Hero_ The Life And Legend Of Lawrence Of Arabia Part 14

At the end of his training, he was a.s.signed to an easy job as a clerk in the quartermaster's stores-very likely this was a sign that those who had gotten him into the army were still trying to protect him as best they could. He had plenty of time on his hands to work on the revisions of Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom and write letters. Once he was settled in the job, he moved his new Brough "Superior" motorcycle up to Bovington, provoking the envy and admiration of his fellow soldiers (who knew that it cost the equivalent of several years of a soldier's pay). He earned some relief from bullying by giving joyrides on it to a favored few. This too must have made Private Shaw seem like an unusual kind of soldier, both to the officers and to the men. Lawrence soon increased the curiosity by renting a nearby cottage called Clouds Hill, in Moreton, about a mile and a half from the camp, where he could get away from the army altogether when he had free time. and write letters. Once he was settled in the job, he moved his new Brough "Superior" motorcycle up to Bovington, provoking the envy and admiration of his fellow soldiers (who knew that it cost the equivalent of several years of a soldier's pay). He earned some relief from bullying by giving joyrides on it to a favored few. This too must have made Private Shaw seem like an unusual kind of soldier, both to the officers and to the men. Lawrence soon increased the curiosity by renting a nearby cottage called Clouds Hill, in Moreton, about a mile and a half from the camp, where he could get away from the army altogether when he had free time.

Built in 1808, Clouds Hill was more or less derelict. By coincidence Lawrence was renting it from "a distant cousin" of his father, a Chapman, for two s.h.i.+llings sixpence a week. Bit by bit Lawrence took on the task of making it habitable. He made a few friends in the Tank Corps; and to one of them, Corporal Dixon, who seemed comparatively well read, he even confided his real ident.i.ty when Dixon asked him what he thought of all the stories about Colonel Lawrence, and whether he thought it was just "a stunt" on the part of the RAF to encourage recruiting. Dixon and a few other friends from Bovington helped Lawrence with the work that needed to be done; and by applying his own gift for building and decoration, he very shortly completed the basics. The cottage was small, damp (because of the overhanging trees), and secluded, and it would eventually become not just his hideaway from Bovington, but his only home. Like a snail's sh.e.l.l, it would gradually be reshaped exactly to Lawrence's Spartan ideas about living; indeed it became almost an extension of his personality.

One of the friends from Bovington was John ("Jock") Bruce, a tough, dour young Scotsman, about nineteen years old when Lawrence first methim. In a letter to Charlotte Shaw over a year later, Lawrence described him as "inarticulate, excessively uncomfortable," which is putting it mildly, since everybody else seems to have found Bruce more than a little menacing: a silent, hulking figure always intensely protective of Lawrence. "Bruce feels like a block of granite," Lawrence wrote to Charlotte, "with myself a squashed door-mat of fossilized bones between two layers."** This is a very striking description of Bruce, whose role in Lawrence's life would be precisely to make his friend and employer feel "squashed" by a giant, implacable, unmovable weight.

Long after Lawrence's death, Bruce claimed to have been introduced to him early in 1922, in circ.u.mstances that seem curious and unlikely even today. According to Bruce, Lawrence was still working at the Colonial Office and was looking for somebody to do "odd jobs" for him. Bruce claimed to have briefly met Lawrence at "the Mayfair flat" of "a Mr. Murray," presumably an acquaintance of Lawrence's. The son of a bankrupt milk distributor in Aberdeen, Bruce was there to be interviewed by Murray "for a position which was to become vacant presently," having been recommended for the job by his family doctor in Scotland, a friend of Murray.

