Temporary Kings - Anthony Powell [53]
‘I found Politico-Symbolism, for a person of my limited imaginative faculties, a cul de sac. My aim latterly has been to depict social injustice in as straightforward a manner as possible, compatible with avoiding that too passive Realism of which I have spoken. My own constricted skill has prevented me from attempting some of the more ambitious subjects I have in mind, though I like to think there are signs of improvement. Ah-ha, you do too? I am glad. It is simply a question of documentation in the last resort. You meditate along the correct political lines, the picture almost paints itself. Look at this – and this.’
We inspected a representative collection of Tokenhouse’s more recent work.
‘I don’t want to bore you with my efforts. Shall we set out for the Biennale? If you want to see more, we could look in again after lunch, but I expect you’ve had enough by now.’
He found an ashplant walking-stick, placed on his head a battered grey hat with a greenish-black ribbon, turned down the brim all round, opened the door of the flat. We set off for the Giardini, Tokenhouse at his habitual short rapid stride, a military quickstep, suggesting chronic fear of unpunctuality. He hurried along, hobnailed shoes grinding the cobbles.
‘I’m feeling rather pleased about a letter received this morning. I’ve been revising my will, terms that may surprise some people, among others making the lawyers agree to insert a clause for no religious ceremony at the funeral. They didn’t like it. Don’t like that sort of thing, even these days. I had my way. No nonsense of that sort. Well, tell me about your Conference. What do you all discuss? Plenty of nonsense talked there, I’ll be bound.’
‘The Philosophy of Engagement – Obligations of the Writer – the Arts in relation to World Government – all that sort of thing.’
‘Ah-ha, yes. There can be serious sides to such questions, but they are rarely tackled. Now those attending your Conference, do any émigré writers from the USSR, or Balkan countries, turn up there? One would be interested to hear what such people are saying and thinking, especially the Russians. For example how they react to the “thaw”, as people call it. I’ve been looking through a novel called Dr Zhivago. I expect you’ve heard of it. It’s been given a good deal of publicity. I suppose that sort of book, purporting as it does to present the point of view of certain members of a generation very much on their way out, might give a certain amount of satisfaction to expatriate Russians? Those who’ve chosen to dissociate themselves from the great developments taking place in their country. It would gratify them, a book like that, by stilling their self-reproach. Have you come across instances of that? One would be interested to hear.’
‘I haven’t met any émigré Russians at the Conference. I couldn’t swear none are there.’
‘Which again reminds me. There’s a certain Dr Belkin who might have turned up. He visits Venice from time to time. Usually lets me know at the last moment.’
‘Not an émigré?’
‘No, no. Far from it. A man of the soundest views in his own country. He informed me some little while ago he might be looking in on this congress, or one about this time. He enjoys coming to Venice, because he’s devoted to painting. He’s even kind enough to be interested in my own humble brush. Of course my sort of painting is practised comparatively little in Western Europe. Nice of him to include a novice like myself in his survey. He’s been to visit me several times. Naturally we see eye to eye politically.’
‘Somebody else was asking about him.’
‘Belkin has many friends. I do what I can to keep him up to date about books and things. Hold them for him sometimes, if he’s afraid they’ll go astray in the post. That avoids delay in the long run. He admits his own impatience with some of the bureaucracy unavoidable in getting an entirely new system of government working, a revolutionary one. We all have to face that. There’s quite a lot of stuff he prefers to collect personally when he turns up here.’
‘Somebody said they thought he wouldn’