandria  Quartet, i l l u s t r a t e s t h i s a t t i t u d e :  "Why do I always choose an epigraph from de Sade? Because he demonstrates pure rationalism — the D u r r e l l , Letters, p.  Man  130  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 39  43  ages of sweet reason we have l i v e d through i n Europe since Descartes. He i s the f i n a l flower of reason, and the typic of European behaviour. I hope to l i v e to see him translated i n t o Chinese. His books would bring the house down and would read as pure humour. But h i s s p i r i t has already brought the house down around our e a r s . " 4 4  The two important points i n the above quotation are the r e s u l t i n g chaos i n a c i v i l i z a t i o n based upon a d u a l i s t i c philosophy, and the humour which the writings of de Sade would arouse i n China, a country one of whose most famous philosophical t r e a t i s e s , the Tao Te Ching of Lao Tzu, treats the human being not as a d u a l i t y of mind and body but as a unity.  Durrell*s  attitude to both i s obvious i n a l e t t e r to M i l l e r dated November 10,  1940:  I see no end to the [war]. I t w i l l go on f o r years because we are no nearer to the i n d i v i d u a l s o l u t i o n — and the outer struggle i s only a r e f l e c t i o n of i t . Nothing remains r e a l l y except one's personal honour and one's love f o r the k i l l e r s . We s h a l l see. Love to anyone over there who might be i n need of d i s i n t e r e s t e d love. Ah Lao-tse, we need you here! 5 4  Although the tone i n t h i s l e t t e r indicates an involvement i n the war, i t also betrays a f e e l i n g that D u r r e l l i s somehow above the f i g h t i n g . sense he i s l i k e the Prospero who,  In one  at the end of The Tempest, can pardon  those who betrayed him (Alonso and Antonio) and those who had planned to k i l l him (Caliban).  The apostrophe to Lao-tse ^ at the end of the l e t t e r 4  i s not to the man but to the philosophy which preaches unity of s e l f and involvement i n the a f f a i r s of the world.  S e l f - u n i t y i s a prerequisite to  and s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e 3 s the source o f material f o r the a r t i s t s ' communication with h i s fellow man.  The philosophy of the Tao, from t h i s point of view, i s  44  Balthazar, p. 247  45  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 168  46  Also variously Lao Tzu, Lao Tsu, and Lao-tsu  44  creative, unlike Cartesian dualism, f o r i t i s through the attainment of the Way  47  that one can influence the world f o r good.  In the following quotation  M i l l e r outlines the goal of the a r t i s t and i t s consequent results : To l i v e c r e a t i v e l y , I have discovered, means to l i v e more and more u n s e l f i s h l y , to l i v e more and more i n t o the world, i d e n t i f y i n g oneself with i t and thus influencing i t at the core, so to speak. Art, l i k e r e l i g i o n , i t now seems to me, i s only a preparation, an i n i t i a t i o n into the way of l i f e . The goal i s l i b e r a t i o n , freedom, which means assuming greater r e s p o n s i b i l i t y . To continue writing beyond the point of s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n seems f u t i l e and a r r e s t i n g . The mastery of any form o f expression should lead i n e v i t a b l y to the f i n a l expression — mastery of l i f e . In t h i s realm, one i s absolutely alone, face to face with the very elements of c r e a t i o n . * 8  This would seem to contradict a l l that has been said heretofore, but t h i s i s not the case.  M i l l e r i s o u t l i n i n g i n the l a t t e r h a l f of the quotation  what he sees as the i d e a l .  The purpose of a r t i s to communicate to the  world at large the s t r i v i n g s of the a r t i s t to achieve s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . But t h i s unity, l i k e the Tao, can never be verbalized; experienced.  i t can only be  Paradoxically, then, a l l a r t i s a search f o r s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n ,  a l o g of that search f o r something which i n i t s e l f can never be communicated. The problem of the a r t i s t i s therefore insoluble.  He cannot communicate  d i r e c t l y the road t o s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , but can only approximate i t with symbols.  The f i n a l d i f f i c u l t y , from t h i s point of view, i s the means of  communication i t s e l f : language i s my problem. I set out on a voyage to f i n d myself — and f i n d language. 49  47 48 49  Also the One, the Path. Colossus, p. 206 D u r r e l l , L e t t e r s , p. 94  45  By 1937 Durrell bad published two novels, Pied Piper of Lovers and Panic Spring, and had finished The Black Book, which Miller read i n manuscript form.  The latter was the f i r s t time Durrell had heard his own voice i n his  writing, but he f e l t that something was lacking! In The Black Book there was nothing for me to be, really. I'm s t i l l nobody. But I think I w i l l be. Then I can show myself without the cocoon, the arty kimono.-' The "arty kimono' bears a striking resemblance to the magician's robe which Prospero wears throughout most of The Tempest but which he discards i n Act V, Scene i , i n favour of the conventional clothing of society.  With the  removal of his robe and the breaking of his staff, he discards the external signs of his power. In the same way, Durrell intends to discard the outer vestiges of his craft and return to the world from which he had isolated himself on Corfu. The search for the integration of his personality which Durrell chronicles i n "Cities, Plains and People" i s at the same time his development as an a r t i s t .  The two go hand-in-hand.  In the poem Durrell rebels against  the dualistic tendencies resultant i n a study of Descartes.  Miller points  out to him the real connection, the dialectal interplay between l i f e and art, with a quotation from his book on Lawrence which he feels applies to Durrell and Durrell's work: "The poem i s the dream made flesh, i n a two-fold sense: as a work of art, and as l i f e i t s e l f , which i s a work of art. When man becomes f u l l y conscious of his powers, his role, his destiny, he i s an artist and ceases to struggle with reality. He lives out his dream of Paradise. He transmutes his real experience of l i f e into spiritual equations. He scorns the ordinary alphabet which yields at most only a grammar of thought, and adopts the symbol, the metaphor, the ideograph. He writes Chinese. He Durrell, Letters, p. 94  46  creates an impossible world out of an incomprehensible language, a l i e that enchants and enslaves men."51 D u r r e l l ' s development i s toward a f u l l consciousness o f his a b i l i t y and a more complete knowledge of himself.  The work of art i s an expression of the  growth of the i n d i v i d u a l not only as an a r t i s t but as a member of the society with which he i s attempting to communicate, and f o r D u r r e l l a r t and l i f e can never be d i s s o c i a t e d : the root of the struggle which on paper looks l i k e the struggle to write i s r e a l l y the struggle to l i v e . A l l a r t i s t i c d i s l o c a t i o n s and f a i l i n g s go r i g h t back to the author. Hence my disgust when re-reading ([The Black Book] from the copy you sent me. Jesus, I can do better than t h i s * Let me k i l l the " a r t i s t " i n me and the man w i l l appear — i f there i s a man.52 There was a man beneath the ' a r t i s t ' and the 'arty kimono' f o r both D u r r e l l and Prospero.  By the end of The Tempest Prospero has renounced the 'rough  magic' i n favour of h i s own power, and by 1946, the date o f publication of C i t i e s , Plains and People, D u r r e l l has returned to the world of men from Prospero's C e l l , the confined world of introspection which allowed him to achieve u n i t y of s e l f .  On the symbolic l e v e l , the i s l a n d i s h i s true s e l f ,  l y i n g i n 'the sea o f consciousness' through which he must make h i s way i n order to a t t a i n self-consciousness.  U n t i l such time as he reaches that  metaphorical i s l a n d , he must frequently endure the 'tempest' caused by h i s ' f u r i e s ' and must attempt to communicate his ordeal by w r i t i n g .  The i s l a n d  becomes h i s dream-world, embodying that which i s nameable and unnameable, u n i v e r s a l and personal, knowable and unknowable, the Paradise of Innocence, the search f o r which i s common to a l l mankind.  51  D u r r e l l , Letters, pp. 46-7  52  D u r r e l l , Letters, p. 99  CHAPTER III THE QUALITY OF SILENCE  48  'THE HERALDIC UNIVERSE* The f i r s t chapter of Reflections on £ Marine Venus i s called "Of Paradise Terrestre**.  Along with Prospero's Cell, Reflections outlines the  search for a lost paradise which Durrell half-consciously undertook i n the 1930's and which he continued after World War II,  There i s an hiatus i n  the chronicling during the whole of the period of the war, and when i t i s taken up again i t i s with some misgivings as to what he w i l l find i n Rhodes: Tomorrow I should see for myself whether the old Greek ambience had survived the war, whether i t was s t i l l a reality based in the landscape and the people —- or whether we had simply invented i t for ourselves i n the old days . . . .53 In Rhodes Durrell found a concretization of what he had begun to discover in Prospero's Cell, and what he stated explicitly about Corfu i n his article on The Tempest: I am aware of the symbolic properties of the i s l e ; I am aware that The Tempest i s really a lucid parable which touches the Island of the heart•s desire . . . •.54 Durrell hints at the problem of the recognition of the difference between the internal and external realities i n Reflections when he wonders i f what he found i n Greece before the war had been real or fancied.  In the island  books he i s looking for a solution to this problem of the fusion of the realities, and while he does solve i t to some extent, there i s a realization at the end of Prospero's Cell that he can never record his discovery i n any precise way. This discovery i s foreshadowed by Ivan Zarian, one of the main characters i n the book, during a discussion with Count D.: 5? Lawrence Durrell, Reflections on a Marine Venus: a companion to the landscape of Rhodes (London) Faber ( T 9 6 O ) , p. 17. Hereinafter referred to as RefYeciions. 