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Vol. XXII Fall, 1958
t^l Thought —
Have you had one lately? If not, we hope the contents of this magazine will aid you in
thinking by giving you something to think about. We are not concerned with what you think,
either positively or negatively. The important thing is . . . THINK. There is a tendency among
people to accept a story, poem, or essay as something to read but not to think about. Thev often
classify a writing as bad if it does not have a philosophy which is acceptable to the reader. We
must realize that it is often the purpose of a writer to create a negative reaction in order to get
across his point.
In this magazine the authors of the material have written in various modern and traditional
styles, in order to arouse thovight. The expounded thoughts and situations are not necessarilv the
thoughts or beliefs of the authors. They are merely using some of the greatest of the thought-
provoking mediums — poetry, modern fiction and the comparative essay.
The power of thought is, in itself, a great medium pertaining particularly to the human race.
It is a shame we don't use it more often.
N.ANCY Lee Brubeck, Editor-in-Chief.
IN THIS ISSUE
Cover Carol Lassiter
Laments I and II Alyce Somerville 2
Pigeons on the Grass Alas Judy Harris 3
Commonplace and Legend LaVeme Collier 4
The Laughter of Little Children Kay Howard 5
The Chase LaVerne Collier 6
Left Alone Bonnie Mann 7
Lawrence and Freud: The Prophet and the Oracle Molly Workman 8
Psychoanalysis Two Sophomores (wise fools) Ink blots by Barbara Odom 10-11
Helpful Hints for English 211-212 12
The Critics' Corner 14
Prima Donna La\ erne Collier 17
Editor-in-Chief Nancy Lee Brubeck
Managing Editor Molly Workman
Business Manager Betty Griggs
Short Story Editor Ann Glover
Poetry Editor Alyce Somerville
Art Editor Carol Lassiter
Re\iew Editor Molly Workman
CiRCUL.\TioN Manager Mary Ellen Moore
He.\d Typist Barbara Rossiter
Faculty Ad\isor Dr. Richard K. Meeker
Sandra Clements. Pat Cleveland. LaVerne Collier. Joanne Fivel. Judy Harris. Kay Howard,
Bonnie Mann, Norrish Munson, Linda Poff, Sandra Snyder, Jane Stegall, Page Tolleson, Emily
Becky Abernathy, Anne Clarke, Joyce Ellis. Jackie Gibson, Nancy Harnsberger, Barbara
Railey, Sarah Rock, Joan JLee Thomas, Dotsie Wheeler.
LAMENTS I AND II
I walked beside the mourning sea
Once the earth was full of joy,
And listened to the weeping wind
Longing to give birth.
Sing hymns of sorrow to the night
Life was given then to me:
As dawn the peace of night did rend.
I am the child of mirth.
The mountains shivered in the light.
Alone I walked upon the earth.
The dying leaves fell on earth's face.
Fate upon me smiled.
I wandered over all the land
To bear another was mv task.
Searching for a joyous dwelling place.
Sorrow is my child.
PIGEONS ON THE GRASS ALAS
by Judy Harris
I started thinking about llic hiids
as soon as I stepped from the term-
inal into the street. I knew the people
on the subway had reminded me of
something — crowded, all fighting for
a seat, and each one with his own
distinct odor, a musty smell like a
pile of damp feathers. And now the
birds; here they are, a flock of them
running around the street and in the
gutter, all oblivious to the people and
noise around. I wanted to kick one,
but the thought gave me a sad feel-
ing as though I would be harming
an ignorant child. Well, the birds
are ignorant. And so are people.
Then, I saw two pigeons fighting for
the same piece of garbage, and I
thought of my plan again.
I have been sad too long now; I
have been worrying about the people,
but doing nothing. I am so tired; I
feel as though death is near me, but
I must complete my plan before I
die. I don't want to die, but I can't
think of that now. I must think of my book. I
am a great man, and I must write my book and
explain life to these ignorant birds. Otherwise
they will never know. They never question in
a world that is full of questions. They may be
satisfied, but those birds in the gutter are too.
They are without minds, just surface, a crust
of dead, futile earth that has never been turned.
Everything seems futile and indefinite. Except
death; death is final.
But why do I keep thinking of death? I must
think of life and the people now, for I am going
to teach them. But life is evasive, and these
people are stupid; they have no curiosity. They
won't listen. Bach has made life as clear as a
mathematical equation, but they won't learn
from music. They listen, but they won't hear.
I must tell them and make them hear. People
are like the birds in the street; they don't think;
they live by instinct. And they are stupid.
I can see my apartment house now, and there
are children playing in the street by it. But
what is a house? What is a child? I am going
to write a book! It will be the Verv Greatest
Book. The Only Book. The Only Book of Life.
Yes. But what is life? And where? Whv does
it have to hide from me? I am so tired; I have
searched everywhere and in every man, but
those who say the}- understand my search are
no nearer the secret than I am. The others don"t
care. They are all asleep. They live in a dream
of God and little cliildi-en and singing biids,
but they won't stop to realize that these things
are the epitome of absolute notliing!
But will there be time to show them? Mavbe
I will die before I wake, and the stupid people
will live on in their ignorance. I must not die;
I am the Teacher, and I have not fomid the
answer yet. W'ho is there to tell me when to
die? God? The people have a god. but only
because they are scared. They use their god so
they won't have to think. God is their answer
to everything they don't imderstand. He is
just a habit, an excuse. But can God explain
death to them? Or life? Can they explain
(continued on page 13)
COMMONPLACE AND LEGEND
The rain rages in staccato
Against the roof,
Gasps in the gutter.
And gnaws at the defeated grass.
The wind scratches the skin
Of feeble leaves,
And gnashes at the windows
Of stodgy old houses that
In a harpsichord quaver.
The people move
In tjhe street
Like a shrouded procession
Of harpies and gargoyles
With a yellowing love
For life and element.
However it is told —
London's winds curl
Lilacs into lyres.