In Bruce's account of this supposed "job interview," there is a louche s.e.xual undertone. If Murray was interviewing Bruce for a job, one wonders why "Colonel Lawrence" (as he still was) would be watching from the sidelines. Bruce was no fool. "Lawrence did nothing without a purpose," he was to write later, "and using people was his masterpiece." Unkind as this judgment may sound, there is undeniably a certain amount of truth to it, at least so far as Lawrence's dealings with Bruce are concerned. Not everybody fell under Lawrence's spell. For example, Harold Nicolson-diplomat, author, and husband of Vita Sackville-West-wrote of Lawrence unflatteringly: "His disloyalty reminded one of the boy who would suck up to the headmaster and then sneak to him about what went on in the school. Even when he became a colonel, he was not the sort of colonel whom one would gladly leave in the office when confidential papers were lying on the desk. So sensitive a man, it seemed to me, ought to have possessed a finer sense of mercy: when, in his gentle voice, he told tales of a ma.s.sacre, his lips a.s.sumed an ugly curl." Much as Bruce was to fall and remain under Lawrence's spell, there is no denying that Lawrence was manipulative and deceptive in dealing with him over the years.

Forty-five years later, when Bruce sold his eighty-five-page typewritten account of their relations.h.i.+p to the Sunday Times, Sunday Times, he described this meeting with Lawrence in detail; but like a great many other things in his story, this description is unverified, and much of it is improbable. He described how Lawrence put him through a series of tests, and, apparently satisfied, eventually revealed that he wanted Bruce to whip him from time to time, and would pay him what amounted to a retainer to do so. he described this meeting with Lawrence in detail; but like a great many other things in his story, this description is unverified, and much of it is improbable. He described how Lawrence put him through a series of tests, and, apparently satisfied, eventually revealed that he wanted Bruce to whip him from time to time, and would pay him what amounted to a retainer to do so.

The one certain truth in Bruce's account is that he took on the role of being Lawrence's chief administer of corporal punishment, but it is more likely that this did not begin until after Lawrence's enlistment at Bovington, and that Lawrence first met Bruce there, as a fellow recruit in Hut 12. Even Lawrence's youngest brother, Arnold, who was Lawrence's literary executor, became sadly and reluctantly convinced that Bruce was telling the truth about this.

Bruce's attempt to place Lawrence in the underground world of male sadomasochism in London, however, must be taken with a very large grain of salt. Admittedly, Lawrence had an interest in flagellation long before his treatment at the hands of the Turks at Deraa. He and his friend the poet James Elroy Flecker, an unapologetic m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t, had talked about the pleasures of being whipped when they were together in Lebanon before before the war. Richard Meinertzhagen claimed that Lawrence behaved provocatively toward him in Paris, infuriating him to the point where he put "little Lawrence" over his knee and smacked his bottom. Lawrence, he reported, "made no attempt to resist and told me later that he could easily understand a woman submitting to rape once a strong man hugged her." Meinertzhagen, however was something less than a reliable witness, since he revised and retyped his diary entries years after the event. Arnold Lawrence compared his brother to a medieval penitent who sought punishment for his sins, real or imagined, and this was certainly an element in Lawrence's need to be whipped. Still, it is hard to draw the line between penance and pleasure, even for Lawrence. the war. Richard Meinertzhagen claimed that Lawrence behaved provocatively toward him in Paris, infuriating him to the point where he put "little Lawrence" over his knee and smacked his bottom. Lawrence, he reported, "made no attempt to resist and told me later that he could easily understand a woman submitting to rape once a strong man hugged her." Meinertzhagen, however was something less than a reliable witness, since he revised and retyped his diary entries years after the event. Arnold Lawrence compared his brother to a medieval penitent who sought punishment for his sins, real or imagined, and this was certainly an element in Lawrence's need to be whipped. Still, it is hard to draw the line between penance and pleasure, even for Lawrence.

Lawrence's desire to be whipped is not by itself a very shocking or very unusual feature of upper-cla.s.s English life ninety years ago-indeed corporal punishment is something of a staple of English humor. This is not to say that sadomasochism in various forms is not equally prevalent in most national cultures-for instance, one thinks of Germany, Austria (Dr. Leopold von Sacher-Masoch was an Austrian), and France (birthplace of the Marquis de Sade himself)-but in England, the connection between whipping and s.e.xual arousal has always been at once a source of snickering humor and an activity which is only barely repressed or hidden. At a time when prost.i.tutes still advertised with a card thumbtacked to their front door, the number of those who offered "Lessons in discipline" never failed to provoke comments from foreign tourists. It would be idle to speculate on the reasons for this, except to note that among those of the upper middle cla.s.s and the upper cla.s.s who attended English boarding schools, whipping on the bare b.u.t.tocks, whether inflicted by masters or by older boys, was not only common but usual-it was considered salutary and character-building-and it sometimes led to a certain confusion between pain and pleasure in later life.