5 4  "Prospero's Isle", p. 137  49  •I am thinking,' says Zarian, 'how nothing i s ever solved f i n a l l y . In every age, from every angle, we are facing the same set of natural phenomena, moonlight, death, religion, laughter, fear. We make idolatrous attempts to enclose them i n a conceptual frame. And a l l the time they change under our very noses.'55 The only solution for the problem i s that there i s no solution, and the Count•s reply to Zarian, oriented as i t i s toward The Tempest, i s the key to what Durrell was seeking and what he f i n a l l y found i n the Prospero of the end of the playj •To admit that i s to admit happiness — or peace of mind, i f you l i k e . You, doctor [Theodore Stephanides], are scandalized when I suggest that The Tempest might be as good a guide to Corcyra as the o f f i c i a l one. It i s because the state of being which i s recorded i n the character of Prospero i s something which the spiritually rich or the sufficiently unhappy can draw _ for themselves out of this clement landscape.'-' Durrell's references to Descartes i n "Cities, Plains and People" and Balthazar point out that any attempt to conceptualize this 'set of natural phenomena' i s impossible, for the result i s only insoluble d i f f i c u l t i e s from which the individual must extricate himself. As Count D. points out, •we knock up against the invisible wall which bounds the prison of our knowledge. It i s only when a man has been round that wall on his hands and knees, when he i s certain that there i s no way out, that he i s driven upon himself for a solution.»57 Early i n Prospero's Cell, Durrell makes a definite statement concerning his leaving England for Greece* You w i l l think i t strange to have come a l l the way from England to this fine Grecian promontory where our only company can be rock, a i r , sky — ' Lawrence Durrell, Prospero's C e l l : a guide to the landscape and manners of the island of Corcyra (London) Faber (196277 P« 105 5  6  57  Prospero's Cell, p. 106 Prospero's Cell, p. 106  50  and a l l the elementals. In letters home NlancyJ says we have been cultivating the tragic sense.'  8  The two most obvious instances of 'the tragic sense' are Hamlet and Faust. They are examples of the aborted attempt to achieve the unification of the self which i s necessary for the peace of mind of which the Count speaks. As characters they have not f u l l y cultivated the 'tragic sense', have not attained self-realization. They are the failures which Durrell sets against the achievement of Prospero.  What Prospero found at the end of The Tempest  is the unity of self which Durrell was seeking, and i t i s obvious from the many references Durrell makes to his loneliness i n the Letters that he considered himself one of 'the sufficiently unhappy' to whom the Count refers. In the f i r s t pages of Reflections he discusses 'islomania, . . . a rare but by no means unknown a f f l i c t i o n of the spirit,'59  a n  d i t i s i n the  conscious classification of himself as an 'islomane' that his realization of the attraction the Greek islands hold for him f i r s t appears.  The islands  are the manifestation of the "Paradise Terrestre", for 'there are people,• he says, who find islands somehow i r r e s i s t i b l e . The mere knowledge that they are on an island, a l i t t l e world surrounded by the sea, f i l l s them with an indescribable intoxication. These born 'islomanes' . . . are Hie direct descendants of the Atlantaans, and i t i s towards the lost Atlantis that their subconscious^yearns throughout their island life . . . . Atlantis i s just another name for the lost earthly paradise of Adam and Eve, 58  Prospero's Cell, p. 13  59  Reflections, p. 15  60  Reflections, p. 15  51  and at the end of "Cities, Plains and People" Durrell gives us Prospero, Who many cities, plains, and people saw Yet by his open door In sunlight f e l l asleep One summer with the Apple i n his hand. There i s a definite series of parallels being drawn here.  In the above  quotation Prospero i s another Adam, but this time an Adam who has retained his innocence by not eating the Apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Isle" i s another Eden.  "Prospero's  It i s important for Durrell that the locale of the  Tempest should be the Greek islands, for like the Patmos he describes i n Reflections they are a l l *a symbol of something for which we a l l keep a place i n our hearts.'^ It i s important, too, that 'Hoyle refused [islomania's] application to any but Aegean islands,*** for these are the 2  islands to which Durrell and the rest of the 'islomanes' i n the island books long to return;  they are a l l to be classified under the general  heading "Atlantis" or "Paradise Terrestre".  The impossibility of  conceptualizing what i s emotion or desire i s also associated with 'islomania', for 'Sand fone of the characters i n Reflections ] could not bring himself to look a theory so irrational i n the eye.'63  The whole point of the  search for unity i s that i t cannot be conducted i n the rational manner of a Descartes but must be experienced by each individual.  The crux of the  a r t i s t i c problem i s that every individual sees external reality i n a different way, and that the artist's internal reality, the way i n which he patterns the events of his environment, i s therefore really a fusion of external reality and his dream of Paradise. In Prospero's Cell Durrell says that 'there i s no explanation' for what he has done or for 'the Reflections, p. 76 6 2  Reflections, p. 15 Reflections, p. 15  52  tragic sense* which he i s trying to a c h i e v e M i l l e r makes a most concrete statement about the attraction Greece holds for him, and the same i s true of Durrell: Greece i s what everybody knows, even in absentia, even as a child or as an IcTiot or as a not-yet-born. It i s what you expect the earth to look like given a f a i r chance. It i s the subliminal threshold of innocence. 5 6  The above quotation implies that a l l of mankind has a desire to return to a paradisal existence, and that this desire i s not acquired but inborn.  In  this way the experience of the Greek landscape i s purgative, for i t awakens *those ageless hordes of ancestral men who stand with eyes closed, like trees after the passing of a flood, i n the ever-moving stream of the blood.*  66  Durrell wishes to reach the innocence of a lost paradise, and i n a letter to Miller he describes his early childhood i n India and the need he feels for a return to i t : My l i f e i s like a chopped worm. Until eleven marvellous memories. White white the Himalayas from the dormitory windows. The gentle black Jesuits praying to Our Lady and outside on the frontier roads the Chinese walking s t i f f l y and Tibetans playing cards on the ground, the blue fissures i n the h i l l s — God, what a dream •— the passes into Lhasa blue with ice and thawing softly towards the holy forbidden city. I think Tibet i s for me what China i s for you. I lived on the edge of i t with a kind of nursery-rhyme happiness. I wanted to go one summer into the passes. They promised to take me. But I l e f t without. going — alamort -- i t i s a kind of unreasoning disease when I 64  Prospero's Cell, p. 13  65  Colossus, p. 153  66  Colossus, p. 155  53  think of i t . , I am i l l o g i c a l again like a child. ? 6  The dream-like quality of Durrell's childhood i s of the utmost importance i n the above quotation, for the dream colours the inner reality of the artist which he attempts to communicate to his audience.  In order to  comment upon them, the artist sets the events of the external world against the inner dream, and that comment i s based on a set of values which are the characteristics of the dream-world for which he yearns.  Good and e v i l , for  example, are seen i n relation to the perfection of the dream, but any attempt to abstract that paradise i n words i s f u t i l e .  In the end, i t i s  not Tibet for which Durrell yearns but the child-like innocence that made Tibet a paradise for him.  Tibet must, therefore, take i t s place with  Atlantis, Corfu, China, and a l l other designations for the innocent world of the child. The importance of the child-like state and the child-like vision cannot be overstated, for Durrell sees this innocence as being indicative of the unification of the self and the fusion of dream and reality for which he i s seeking.  The innocence of childhood i s constantly apposed to  the state of knowledge i n which the adult lives.  The latter i s best  exemplified by Europe, while the former i s seen as manifested i n Greece. Towards the end of Reflections Durrell muses on 'the dying child, no less a symbol — but of what? Our world perhaps. For i t i s always the child i n man which i s forced to live through these repeated tragedies of the European conscience. The child i s the forfeit we pay for the whole sum of our worldly errors. Only through him shall we ever salvage these lost cultures of passion and b e l i e f . " Durrell, Letters, pp. Reflections, p. 183  60-61  8  54  The 'repeated tragedies of the European conscience' are a result of the Cartesian theory of dualism which forbade men to consider the mind and the body as a unity but rather instructed them to regard the body, because i t could not be logically proved to exist, as a non-existent inferior of the mind. We must remember that Sand called the 'islomania' theory 'irrational', for the importance of the search for self-unity l i e s i n irrationality. However one interprets the Book of Genesis, whether as fact or allegory, Adam and Eve lost their innocence when they ate of the Tree of Knowledge. Metaphorically speaking, the Cartesian doctrine was for the majority of Europeans a Tree of Knowledge i n that adherence to i t s theories led abruptly away from irrational knowledge to the more scientific logic and reason which Descartes advocated.  Its Twentieth Century consequence  i s Logical Positivism, and hence Pursewarden can define Europe as 'a Logical Positivist trying to prove to himself by logical deduction that he exists.'^  This i s the error of which Durrell speaks: the negation of  a l l that i s irrational —  dreams, desires, emotions —  i n favour of that  which i s logical and can be proved by means of the scientific method. This can result, not i n the integration of the self for which Durrell i s seeking, but only i n the madness which a f f l i c t s Hamlet when he recognizes his b i f i d nature but cannot unify i t .  Man's knowledge about the bipartite  self results i n his f a l l from the innocence of childhood.  It i s not an  actual physical child who i s sacrificed to the god of dualism but the child-like qualities i n every individual, although Durrell might argue that many children are killed i n the wars which are a product of the dualist theory. ^  Balthazar, p. 247  55  There i s a vast difference between the individual who says 'I believe and one who can say nothing u n t i l he can say *I know.