LITMIR.BIZ

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rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_d18eeeb9-7c53-5ea5-9904-887592d0cc90">^* I never thought that dancing mistress as beautiful as my cousin G.,^† but she was the first woman I ever ‘looked upon to lust after her’; assuredly through no fault of her own.⁵⁰

      Side by side with the awakening of carnal and worldly desires came what Jack described as the real romantic passion of his life. It arrived with the sudden, overwhelming return of ‘Joy’ – that ‘unsatisfied desire more desirable than any other satisfaction’ – when he chanced upon the Christmas number of the Bookman for December 1911 with a coloured supplement reproducing several of Arthur Rackham’s illustrations to Siegfried and the Twilight of the Gods in a loosely poetic version made the same year by Margaret Armour. As Lewis records in Surprised by Joy,

      A moment later, as the poet says, ‘The sky had turned round.’ I had never heard of Wagner, nor of Siegfried. I thought the Twilight of the Gods meant the twilight in which the gods lived. How did I know, at once and beyond question, that this was no Celtic, or silvan, or terrestrial twilight? But so it was. Pure ‘Northernness’ engulfed me: a vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless twilight of Northern summer, remoteness, severity … and almost at the same moment I knew that I had met this before, long, long ago (it hardly seems longer now) in Tegner’s Drapa, that Siegfried (whatever it might be) belonged to the same world as Balder and the sunward-sailing cranes.

And with that plunge back into my own past there arose at once, almost like heartbreak, the memory of Joy itself, the knowledge that I had once had what I had now lacked for years, that I was returning at last from exile and desert lands to my own country; and the distance of the Twilight of the Gods and the distance of my own past Joy, both unattainable, flowed together into a single, unendurable sense of desire and loss … At once I knew (with fatal knowledge) that to ‘have it again’ was the supreme and only important object of desire.⁵¹

      The craze for all things ‘Northern’ that followed this great moment of revelation and the rediscovery of Joy became the most important thing in Lewis’s life for the next two or three years. He describes it as almost a double life, particularly during the unpleasant year at Malvern College (1913–14), when mental ecstasy and physical purgatory alternated with dizzying rapidity.

By the summer of 1912 Jack had discovered the works of Wagner by means of gramophone records. He and Warnie now had a gramophone and ‘gramophone catalogues were already one of my favourite forms of reading; but I had never remotely dreamed that the records from Grand Opera with their queer German or Italian names could have anything to do with me’.⁵² But a magazine called the Soundbox was doing synopses of great operas week by week, and it now did the whole Ring. ‘I read in a rapture and discovered who Siegfried was and what was the “twilight” of the gods.’⁵³ On the strength of this he began to write a poem on the Wagnerian version of the Nibelung story, and to collect records of the operas.

Later that summer Lewis came across an actual copy of the illustrated Siegfried and the Twilight of the Gods on the drawing-room table of his cousin Hope Ewart (now Mrs George Harding) during a visit to her home at Dundrum near Dublin, and found that the Rackham pictures, ‘which seemed to me then to be the very music made visible, plunged me a few fathoms deeper into my delight. I have seldom coveted anything as I coveted that book’⁵⁴ – and he was able to buy the cheaper edition shortly afterwards.

      This visit to Dundrum seems to have merged in his memory with one the following August when he and Warnie were bicycling ‘via Glendalough and the Vale of Avoca through the most glorious scenery possible’, after which he came to record how

this imaginative Renaissance almost at once produced a new appreciation of external nature. At first, I think, this was parasitic on the literary and musical experiences. On that holiday at Dundrum, cycling among the Wicklow mountains, I was almost involuntarily looking for scenes that might belong to the Wagnerian world … But soon (I cannot say how soon) nature ceased to be a mere reminder of books, became herself the medium of the real joy.⁵⁵

In this great Northern Renaissance Lewis found everything else dwarfed in proportion. ‘If the Northernness seemed then a bigger thing than my religion, that may partly have been because my attitude towards it contained elements which my religion ought to have contained and did not.’⁵⁶ Years later, in a lecture to the Socratic Club at Oxford, he confessed that ‘If Christianity is only a mythology, then I find that the mythology I believe in is not the mythology I like best. I like Greek mythology much better: Irish better still: Norse best of all.’⁵⁷ And in another lecture he described himself as one who loved Balder before he loved Christ.⁵⁸

      Meanwhile Lewis was progressing well at school. His first printed works, two undistinguished essays, appeared in the Cherbourg School Magazine; he began to take an interest in the Shakespearean productions of Frank Benson’s company whenever it visited Malvern; and he was becoming a likely candidate for a scholarship to the College.

He was to take the entrance examination in June 1913, but ‘was obliged to retire to bed with rather a high temperature’.⁵⁹ However, Canon James, the headmaster,^* sent the papers over to Cherbourg, and Mr Allen could write to Albert Lewis on 8 June: ‘I am so glad to be able to tell you that your son has been recommended for a Junior Scholarship. This is very satisfactory, as his work was of course much handicapped by being done in bed, when he was feeling far from well.’⁶⁰ Warnie commented that ‘in the circumstances I am inclined to rate his obtaining a Scholarship as the greatest triumph of his career’,⁶¹ while Hope Harding wrote to Albert Lewis: ‘We were delighted to hear the news, and have wired to Jacko to tell him so. I can’t say I’m surprised, however, for I always knew he was a remarkable boy, besides being one of the most lovable I ever came across. George and I are looking forward to the boys’ visit in the summer holidays very much.’⁶²

      Jack bade farewell to Cherbourg School with his first published poem, which appeared in the school magazine on 29 July 1913: ‘Quam Bene Saturno’, after Tibullus (I.iii.35–50), beginning

       Alas! What happy days were those

      When Saturn ruled a peaceful race,

       Or yet the foolish mortals chose

With roads to track the world’s broad face … ⁶³

      Certainly, if the Age of Saturn still lingered during the summer holiday at Dundrum when the Valkyries seemed to be riding over the Mountains of Mourne and Fafnir the dragon guarded the Rhinegold in a cave above the Vale of Avoca, the reign of Jove was about to claim Jack Lewis ‘with grim Array’ when he began his first term at Malvern College on 18 September 1913.

      A week

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