Lawrence's mother, a believer in the old adage "Spare the rod, spoil the child," boasted of slapping young Ned on his bare b.u.t.tocks, and appears to have singled him out for this punishment, since he was by far the most rebellious of her boys. Knowing what we do of Sarah Lawrence's nature, it seems doubtful that a beating inflicted by her would have been gentle. One imagines that she meant it to hurt, and that she believed the Lord would expect her to put her whole strength into each blow; she was not the woman to do things by half, particularly when it came to punis.h.i.+ng wickedness or disobedience. It may be that early in Lawrence's life there was therefore a certain mingling of pleasure with fear and pain-and that however hard he tried to suppress any erotic arousal, he was not capable of eliminating it altogether. The connection between erotic arousal and his mother would certainly explain in part his lifelong flight from her desire for his love. As for the connection between his involuntary erotic arousal when being brutally beaten and sodomized by the Turks, that is not only obvious in Lawrence's own account, but also quite sufficient to explain his extreme dislike of being touched, as well as his lifelong determination to avoid any kind of s.e.xual intimacy.

At this point in his life Lawrence apparently required infrequent sessions of severe pain inflicted by another man. What is more interesting than Lawrence's need for punishment, however, is the bizarre lengths to which he went in order to persuade Bruce that somebody else was ordering ordering the punishment. It is useless to speculate on the degree to which the whippings may have produced erotic arousal or even e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n-i.e., pleasure as opposed to punishment-and neither Lawrence nor Bruce is alive to tell us. But it is quite clear that some measure of both was involved, and that Bruce was picked partly because Lawrence guessed he was reliable, and partly because, like Sarah Lawrence, he would not resort to half measures. Even in a photograph of the young John Bruce, there is something in the eyes and the broad, inflexible mouth that suggests he would consider it his duty to make every blow hurt as much a possible. the punishment. It is useless to speculate on the degree to which the whippings may have produced erotic arousal or even e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n-i.e., pleasure as opposed to punishment-and neither Lawrence nor Bruce is alive to tell us. But it is quite clear that some measure of both was involved, and that Bruce was picked partly because Lawrence guessed he was reliable, and partly because, like Sarah Lawrence, he would not resort to half measures. Even in a photograph of the young John Bruce, there is something in the eyes and the broad, inflexible mouth that suggests he would consider it his duty to make every blow hurt as much a possible.

The degree of artifice, dissimulation, imagination, and careful planning over time, which Lawrence brought to bear on the task of recruiting Bruce to his purposes, is nothing short of astonis.h.i.+ng, and suggests just why Lawrence was regarded as a genius at intelligence and clandestine warfare. In this case, the cover story was as bizarre as the end purpose. Lawrence knew exactly how to manipulate Bruce: money alone would never be his primary motive; Bruce needed to believe in the morality of what he was doing; he needed to believe that he was enforcing punishment ordered by an older authority figure, and inflicting it on somebody who deserved it.

In Bruce's account, Lawrence hatched a story that contained just enough truth to sound plausible. He had borrowed from friends and from "a merchant bank" money that he could not repay, and had gone to a wealthy uncle, the "Old Man," who had inherited money that ought to have gone to Lawrence's father. The Old Man "called him a b.a.s.t.a.r.d not fit to live among decent people," who had "turned his back on G.o.d, lost an excellent position at the Colonial Office, become financially involved 'with the d.a.m.ned Jews,' insulted a Bishop and insulted King George at Buckingham Palace." That Lawrence was "a b.a.s.t.a.r.d" was true, and many people did wrongly believe that he had insulted the king by refusing to accept his decorations. The story about the bishop involved an altercation between the Anglican bishop of Jerusalem and Lawrence over Jewish immigration, which had led Lawrence to declare indignantly that the bishop was not fit "to black Weizmann's boots." In short, Lawrence trolled through his life to find and adapt to his purpose stories that might persuade an elderly relative to punish him. More important, they were stories about acts that Bruce might believe were both reprehensible and true.

