The Observer from London, Greater London, England • 17

17 THE OBSERVER, SUNDAY, MARCH 9, 1958 HIGH FIDELITY AT BOMB. By William Planter. (Jonathan RECORD Cape. Us.) 5llf-w THE SICILIAN VESPERS. the later thtrttenth century.

--By Steven Aon mSimSSemt By HAROLD NICOLSON University Press. By DENIS MACK SMrtB I SBVERAli' yeaW' -gp Sir all ruleo Steven Rniwriman wrote a left by. jgch invader hej LOVE With spring not far head, it it appropriate that love should be the theme of two of our newest novel. That romantic writer Peter dt Polnay eta hii love story in Paris, whose places and faces he knows so well and describes so vividly. If yon want a sophisticated, witty and really enjoyable novel, ask for THE SCALES OF LOVE love more important than money and security That is the basic question posed by Dawn Powell in her enchanting new novel entitled A CAGE FOR LOVERS And those who love the theatre will be delighted to know that W.

Maaut en-Pope has set down the wonderfully colourful story of the now demolished St. James's Theatre. Vivien Leigh has written the foreword to ST. JAMES'S This is the newest addition to the histories of London's theatres which we originally commissioned Fopie to write. Fully illustrated.

W. H. ALLEN PuMfiherj ifnce the fflth Century IN Double Lives." the first instalment of his Memoirs. Mr. William Plomer recounted his boyhood in South Africa and his early manhood in Japan.

In this, the second instalment, which he perversely calls At Home, he describes his return to England and the nomad existence that he led between Bloomsbury and Bays-water. Possessing as he does a rare combination of sensitiveness and modesty, he can arouse surprise and pleasure even when telling us about the muffin that he had for lea. The true writer," he informs us. is a precision instrument with something unfamiliar to record." When he is describing the Trans-Siberian Railway, or supper parties in Tavistock -square, or bathing off Salamis, he is dealing with unusual experiences and his instrument is as precise as a theodolite. But when he strolls along the front at Brighton, or listens to the shingle of Dover Beach, or examines the personalities of successive lodging-house keepers, he is dealing with usual experiences his instrument becomes a brush of camel hair, applying water-colour washes in the manner of Hokusai.

In that he is a true writer in every sense of the term, he handles with mastery each of these two contrasting manners. Mr. Plomer is not merely an unjustifiably, and even modest man: he is also tolerant. The tolerance of the good man should assuredly be limitless, although the obliteration qf all frontiers may entail a certain lack of intellectual outline. Mr.

Plomer blames nobody and noih-mg, unless it be those people who adopt a patronising attitude towards the coloured races. He contends that his selectiveness. which is in verity a sign of his good taste, should not be misinterpreted as that horrible thing urbanilv." is due, not lo discretion, reserve, or pose, but to "a retrospective mood The author he write) knows whal it is to be til, lo he irt pain, lo be disappointed, to be misunderstood, lo be cheated, to be insulted, to be frustrated we live in a world where such things occur Bui he has ro inclination to compile a hard-luck story; and if he does liirteeilth ceniuTV. ana incro ujiu-jiuw wuiaiii French barons, thirikinBthnseives the finest flower of tavilisatton, -sj savagely scourged what remained of the Byzantine empire. Bus flew book is concerned with the western Mediterranean later in "the tame century, and.

tells, how' other Frenchmen the Sicilian empire of Frederick stupor mundl. The subject is not quite so suitable for dramatic narrative. It lacks the clash and fusion of cultures 'which made those volumes on the Crusades so riveting. Neither is Charles of Anjou so striking a figure as Frederick, nor the Angevin period in southern Italy so pioUresqae as the Norman. But the story of the Saltan Vespers was dramatic enough to deserve an opera by Verdi; and became a perennial if misplaced theme of Itauan-patsiotissn- This revolution of 1282 is the' event towards which Sir Steven moves In his final chapters, the 'chief event In what he calls the suicide of the universal papal monarchy.