*  1  It i s Durrell s f  belief that mankind, and especially Western man, must return to the former condition before he can achieve the self-realization which the Chinese, of whom Lao Tzu i s the example most often found i n Durrell, have achieved through reflection and introspection. Both Prospero's Cell and Reflections are 'residence books* rather than travel works, for Durrell feels they 'are always about living i n places, not  just rushing through them.' Both books attempt 'to isolate the germ i n  the  people which i s expressed by their landscape.'  70  The tone of these  books, i s for the most part, one of child-like innocence.  The importance  which he ascribes to the landscape of the particular island on which he i s resident i s to be seen i n his response to the sights and sounds of his home. The following quotation from Bitter Lemons w i l l serve to illustrate the  awe i n which Durrell holds the Greek islandst In the fragile membranes of light which separate like yolks upon the cold meniscus of the sea when the f i r s t rays of the sun come through, the bay looked haunted by the desolate and meaningless centuries which had passed over i t since f i r s t the foam-born miracle occurred. With the same obsessive rhythms i t beat and beat again on that soft eroded point with i t s charredlooking sand: i t had gone on from the beginning, never losing momentum, never hurrying, reaching out and subsiding with a sigh.  Durrell *s islands are as timeless as the sea which surrounds them, and this timelessness i s pointed up i n the way i n which he sees past and ' Lawrence Durrell, "Landscape With Literary Figures," i n The New York Times Book Review, June 12, i960, p. 1 u  7 1  Lawrence Durrell, Bitter Lemons (London) Faber (1959), p. 170  56  present, history and myth, overlapping* In each of the three books there i s a definite section devoted to the history of the island, but there i s also a constant reference to the association of particular places with both history and myth*  The above quotation contains a reference to 'the foam-  born miracle,' the birth of Aphrodite from the sea which traditionally took place on Cyprus, and at the same time i t i s illustrative of the pure response to the landscape found i n the island trilogy*  The following  illustrates the common occurrence i n Durrell of the landscape being seen qua landscape and yet at the same time having a great many associative qualities$  the landscape, indeed, seems to become almost symbolicJ  To Larnaca through an extraordinary landscape reminding one of Plato's God 'geometrizing': low h i l l s , almost perfect cones with levelled tops suggesting the Euclidean objects found i n art studios. Wind erosion? But the panel of geometrical mounds seems hand-made. And the valleys tapestried with fat-tailed sheep, plots of verdure, and here and there a cameltrain and palm-tree. A strange mixture of flavours, the Bible, Anatolia, and Greece.?2 This i s the mind of the artist at work i n a way which was not possible i n Prospero's Cell, for i n that book historical association with the landscape i s a result of previous speculation which Durrell had read. The above quotation, however, i s immediate i n i t s response to the landscape around Larnaca and i s a result of Durrell's own associative mind.  In these two  quotations there are the child-like response of the artist who i s describing a dream-world, and the response of the structuring, associating artist who i s concerned with metaphor and symbol.  That Durrell has married  the two i n Bitter Lemons, the last of the island trilogy, indicates the selfrealization which he has reached. 72  Bitter Lemons, p. 106  57  Cyprus might well have been any Greek island, for each holds for Durrell the paradisal image for which he i s searching. The Gypriot village of Bellapaix provided another association for Durrell which i s of value to the discussion at hand, for i t points up the need to return to a childhood innocence which has been previously discussed: crowning every courtyard like a messenger from my Indian childhood spread the luxuriant green fan of banana-leaves, rattling like parchment i n the wind.'? 'Greece i s a l i t t l e like China or India. It i s a world of i l l u s i o n , ' 7 4 a dream-like world i n which the individual finds the closest approximation possible of the "paradise terrestre" which he envisions. This i s the basic key to Durrell*s reasons for writing Prospero's Cell and Reflections on a Marine Venus.  Through his description of l i f e on these islands, Durrell  was able to present the 'island of the heart's desire' for which he yearned as an islomane. The correspondence i n which Durrell i s trying to persuade Miller to come to Greece contains a constant refusal on Miller's part which i s bolstered by statements indicating that Miller's lack of desire to v i s i t Greece i s founded on a feeling of dislike for that country.  When he f i n a l l y  does write The Colossus of Maroussi his opinion has changed, and much of what he records as his response to the country and i t s people i s directly in the line of Durrell's own feelings.  While there i s no proof of Durrell*s  having influenced Miller's feeling for Greece, comparison of the following quotation with Durrell's island books should serve as ample evidence for the statement that the individual responses of the two writers correspond 7?  Bitter Lemons, p. 5 6  74  '  Colossus, p. 4 9  58  to a startling degree: The landscape does not recede, i t installs i t s e l f i n the open places of the heart; i t crowds i n , accumulates, disposes. You are no longer riding through something — c a l l i t Nature, i f you w i l l — but participating in a rout, a rout of the forces of greed, malevolence, envy, selfishness, spite, intolerance, pride, arrogance, cunning, duplicity, and so on,^5 The rout i n which Miller feels he i s taking part when he enters the Greek landscape i s one which focusses on a l l the errors he and Durrell found i n Europe, errors which are the result of the idea that the dual aspects of man's nature are irreconcilable.  For Miller and Durrell, however, 'Greece  presented i t s e l f . . . as the very centre of the universe, the ideal meeting place of man with man i n the presence of God.'^  With this i n mind,  Miller adds another name to the l i s t of earthly paradises —  Epidaurus:  Epidaurus i s merely a place symbol: the real place i s i n the heart, i n every man's heart, i f he wHr"but stop and search i t . Every discovery i s mysterious i n that i t reveals what i s so unexpectedly immediate, so close, so long and intimately known. Tne wise man had no need to journey forth; i t i s the fool who seeks the pot of gold at the rainbow's end. But the two are always fated to meet and unite. They meet at the heart of the world which i s the beginning and the end of the pa^H. Tney meet i n realization and unite in transcendence of their roles.II This i s supporting evidence for the quotation from Colossus i n which Miller talks about Greece as 'what everybody knows, even to absentia,' but at the same time i t furthers the concept of self-realization which has become the main point of this paper.  For Durrell, Greece i s 'the very centre of the  universe,' and i n The Tempest the union of the wise man and the fool takes 75  Colossus, p. 76  76  Colossus, p. 210  77  Colossus, p. 80;  i t a l i c s mine  59  place on the symbolic level with Prospero's realization of his physical side which i s embodied i n Caliban. While Shakespeare's characters do not correspond exactly to Miller's wise man and fool, they nonetheless achieve a transcendence of their roles, for Prospero renounces his 'rough magic' and Caliban rejects the purely physical: and I ' l l be wise hereafter, And seek for grace._ What a thrice-double ass Was I to take this drunkard for a god And worship this dull fool! (V, i , 294-297) The Greece that i s 'the beginning and the end of the path' i s not the world of Democritus for Durrell but the state of childhood innocence which i s forfeit when the world of knowledge i s entered and which the adult must regain i f he i s to achieve a realization of self which w i l l permit the unification of his b i f i d aspects and the transcendence of his role i n the world.  On Rhodes, the figure of the Marine Venus exemplifies for Durrell  this return to the sensual, exploratory, responsive world of the child, for she has surrendered her original maturity for a rediscovered youth. 78  Count D. outlines for each of his guests the way i n which they w i l l respond to Corfu, and i t i s interesting that this description closely approximates the portrait which Durrell painted, not only i n Prospero's Cell but i n Reflections and Bitter Lemons: 'And I?' I say. 'What sort of picture w i l l I present of Prospero's Island?' 'It i s d i f f i c u l t to say,* says the Count. •A portrait inexact i n detail, containing bright splinters of landscape, written out roughly, as i f to get r i d of something which 7 8  Reflections, p. 38  60  was troubling the optic nerves.'  79  A l l three books, i n those parts which concern only the islands as Durrell saw them and not the history, are the records of response rather than the intellectual structuring of events.  The landscape i s all-important, and  Zarian provides the basic statement on that significance: [Corfu i s j a landscape for resolutions and partings . . . . A landscape which precipitates the inward c r i s i s of lives as yet not f u l l y worked o u t . 80  From this point of view, Corfu was an ideal choice on Durrell's part, as were a l l the Greek islands, for i n the 1930's his l i f e was most certainly 'as yet not f u l l y worked out.' 'The inward c r i s i s of lives' i s the unresolved dualism of the European world, and i n 1937 Miller recognized Durrell's dualistic qualities: I am impressed by your "double" nature. The man you reveal i n The Black Book i s not the same man who writes me from Corfu. Perhaps Corfu i s nearer your climatic source" Anyway, had you stayed i n England you would have been done f o r . 8 1  Miller i s quite correct, for the tone of The Black Book i s far different from that of the letters written at the same time.  The statement that  'Corfu i s nearer [Durrell'sj climatic source' draws the same India (Tibet) Corfu parallel outlined above, and i t i s interesting too that the f i n a l sentence of the above quotation corroborates what Durrell had already told Miller about his reasons for leaving England.  