of those who like allegory or topical reference. But I cordially
dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so
since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer
history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought
and experience of readers. I think that many confuse 'applicability'
with 'allegory'; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and
the other in the purposed domination of the author.
     An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience,
but the ways in which a story- germ uses the soil of experience are
extremely complex, and attempts to define the process are at best
guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous. It is also
false, though naturally attractive, when the lives of an author and
critic have overlapped, to suppose that the movements of thought or
the events of times common to both were necessarily the most powerful
influences. One has indeed personally to come under the shadow of war
to feel fully its oppression; but as the years go by it seems now
often forgotten that to be caught in youth by 1914 was no less hideous
an experience than to be involved in 1939 and the following years. By
1918 all but one of my close friends were dead. Or to take a less
grievous matter: it has been supposed by some that 'The Scouring of