The trees of Chantilly
Lift their leaves
To the rain.
Spanish castle walls
And ring as purely
As small prisms
Until it spills over into
A river of mirth
To match the medley
Of the rains.
LA VERNE COLLIER
The Laughter of Little Children
by Kay Howard
"The world is going to end tomorrow,"
Timmy announced. The grin on his dirty Uttle
face made it evident that he was not at all
aware of the meaning of his statement. Rather,
he sensed the spell he had cast on his miniature
audience and he hurried on. "The devil is goin'
to put matches in that iron mushroom down by
the lake and burn up all the animules and
peoples and mommies and daddies and Indians
and everythin'!" At this point he hesitated,
grinning at the awe-stricken five-year-olds be-
"It won't bum me up, Timmy, 'cause I'm
big!" retorted a mud-splattered little girl. Her
chubby chin was set in indignation, but her
eyes were wide with fright.
"Yes it will. It sure will!" he shouted. "And
you can't do nothin' about it."
"She could put water on her and then the fire
couldn't get her. That's what I'm goin' to do,"
said a freckled face.
"An angel could come get her," spoke up a
thoughtful lad. The last remark seemed to
satisfy the little girl. Her face brightened.
She turned her attention from Timmy to pig-
tails matted with dried mud and red ribbons.
Timmy shrugged off his opposition and con-
tinued. After all, what did they know? They
never listened to his daddy speak in church.
They always giggled, but Timmy listened. That
is, he listened most of the time. Sometimes he
squirmed in his seat while his mind drifted to
other things — spacemen and Indians and things.
Timmy cocked his head, thought a moment,
and plunged on — "God and all his angels is
goin' to blow and blow at the big fire, but the
angels are little and they'll fall down in the
clouds 'cause they'll get tired and won't have
no more breath. Then God is goin' to call all
his people and tell them to climb lots of stairs
and everybody'll have to wear space helmets
'cause the stairs'll be high up in the clouds —
high as space ships go."
This was too much for the little girl in pig-
tails, and she blurted out in the silence which
had fallen among her playmates, "How do you
know that. Timmv Cox?"
"I know that 'cause my daddy said that in
church. He said that people who was strong
could climb up all the stairs, but if you was
weak 'cause you'd been bad, then you'd fall
down in the fire and burn forever. You're goin'
to bum forever 'cause you are bad. You never
listen to my daddy when he talks in church."
Tears made furrows down the little girl's
cheeks. "I try to listen, Timmy, but your
daddy talks too long and says big words and
sometimes he hollers and scares me. I'll listen
next time — I promise. Tell your daddy that
I'll listen next time."
"Yeah. O.K. I'll tell 'm and he'll send an
angel to get you. My daddy and God are real
good friends 'cause my daddy saves souls and
is pretty important. I bet my daddy is the most
important man . . ."
A woman's voice called from a doorway.
"Timmy! Come and wash for dinner." Tinrniv
forgot his speech-making and obediently ran to
was for dinner.
The sun was almost down. The skv was
darkening. The trees wliich enclosed the Cox's
cottage swayed gently in the breeze. There was
always a breeze at this time of day; it crept up
from the lake. But the sky was darkening more
rapidly than usual and the breeze was becom-
ing more of a wind. The trees aroimd the cot-
tage began to rock and whistle eerie times.
They wound around in little circles, occasion-
ally slapping against window panes — tap —
tap — tap.
Little Tinmiy ate his dinner and watched
Zorro until his mother coaxed him off to bed.
It was eas}' for Timmy to fall fast asleep with
a rh}^hmic tapping at the \Nindow- and the
steady beat of rain on the roof. It wasn't long
before Timmy was lost in di-eams of candv
mountains and ice cream houses, or was it a
dream of big brown bears and spiders?
The tapping at the window became a pound-
ing and the rain could no longer be beard above
the thunder. Tinmiy slept. Occasional flashes
of lightning lit up his sleepmg form. Rain
spilled itself through his ^^-indow and onto a
(continued on page 18^
With elusive swish
of tail feathers
your wings swell their width again.
I smile at the stroke
of your feathers
of my being,
pluckmg full-noted rhapsodies
with a sleek wing.
Only your glide vibrates
soul and heart,
out of the chords.
Seizing your soft body,
feeling the flutter of muscles,
Hearing your subtle music,
I sing out
swathed in silk.
of my fingers
while you become
of fragile bones and skin
parchment — thin
with life liquid
through the tissues
by greedy fingers.
In frenzy I try
to blow life
into your frail structure,
into a pile of
ragged paper and splinters.
Then I spit out
edged in sand. La Verne Collier
hy Bonnii^ Mann
The snakes are all over the place — climbing
up my legs, wrapping their long slimy bodies
around me. I can feel their cold claminess
against my skin. Why don't they go away?
God, I wish they'd go away! I haven't done
anything to deserve this. I have always been
good. I do everything Mama tells me. I do
everything Bob says. There are no children.
I always wanted children; I deserve children —
little children, climbing up my legs and wrap-
ping their fat, little arms around me. Oh God,
I wdsh they'd go away! Sometimes they do,
but they always come back. I remember the
first day they came. Mama comes to the house
every day. Bob likes Mama. The snakes came
that day — they came after the last day mama
came and it wasn't my fault. I don't like blood!
The snakes like blood. They come when they
know it is there. They came after me that day
and carried me here.
Sometimes a man comes and looks at me.
He is a sad man. Sometimes he touches me —
like the snakes. I was beautiful once. I was
a princess — I lived in a beautiful palace. They
have taken everything. The witch was there —
the prince was there, too. And then, the witch
went away and the snakes came. There must
be a thousand or more. Sometimes they bite
me; I die, but I wake up and they are gone;
then they come back. I fight and fight, bvit
they always bite me. Ha! They tickle, they
tickle — they slide up my legs and down my
arms and they tickle — ha! I was the most
beautiful thing. I knew I was beautiful. The
king said I was beautiful — but the witch was
ugly, ugly, ugly! She was too ugly to be here.