Miller's comments on The  Black Book are amazingly close to what has already been said about the dualistic qualities which Durrell recognized i n himself as early as 1937, 79 80  Prospero's Cell, p. 107 Prospero's Cell, p. 74  81 Miller, Letters, p. 98j  i t a l i c s mine  61  but they point to a unity of self which Miller saw i n his protege but which Durrell was not to realize u n t i l some time later: you have performed the astounding feat of following the schizophrenic trend to i t s logical, consummate solution, that instead of the retrogressive neurotic swing back to the womb ~ the womb being the unattainable, the Paradise of the Ideal, the Godhood business — you have expanded the womb-feeling u n t i l i t includes the whole universe, 82  This unity with the One, which Durrell and Miller both admired i n the writings of the Lao Tzu, i s the result of introspection.  The t i t l e of  Durrell*s second island book, Reflections on a Marine Venus, sums up the trend which he was following during his time on Corfu and Rhodes, the reflections through which he hoped to attain self-consciousness. The importance of the Marine Venus for Durrell i s the renewed youth which he saw i n her;  her influence on his l i f e i n Rhodes i s of maximum importance.  Miller's comment on the statue of Antinous i n the museum at Thebes, •this most wonderful idealization in stone of the eternal duality of man, so bold and simple, so thoroughly Greek i n the best sense,' 3 i s of 8  pointed interest to the concept of duality.  In a recent article on "The  Other T. S. Eliot", Durrell records the following exchange with him: •Though your writing betrays great intelligence,' I once said, 'there i s a mystery i n i t for me. How can an intelligent man be a Christian, much less a Catholic?* He gazed smilingly at me for a moment. I went on. 'After a l l , i f you examine Christianity from the historical point of view, you come out somewhere among the Eleusinian mysteries, no?* * 8  No matter how jokingly Durrell made this remark, i t remains that he has hit °*  Miller, Letters, p. 79  8 3  Colossus, p. 196  Lawrence Durrell, "The Other T. S. E l i o t , " i n The Atlantic, Vol. 215, No. 5 (May, 1965), 60-64 8 4  62  upon the essence of the dichotomous aspect of Greek religion, an aspect that has carried over into the Greek character.  We must accept that he sees  Christianity as stemming from the Eleusinian mysteries, the Orphic rites originally brought from the Middle East. There are elements i n the Eleusinian mysteries, then, which are similar to those of the Christian and Middle Eastern religions, and Miller's remarks on the statue are important as a further comment on the innate duality of the Greek world as embodied i n i t s pantheon of gods: Nothing could better convey the transition from light to darkness, from the pagan to the Christian conception of l i f e , than this enigmatic figure of the last Greek god on earth who flung himself into the Nile. By emphasizing the soulful qualities of man Christianity succeeded only i n disembodying manj as angel the sexes fuse into the sublime spiritual being which man essentially i s . The Greeks, on the other hand, gave body to everything, thereby incarnating the s p i r i t and eternalizing i t . In Greece one i s ever f i l l e d with the sense of eternality which i s expressed i n the here and now; the moment one returns to the Western world, whether in Europe or America, this feeling of body, of eternality, of incarnated spirit, i s shattered, 5 8  ,  What Miller and Durrell found i n Greece was 'this feeling of body, of incarnated s p i r i t ' which i s not to be found i n Europe.  Christianity i s an  Apollonian religion, i n that i t depends on the mind of the worshippers. The Eleusinian mysteries, on the other hand, are both Dionysiac and Apollonian in Nietzsche's sense of the terms.  The god worshipped at Eleusis was both  physically manifested i n the Bakkos, or chief-priest, and worshipped as a spirit.  It i s not extraordinary that Miller should find i n the statue of  Antinous the fusion of physical and spiritual which the Greeks portrayed i n the meeting of Dionysus and Apollo on the Great Frieze of the Parthenon, for the whole of the Greek pantheon exhibited quite human qualities while 8  5  Colossus, p, 196  63  they remained the guiding forces of the world.  Speaking of a M a i l l o l  statue which he has i n h i s garden, Count D. says of the sculptor, He was outside the trap of the opposites. IT was a mindless act of c o i t i o n with the stone that made him describe the nymph . " 8  The r e c o n c i l i a t i o n of the b i p a r t i t e aspects of h i s nature, a fusion which i s manifest i n Greek landscape, a r t , and l i f e , placed the a r t i s t without  'the  trap of the opposites' which i s the b e l i e f that the mind and body can never be reconciled.  The s o l u t i o n l i e s i n something akin to 'that wonderful  Moslem q u a l i t y which i s c a l l e d kayf  —  the contemplation which comes of silence and ease. It i s not meditation or reverie, which presupposes a.conscious mind r e l a x i n g ; i t i s something deeper, a fathomless repose of the w i l l which does not even pose to i t s e l f the questions 'Am I happy or unhappy?' ? 8  The importance of the Marine Venus, e s p e c i a l l y as she has an e f f e c t on D u r r e l l ' s musings, i s her timelessness and her fusion of the 'opposites.' Like the statue of Antinous, she becomes 'a symbol . . . of the dual nature of man —  the proposition which l a y at the heart of the ancient r e l i g i o n s  from which she had been d e r i v e d . '  88  Persephone, associated with cyclamens,  anemones, and other flowers, p e r s o n i f i e s t h i s d u a l i t y , f o r she spent the winter i n Hades and the summer on Earth.  Both the Orphic and the Dionysiac  c u l t s were based upon a s i m i l a r life-and-death dichotomy, and i n describing a f i e l d of flowers on Cyprus D u r r e l l associates them not only with the spring landscape but with the old Greek concept of the chthonic forces: And as we walked across the carpet of [cyclamens and anemones] t h e i r slender stalks snapped and  8 6  Prospero's C e l l , p. 108;  8  B i t t e r Lemons, p. 73  7  8 8  B i t t e r Lemons, p.  171  i t a l i c s mine  64  p u l l e d around o u r b o o t s as i f t h e y w i s h e d t o p u l l us down i n t o t h e Underworld from w h i c h t h e y had s p r u n g , n o u r i s h e d b y t h e t e a r s and wounds o f t h e immortals. 9 8  I n R e f l e c t i o n s D u r r e l l sees the M a r i n e Venus s i t t i n g i n t h e Rhodes museum c o n t e m p l a t i n g h e r l i f e , and here he f i n d s a t i m e l e s s n e s s  i n which the  o p p o s i t e s a r e r e c o n c i l e d , j u s t as g l a s s i s worn smooth b y t h e a c t i o n o f t h e sea: Everywhere t h e d u a l i s m o f the human p e r s o n a l i t y has c r e a t e d s i d e b y s i d e p r o f a n i t y and p i e t y , t r u t h and f a l s e h o o d , hate and l o v e . Time i s always a s p i r i n g t o a dance-measure w h i c h w i l l e n t a n g l e t h e two i n a dance, a d i a l o g u e , a d u e t : d i s s o l v e t h e i r o p p o s i t i o n . The r a d i a n c e o f t h a t worn stone f i g u r e c a r r i e s t h e message t o us so c l e a r l y . . . .9°  I n b o t h R e f l e c t i o n s and P r o s p e r o ' s C e l l t h e r e a r e passages d e s c r i b i n g and commenting upon t h e dances performed b y t h e i s l a n d e r s d u r i n g t h e i r f e a s t days.  Theodore S t e p h a n i d e s makes t h e f o l l o w i n g remark on t h e C o r c y r e a n  dances,  and D u r r e l l u s e d i t i n R e f l e c t i o n s t o comment upon t h e w r i t i n g o f  poetry: • A l l t h e c i r c u l a r ones I c a l l s t a r d a n c e s . I r e a d somewhere t h a t d a n c i n g o r i g i n a t e d i n a d e s i r e t o i m i t a t e t h e movement o f c e l e s t i a l - bodies.'91 T h i s i s t h e same attempt t o become one w i t h t h e u n i v e r s e t h a t M i l l e r saw D u r r e l l a c h i e v i n g i n The B l a c k Book.  M i l l e r ' s concept o f the womb as  'being  t h e u n a t t a i n a b l e , t h e P a r a d i s e o f t h e I d e a l ' i s o b v i o u s l y F r e u d i a n , and w h i l e i t i s n o t r e a l l y n e c e s s a r y h e r e t o see t h e s t a r dances as s y m b o l i c , they nevertheless  f i t t h e d e s c r i p t i o n Jung g i v e s o f t h e  89  B i t t e r Lemons, p . 222  90  Reflections, p.  91  Prospero's C e l l , p .  179 115  'mandala, • a  65  symbol of psychological unity.^  From Jung's point of view, the dances  2  would be a product of the desire for unification i n that they physically embody that which i s desired by the individual, and as we have seen, creativity i s the attempt of the artist both to plot his journey toward the self and at the same time find i t .  Durrell's connection of poetry with the primitive  dances sheds light on this theory, for he says that writing poetry educates one into the nature of the game — which i s humanity's profoundest activity. In their star-dances the savages try to unite their lives with those of the heavenly bodies — to mix their quotidian rhythms into those great currents which keep the wheels of the universe turning. Poetry attempts to provide much the same sort of link between the muddled inner man with his temporal occupations and the uniform flow of the universe outside. Of course everyone i s conscious of these impulses; but poets are the only ones who do not drive them o f f . 9 5  The quality of silence which Durrell found on Corfu, the solitude which he discovered to be a prerequisite for introspection, he found again i n the V i l l a Cleobolus on Rhodes. Because both are the products of the cathartic effect of the silence, Durrell has tied his introspection to the writing of poetry: It i s much the same feeling as comes over one when a poem forms i n the mind, i t s outlines misty, inchoate: u n t i l the white paper on which you have scribbled a dozen words and crossed them out, blazes i n your face like a searchlight and paralyses you by the multiplicity of possibilities i t presents, by the silence i t opposes to your inner tension. 94  The paralysis which Durrell mentions here i s similar to the state i n which C. G. Jung, Psyche and Symbol, ed. Violet S. de Laszlo (N.I.) Anchor (1958) p. 50 9 2  9 5  Reflections, p. 48  94 Reflections, p. 54  66  Maillol committed that 'mindless act of coition with the stone that made It i s also the state i n which the dancers revolve i n the primitive dances, a 'look quickened by the notation of the music — i t s e l f (who knows?) a transcription i n the terms of cat-gut and wind of profounder melodies which the musician has quarried from his native disenchantments and the earth.'