Lawrence claimed that his "uncle" was intent on saving the family honor-one of the "threats" Lawrence invented was that if he didn't do exactly as the Old Man demanded, down to the smallest detail, "a meeting of the family would have to be called to see what was to be done with him." This was well calculated to appeal to Bruce, who had a strong sense of family and who respected his milkman father in Aberdeen. The character that Lawrence apparently created for the Old Man is interesting. So far as one can judge, it resembled no male relative Lawrence knew, certainly not his father, whom Lawrence remembers as having stopped once when Ned was a child to upbraid a carter for whipping a horse. In reading Bruce's account of what Lawrence had to say about his "uncle," it seems more than likely that Lawrence built up his character from that of his mother, and merely switched genders, since Bruce was more likely to accept a male authority figure. The old Man's strict moral judgment, his unforgiving sense of right and wrong, his absolute conviction that he knew what was best for Lawrence, and his belief in the value of punishment, pain, and discipline are exactly the qualities that Lawrence found so difficult to accept in his mother. The criticism of his own conduct that Lawrence imputes to the Old Man is exactly what his mother would have said, and the old Man's power to influence and interfere with Lawrence's life is what kept him away from home as much as possible.

The intensity with which Lawrence won Bruce's compliance and his determination that Bruce must agree to do whatever the Old Man told him to do are both impressive and frightening. Lawrence was creating a detailed and plausible fictional world, and a.s.signing Bruce a role in a psychodrama, which would continue off and on until the end of Lawrence's life. Bruce later professed to have been shocked when Lawrence mentioned that the Old Man might call on him to inflict "corporal punishment," but this was surely face-saving on Bruce's part nearly half a century after the fact. It seems much more likely that Bruce guessed what Lawrence wanted from the beginning.

The first of the whippings Bruce claimed to have given Lawrence took place in Clouds Hill, the tiny brick cottage whose roof would soon be replaced. (Lawrence paid for the new roof by selling the gold dagger* he had bought in Mecca.) Lawrence was still elaborating on the fantasy that was intended to give him control over Bruce. The Old Man, he told Bruce, was disappointed because Lawrence had missed church parades, and had dispatched a bircht he had bought in Mecca.) Lawrence was still elaborating on the fantasy that was intended to give him control over Bruce. The Old Man, he told Bruce, was disappointed because Lawrence had missed church parades, and had dispatched a bircht with which Lawrence was to be whipped. This time Lawrence backed up the request with "an unsigned, typed letter which he said was from The Old Man," instructing Bruce that he was not only to carry out the whipping, but "to report in writing ... [and] to describe Lawrence's demeanour and behaviour under punishment." Bruce, the letter promised, would be paid for the whipping. These whippings (and the payments) would be continued at infrequent intervals over the next twelve years, and step by step the letters from the Old Man grew in terms of the complexity of his demands, his requests for accurate reports of Lawrence's reaction, and the loving details of the instruments of punishment to be used. Each of these letters was of course written with great care by Lawrence himself, prescribing down to the last detail the punishments that were to be inflicted on him. When the Old Man requested a reply from Bruce, Bruce handed his letter to Lawrence, for forwarding. with which Lawrence was to be whipped. This time Lawrence backed up the request with "an unsigned, typed letter which he said was from The Old Man," instructing Bruce that he was not only to carry out the whipping, but "to report in writing ... [and] to describe Lawrence's demeanour and behaviour under punishment." Bruce, the letter promised, would be paid for the whipping. These whippings (and the payments) would be continued at infrequent intervals over the next twelve years, and step by step the letters from the Old Man grew in terms of the complexity of his demands, his requests for accurate reports of Lawrence's reaction, and the loving details of the instruments of punishment to be used. Each of these letters was of course written with great care by Lawrence himself, prescribing down to the last detail the punishments that were to be inflicted on him. When the Old Man requested a reply from Bruce, Bruce handed his letter to Lawrence, for forwarding.