The snakes are on my arms and legs — I can't
move. They are white now. Maybe they are
dead. No! No! They are rubbing on my head
— they are squeezing me — I can't breathe.
God! I can't breathe.
The witch hated me; she talked and talked.
She always talked. She took everything. She
did it and he liked her. He talked and talked
to her and never to me. He brought her things.
I only have snakes. Sometimes I think I like
the snakes. They rub my head — they feel cool
on my head — but they get in my hair! Now I
am ugly like the witch. I look like the witch:
I have many arms and legs — I have too many
arms and legs. My eyes are black and I am
hard — hard like a — a — table! I feel like a table.
The table was in between us. but it didn't
matter — the witch is gone now. It was a beau-
tiful table; now it is stained and ugly. Every-
thing was beautiful before the witch came, but
I was the most beautiful of all. Mama took my
doll away — I ^vasn"t a big girl — I cried. I was
a little girl. I want my doll. It was black and
narro^v there where the witch put me. There
were things hanging over my eyes — I couldn't
breathe — the \valls closed in on me and
I had a little kitten — it was an ugly little
kitten with no tail — it \yas gray and bro\\ii
^^^th sad green eyes. It loved me — it jiist sat
there, looking, with its sad green eyes, and then
it looked no more. There ^vas a tree by the
stream — the tree had no leaves and the stream
had no water — my beautiful palace was beside
the stream — I looked from the palace window
at the tree and cried because the ^^^tch was
there. She wore a black dress and she had a
broomstick, but her nose was not long and
pointed. It \vas short, flat and piggish.
(, continued on page 13)
In 1913. D. H. Lawrence published the final
version of his third novel. Sons and Lovers. In
the opinion of several critics. Lawrence was not
at that time familiar with the teachings of the
German psychologist, Sigmund Freud. If this
is the case, it may be assumed that those evi-
dences in the novel of the mother-son relation-
ship, which, Freud labeled the Oedipus com-
plex, were Lawrence's own conclusions upon
the subject, independent of the Freudian theory
prevalent at the time. However, the interest
which psychoanalysts showed in Sons and Lov-
ers after its publication led Lawrence himself
into a study of Freudianism. His subsequent
rejection of Freud's basic theories is an impor-
tant element in the interpretation of Lawrence's
Before we enter into any discussion of Law-
rence's disagreement with Freud, it will per-
haps be helpful to quote the author's own sum-
mary of Sons and Lovers, which he wrote in a
letter to Edward Gamett of November 14, 1912.
A woman of character and refinement goes into
the lower class, and has no satisfaction in her
own life. She has had a passion for her hus-
band, so the children are born of passion, and
have heaps of vitality. But as her sons grow
up, she selects them as lovers — first the eldest,
then the second. These sons are urged into
life by their reciprocal love of their mother —
urged on and on. But when they come to
manhood, they can't love, because their mother
is the strongest power in their lives, and holds
them. ... As soon as the young men come
into contact with women there is a split.
William gives his sex to a fribble, and his
mother holds his soul. But the split kills him.
because he doesn't know where he is. The next
son gets a woman who fights for his soul —
fights his mother. The son loves the mother —
all the sons hate and are jealous of the father.
The battle goes on between the mother and the
girl, with the son as the object. The mother
gradually proves the stronger, because of the
tie of blood. The son decides to leave his soul
in his mother's hands, and, like his elder
brother, go for passion. Then the split begins
to tell again. But, almost unconsciously, the
mother realizes what is the matter and begins
to die. The son casts off his mistress, attends
to his mother dying. He is left in the end
naked of everything, with the drift towards
The similarity between Lawrence's story —
'^The son loves the mother — all the sons hate
and are jealous of the father" — and Freud's
conception of the Oedipus complex is quite
obvious. However, according to Freud, the
Oedipus situation is based upon an unconscious
incest-striving, which is in turn an outgrowth
of infant sexuaUty. Freud further insisted that
both incest-striving and infant sexuality are
natural stages of human growth and that the
inhibition of these instincts is the basis of all
According to Frederick J. Hoffman in Freud-
ianism and the Literary Mind. Lawrence's re-
jection of the Oedipus situation is based upon a
misinterpretation of this theory. ". . . it is a
mistake to claim that (Freud) advocated the
fulfillment of the incest-craving as a means of
cure. The object of analysis is neither to find
incest in. the patient's infantile sex life nor to
pronounce one or another sort of moral judg-
ment upon it. It is chiefly to point out the
impracticability of incest as a regulating factor
in the patient's life. Implicit in Lawrence's
criticism is the error of the lay critic, who be-
lieves that Freud opposes inhibitions; he does
not countenance incest as a means of releasing
man from the inhibition of his incest-craving,
but suggest sublimation, re-direction, and refor-
mation of one's conscious controls over the
early sex life."
Lawrence was aware that Freud considered
the inhibition of incest-craving to be a universal
human instinct. But, since in Lawrence's
opinion any inhibition which causes neurosis
and insanity is wrong, the emphasis which
p.sychoanalysts place upon the Oedipus situa-
tion is also wrong. Therefore, Lawrence reject-
ed the letter of the Freudian incest-striving
theory, although he was willing to admit to the
existence of the mother-son relationship as it
appears in his own work.
How, then, in the light of Lawrence's rejec-
tion of Freud, are we to interpret the Oedipus
situation in Sons and Lovers? Lawrence would
have it that the reciprocal affection of Mrs.
Morel and her sons is merely the "tie of blood,"
of kinship. However, Lawrence himself refers
to them as her "lovers," and no such strong
^ND THE ORACLE
affection appears to exist for the daughter.
Annie. Furthermore, it is only their relations
with other women which causes conflicts be-
tween the mother and her sons. In other ac-
tivities — their work, their attempts to get on in
the world — Mrs. Morel aids and encourages
them. It is only the women whom she fears
and whom she is jealous. Her patent dis-
approval of William's fiancee and the mental
conflict which grows out of it sends that young
man to an early grave. When she transfers her
devotion to the second son, Paul the same situ-
ation arises, although in this instance the con-
flict succeeds in wearing down and killing the
mother rather than the son.
