PARTISAN REVIEW
where the real becomes the malleable in art, the garrulous and
shabby people those amusing entertainers who are characters in
fiction.
Like all very entertammg people, Christopher could occasion–
ally be depressive, silent or petulant. Sometimes he would sit in a
room refusing to say a word. This was one of
his
most powerful
effects. Sometimes he was in a Dostoievskian mood of gloom, or a
Baudelairean one of self-damnation. About once a fortnight he was
very hypochondriac, and we would go to the doctor as though to the
executioner, imagining he was condemned to a fatal illness. Some–
times he was broke, and we would force ourselves to think of ways
in which he might earn money. He gave Geiman lessons, he trans–
lated, he occasionally even did a little journalism, but in the Germany
of 1930 you not only had to work very hard to earn money, you also
had to be a financial genius to get paid.
In the early stages of my friendship with Christopher, I was
attracted to him by a sense of the adventure of his life. His renuncia–
tion of England, his poverty, his friendships, the freedom of his life,
his writing, all seemed to me heroic, and I remember that when I
went away for a few weeks we corresponded rather in the spirit of
Polar explorers one of whom had returned for a brief visit to civiliza–
tion. Then the relationship changed and I realize now that on my
side it was vicarious: I was living on his experiences and intensity.
I became dependent on him. I saw most things through
his
eyes, I
wanted him to approve of everything I did, and everyone I knew. I
would introduce friends to him because I wanted to see them through
his eyes, although I knew that if they liked him and he them, they
would probably be drawn as it were from the circumference of my
dependence to him as a centre, would cease to be interested
in
me
and devote themselves to him. In a way, I even wanted this to hap–
pen. It was an aspect of my feeling that I must tell Christopher
everything, offer up my every experience to his intelligence.
At this stage of my life, to make small demands on my friends
seemed to me an act of betrayal, which shows, I suppose, how little
confidence I had in their friendship. For instance, to have said to
Christopher that I would leave Berlin for a few weeks and go by
myself for a few weeks to Rome, would have seemed unthinkable.
I would not have been able to formulate the words in which one ex-
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