^  The music expresses for the dancers and  the audience the desire for unity with the universe which the dances symbolize, and i t s intoxicating effect i s similar to that experienced by islomanes when they find themselves on an island* Part of what Durrell i s attempting to create i n The Alexandria Quartet i s 'an heraldic universe.' He has provided pseudo-scientific explanations of his use of the term, but Henry Miller has given the best definition, complete with example: I am gazing blankly at the f i e l d of Irish green. It i s a Lawrence Durrell f i e l d , heraldic i n every sense of the word. Looking blankly into that field I suddenly realize what Durrell was trying to t e l l me i n those long rambling poems he called letters. I used to think, when these heraldic messages arrived at the V i l l a Seurat on a cold. Bummer's day i n Paris, that he had taken a sniff of coke before oiling his pen. Once a big fulsome sheaf which looked like prose f e l l out of the envelope — i t was called "Zero" and i t was dedicated to me by this same Lawrence Durrell who said he lived i n Corfu. .1 had heard of chicken tracks and l i v e r mantic and I once came near grasping the idea of absolute Zero, . . . but not until I sat gazing into the f i e l d of Irish green . . . did I ever get the idea of Zero i n the heraldic sense. There never was a f i e l d so fieldishly green as.this. When you spot anything true and clear you are at Zero. Zero i s Greek for pure Prospero's Cell, p. 108 9 6  Reflections, p. 171  67  v i s i o n . I t means what Lawrence D u r r e l l says when he w r i t e s I o n i a n . ^ 7  'Coke' o r cocaine brings on a trance o r dream-like s t a t e s i m i l a r t o that o f  .  tf  the star-dancers, on the one ihandi> "and the state o f t h e a r t i s t during r  ;  \ \  c r e a t i o n , on the other.  :  fl "  I n both cases a u n i t y w i t h the universe i s  experienced which r e s u l t s i n the 'mindless act o f c o i t i o n ' w i t h the materials of c r e a t i v i t y . There are three meanings f o r ' h e r a l d i c , ' a l l o f which are important t o the concept o f c r e a t i v i t y as a whole.  The s t a t e o f "Zero" i n which the  a r t i s t r e a l i z e s the essence o f what he i s seeing i s the - f i r s t o f the three. Also t o be considered i n D u r r e l l ' s use of the term i s the second meaning, a s e t o f symbols.  As Nietzsche s a w ,  98  symbols are the r e s u l t o f the work  of the Apollonian forces on the mind o f the a r t i s t during the t r a n c e - l i k e sleep induced by i n t o x i c a t i o n .  I t i s by means o f those symbols that the  a r t i s t communicates w i t h h i s readers, and t h i s communication may w e l l take the form o f a prophecy, which i s the t h i r d meaning o f 'heraldic.{  Art i s  prophetic i n that i t i s the a r t i s t ' s means o f p o i n t i n g out the wrongs o f the world. I t i s important that '{["Zero"] means what Lawrence D u r r e l l says when he w r i t e s Ionian,' f o r t h i s i s the q u a l i t y which he saw i n Greece, a country i n which the property of the l i g h t reveals t o the viewer the essence of what he i s seeing, a t the same time revealing t o him 'the m u l t i p l i c i t y of p o s s i b i l i t i e s i t presents* l i k e the paper on which the poet f i x e s h i s stare.  M i l l e r ' s response t o the Greek landscape, l i k e D u r r e l l ' s , i s  h e r a l d i c , f o r '£in GreeceJ every i n d i v i d u a l t h i n g that e x i s t s , whether 9 7  Colossus, pp. 95-96  9 8  B i r t h o f Tragedy, p. 38  68  made by God or man, whether fortuitous or planned, stands out like a nut i n an aureole of light, of time and space.'99  In that condition, too, the  landscape and the objects within i t are both real and symbolic, and this explains why Durrell can see an oak tree and associate i t with Zeus, can see a dead sea turtle on the beach and think of Orpheus' lyre. are not the best examples of heraldic essence and symbol; themselves answer the need.  But these  the books  The 'aureole' i n which the Greek landscape  exists has the same effect on an object as the sea has on an island; i t surrounds and points up that object for the viewer, setting i t off and showing, like the paintings of Ghika which Miller saw, 'the quintessential Greece which the artist [^abstracts] from the muck and confusion of time, of place, of history.'1°°  'TO MOVE TOWARDS CREATION' Just as Miller f e l t that the individual must throw off the bonds of society and education i n order to attain s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , s o Count D. sets before his audience a similar proposal. 'There i s a morphology of forms i n which our conceptual apparatus works, and there i s a censor — which i s our conditioned attitude. He i s the person whom I would reject, because he prevents me from choosing and arranging knowledge according to my s e n s i b i l i t y . ' I 02  The conditioned attitude of England that was being slowly imposed upon him drove Durrell to Greece, for as an artist he could not exist i f his •sensibility' was smothered by 'the English death.' OjQ  Colossus, p. 146  1 0 0  Colossus, p. 52  1 0 1  Colossus, p. 380  1 0 2  Prospero's Cell, p. 106  The rejection of the  69  •censor, too, was necessary, for this would allow him to totally assimilate 1  the events of his surroundings and arrange them as he chose.  The individual  arrangement of knowledge, as pointed out i n the response of Miller and Durrell to the Pleiades, i s clarified by Count D.: 'And here we are,' says the Count . . ., 'each of us collecting and arranging our common, knowledge according to the form dictated to him by his temperament. In a l l cases i t w i l l not be the whole picture, though i t w i l l be the whole picture for you.' ? 10  The artist straggles to achieve the presentation of 'the whole picture' as he sees i t , and a part of that struggle i s for a technique that i s his own and no other's. Durrell's early efforts to achieve such a style were consummated i n The Black Book. In the attempt to formulate a unique style, the material being presented can quite easily be clouded.  This i s what happened i n Pied Piper  of Lovers (1935) and Panic Spring (1937), and i t i s with admiration only slightly concealed that Durrell sees Count D. as the possessor of a literary mind completely uncontaminated by the struggle to achieve a technique; he lacks the artifice of presentation, the corrupting demon of form.  4  Durrell's concern for the artifice of presentation confounded his search for himself i n Greece, for he could not devote himself entirely to introspection but had to write i n order to eat.  His self-realization was  therefore postponed, but i t was again i n the character of the Count that he saw clearly, for the f i r s t time, the goal he was striving to reach: 'It was a kind of detachment — an idea not born within the conceptual apparatus but lodged i n the nervous system i t s e l f . I had 1 0 5  Prospero  Cell, p. 107  104 Prospero's Cell, p. 78  70  become different as a person. Anyone else would have gone away and written a book about i t j but I did not want to bring this personal discovery within the range of the conceptual apparatus, and thereby spoil i t by consciousness. The detachment which Durrell was trying to attain i n order to be above the boundaries of society and of his own intellect was given physical expression i n his attempted isolation of himself from England i n the Greek islands.  The f i n a l goal was reintegration into the European society which  he had l e f t , or rather into the society of the world which, because i t i s beyond the strictures of any one nation or culture, would allow him to move freely as an artist i n the collection of the material he required as the basis for communication. A l l three island books attempt to give the reader the real island flavour which i s , for the islomane, one of isolation from society: our existence here i s [ s i c j i n this delectable landscape, remote from the responsibilities of an active l i f e i n Europe, have _sicj given us . this sense of detachment from the real world. ® 10  •Detachment from the real world' implies a dream-like existence, precisely what Durrell found i n Greece.  The position of the artist i s paradoxical  in that he must be aloof from the petty squabbles of society while at the same time remaining a part of i t i n order to c r i t i c i z e i t accurately and recognizably. Even i f , like Durrell, he feels he can only enter his dream-world  'on Wednesdays —  by invitation,' that world i s of the utmost  importance for him, for i t i s here that he organizes what he has taken from his environment. 105  Prospero's Cell, p. 77  1 0 6  Prospero's Cell, p. 22  71  Durrell's attitude to the opposites of isolation and integration was clarified i n a letter to Miller i n 1936: Let's look at the [ a r t i s t i c j manifestoes. Begins a p o l i t i c a l discussion. The a r t i s t ' s place i s i n society. A definite lean l e f t ward. Well, what's wrong with that? Nothing, providing politics are not going to be confused with art. I'm tired of p o l i t i c a l people. They have confused the inner struggle with the outer one. They want to bread poultice a primary chancre. Politics i s an art that (Teals i n averages. Art i s a man that deals i n people. If the people are wrong, there i s no system fool-proof enough to stop them cutting each other's throats. And the artist finds that the people are wrong. The driving force behind him i s his self-isolation, the dislocation of the societal i n s t i n c t , 1 0 7  The chancre to which Durrell refers must be operated on to effect a cure, and this i s what Durrell sees as necessary i n the Europe which he has l e f t : the operation upon the soul of man which w i l l cure him of the dualistic doctrine of Descartes.  It i s the function of the artist to point out the  basic i l l s which a f f l i c t mankind, and to suggest a possible cure, and i t i s only through his self-imposed isolation that he can view the happenings i n the world without being held back by his censor.  In 1937, Durrell had  not realized that his isolation should lead not to loneliness but to integration.  He f e l t isolated, not only from England but from the world,  although his removal from English society provoked a tension between wanting to quit 'the English death' and at the same time retain his connection with the England of Shakespeare and Donne: I'm one of the world's expatriates anyhow. It's lonely being cut off from one's race. So.much of England I loved and hated so much. The language clings. I try and wipe i t off my tongue but i t c l i n g s . 