Although the portrait of Mrs. Morel in Sons
and Lovers is generally a sympathetic one,
there is something frightening, almost horrible
in her selfish determination to hold her son's
affection in order to make up for the husband
whom she has cast off. She is distrustful of
Paul's relationship with his childhood sweet-
heart, Miriam, and accuses the girl of being
"one of those who will want to such a man's
soul out till he has none of his o^^^l left . . .
She will never let him become a man; she
never will." This is reasonably accurate crit-
icism of Miriam. Ironically, however, it may
also be applied to Mrs. Morel herself. The
tragedy of Sofis and Lovers is not the bitterness
of a broken love affair between Paul and
Miriam or Paul and Clara. It is, rather, the
tragedy of a mother's over-protective, over-
affectionate attitude toward a sensitive and
adoring son, which deprives him of a normal
relationship with another woman.
It would seem, then, despite Lawrence's de-
nials, that the Oedipus situation is implicit in
Sons and Lovers. And, although the incest mo-
tive is never actually recognized in the novel,
it is manifest in Lawrence's physical, almost
sensual expression of the affection between
Paul and his mother. In the light of the knowl-
edge that the earlier part of the novel is largely
iiuloliiographiral, it i.s not surprising thai I^iw-
renco would choose to reject the Freudian roi-
copt of the Oedipus situation. Incest is alwajs
a repugnant subject, particularly when it
carries personal connotations.
Lawrence's quarrel with Freudian theory
goes far beyond his disagreement with the basic
Oedipus situation. The difference between the
creative artist and the interpretive scientist is
essentially one of attitude or point of view. In
the case of Lawrence and Freud, the difference
is pointed and obvious. According to Mr. Hoff-
man in Freudianism and the Literary Mind, the
basis of Lawrence's criticism of Freud is part
and parcel of Lawrence's vitalistic philosophy
of life. Lawrence himself attempted to defend
his position in several essays, notably. Psycho-
analysis and the Unconscious.
In Freud's theory, the Unconscious is the
repository of those basic drives which he has
labeled the pleasure principle. The conflict be-
tween man's instinctual desire for pleasure and
the reality of the external world results in such
mental and emotional distvn-bances as neurosis
and insanity. Through the practice of psycho-
anah'sis, Freud hoped to bring these repressed
desires into the light of the Conscious mind and
thereby cure the disturbance of the individual.
Lawrence strongly objected both to the spirit
and the letter of Freudian psychoanah"tic
theory. First of all. his definition of the L'n-
conscious is quite different from that of Freud.
To Lawrence, the true Unconsciovis is the well
and source of vital life. Freud tells us that it
is the inhibition of the pleasure principle in the
LTnconscious w^hich cripples the mental and
emotional processes. Lawrence would have it
that it is the mind, inhibited by the narrow-
mental and emotional attitudes of modern ci^-il-
ization. which has siicceeded in crippling and
enfeebling the LTnconscious.
Lawrence objected to psychotherapy on the
grounds that any conscious realization of the
processes of the LTnconscious tends to restrict
and limit the vitality of the LTnconscious. He
classed psychoanalysis with modem science —
which he loathed because it represents a denial
of man's real, ^•ital interests — and condenuied
(continued on page 16)
A practical tesi
turn to page
or your test.
Choose one of each of the following ink blot
Ink Blot A
3. Two poodles and a pekingese.
Ink Blot B
1. Two log rollers who just bumped into each
2. Two genies arguing over who gets the bi-
3. "Take me to your leader." (Upside down.)
Ink Blot C
1. A boxer with cauliflower ears.
2. A headless football hero. (Upside down.)
3. "What, me worry?"
Ink Blot D
1. The new silhouette for 1960 .
2. Two martians fighting over which wav to
take the turtle.
3. Siamese elves trying to figure out how to get
in a tank suit.
Ink Blot E
1. Two Russians with monkeys on their backs.
2. Daniel Boone with his nose pressed against
3. "Momma says we have to apologize for
spilling that ink.'"
Evaluation of Results
If you had 1,2,3, 2, 1:
You always follow given patterns, and with a
little persuasion you could develop a case of
pseudomania. A case such as this would most
likely originate in a person taking an overdose
of methods classes.
If you had 3, 2, 1, 3, 2:
You are individualist and do everything back-
wards. You are probably also a victim of
psychrolusia (cold bathing) which develops
when one lives in a college dormitory.
If you thought all of these were ink blots,
you are the only normal person around and I
suggest you ])i;iy dumb. They woidd banish us,
Helpful Hints For English 211-212
(Note: This handy guide w'as created by a
graduate of English 211-212 who received an
"A" on the course. Any resemblance to a Long-
wood course or professor is purely intentional).
General Do's and Don't's
1. Open window before Professor enters
classroom. Professor is unhappy and
frustrated if he cannot do this for himself.
2. Snicker when Professor sits down behind
desk, presses fingertips together, looks
over class and says "Hum! ". This is a
habit of many years' standing which en-
dears Professor to all who know him.
3. Cn' or become angry when Professor
makes sarcastic remark. Professor re-
spects those who can "take it."
4. Read assignments before class. Professor
prefers fresh, novel interpretations which
must be created on the spot.
1. Talk about MAD magazine whenever
possible. Professor is a MAD fan.
2. Purchase a textbook and write copious,
illegible notes in margin.
3. Argue spiritedly over any point or inter-
pretation which comes up in class. Pro-
fessor loves intellectual discussions.
