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				Comments 
				by 
				
				Aleister 
				 
				Crowley: | 
				     I went back to Paris on 
				July 8th. I worked on Clouds Without Water, Sir 
				Palamedes, The World's Tragedy and "Mr. Todd". In 
				particular, I wrote the autobiographical preface to The 
				World's Tragedy, some ten thousand words, at a stretch; and 
				certain lyrics, mostly about Dorothy, of whom more in a moment. 
				"Mr. Todd", as the name implies, is a personification of death 
				an the idea of the play is to introduce him as deus ex machina, 
				helping the characters one by one out of their various troubles. 
				The idea sounds a good one, but apart from availing myself of my 
				opportunities for double entendre ("I was told the other 
				day that he held a lot of land in London and has more tenants 
				than the Duke of Westminister!"), I could not make much of it. 
				The repetition of the idea was bound to be rather ridiculous. It 
				is my one failure in this period. 
				     The truth doubtless is that 
				I had used up the energy accumulated in my wanderings, and 
				written myself out: i.e., as far as anything big was concerned. 
				I was in excellent form with lyrics and wrote several as good as 
				anything I had ever done. In particular "After Judgment", to the 
				honour and glory of Dorothy, will stand in English literature as 
				one of the most passionate poems in the language. 
				     — The Confessions of Aleister Crowley.  
				New York, NY.  Hill and Wang, 1969.  Pages 573-574.  ______________________________ 
				  
				 
				     Besides this, I was writing 
				a good deal of poetry. Some of my most important work belongs to 
				this period. "The Wizard Way", "the Garden of Janus", "After 
				Judgment" and "Bathyllus" are especially notable. I was seeing a 
				good deal of Frank Harris, who was publishing much of my best 
				work in Vanity Fair. It was the first encouragement I had 
				ever had, and in a way it came too late, since I was already 
				entirely disillusioned with regard to fame. The approval of 
				Frank Harris was another matter; it was something, and something 
				very great, to know that my work gained me the respect of the 
				very few men on the planet who knew the difference between Keats 
				and Lewis Morris. I had been recognized as a poet of the first 
				class by my peers and the applause of the mob would leave me as 
				cold as its neglect or hostility does at present. 
				     — The Confessions of Aleister Crowley.  
				New York, NY.  Hill and Wang, 1969.  Page 594. |  |