Lawrence - Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious and Fantasia of the Unconscious

Tutti i salmi finiscono in gloria.

All the psalms wind up with the Gloria. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, World without end. Amen.

Well, then, Amen.

I hope you say Amen! along with me, dear little reader: if there be any dear little reader who has got so far. If not, I say Amen! all by myself. But dont you think the show is all over. Ive got another volume up my sleeve, and after a year or two years, when I have shaken it down my sleeve, I shall bring it and lay it at the foot of your Liberty statue, oh Columbia, as I do this one.

I suppose Columbia means the States. Hail Columbia! I suppose, etymologically, it is a nest of turtle-doves, Lat. columba , a dove. Coo me softly, then, Columbia; dont roar me like the sucking doves of the critics of my Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious.

And when I lay this little book at the foot of the Liberty statue, that brawny lady is not to look down her nose and bawl: Do you see any green in my eye? Of course I dont, dear lady. I only see the reflection of that torchor is it a carrot?which you are holding up to light the way into New York harbour. Well, many an ass has strayed across the uneasy paddock of the Atlantic to nibble your carrot, dear lady. And I must say, you can keep on slicing off nice little carrot-slices of guineas and doubloons for an extraordinarily inexhaustible long time. And innumerable asses can collect themselves nice little heaps of golden carrot-slices, and then lift up their heads and brag over them with fairly pandemoniac yells of gratification. Of course I dont see any green in your eye, dear Libertas, unless it is the smallest glint from the carrot-tips. The gleam in your eye is golden, oh Columbia!

Nevertheless, and in spite of all this, up trots this here little ass and makes you a nice present of this pretty book. You neednt sniff, and glance at your carrot-sceptre, lady Liberty. You neednt throw down the thinnest carrot-paring you can pare off, and then say: Why should I pay for this tripe, this wordy mass of rather revolting nonsense! You cant pay for it, darling. If I didnt make you a present of it you could never buy it. So dont shake your carrot-sceptre and feel supercilious. Heres a gift for you, Missis. You can look in its mouth, too. Mind it doesnt bite you. No, you neednt bother to put your carrot behind your back, nobody wants to snatch it.

How do you do, Columbia! Look, I brought you a posy: this nice little posy of words and wisdom which I made for you in the woods of Ebersteinburg, on the borders of the Black Forest, near Baden-Baden, in Germany, in this summer of scanty grace but nice weather. I made it specially for youWhitman, for whom I have an immense regard, says These States. I suppose I ought to say: Those States. If the publisher would let me, Id dedicate this book to you, to Those States. Because I wrote this book entirely for you, Columbia. You may not take it as a compliment. You may even smell a tiny bit of Schwarzwald sap in it, and be finally disgusted. I admit that trees ought to think twice before they flourish in such a disgraced place as the Fatherland. Chi va coi zoppi, all anno zoppica. But youve not only to gather ye rosebuds while ye may, but where ye may. And so, as I said before, the Black Forest, etc.

I know, Columbia, dear Libertas, youll take my posy and put your carrot aside for a minute, and smile, and say: Im sure, Mr. Lawrence, it is a long time since I had such a perfectly beautiful bunch of ideas brought me. And I shall blush and look sheepish and say: So glad you think so. I believe youll find theyll keep fresh quite a long time, if you put them in water. Whereupon you, Columbia, with real American gallantry: Oh, theyll keep forever , Mr. Lawrence. They couldnt be so cruel as to go and die, such perfectly lovely-coloured ideas. Lovely! Thank you ever, ever so much.

Just think of it, Columbia, how pleased we shall be with one another: and how much nicer it will be than if you snorted High-falutin Nonsenseor Wordy mass of repulsive rubbish.

When they were busy making Italy, and were just going to put it in the oven to bake: that is, when Garibaldi and Vittorio Emmanuele had won their victories at Caserta, Naples prepared to give them a triumphant entry. So there sat the little king in his carriage: he had short legs and huge swagger moustaches and a very big bump of philoprogeniture. The town was all done up, in spite of the rain. And down either side of the wide street were hasty statues of large, well-fleshed ladies, each one holding up a forefinger. We dont know what the king thought. But the staff held their breath. The kings appetite for strapping ladies was more than notorious, and naturally it looked as if Naples had done it on purpose.

As a matter of fact, the forefinger meant Italia Una! Italy shall be one. Ask Don Sturzo.

Now you see how risky statues are. How many nice little asses and poets trot over the Atlantic and catch sight of Liberty holding up this carrot of desire at arms length, and fairly hear her say, as one does to ones pug dog, with a lump of sugar: Beg! Beg! and Jump! Jump, then! And each little ass and poodle begins to beg and to jump, and theres a rare game round about Liberty, zap, zap, zapperty-zap!

Do lower the carrot, gentle Liberty, and let us talk nicely and sensibly. I dont like you as a carotaia, precious.

Talking about the moon, it is thrilling to read the announcements of Professor Pickering of Harvard, that its almost a dead cert that theres life on our satellite. It is almost as certain that theres life on the moon as it is certain there is life on Mars. The professor bases his assertions on photographshundreds of photographsof a crater with a circumference of thirty-seven miles. Im not satisfied. I demand to know the yards, feet, and inches. You dont come it over me with the triteness of these round numbers.

Hundreds of photographic reproductions have proved irrefutably the springing up at dawn, with an unbelievable rapidity, of vast fields of foliage which come into blossom just as rapidly [sic!] and which disappear in a maximum period of eleven days. Again Im not satisfied. I want to know if theyre cabbages, cress, mustard, or marigolds or dandelions or daisies. Fields of foliage, mark you. And blossom! Come now, if you can get so far, Professor Pickering, you might have a shrewd guess as to whether the blossoms are good to eat, or if theyre purely for ornament.

I am only waiting at last for an airplane to land on one of these fields of foliage and find a donkey grazing peacefully. Hee-haw!

The plates moreover show that great blizzards, snow-storms, and volcanic eruptions are also frequent. So no doubt the blossoms are edelweiss.

We find, says the professor, a living world at our very doors where life in some respects resembles that of Mars. All I can say is: Pray come in, Mr. Moony. And how is your cousin Signor Martian?

Now Im sure Professor Pickerings photographs and observations are really wonderful. But his explanations! Come now, Columbia, where is your High-falutin Nonsense trumpet? Vast fields of foliage which spring up at dawn (!!!) and come into blossom just as quickly (!!!!) are rather too flowery even for my flowery soul. But there, truth is stranger than fiction.

Ill bet my moon against the Professors, anyhow.

So long, Columbia. A rivedrci.