4. Join the Colonnade staff. This impresses
Professor with your sincere interest in
5. Go to Professor's office occasionally for
heart-to-heart chat. This impresses Pro-
fessor with your sincere desire to pass the
6. Inquire frequently about health of Pro-
fessor's child(ren). This creates friendly
7. Offer to babysit for Professor. This is
financially as well as academically re-
Tests and Examinations
1. Faint when mimeographed tests are
passed out. The questions are just as hard
as they look, but there's no use in getting
2. Use textbook unless absolutely necessary.
Be sure to turn down flaps or mark pages
so that no time will be lost leafing
through table of contents looking for
particular poem or story.
(continued on page 19)
(continued from page 7)
There are not so many snakes now — maybe
they have gone where the witch is — they are
her children — I have no children. Children
would have pleased her, but I have no children
— no soft, squirming babies. I would have
loved my babies — I loved my doll — but the
witch took my doll away! It was beautiful —
it had yellow curls and blue eyes, but it had no
clothes — the poor thing had no clothes. I was
a little girl, not a big girl. I don't think the
snakes like me — Mama said to be nice and
everyone would like me — but see! Ha! The
snakes don't like me — many have gone away —
don't go away. Mama said ... It is on the
table! I forgot to cut it for supper! Where is
the knife? What time is it? He is late. "Don't
worry about him — leave him alone. When your
father was . . ."
Oh Mama no — hush Mama — shut up Mama!
No, it wasn't my fault, but the snakes came
anyway and now they are leaving. I'm not
glad — no, I'm not glad. I feel safer when they
are here. I am so hot and they feel cool —
some of them are beautiful — I like to look at
them! No, don't go away, snakes — I don't hate
you anymore — stay with me — be my babies — I
will be good to you, and take care of you — stop!
Once upon a time a long time ago, there was a
handsome prince. He was the most handsome
prince. He came to my palace on a beautiful
white horse with silver bells; I heard the bells
and one day we walked together. He was my
prince! He wasn't hers — but he liked her — mv
prince liked the witch. They talked together —
they sang together — the wdtch had a horrible
voice — it squeaked and shrieked — it made the
spiders and the tlies run.
There are only three snakes now! And they
are very still, very still. They must be asleep.
I will be very quiet — I won't awaken them.
Sh! I wonder where Mama is — Mama comes
every day — I must tell her not to awaken them.
Mama always talks! But where is Mama? She
comes ever}- day . . . she came the day they
brought me here ... I was in the kitchen — the
snakes weren't there I hen, but Mama w-as there
— he likes aphrodesia . . . She was making it
ihiil rl;iy — she always make it! I/K)k! Th'*
snakes don't breathe! The snakps don't move.
What's wrong, snakes? The snakes are dead!
There is only a shell left now. I'm sorrj', so
sorry. Where is she? Oh God, where? Is she
asleep? Yes, she is asleep . . . yes. I mustn't
awaken her — I can't! Did I cut it? Oh, jes,
God. I did it and they have left me alone!
PIGEONS ON THE GRASS
(continued from page 3j
God in life? No. Maybe death is the answer
to God. Yes, yes! It is . . . Death is God and
god is Death! But He is afraid of me; he will
take me away because I have found him out.
Oh you stupid little pigeons in the gutter. You
stupid people who worship Death. You are
hypocrites; Death has taught you well and you
spurn his teachings because you are ignorant
and will not understand. You will learn though:
you will all meet your god and he will take
you away as he is taking me. We will all be-
come part of God and will absorb the world:
then there will be nothing. Just Death, our god.
I am not afraid of my Death-god. for I have
known him a long time, but I must tell Walt:
then I wdll tell the people so they can prepare
for what is to come. Poor, poor people: they
are innocent, yet they must die. But that little
pigeon on the railing will not die: he will just
sit there and smile as we stupid ones are taken
away. And he is the cause of my death; he
made me think and now I will die and he will
live. But I will not let that smiling bird stay;
if I must go. I will take him too. evil one. He
is so tame I can reach out and take him in my
hands; he is soft and warm and he is not afraid
of me at all. But you will not smile at me for
long, little bird. You have made me mad and
you will kill me. but I will kill you fii'st. I can
hold you in my hands, and while you grin up
at me. I will put my fingers around your neck
and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze. Now.
^•ou demon bird, you are no longer smiling at
me. You are limp now and I am happy; you
have made me cry. you silly dead bird, but now
I can throw my head back and laugh and laugh
The Critics Corner
The Reluctant Debutante
The unique reputation of the Barter Theatre
of Virginia invariably preceeds it on tour, for
the Barter has enjoyed many successful theatri-
cal seasons. It is unfortunate, therefore, that
such a potentially enjoyable experience should
turn out to be such a disappointment. The
Barter's production of William Douglas Home's
The Reluctant Debutante, presented in Jarman
Hall on October 27, was indeed disappointing.
Perhaps a great deal of the failure of the
production may be blamed on the script itself.
The plav concerns the escort problems of an
English debutante, a subject which is rather
unfamiliar to most American audiences. The
story, based on a twist of the old mistaken-
identity theme, is the type of sophisticated
corned}- which other English playwTights. such
as Oscar Wilde in The Importance of Being
Earnest, have handled with much greater suc-
cess. Mr. Douglas Home has produced some
very witty dialogue, but the play is definitely
handicapped b}- the rather commonplace comic
conventions of the plot.
The Barter Theatre has long been noted as a
testing ground for new young talent and has
proved a professional springboard for such
■"name" stars as Gregory Peck. Hume Cronyn,
Ernest Borgnine. Lizbeth Scott and Frank Love-
joy. However, if the talent displayed in The
Reluctant Debutante is any indication of the
future of the acting profession, then the future
looks unpromising indeed.
Ned Beatty, as the debutante's long-suffering
father, proved amusing enough in spite of the
fact that his lines were often obscured by a
thick British accent. Diane Hill as the anxious
mother showed a carefully-wrought characteri-
zation, particularly in her scenes on the tele-
phone, but too frequently appeared artificial or
"studied." In the role of the debutante, blonde
Carolyn Condron was adequate, if not impres-
sive. And Mitch Ryan as the unacceptable
suitor did his professional best in a dismal role
which is quite unworthy of his talents. (Mr.