In their capacity as temporal rulers the Popes had inevitably become involved in secular politics, and so were exposed to suffer defeat like, other temporal sovereigns. In their strugSlo against Hohenstaufen imperialism they had used every weapon, even that of the Holy War; they had called in the aid of secular nationalism which proved to be a far more alarming enemy, and they impoverished the' Church and hence were to antagonise many good Christians by extravagant taxation. All this, moreover, as the author shows, was in a losing cause, and without the certitude of having moral right on their side. HE champion selected by the Panacv was Charles of Aniou. who was rashly invited into Italy to exterminate the viper's brood." ThtJ man made himself the greatest potentate in Europe, and, virtually dictated successive elections to the papal throne.

Hated" by Italians as a foreien overlord, hated by the Ger mans and by Dante for his cruet mam and by Dante Mr nis cruet His alliance brought the Papacy nothing but ill. in the cod ne uea a failure, overcome by the very people he had oppressed, and without ever quite understanding (he Mediterranean world into which he had intruded. The chief agent in his fall was a revolution which broke out at Palermo; during Vespers on Easter Monday, 12S2, when an unknown man killed a Frenchman who was attempting to molest a Sicilian woman. Sicily has ignited the spark for many revolutions in Italy, and certain sociological and political reasons could be advanced to explain why. It is one of the most conquered lands' in history.

Carthaginians, Greeks, Romans, Vandals, Goths, Byzantines, Moors, Vikings, Germans. Frenchmen. Spaniards, Italians, British Americans, have re 1 1 eli stevSP ibSF Ts3SSref wttmaiittsM.hsBa6t iflerty affttpst the-yrenoh mliTMP the Oiurdi-hatf foisted One wmildrMce here: disliked thev dislikaU the. also gceedtut 1 irccoom.ai snae was atsithJ lakv asainstl.cutrWhiorof'i? a earns! Messihaj' or- mat. ofiaW age which anted to tyraunise i its serfs" unchecked, whichrdemat trial oy peers no amp money.

The vOTdfrern ca'cder a mpfi-tode of selfishnesses. KrhVip ht this case it cciceiled.qbite sinlpte motives of avarice and vengeance, or even'the anarchical 'sentiments -of 4he mafioto for whom all governmuit is opsnt-sion and -s honourable, If to both theMrictal make-up of Sicily and ha" much) vaunted parliamentary system would need further investigation before this revolt, can-Jbeimtauted. IJL1T Sir Steven 'has now placed together the ehfomderif exhaustively and'tiilfuHy that we most accept his refusals' to' psitieolsMse ttirtner about motive, wjw Jtttutns is a generalised struggle fCr frecdn and. the often -fflrtSifmfs hattM'- Guelf and He inakes it History in tbe grand nsasnef; thoujhi always with a light touch. The writing is.

deceptively simple, perhaps somewhat dry and? lacking in range, but dear 'ai-a bell, trim and; chiselled for a cracking pace. It -is' extraordinary -lhat so many details could be reduced to, so small and tidy a compass, always' with such a judicious and charitable judpnent, and so often being able to avoid doubts and eonmctfng testimony. Yet the story remains unmemorabK. Tne surface drama fascinates but its meaning is suiuessates obscure, the underlying trends aae elusive, connecting links absent, and the genealogical ramifications too complicated. As a result, me raim-oeartea may uofortjately take the author's This would be i pity.

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HALCRO FERGUSON Tramp Reality WATT. By Samuel Beckett. (Olympla Prest, Paris, distributed Zwemmer. lis.) MALONE DIES. By Samuel Beckett.

(Colder. 10s. 6d.) By RAYNER HEPPENSTALL tain one's gift of curiosity, one is apt to lose the excitement of transient emotion. He rightly dreads the cold fingers of apathy Perhaps we are to expect a gradual atrophy of the capacity of Western man to be touched, to be moved to sympathy or pity or happiness, or even to love, tn the way that many people used to be unashamedly touched or moved in former times. If this Is so.

it is worth looking for signs of the process in the hidindoal, and considering whether it should be counteracted, and if so, by what I call that a delightfully adolescent sentence. I am quite sure that even in advanced senility unselfish people do not lose the capacity to love. I hope I have qot given the Impression that this is a purely introspective autobiography. It is merely that 1 am less interested when Mr. Plomer describes his acquaintances, or discusses external themes, than I am fascinated when he stirs "shy birds of beauty in the nest of bis own heart There are brilliant descriptions of the Tavistock-souare, or Bloomsbury, circle, of Virginia Woolf, of Lyiton Yeats, T.