1 0 8  107 108  Durrell, Letters, p. 18;  i t a l i c s mine  Durrell, Letters, pp. 108-109  72  Panic Spiring was written under the pseudonym Charles Norden i n an attempt to avoid the adverse criticism showered on Pied Piper of Lovers. Miller made several attempts to dissuade Durrell from carrying on under that name, and his reasons for wanting to retain i t indicate his sense of isolation and his need for a community» My double Amicus Nordensis. He i s a double I need — not for money or any of the fake reasons I'm always giving — but simply for a contact with the human world.109 Durrell*s original intention to write travel articles using his pen-name i s significant, for these are the works which point to his development most directly, and his use of a 'double' would tend more to prolong his isolation than to end i t *  He intended to complete his renunciation of  England with the synthesis of Norden, who would take his place as a writer and allow him to be free i n his criticism.  Miller immediately took him to  task, pointing out the truth about his use of the 'double' and the inevitable results i f he continued. And why couldn't you write a l l the other books you wish as L. D.? Why can't L. D. be the author of travel books, etc.? .What's to hinder i t ? It's wrong to think you are cutting yourself off. On the contrary, you are muscling in. The other way i s the way to cut yourself o f f . Better to acknowledge your weaknesses. You can't put perfection i n one scale and imperfection i n the other that way. We are imperfect through and through — thank heaven.H® Durrell speaks of Norden as 'a contact with the human world,' and there i s a poorly-disguised fear here of being 'found out,* for he t e l l s Miller that 'Norden w i l l keep me i n touch with the commonplace world which w i l l  ill  never understand my struggle.' I®  9  Durrell knew that what he wrote was a  Durrell, Letters, p. 104; i t a l i c s mine  1 1 0  Miller, Letters, pp. 108-109  1 1 1  Durrell, Letters, p. 104  73  product of the tension between the inner and outer realities, and that u n t i l such time as he could master both i n such a way as to formulate something unique from their differing aspects his writing would reflect that struggle. Miller had told him repeatedly to stop worrying about style and form and simply write. Durrell replied, ' I CAN'T WRITE REAL BOOKS ALL THE TIME. Once every three years or more I shall try to compose for f u l l orchestra. The rest of the time I shall do essays, travel-books, perhaps one more novel under Charles Norden.•  112  The Black Book he  considered to be 'a real book,' and the rest merely 'literary gardening.'113 The use of a pseudonym would allow him to practice his writing without feeling that he should always 'compose for f u l l orchestra.' Miller's point i s clear, however, and i t i s far more than an admonition to the petulant child Durrell sometimes seemed to be i n their early relationship.  It i s  a primary statement of the responsibility of the artist both to his material and his audience.  Durrell never again published under a pseudonym, and the  sense of responsibility he developed i s an indication of the progress he was making toward a realization of self which would allow him to accept his failures as a writer and thereby escape 'the trap of the opposites.* The 'old Greek ambience' which Durrell hoped to rediscover on Rhodes was broken i n upon from time to time by the remnants of the war which he saw there.  The constant vacillation between the outer reality and the  inner i s pointed out i n a section of Reflections i n which he i s on a h i l l overlooking Phileremo: The gaunt burnt-out skeleton of the airdrome beneath with i t s charred aircraft was a 112  Durrell, Letters^ pp. 104-105  113  Durrell, Letters, p. 105  74 reminder that one was, after a l l , i n the world; for the a i r of Phileremo i s so rare that one might be forgiven for imagining oneself i n some more successful dimension where the hero had f i n a l l y mastered himself, and where the act had somehow become connected once more with the concept of love. 4  The sense of the inner world i n which Durrell was living i n the islands i s virtually Olympian, with i t s rarefied a i r and the concept of the hero, perhaps Hamlet or Faust, who had i n the end achieved unity and integration. It i s important, too, that this world i s one of the imagination, for the recognition of the fact that such a world does not exist i n reality points to the concretization of Durrell*s view of his role as an a r t i s t that i s to be found i n the fusion of the worlds of reality and imagination i n Bitter Lemons. Through the many friends who visited him on the islands Durrell retained a connection with the world he had l e f t , although some of them misunderstood his reasons for isolation: •Here too I have been visited by friends who dropped i n like swallows from the sky — Paddy Patrick Leigh Fermor and Xan Alexander Fielding : the Corn Goddess: John Craxton: Patrick Reilly — a l l bringing with them the flavour of the outside world . . . . And Boris who thought I should get a job with Unesco and said.that "This cult for islands was becoming deplorable.*'•US The feeling for Greece and for the islands that Durrell shared with many others was definitely not a 'cult,' but rather a common desire for isolation and introspection away from the European world.  At the end of  Reflections, Durrell has found the needed quality of isolation which i s Reflections, p. 84 ^•5  Reflections, pp. 180-181  75  apart from the islands i n that i t i s mental rather than physical, and his thoughts on that quality point out his ability to detach himself from the external world without being physically removed from i t : As I s i t here between Manoli and his wife I find myself sinking into that feeling of detachment, almost of peace, which visits me when I am alone i n a great crowd of people a l l urgently occupied with their own affairs. Or else when I am an onlooker, at some drama which i s going on before my eyes but i n which I am powerless to take part. At such times one's individuality seems to focus i t s e l f with greater emphasisj one overlooks the affairs of men from a new height, participating i n l i f e with a richer though a vicarious understanding of i t ; and yet at the same time remaining f u l l y withdrawn from i t . &  In this he i s like the old priest at the bus wreck i n Bitter Lemons, 'simply an onlooker, studying the tragedy and comedy of the l i f e around him.  ,117  The position of the artist which Durrell was so anxious to  achieve i n Prospero's Cell and the early letters to Miller i s this mental state which allows him to participate i n the world around him and at the same time remain aloof from i t . The importance of Greece f o r Durrell l i e s i n the sense of integration and isolation he developed i n the islands.  In Greece, the lost Western  Atlantis i s fused with the Eastern Eden. Prospero i s another Adam, but his Eden i s i n the Greek islands, the same islands to which Durrell, as an islomane, was drawn. The Eastern and Western temperaments are changed i n the islands by the overwhelming power of the vertical, masculine, adventurous consciousness of the archipelago, with i t s mental anarchy and indiscipline touched everywhere with the taste for agnosticism and spare l i v i n g ; Greece born into the 116 117  Reflections, pp. 182-183 Bitter Lemons, p. 23  76  sexual intoxication of the light, which seems to shine upwards from inside the very earth, to illuminate these bare acres of s q u i l l and asphodel. This i s the same light which Miller saw surrounding everything i n Greece, the light which pointed up the essence of every object i t touched by transporting the viewer to a state of "Zero** i n which things were seen heraldically.  The intoxication which the light provokes i s also the  intoxication of the islomane when he finds himself on an island, for the island i s f i n a l l y a symbol of the individual consciousness the essence of which Durrell was seeking when he moved to Greece. In the islands, the light illuininates for the observer not only the physical but the mental, and i t was through that radiance that Durrell discovered his true nature and was able to unify the opposites within him. In Reflections there i s another expression of this state, for i t i s through the influence of the Marine Venus that he feels he saw the true Greece and his own inner being.  What he has to say concerns only the influence of  the Venus, for just as the path to the ultimate i n self-knowledge cannot be stated, 'the presiding genius of a place or an epoch may be named, but she may not be properly d e s c r i b e d . N e v e r t h e l e s s ,  Durrell's comments  signify the f i n a l goal which he attained i n the islands, for they point out indirectly that what was put down on paper was IPO  write, but the struggle to live:* somehow we have learned to share that timeless, exact musical contemplation «— the secret of her self-sufficiency — which has helped her to outlive the savage noise of wars and change, to maintain unbroken the fine thread of her 118  Reflections, p. 183 1 1 9  Reflections, p. 37  120 Durrell, Letters, p. 99  'not the struggle to  77  thoughts through the centuries past. Yes, and through her we have learned to see Greece with the inner eyes — not as a collection of battered vestiges l e f t over from cultures long abandoned — but as something ever-present and ever-renewed: the symbol married to the object prime — so that a cypress tree, a mask, an orange, a plough were extended beyond themselves into an eternality they enjoyed only with the furniture of a l l good p o e t r y . 121  The reflections of the Venus are an 'exact musical contemplation,' and Durrell has pointed out the efforts of time to provide a music i n which the opposites w i l l be fused, the same music to which the primitive dances are set. Here, i n the sharing of the Venus's contemplation, Durrell f i n a l l y found himself. The inability of the artist to record the islands of Greece with any precision i s also to be found i n the above quotation, for instead of going through a process i n the mind which rendered them symbols, the objects i n the Greek landscape became symbols by themselves.  For this  reason, Durrell can see Greece as the most exact approximation of the mental state which he wished to achieve, the dream-world paradise which found i t s expression i n Atlantis and Eden. In the end, Durrell was not affected by 'that conspicuous i l l - l u c k which . . • always a f f l i c t s islomanes when they have discovered the island of their heart's d e s i r e , '  122  for he had  acquired the a b i l i t y of entering that paradise through meditation, through achieving a state of absolute "Zero".  