Ryan is well remembered here for his portrayal
of the title role in The Rainmaker last season.)
Although none of the performances were out-
standing, the majority were at least profession-
ally acceptable. The exceptions were Rose
Maree Jordon, whose portraj^al of Mabel Cross-
waite lacked the comic spirit, and Kitty Kreutz,
who seemed to lack any spirit at all . . .
The entire play showed occasional flashes of
deft direction, which were unfortunately not
sustained throughout. After a good start, the
pace fell off badly in the second act, as though
the actors had suddenly grown weary of the
whole affair. The third act improved, but the
play never quite regained its initial vigor.
On the technical end of the production, both
the set and the costumes appeared to be rather
uninspired, although perhaps the limitations of
a road show company make this understandable.
Taken as a whole, the production was reason-
ably successful. However, mere professional
adequacy is not what an audience expects for a
company' with a national reputation. Undoubt-
edly, there are better productions in the Barter
repertoire, and it is unfortunate that The Re-
luctant Debutante was the play chosen to repre-
sent the company on tour. It is to be hoped
that future productions will bring us a happier
cho ce of material as well as a better presenta-
tion of that material.
Tyrone Guthrie's conception of Greek theatre
was exhibited at Longwood on October 20. Mr.
Guthrie's idea was sound, so the resultant per-
formance was good. The limitations of the film
medium kept some of the "Greekness" out, but
Oedipus Rex came through without much muti-
lation — other than the self-inflicted type.
Extreme stylization was the most prominent
feature of the film. Of the stylistic devices, the
most striking were the masks. After the initial
shock, one became accustomed to the absence (jf
facial expression. Jocasta's mask, however, was
overdone and the faces of some of the chorus
members were definitely too gruesome. The
lack of facial expression was replaced by vocal
inflection, body movement, and what we mod-
erns term "overacting." The "overacting" is
another stylistic device which the Greeks used
to put the point over clearly to the back rows
of the amphitheatre. It seemed ludicrous, be-
cause Mr. Guthrie had us suspended some-
where above the altar of Dionysus — a modern
miracle which the Greeks were unable to
The cast of relative unknowns performed
effectively in a professional manner. Their
voices were in pleasant contrast and their lines
were delivered with great feeling.
The chorus was most impressive. Their main
contribution was in providing a flow of action
by shifting focus. First they blend with the
background; now they overwhelm the king
with their mass; now they fade for him to
speak. Because of a faulty soundtrack, how-
ever, the chorus was often unintelligible. For-
tunately, their function was not amplification
of sound to the cheap seats in the back of the
Oedipus Rex was a novel experience and a
worthwhile one. However, this critic advises
delay before trying to buy the soundtrack al-
bum. Lunes, Lowe and Sophocles may concoct
a musical version.
VAN CLIBURN Richmond, Virginia
"Appassionata" Sonata .... Beethoven
Sonata in C major, K.330 .... Mozart
Sonata No. 6 Prokofieff
Scherzo, C-sharp minor Chopin
Fantasie, F minor Chopin
J/eux d'eau Ravel
Mephisto Waltz Liszt
After having postponed his debut to a Rich-
mond audience, Van Cliburn made up for any
inconvience he may have caused the \i<-i)\>\f:.
On this rainy Tuesday evening a standing-
room-only audience heard one of the finf".!
musicians of our day.
At I he suggestion of several local musicians,
Mr. Cliburn substituted the beloved "Appas-
sionata" Sonata of Beethoven for the Bach
Tacatta in C minor. This proved to be a wise
choice in many ways. Mr. Cliburn had a deep
inner understanding of the composition, and
this he managed to transmit to his listeners.
Here were to be found both power and subtle
The second composition of the evening was
the Mozart Sonata in C major, K.330. After
the highly romantic Beethoven, the Mozart
seemed like a breath of fresh air. The wonder-
ful second movement was given one of the
finest readings possible. Van Cliburn is the
master of floating pianissimo tones.
The long and difficult first half of the pro-
gram was completed by a performance of Pro-
kofieff's Sixth Sonata. This sonata is one of a
trilogy written by the contemporar\' Russian
composer commemorating World War II. The
fact that such a young musician could even
attempt this work is remarkable. That Mr.
Cliburn is the master of this music is even more
remarkable. This composition, perhaps more
than any other in the program, would require a
After intermission. Mr. Cliburn retiu-ned to
play two works of Chopin and a piece by
Maurice Ravel. The two Chopin pieces were
very well done. The Ravel was not so well
done. The spirit of impressionistic music does
not seem to have comnnmicated itself to Mi-.
Cliburn. This was the one weak point of the
The last number on the progiam was Franz
Liszt's Mephisto Waltz. Satan seems to have
literally' jumped from the keyboard. Here was
a devil full of life and entirely capable of cap-
turing the soul of Faust or any other man. It
was a wonderful climax to a fine evening.
Many may have gone to see Van Cliburn out
of curiosity. It might be said of him that he
came, he was heard, and he conquered his
Jo.\NX L. FrvEL
Lawrence and Freud
(continued from page 9)
Freud as a mere scientist who was more con-
cerned with cHnical theory than with the actual
problem of living. He further believed, F. J.
Hoffman says, that the patient-analyst relation-
ship "placed too much emphasis upon complete
submission on the part of the patient. Lawrence
was unwilling to have any one person submit
entirely to another; such a condition would de-
stroy the precious germ of organic individu-
ality . . ." which was so vital to his philosophy.
Lawrence himself said that "While the Freud-
ian theory of the unconscious ... is valuable as
a description of our psychological condition, the
moment you begin to apply it, and make it
master of the living situation, you have begun
to substitute one mechanistic or unconscious
illusion for another."