S. Eliot and Ethel Smyth. He it excellent on the theme of Stephen Spender, Christopher Isherwood and E. M. Fdrster.

He can indulge in interesting digressions on minor characters and is appreciative of that remarkable woman, Lady Otto line Morrell. He tells us much about the intricate labours and responsibilities of a publisher's reader and steps aside to consider the position of the Anglican Church, the merits and defects of the English character, and the eternal significance of the novel. He paints admirable pictures of cottage life in Sussex or Surrey, of the horror of Haworth or of the green charm of Bowen's Court. Readers who enjoy narrative and the evocation of the past will find much entertainment in this book. Yet there is something more than just narrative and description.

It is the work of a poet rather than of an historian or even a novelist. The tragedy of life is implicit; its ecstasy lives in moments of elation, of the rainbow and the cuckoo's song." Since Dr. Gruber is that excellent phenomenon a man of feeling. Misadventure THE TRIANON ADVENTURE. A Symposium.

Edited by A. O. Gibbons. (Museum Press. 21s.) By LUCILLE IREMONGER TF Miss Moberly and Miss Jour-dam, joint authors of that classic ghost-story, An Adventure," could read this well-intentioned little book they would weep.

When the principal of an Oxford women's college and the headmistress of a Watford day-sohool lost themselves in the gardens of the Petit Triaiwn one afternoon in 1901 they 6aw what every visitor with a romantic imagination wants to see there Marie Antoinette and her court in the year 1789. Bewitched by the tale, the editor of this symposium looked out old plans and drawings and nosed around the scene. Alasl his findings but too cruelly exposed the impossibility of the famous claim. Clearly appalled, and determined to salvage something from this wreckage they must have seen something from the past, they said they had he and his friends have concocted a substitute "adventure." It is far more implausible, nightmarishly involved, and infinitely drab. The ghostly, doomed Queen is again a dowdy, middle-class tourist of 1901, and the whole is reduced to the quite non-U level of an obscure gardener named Richard.

Oh, no! The magic has gone out of it To who love the "adventure" I say, Don't read this book 1 XTAV1NG read it myself, and xi attempted to take it seriously, I am bound to say that it consists largely of guesswork, flat-footed assertion, and unblushing avoidance of inconvenient facts. At times it seems less like psychical research titan new chapter for Alice." Most of the topographical speculations are of course pointless, since the adventurers were admittedly lost and any routs mapped out for them must be conjectural. As for the psychical theoris-mgs, they depend on a telepathic agent," described by our tormented editor in a splendid mined metaphor as a go-between who was capable of triggering off visions and pseudo-realities from a vast occult storeroom," In order to fit an arbitrary theory into the Procrustean bed of such facts as are quite unavoidable, the poor women are jerked from century to century, singly or together, alternately trance and out of trance." as necessary. That is all rather amusing, if unintentionally. Less so are the blatant omissions (e.g.

in the silence about the public disgrace which ended Miss Jourdain's career, and in the equivocations concerning the way in which the story steadily grew in the telling) and various signs of anger beneath the surface. People can get very worked up about this subject, I know, but it is sad to see the charming foible of adventure mania degenerate to the point where it becomes embarrassing. 73 NORTH DUDLEY POPE A masterly and exciting account of an arctic convoy1 Alan Ross, Observer. Illustrated. 21s.

not dwell upon action of his own that were foolish and others of which he is ashamed, that is because his way of writing memoirs is nol to turn them into a public confessional or a parade of vain regrets. Mr. Plomer is no exhibitionist. Nor is he an anrtnbous man. Looking back." he writes, I am mildly surprised at my unworld-1 in ess." He admits that those who are not bent upon what is called getting on are apt to relapse into moods of dreamy resignation." He is devoid of vanity and was delighted when mistaken by a displaced person for a certain Dr.