Miller's letter of March, 1937,  was  premature i n i t s judgment of the state Durrell had reached with The Black Book, but i t w i l l serve here as a comment on what Durrell f i n a l l y became aware of i n Reflections on a Marine Venus: 1 2 1  1 2 2  Reflections, p. 179 Reflections, p. 36  78  You are now out i n the wide world, the world of your own creation i n which you w i l l be very much alone. A terrorizing prospect i f i t were not for the fact that you know what i t i s a l l about, that you reveal a supreme awareness, a superconsciousness.123 The point that Durrell had reached may be summed up i n either of two identical expressions, 'supreme awareness' and 'artistic consciousness.' From this point on, Durrell was maturing only as a writer, and perhaps i t i s most f i t t i n g here to quote from Henry Miller, the man who by turns led and prodded Durrell toward the goal he sought. Miller's sense of what he himself achieved i n the Greek islands i s identical to Durrell's: To move towards creation does one need a compass? Having touched [Hydra] I lost a l l sense of earthly direction. What happened to me from this point on i s i n the nature of progression, not direction. There was no longer any goal beyond — I became one with the Path. 2 4  Miller, Letters, p. 78 Colossus, p. 56  79  BIBLIOGRAPHT  80  Aldington, Richard.  "A Note on Lawrence Durrell. * April 15, 1959, pp. 13-20 1  Two Cities (Paris),  Descartes, Rene. Objections and Replies, trans. E. S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross. Durrell, Gerald.  Great Books of the Western World, Vol. 31  My Family and Other Animals.  Durrell, Lawrence, and Alfred Perles.  Art and Outrage : A Correspondence  about Henry Miller. Durrell, Lawrence. Balthazar.  G.B.: Penguin, 1959.  N.Y.J Dutton, 1961.  London* Faber, 1961.  Bitter Lemons. London: Faber, 1959. The Black Book.Faber, N.I.:1961. Cardinal, I962. Clea. London: Collected Poems. London: Faber, i960. "Corfu: Isle of Legend,** The Geographical Magazine, VIII (March, 1939), 325-334. "Constant Zarian, Triple Exile. ** The Poetry Review, XLIII (January-February, 1952),.30-34. The Dark Labyrinth.  N.I.: Cardinal, 1963.  "Down The Styx In an Air-Conditioned Canoe," Cities (Paris), Winter, 1961, pp. 5-9.  Two  "Durrell at Delphi.** Realites, no. 168 (November, 1964), 64, 68-69. Esprit de Corps and S t i f f Upper Lip. 1961.  N.I.: Dutton,  "From a Writer's Journal." The Windmill (London), II (1947), 50-58. . " "Hellene and Philhellene.*' Times Literary Supplement, May 13, 1949, pp. 305-306. Unsigned". "The Island of the Rose." The Geographical Magazine, XX, (October, 1947), 230^239 Justine.  London: Faber, 1961.  "Landscape with Literary Figures." The New York Times Book Review, June 12, I960, pp. 1, 26, 28"7"lS0"T Mountolive.  London: Faber, I96I.  "The Other T. S. ELiot." The Atlantic, Vol. 215, no. 5 (May, 1965), 60-64. . "  81  trans. 1962.  Pope Joan, by Emmanuel Royidls.  and Henry Miller.  London: Consul,  A Private Correspondence, ed. George  Wickes. London: Faber, 1963. Private Drafts.  Nicosia, Cyprus: Proodos Press, 1955.  Prospero's C e l l : A guide to the landscape^and manners of the islano" of Corcyra. London: Faber, 1962. "Prospero•s Isle•" Tien H'sia Monthly (Shanghai), IX (September, 1939)7^9-139. Reflections On A Marine Venus: a companion to the landscape of"^ho*des. London: Faber, I960. Selected Poems. N.T.: Grove, 1956. Goethe, Johann Wolfgan von. Faust, trans. G. M. Priest. Great Books of the Western World, Vol. 47. Golding, William.  Free F a l l .  G.B.: Penguin, 1963.  Groddeck, Georg.  The Book of-The It, intro. Lawrence Durrell. N.I.: Vintage, I 9 6 I .  Jung, C. G.  Psyche and Symbol, ed. Violet S. deL szlo. a  N.T.-: Anchor, 1957.  Knerr, Anthony. "Regarding a Checklist of Lawrence Durrell.'' Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, LV (1961), 142-152. Lao Tzu. Tao Te Ching, trans. D. C. Lau. G.B.:Penguin, 1963. Miller, Henry. The Colossus of Maroussi. N.T.: New Directions, 1958. ' "' "The Durrell of The Black Book Days." Two Cities (Paris), April.15, 1959, PP. 3-6 Mitchell, Julian, and Gene Andrewski. "The Art of Fiction XXIII: Lawrence Durrell." The Paris Review, no. 22 (Autumn-Winter, I960),  32-6IT  Moore, Harry T., ed. The World of Lawrence Durrell. Mullins, Edwin.  "Lawrence Durrell Answers a Few Questions." Two Cities (Paris), April 15, 1959, pp. ,25-28.  Nietzsche, Friedrich.  The Birth of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals, trans. Francis Golffing. N.T.: Anchor, 1956".  Norden, Charles, pseud, of Lawrence Durrell. Perles, Alfred.  N.T.: Dutton, I 9 6 4 .  "Enter Jupiter Jr." pp. 7-10  Panic Spring. Friede, 1937.  N.T.: Covici-  Two Cities (Paris), April 15, 1959,  Potter, Robert A., and Brooke Whiting. Lawrence Durrell: A Checklist. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1961. Santayana, George.  "The Philosophy of Travel." The Virginia Quarterly : Review, Vol. 40 (Winter, 196471Tl3oT  Shakespeare, William. Thomas, Dylan. Traversi, Derek.  The Complete Works, ed. G. B. Harrison. N.Ti Harcourt, Brace, 1952.  "Letters to Lawrence Durrell." May 16, I960, pp. 1-5.  Two Cities (Paris),  Shakespeare:The Last Phase. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 19551  Vallette, Jacques. "Lettre Ouverte." Two Cities (Paris), April 15, 1959, p. 88 Young, Kenneth.  "A Dialogue with Durrell." 1959), 61-68.  Encounter, XIII (December,  APPENDIX  "CITIES, PLAINS AND PEOPLE"  Onoe i n idleness was my beginning, Night was to the mortal boy Innocent of surface like a new mind Upon whose edges once he walked In idleness, i n perfect idleness. 0 world of l i t t l e mirrors in the light. The sun's rough wick for everybody's day: Saw the Himalayas like lambs there Stir their huge joints and lay Against his innocent thigh a stony thigh. Combs of wind drew through this grass To bushes and pure lakes On this tasteless wind Went leopards, feathers f e l l or flew: let a l l went north with the prayer-wheel, By the road, the quotation of nightingales. Quick of sympathy with springs Where the stone gushed water Women made their water like thieves. Caravans paused here to drink Tibet. On draughty corridors to Lhasa Was my f i r s t school In faces l i f t e d from saddles to the snows: Words caught by the soft klaxons crying Down to the plains and settled c i t i e s . So once i n idleness was my beginning. L i t t l e known of better then or worse But i n the lens of this great patience Sex was small, Death was small, Were qualities held in a deathless essence, Yet subjects of the wheel, bumed clear And immortal to my seventh year. To a l l who turn and start descending The long sad river of their growth: The tidebound, tepid, causeless Continuum of terrors i n the s p i r i t , 1 give you here unending In idleness an innocent beginning Until your pain become a literature.  II Nine marches to Lhasa. Those who went forward Into this honeycomb of silence often Gained the whole worlds but often lost each other. In the complexion of this country tears Found no harbour i n the breast of rock. Death marched beside the living as a friend With no sad punctuation by the clock. But he for whom steel and running water Were roads, went westward only To the prudish c l i f f s and the sad green home Of Pudding Island o'er the Victorian foam. Here a l l as poets were pariahs. Some sharpened l i t t l e f o l l i e s into hooks To pick upon the language and survive. Some i n search could only found Pulpits of smoke like Blake's Jerusalem. For this person i t was never landfall, With so many representative young men And a l l the old being obvious i n feeling, But like good grafty men He saw the business witches i n their bowlers, The blackened Samsons of the green estate, The earls from their cockney-boxes calling, And knew before i t was too late, London Could only be a promise-giving kingdom. Yet here was a window Into the great sick-room, Europe, With i t s dull set-books, The Cartesian imperatives, Dante and Homer, To impress the lame and awkward newcomer. Here he saw Bede who softly Blew out desire and went to bed, So much greater than so many less Who made their unconquered guilt i n atrophy A passport to the dead. Here St. Augustine took the holy cue Of bells i n an English valley: and mad Jerome Made of his longing half a home from home. Scythes here faithfully mark In their supple practice paths For the lucky and unambitious owners. But not a world as yet. Not a world.  Death like autumn f a l l s On the lakes i t s sudden forms, on walls Where everything i s made more marginal By the ruling planes of the snow? Reflect how Prospero was born to a green c e l l While those who noted the weather-vane In Beatrice*s shadow sang With the dying Emily. *We shall never Return, never be young again*. The defeat of purpose i n days and lichens. Some here unexpectedly put on the citizen, Qo walking to a church By landscape rubbed i n rain to grey As wool on glass, Thinking of spring which never comes to stay. (The potential passion hidden, Wordsworth In the desiccated bodies of postmistresses. The scarlet splash of campion, Keats. Ignorant suffering that closes like a lock.) So here at last wa did outgrow ourselves. As the green stalk i s takenfrom the earth, With a great juicy sob, I turned him from a Man To Mandrake, i n Whose awful hand I am.  Ill Prospero upon his island Cast i n a romantic form, When his love was f u l l y grown He l a i d his magic down. Truth within the t r i b a l wells, Innocent inviting creature Does not rise to human spells But by Paradox Teaches a l l who seek for her That no saint or seer unlocks The wells of truth unless he f i r s t Conquer for the truth his thirst.  17 So one fine year to where the roads Dividing Europe meet i n Paris. The gnome was here and the small Unacted temptations. Tessa was here whose dark  87  Quickened hair had brushed back rivers, Trembling with stars by Buda In whose inconstant arms he waited For black-hearted Bescartes to seek him out With a l l her sterile apparatus. Now man for him became a thinking lobe, Through endless permutations sought repose* By f r i g i d latinisms he mated now To the hard frame of prose the cogent verb. To many luck may give for merit More profitable teachers. To the heart A c r i t i c and a nymph: And an unflinching doctor to the s p i r i t . A l l these he confined i n metaphors, She sleeping i n his awkward mind Taught of the pace of women or birds Through the leafy body of man Enduring like the mammoth, like speech From the dry clicking of the greater apes To these hot moments i n a reference of stars Beauty and death, how sex became A lesser sort of speech, and the members doors.  (125)  (130)  (135)  (140)  V Faces may settle sadly Each into i t s private death By business travel or fortune, Like the fat congealing on a plate Or the fogged negative of labour Whose dumb fastidious rectitude Brings death i n living as a sort of mate. Here however man might botch his way To God via Valery, Gide or Rabelais. A l l rules obtain upon the pilot's plan So long as man, not manners, makyth man. Some like the great Victorians of the past Through old Moll Flanders sailed before the mast, While savage Chatterleys of the new romance Get carried off i n Sex, the ambulance. A l l rules obtain upon the pilot's chart If governed by the scripture of the heart.  (145)  (150)  (155)  (160)  VI Now November v i s i t i n g Surprises and humbles Licks i n the draughty Like a country member  with rain with i t s taste of elsewhere, galleries there, quickened by a province,  (165)  88  Turning over books and leaves i n haste, Takes at last her slow stains of waste Down the stone stairs into the rivers. And i n the personal heart, weary Of the piercing innocents i n parks Who s a i l the rapt subconscious there like swans, Disturbs and brightens with her tears, thinking: 'Perhaps after a l l i t i s we who are blind, While the unconscious eaters of the apple Are whole as ingots of a process * Punched i n matter by the promiscuous Mind.•  (170)  (175)  711 By the waters of Buda We surrendered arms, hearts, hands, Lips for counting of kisses, Fingers for money or touch, Eyes for the hourglass sands. Uncut and unloosened Swift hair by the waters of Buda In the shabby balcony rooms Where the pulses waken and wonder The churches bluff one as heart-beats On the river their dull boom booms. By the waters of Buda Uncomb and unlock then, Abandon and nevermore cherish Queer l i p s , queer heart, hands. There to futurity leave The luckier lover who's waiting, As, like a spring coiled up, In the bones of Adam, lay Eve.  (180)  (185)  (190)  (195)  7III So Time, the lovely and mysterious With promises and blessings moves Through her swift degrees, So gladly does he bear Towards the sad perfect wife, The rocky island and the cypress-trees. Taken i n the pattern of a l l solitaries, An only child, of introspection got, Her only playmates, lovers, i n herself. Nets were too coarse to hold her  (200)  (205  89  Where the nymph broke through And only the encircling arms of pleasure held. Here for the five lean dogs of sense Greece moved i n calm memorial Through her own unruffled blue, Bearing i n rivers upside down The myrtle and the olive, i n ruins The faces of the innocents i n wells. Salt and garlic, water and dry bread, Greek bread from the comb they knew Like an element i n sculptures By these red aerial cherries, Or flawed grapes painted green But pouted.into breasts: as well By those great quarries of the blood— The beating crimson hearts of the grenades: A l l far beyond the cupidity of verses Or the lechery of Images to t e l l .  (210)  (215)  (220)  Here worlds were confirmed i n him. Differences that matched like cloth Between the darkness and the inner light, Moved on the undivided breath of blue. Formed moving, trees asserted here Nothing but simple comparisons to  (225)  The artist's endearing eye.  (230)  Sleep.  Napkins folded after grace.  Veins of stealing water By the unplumbed ruins, never finding peace. A watershed, a valley of tombs, Never finding peace. 'Look' she might say'Press here With your fingers at the temples. Are they not the blunt uncut horns Of the small naked Ionian fauns?' Much later, moving i n a dark, Snow-lit landscape softly In her small frock walked his daughter And a simile came into his mind Of lovers, like swimmers lost at sea Exhausted i n each other's arms, Urgent for land, but treading water.  IX Red Polish mouth,  (235)  (240)  (245)  Lips that as for the flute unform, Gone round on nouns or vowels, To utter the accepting, calm •Yes*, or make terrible verbs Like 'I adore, adore . 1  Persuader, so long hunted By your wild pack of selves, Past peace of mind or even sleep, So longed for and so sought, May the divider always keep Like unshed tears i n lashes Love, the undeclared thought. X Now earth turns her cold shoulders to us, Autumn with her wild packs Comes down to the robbing of the flowers. On this unstained sky, printless Snow moves crisp as dreamers* fingers, And the rate of passion or tenderness In this island house i s absolute* Within a time of reading Ke Here i s a l l my growth Through the bodies of other selves, In books, by promise or perversity My mutinous crew of f u r i e s — t h e i r pleading Threw up at last the naked sprite Whose flesh and noise I am, Who i s my j a i l o r and my inward night* In Europe, bound by Europe, I saw them moving, the possessed Fedor and Anna, the last Two vain explorers of our guilt, Turn by turn holding the taws, Made addicts of each other lacking love, Friendless embittered and alone* The lesser pities held them back Like mice i n secrecies, Yet through introspection and disease, Held on to the unclinching bone, The sad worn ring of Anna, Loyal to f i l t h and weakness, Hammered out on this slender bond, Fedor's raw cartoons and episodes. By marriage with this ring, Companioned each their darkness. In cracked voices we can hear These hideous mommets now Like westering angels over Europe sing.  91  XI So knowledge has an end, And virtue at the last an end, In the dark f i e l d of sensibility The unchanging and unbending; As i n aquariums gloomy On the negative's dark screen Grow the shapes of other selves, So groaned for by the heart, So seldom grasped i f seen. Love bears you. Time stirs you. Music at midnight makes a ground, Or words on silence so perplex In hidden meanings there like bogies Waiting the expected sound. Art has limits and l i f e limits Within the nerves that support them. So better with the happy Discover than with the wise Who teach the sad valour Of endurance through the seasons, In change the unchanging Death by compromise.  (295)  (300)  (305)  (310)  (315)  XII Now darkness comes to Europe Dedicated by a soft unearthly jazz. . The greater hearts contract their joys By silence to the very gem, While the impertinent reformers, Barbarians with secretaries move, Whom old Cavafy pictured, Whom no war can remove. Through the ambuscades of sex, The f o l l i e s of the w i l l , the tears, Turning, a personal world I go To where the yellow emperor once Sat out the summer and the snow, And searching i n himself struck o i l , Published the f i r s t great Tao Which a l l confession can only gloze And i n the Consciousness can only spoil Apparent opposition of the two Where unlocked numbers show their fabric, He l a i d his finger to the map, And where the signs confuse, Defined the Many and the None As base reflections of the One.  (320)  (325)  (330)  (335)  What b i f i d Hamlet i n the maze Wept to find; the doppelganger Goethe saw one morning go Over the h i l l ahead; the man So gnawed by promises who shared The magnificent responses of Rimbaud. A l l that we have sought i n us, The artist by his greater cowardice In sudden brush-strokes gave us c l u e s — Hamlet and Faust as front-page news. The yellow emperor f i r s t confirmed By one Unknown the human calculus, Where feeling and idea, Must f a l l within this space, This personal landscape built Within the Chinese circle's calm embrace. Dark Spirit, sum of a l l That has remained unloved, Gone crying through the world: Source of a l l manufacture and repair, Quicken the giving-spring In ferns and birds and ordinary people That a l l deeds done may share, By this our temporal sun, The part of l i v i n g that i s loving, Tour dancing, a beautiful behavious. (  Darkness, who contain The source of a l l this corporal music, On the great table of the Breath Our opposites i n pity bear, Our measure of perfection or of pain, Both trespassers i n you, that then Our Here and Now become your Everywhere.  XIII The old yellow Emperor With defective sight and matted hair His palace f e l l to ruins But his heart was i n repair. Veins like imperfect plumbing On his flesh described a leaf. His palms were mapped with cunning Like geodesies of grief. His soul became a vapour And his limbs became a stake But his ancient heart s t i l l v i s i t s us In Lawrence or i n Blake.  93  XIV A l l cities plains and people Reach upwards to the affirming sun, A l l that's vertical and shining, Lives well lived, Deeds perfectly done, Reach upwards to the royal pure Affirming sun. Accident or error conquered By the gods of luck or grace, Form and face, Tribe or caste or habit, A l l are aspects of the one Affirming race. Ego, my dear, and id Lie so profoundly hid In space-time void, though feeling, While contemporary, slow, We conventional lovers cheek to cheek Inhaling and exhaling go. The rose that Nostradamus In his divining saw Break open as the world; The city that Augustine Founded in moral law, By our anguish were compelled To urge, to beckon and implore. Dear Spirit, should I reach, By touch or speech corrupt, The inner suffering word, By weakness or idea, Though you might suffer Feel and know, Pretend you do not hear.  Bombers bursting like pods go down And the seed of Man stars This landscape, ancient but no longer known. Only the c r i t i c perseveres Within his ant-like formalism By deduction and destruction steers; Only the t r i t e reformer holds his own. See looking down motionless How clear Athens or Bremen seem A mass of rotten vegetables  (385)  (390)  (395)  (400)  (405)  (410)  (415)  (420)  (425)  94 Finn on the diagram of earth can l i e ; And here you may reflect how genus epileptoid Knows his stuff; and where rivers Have thrown their switches and enlarged Our mercy or our knowledge of each other; Wonder who walks beside them now and why, And what they talk about.  (430)  (435)  There i s nothing to hope for, my Brother. We have tried hoping for a future i n the past. Nothing came out of that past But the reflected distortion and some Enduring, and understanding, and some brave. (440) Into their cool embrace the awkward and the sinful Must be put for they alone Know who and what to save.  XVI Small temptations now—to slumber and to sleep, Where the lime-green, odourless And pathless island waters Crossing and uncrossing, partnerless By h i l l s alone and quite incurious Their pastures of reflection keep. For Prospero remains the evergreen Cell by the margin of the sea and land, Who many c i t i e s , plains, and people saw let by his open door In sunlight f e l l asleep One summer with the Apple i n his hand.  (445)  (450)  (455)  

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