It seems fairly obvious, then, that Lawrence
took it upon himself to change and amend
Freudian psychology to fit his own theories of
behavior. But, although the two men worked
in different media and from an altogether dif-
ferent point of view, it is apparent that their
goals were practically synonymous. Each, in
his own way, desired to relieve the world of the
great ills of personal disharmony and malad-
justment. Freud believed that the answer lay
in therapeutic analysis, which involves recogni-
tion and redirection of the unconscious, instinct-
ual desires; Lawrence believed that it could be
found in the perfection of the sexual relation-
ship and the submission of the individual to the
unconscious or instinctual life.
Sons and Lovers had been Lawrence's psycho-
logical biography. In Lady Chatterley's Lover
the novelist abandoned the fictionalized reality
of the earlier work in favor of a fictionalized
ideal. Sons and Lovers was Lawrence's concep-
tion of life as it was; Lady Chatterley's Lover
was Lawrence's vision of life as it should be.
The latter novel also incorporated the avithor's
criticism of society as it affected his idea of a
meaningful existence. It is Lawrence's final,
definitive statement of his philosophy.
The plot of Lady Chatterley's Lover is a
fairly simple one. A young woman of the
higher middle class, Constance Reid, marries
Clifford Chatterley, heir to a baronetcy. A few
months after the wedding, Clifford retin-ns from
the First World War, seriously wounded. Al-
though he eventually recovers, he remains a
hopeless cripple, paralyzed from the hips down
and therefore incapable of fulfilling his role as
a husband. Upon the death of Clifford's father
shortly afterwards, the baronetcy passes to his
son, and the new Lord and Ladj^ Chatterley
moved into "Wragby," the family seat in the
Frustrated in her marriage relationship and
lacking children or other compensations which
might have absorbed her energies, Connie turns
to an affair with a shallow young playwright
called Michaelis. This unsatisfactory relation-
ship is soon terminated. Then Connie becomes
attracted to Oliver Mellors, the gamekeeper at
Wragby. At this point, the novel becomes a
phallic gospel. The physical and spiritual ful-
fillment which Connie finds in her relationship
wdth Mellors is the focal point of the novel and
the ideal culmination of Lawrence's desire to
live in harmony with the bodily consciousness
as opposed to the mental. Because she has
found the true source of happiness — the ideal
sexual relationship — Connie repudiates her
husband, her wealth and her position and tells
Clifford that she loves Mellors, is expecting to
bear his child, and wishes to marry him.
Clifford, furious, refuses to give her a divorce,
but the novel closes with the assurance that he
will eventually free her.
The character of Mellors in Lady Chatter-
ley's Lover is Lawrence's answer to Freud and
the psychoanalysts. Mellors is, F. J. Hoffman
says, "the complete Lawrencian man . . . for
he has kept aloof both from the repressive
forces of modern industrialism and from the
petty intellectualism of Clifford's tribe." Mel-
lors, the sensualist, the antithesis of Clifford, is
Lawrence's defense of the "religion of the
blood." The tender, vital, frankly sensual re-
lationship between Mellors and Connie is the
novelist's key to personal peace and content-
ment. In that sense, the sexual relationship in
Lady Chatterley's Lover is as much of a thera-
peutic method as Freudian psychoanalysis.
Lawrence believed that the sexual act "enables
both man and woman to go to the deepest
sources of their natures, and thus to understand
themselves and to know clearly their separate
and complementary roles." To Lawrence, sex
was nol the be-all and end-all of existence, but
a source of renewal by means of which man
and woman might rediscover and re-energize
Self. Thus, what Freud would achieve through
psychoanalysis, Lawrence would achieve in the
physical intimacy of marriage.
The secondary or sub-thesis of Lady Chatter-
ley's Lover concerns Lawrence's view of mod-
ern society. In the novelist's opinion, industri-
alization has robbed man of his vitality. The
working men of England, as symbolized by the
mining class to which Lawrence belonged, have
become so dependent upon their weekly wage
that they have forgotten how to live. And their
economic dependence upon mine owners such
as Clifford condemns them to misery and
poverty and ugliness. Lawrence's most articu-
late statement of this problem and his proposed
solution is found in the letter from Mellors to
Connie, which forms the conclusion of the
"If you could only tell them that living and
spending isn't the same thing! But it's no
good. If only thej' weie educated to live
instead of earn and spend, they could manage
very happily on twenty-five shillings. If the
men wore scarlet trousers, as I said, they
wouldn't think so much of monej': if they
could dance and hop and skip, and sing and
swagger and be handsome, they could do with
verj- little cash. And amuse the women them-
selves, and be amused by the women. They
ought to learn to be naked and handsome, and
to sing in a mass and dance the old group
dances, and carve the stools they sit on, and
embroider their own emblems. Then they
wouldn't need money. And that's the only way
to solve the industrial problem: train the people
to be able to live, and live in handsomeness,
without needing to spend. But you can't do
it. They're all one-track minds nowadays.
Wliereas the mass of people oughtn't even to
trj- to think, because they cannot! Thev should
be alive and frisky, and acknowledge the great
god Pan. He's the only god for the masses,
forever. The few can go in for higher cults if
they like. But let the mass be forever pagan."
Although this kind of approach would seem
to be a plea for primitivism. it is, of course,
advanced metaphorically rather than as a rea-
listic solution to the problem. LawTence's
swaggering, scarlet-trousered men represent an
attitude toward life, and attitude which he be-
lieved would release the working man from his
bondage to the ruling classes. Unlike socialism,
Lawrence's solution is not dependent upon a
theory of class equality nor even upon an
economic principle, save in a negative sense.
To I^awrence, it is the pressure of society which
cripples the individual; but, since the individual
is an intrinsic part of society, the revolution
must come from within. In this sense, I-»i\v-
rence agrees with Freud, who also believed that
man's salvation lay within himself. Freud,
however, would work within the framework of
existing society. Lawrence would tear down
the old framework and build it anew.