Gruber. His frequent recurrence to this absurd episode might be attributed to his delicious sense of humour the psychologist, I suspect, would deduce that his pleasure was due to a subconscious desire to be taken for someone else, to find some compensation for a nomad existence and the absence of a fixed environment. Yet his integrity is so compelling that he would never descend to a disguise; he was in fact much embarrassed when he realised that Hugh Walpole. as a romantic novelist, saw one as somebody very different, whom one was neither able nor willing to impersonate." VTJNE the less, Mr. Plomer is puzzled by the fact that, with his wide and deep humanity, he should be rather deficient in the herd instinct." To some extent this aloofness may have been due to the fastidiousness of the artist, but it was also due to a special mingling of opposites that inspires affection 1 was naturally drawn to a region near the indefinable frootiers between seriousness and irony, between the tragic and the vulgar, between mockery and sympathy, and between the past and the present.

Call it detachment, call it objectivity, call it the growing of an extra skin, but do not call it cruelty. should myself call it none of these elaborate things I should just call it shyness," one of the most attractive qualities that an eminent author can possess. Mr. Plomer. I can see.

is worried by his own reserve. He is not old enough to accept the fact that with advancing years, even if one can re the right amount. From some cafe acquaintance. Mr. Beckett seems to have picked up a few details about (he prostale gland and uraemia.

For ihe rest, he has trusted to Joyceian prose-effects and to an elementary svmbolism whereby Malone is aiso Macmann, and Moran and Molloy were (he same, and all had been a boy called Saposcat Alter the extraordinary success of "yV.itling lo: dodol." it at hrst sight piiiilina lhat two novels by Mi. Beckett should now be issued if the publishers will forgive me the term obscurely (for neither is a mere reprint). The short answer would be thai both bear the customary stigmata of avant-garde prose: typographical odditv, under-punctuation. a liberal sprinkling of the four-letter words. To these last, tramps, one is willing lo concede, may be addicted, like soldiers (though Mr.

Beckett gives no other sign of having studied tramp cant, in French or in English). But it is doubtful whether the streams of tramp consciousness run more un-paragraphed than those of us bourgeois prigs and Philistines. It is more doublful still whether tramps much tend to the grammatico-logical proliferation of which even chattcr-ing-bnght fourth-formers rapidly tire. At his best, Mr. Beckett is vivid.

At his worst, he is unsurpassably tedious. His best is dialogue. The first act of Godot is a more perfect achievement than any sustained part of "Molloy" or the two present novels. The liveliest passages nere are the opening pages of WattL the lunatics' outing in "Malone Dies" and. in its more shamelessly effect-seeking way, the impotent Macmann'i love-play with a one-toothed old woman who brings him his food.

Elsewhere the subject loses itself in ihe writing. The writing is more showv in Watt," but even Malone Dies has long passages of no more lhan rhetorical interest. As soon as Mr Beckett begins setting out lines for imaginable human mouths to speak, all fog of privacy and self-engrossment diiperses. Mr. Beckett, I feel, should write almost exclusively in dialogue.

Saleroom LIBRARY signed French pieces which made eight or nine hundred pounds Dramatic goings-on like these take place, of course, in every saleroom from time to lime; but not as frequently as one would wish. And ihere'H be no surprises of this nature at Sotheby's next Friday when there's a sale of impeccable English furniture, because Mrs. W. Level, rounaer ot tne Culpeper Company, whose things they are, knew what she was about. She bought with discrimination and taste.

Nowadays Grade A classic English furniture is as rare as a road with a fly-over. The most-fought-for pieces, one would think, will be the Hepplewhite Writing Table, ihe Queen Anne Tallboy, the Queen Anne Lowboy, the Adam Bookcase, the late-eighteenth century armchairs, and the hyper-civilised library table which graces the illustration. That knob at the top of it. by the way, is a terrestrial globe. This table, both round and Regency, lively, masculine, evocative of law and order, has that scarce and charming quality of being aesthetically pleasing and at the same time useful.

It is, in fact, just the sort of elegant and sensible antique that goes well with present-day contemporary." Simon Fleet Imagine! Cyril Hare HE SHOULD HAVE DIED HEREAFTER Told with C.H.'s customary quiet knowing naturalness and legal expertise." maurjce RICHAHOSON, OBSERVER. 12,6 On a Balcony DAVID ST ACTON A weird, subtle and com- i pelhng novel." Tan tide. i About the Pharaoh Akhnaton 1 and his queen Nefertiti. Fascinating study in royal neuroticism." JOHN DAVENPORT, OBSERVER. Run for Cover JOHN WELCOME Lively criminal activity around St Tropez Great verve Most promising first for some time." JULIAN SYMONS, SUNDAY TIMES.