During their lifetime, both Lawrence and
Freud came into contact with official censor-
ship. Their separate yet similar opinions met
with similar opposition because both men based
their theories upon the knowledge and interpre-
tation of a social taboo. Both were denounced
as immoral and accused of being freaks or
temporar}' fads. The passage of time, however.
has served to clarify and solidify the position of
both scientist and novelist, although certain
groups still oppose psychoanalysis, and Lady
Chatterley's Lover has not yet been published
in Amercica in an unexpurgated form!
I dare not acknowledge my ego
When she appears undraped.
I tremble to see her stand starkly
Clutching a frayed cheesecloth robe.
Then I rush to hide the mirrors
From her merciless frowTi
Before she discovers her drab face.
I must dress her in saffron and mauve
And draw her whalebone tightly
To my prescribed dimensions.
After I powder her scars.
She is prepared for the pedestal again.
I am her servant for life, it seems.
The Laughter of Little Children
(continued from page 5)
floor painted brightly with smiling clowns and
roller-coasters. The trees outside, like wounded
soldiers, wound and twisted their bodies for-
ward and backward in agony, screaming and
calling into the rain and fog filled night.
Timmy slept. The wind pounded frantically
against the cottage, while its inhabitants slept.
The thunder competed with the screaming
wind and pounding rain for an audience! BAA-
ROOMmmm! It shook a window loose and sent
it smashing to the floor. Timmy sat upright in
bed. his dark, tossled hair contrasted sharply
with the pale of his cheeks. All was silent for
a moment save the thump, thump, thump of a
tiny heart. A brilliant flash of light lit up a
corner of his room — a ray gun, a space helmet
and tribes and tribes of Indians were piled in
careless fashion against a wall covered with
sacred pictures. Lightning flashed again, illum-
inating a picture of christ with a child upon his
knee, birds on his shoulder and flowers at his
feet. The figures seemed to have moved in that
split-second of illumination and settled again
when the light faded.
Timmy crawled cautiously from his bed
and edged his way along the wall toward the
broken window. Another flash of light ap-
peared — silence — thump, thump, thump, —
BAA-ROOMmmm! One dying soldier swept
forth a hand and clutched a row of swinging
wires — pissss-tt — whossh! A sheet of fire raced
along the wires down the soldier's arm, enfold-
ed his body and groped frantically for another
near by. Timmy stood frozen with fright.
"The world is going to end tomorrow — the
devil is goin' to put matches . . ." The thunder
roared and the rain fell harder and the \vind
tore at all in its path. Timmy stooped to the
floor, his eyes still on the blaze outside his
window. His tiny hands scanned the area be-
hind him and came to rest on a slightly-used
space helmet. ". . . and everybody'll have to
wear space helmets 'cause the stairs'll be high
as space ships go."
In the room across the house Mr. Cox was
hurriedly dressing. As a storm warden in the
lake region it was his job to help at the dam.
Mrs. Cox was also stirring. "Will you be long.
"Only as long as it takes to check the water
level. You and Timmy'U be all right 'til
mornin' won't you? It should be daylight in
an hour or so. Higgins down the valley got
the weather report reading and this is the worst
of the storms, but it should pass us 'fore day-
light." Mr. Cox left by the kitchen door where
a car was waiting.
Timmy heard the door slam. "Mommy
and Daddy have gone to climb the ladder.
They've left me all alone. Please, God, send
me an angel! Help me climb the ladder!"
Timmy crawled backwards toward the door.
His eyes would not leave the growing sheet of
Hame. Flashes of light lit his face to distortion.
He put the helmet in place and ran through the
living room to the front door of the cottage.
Timmy struggled with the latch until the door
swung open and banged against the inside wall.
Down the walk and across the front lawn limbs
from giant oaks floated weightlessly through
the air. Bits of trash and an occasional garbage
can lid scraped and scurried along the ground.
Timmy ran. He fell, but picking himself up
he raced on. "She could put water on her; then
the fire couldn't get her . . ." Timmy's light
pajamas were soaked with rain and clung to his
body — a form of pink in the blackness. He
stopped to catch his breath. More trees had
caught fire. Timmy ran toward the lake. The
rain had swollen the water until it pushed and
shoved far above its bed. The fire cast a glow
of dull yellow across the black water. Timmy
fell again. This time he fell into a shallow hole
near the shore of the rising lake. A rock shelt-
ered him from the wind. Too exhausted to
move, Timnij' remained crouched where he had
"Timmy — Timmy!" A hoarse cry rose in
the frantic atmosphere. "Where are you?
Where are you?"
". . . and God will call his people." Timmy's
faint answer was lost in the fury. ". . . an
angel will come and help you climb the lad-
der . . ." This thought was comforting. He
was no longer afraid. Timmy slept.
Morning dawned and with it the hush of the
after-storm. A white truck half submerged in
mud was parked on the shore. A crowd had
gathered, a quiet crowd. Two men in white
knoll ill the mud allondiiig ihc swollen body of
a child stretched limj)ly across a canvas. "Cut
the resj)irator. I think he's coming around."
A battered face blue from cold and lack of
oxygen gazed blankly from the stretcher.
"You've come to help me climb the stairs."
Timmy smiled and said no more.
A tearful man in black, Bible in hand,
stepped from the crowd, stood in the mud and
prayed. ". . . and may the souls of the faithful
departed through the mercy of God rest in
And the laughter of little children shall ring
throuehout the corridors of heaven.
Helpful Hints For English
(continued from page 12 J
For the Finest in Flowers
— call —
CARTER'S FLOWER SHOP
Phone 600 I 16 West Third Street
"JVe sell every bloomin thing"
Matches and Napkins
GRAY'S DRUG STORE
Bring a ream of paper and a whole bottle
of ink to all tests.
2. Bring liniment for relief of writer's
cramp. Professor's tests are always long.
3. Become familiar wdth Professor's method
of marking papers. Favorite hieroglyphics
are: "Ugh!" "?" "Vague" "Why?" "May-
be" "!" "Your point escapes me." "F."
1. Tell the Professor who wrote this!
1. Take the course — you'll love it.
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