1Z 6 BOOK SOCIETY CHOICE PRIX GONCOURT WINNER ROMAIN GARY THE ROOTS OF HEAVEN "Reminiscent of Conrad a wonderful picture of Africa today. The writing is superb" waltek uiin Melville-like theme most remarkably achieved novel JOHN METCALF (S. Times I "Moving as well as memorable the times MICHAEL JOSEPH JUSt Out WI LLI AM COOPER Young People Mr. Cooper makes no moral judgements; he a content to describe his characters and their behaviour with affection and ironical sympathy, and much of the excellence of Young People springs from this. It is a most attractive and entertaining Sew Staiesman.

16j HELEN VAN ENS BURG The Siege of Aunt Estelle An enjoyable, elegant JOHN CoKNE-L Evening Sews. 'There is a pleasant warmth in Miss Van Rensburg's aflecuon for her own creanon and humour is natural and Times. 10 MACM1LLAN The books reviewed and advertised in THE OBSERVER should be available at all good booksellers. If not in stock they can be obtained on request. BOOKS PRINTS gr.ti; MirTliljV-GLIDES 1.

MIC Ljn tu CampiRI France I Orto no retrvt cm 4 Trubl.f.1.? HMTHF.TTE U-Si reel. y- ARTICLES FOR SALE You can flyTCA to Canada for less than 90 TCA introduces new low Economy Fares to Canada there, but an Anglo-Venezuelan boundary co remission had been there before him, and the most interesting part of his book is the getting there the meetings with exiled European characters and, above all, the native Amerindians, whom he chooses to call Indians. With them he often had as a common language only a mutually and admittedly bad Spainsh, but he obviously liked mem, and they him, and he brings them alive and makes them sound credible and not at all stupid human beings. Unfortunately, like Peter Abrahams, he feels it incumbent upon him to bring in an extraneous element, in die shape of social and political comment on the crowded coastlands. But these can be skipped by any reader who wants to know something about the region which inspired not only "The Lost World" but one of the few classics ever produced by an Anglo-Argentine, Gudtermo Enrique Hudson's Green Mansions." Tnans PETER ABRAHAMS is a Coloured (with a captial C) South African novelist who now lives in Jamaica with his white wife and their children.

When he wrote Jamaica he was a temporary visitor, possibly the only person to combine that status with his colour and nationality. gor that alone, apart from his unrivsfFed grasp of the English language, his book cannot fail to be interesting. To anyone who knows Jamaica, his paragraphs on Busta," on the people in the rum shops, on the St Andrew snobs, the Press Club, the Yallahs valley, the small and unsuccessful farmers. Montego Bay, and even such details as Mistress Elsie Benjamin-Barsoe's antique baby car, ring completely true. And even to most Jamaicans his chapter on the Maroons the escaped slaves who refused to be captured, signed a treaty with Queen victoria, and live unmolested in Ihe Cockpit Country will be an eye-opener.

lo those who c-o not Know Jamaica, Mr. Abrahams's book may be recommended as a fair account of the country. Unfortunately, due to the official auspices under which was written, it has a schizophreoie tendency to jump into (perfectly accurate) history at disconcerting moments. There is room for an adequate modern history of the country, but it is a pity it has to interrupt Mr. Abrahams! personal narrative.

The map of the country Is wonderful. Anyone visiting Jamaica should tear it out carefully and use it as a road-map, even though, like the author, they get completely lost all the same. Michael Swan's book also has nice maps two of them hut then the resemblance ends. Peter Abrahams apart from his venture into the Cockpit Country, was visiting twentieth-century Jamaicans in twentieth-century circumstances. Mr.

Swan, who tikes doing things the hard way, was, in British Guiana (and a certain amount of territory belonging fortuitously to Venezuela and Brazil, who are not all that interested), living in effect In prehistory. His main object was to scale the peculiar plateau called Mount Rora-trns, which inspired Camus Doyle's1 book "The Lost World." He got I Partigiani (kNE complicated aspect of that complicated and eventful period in Italian history which stretches from the armistice of September, 1943, to the collapse of Germany is the subject of Roberto Battagfia's Stan of the Italian Resittanca (Odhami, It is a comprehensive and coherent record of audacity, ingenuity and suffering told in tbe context of the Allied military and political operations. Signor Battaglia, himself a gallant resistance fighter, conveys well the enthusiasm and the singleness of purpose which inspired the partisans in those heroic days an assessment of their role in overall strategy and the political developments which were the later consequences of their activities would have been beyond the purpose of the book. W. 0.

FREE! It should be kept always on file in the civilized home. It contains, in its 28 pages, scores of ideas for the seemly keeping and housing of books of all sizes, magazines, records, albums, flies, ei ai. It's tbe new Phoenix Bookcase Catalogue. Ask for your copy by card, telephone, or by personal call to THE PHOENIX BOOKCASE GALLERY fDest. 10).

36a. St Martin's Una. Charts Cross, Leaitoa, W.CJ irs ftERIOUS critics insist that form and content, subject and treatment, can no more be separated in literary works than in music or visual art. No doubt this is true in some mysterious, ultimate sense, but a critic deeply committed to the view would find Mr. Beckeit hard to deal with His form and content, his subject and treatment, his manner and matter, appear stand shdrpU differentiated Increasingly since the war, Mr.

Beckett's subject-matter has been the human condition ai its most derclM, denuded, comfortless (but it is largely true even of Watt, an early work written in English, long kept in a bottom drawer and even now in an uncompleted state, because, Mr. Beckett tells us, of his faugue and Molloy was a tramp In waiting for Godot," Vladimir and Estragon were tramps, and Lucky's state one of sub-human servitude and dejection. In Malone Dies, a sequel to Molloy (here translated by the author from his own French), the stream-of-consciousness narrator is a destitute old man on his death-bed. (Walt is a demented, though sweet-natured, manservant) There is, in Pans, as well as a literary' tramp-cult, a tramp-real tly. Except in "Waiting for Godot," Mr Beckett's tramps are Irishmen.

Their archetvpe is, however, the Parisian ciochard. This figure is of the greatest sociological interest. Zola's way might have seemed a more natural way of incorporating him in literature. Mr. Beckett's way is derived from James Joyce (whose secretary he once was) and from Kafka.

It is. essentially, a pre-war avant-garde wav. The old Left Bank is saying The mana of these strange creatures resides in us (they might add. now that our private incomes are not worth as much as they were Nobody wants Mr. Beckett to write like Zola! But Joyce (far more than Kafka) seems inappropriate in the extreme.

Even an old man's death needs some documentation. Within the medical context of 1908. Henri Barbusse, in L'Enfer (the father of so much else beside Mr Colin Wilson's "The did just In the FOR THE COME of us know the sale-room value of the obets dart and furniture in our room and we are appalled; others who bought more wisely sit contentedly amongst their bnc-a brae and vjrtu knowing it is going up and up in value. But most of us do not give our things much thought, so it comes as a terrinc surprise suddenly it is made plain to us that a rich and valuable treasure has been in front of our phihstine eyes all the time This happened to the owner of a small London hotel who quite recently asked those busy auctioneers, Rogers, Chapman and Thomas. in the Gloucester-road, to arrange the sale of the hotel's entire contents.

Inspecting it. the valuer remarked (hat a dilapidated dusty painting in the hall might be worth a good deal. Why, is it an oil inquired the owner. It was indeed, a minor Flemish eighteenth-century masterpiece, and made as much as the rest of the contents put together When this same firm's representative found a Georgian wine cooler tn a client's dustbin, and put it up for sale, fetched 80 On another occasion Auntie's chests of drawers" from Putney, about which the owner hadn't a clue, turned out to be in fact two Tea, aormyon can travel to OsUULda, In real Canadian style by TCA. Canada's own great airline for less Hum 901 This is what you call travelling; I Relaxed aboard a giant TCA Super-G ConBtellation, you can enjoy the speed, comfort and convenience of dally TCA flights to anywhere in rny at apeolal new reduced rates.

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