Lawrence, after his beating at Deraa, had been able to remember every detail of the "Circa.s.sian riding whip" which was used on him: "tapering from the thickness of a thumb at the grip (which was wrapped in silver, with a k.n.o.b inlaid in a black design) down to a hard point much finer than a pencil." In the letters Bruce claimed to have received from the Old Man, Lawrence was just as precise, even fussy, in describing the details of what he wanted, how it was to be done, and what it was to be done with. It is, in fact, an amazing work of fantasy, backed up with carefully forged letters that were designed to convince Bruce, and succeeded. The letters may have been overkill-there is no evidence that Bruce needed anything like this much persuasion-but their tone is very revealing. It is that of "Colonel Lawrence," direct, explicit, a person of the officer cla.s.s who expects obedience from a social inferior. Nowhere is it clearer that "Colonel Lawrence" was still alive and well, than in these bizarre letters. "Private Meek," as Bernard Shaw would call him in Too True to Be Good, Too True to Be Good, treated Bruce with kid gloves-for Bruce was a difficult and demanding character. But the former lieutenant-colonel gave Bruce the commands, which, except for their subject matter, read like those a wealthy landowner might send to a farm manager. The letters Lawrence wrote as the Old Man are works of genius-with d.i.c.kensian skill, he managed to create, layer by layer, detail by detail, a crusty, demanding, difficult character whom one might almost expect to see in the next seat in a first-cla.s.s railway compartment on the way "up" to London-neatly suited; his bowler hat, gloves, and umbrella beside him; with a regimental tie, a white mustache, and a monocle; reading the treated Bruce with kid gloves-for Bruce was a difficult and demanding character. But the former lieutenant-colonel gave Bruce the commands, which, except for their subject matter, read like those a wealthy landowner might send to a farm manager. The letters Lawrence wrote as the Old Man are works of genius-with d.i.c.kensian skill, he managed to create, layer by layer, detail by detail, a crusty, demanding, difficult character whom one might almost expect to see in the next seat in a first-cla.s.s railway compartment on the way "up" to London-neatly suited; his bowler hat, gloves, and umbrella beside him; with a regimental tie, a white mustache, and a monocle; reading the Times Times with furious concentration-a figure straight out of an Osbert Lancaster cartoon. with furious concentration-a figure straight out of an Osbert Lancaster cartoon.

The combination of the cottage and Bruce made the army almost bearable for Lawrence, although he never grew used to wearing the hated khaki uniform or to the mindless violence and profanity of his fellow soldiers. He seldom spent a night in the cottage-he used it instead as a refuge during his ample spare time, and took a few friends there, like Bruce and Corporal Dixon. Over time, he added a phonograph, a radio, a library of books-in size, in austerity, and as a place to work it became the exact equivalent of the small cottage his parents had built for the young Lawrence in the garden of their house. It was not Lawrence's home in any conventional sense-as E. M. Forster pointed out, "it was rather his pied-a-terre, the place where his feet touched the earth for a moment, and found rest." The army made few demands on Lawrence and he was thus able to devote a good deal of time to the project of printing a limited edition of Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. In addition he had his weekends free for a social life far more intense and well-connected than that of any other private soldier in the British army. In addition he had his weekends free for a social life far more intense and well-connected than that of any other private soldier in the British army.

During this time, the Shaws became central figures in Lawrence's life, and Robert Graves introduced Lawrence to Thomas Hardy, who lived near Bovington, in Dorsets.h.i.+re-"Hardy country," where many of his novels are set. The Hardys too became close friends, and their home, Max Gate, was another place of escape for Lawrence. Other friends in this period included the Kenningtons, the novelist E. M. Forster, the poet Siegfried Sa.s.soon, Lionel Curtis, and John Buchan. Any portrait of Lawrence that fails to reflect his extraordinary gifts for friends.h.i.+p, conversation, and correspondence fails to reflect the man. Monastic and self-punis.h.i.+ng as he might be, Lawrence was the very reverse of a military version of a cloistered monk; he was instead constantly on the move, constantly engaged with people, invited everywhere. Hardy, like Doughty, he came to admire and love. "Hardy is so pale," he wrote, "so quiet, so refined in essence: and the camp is such a hurly-burly. When I come back I feel as if I'd woken from a sleep: not an exciting sleep, but a restful one.... It is strange to pa.s.s from the noise of the sergeants company into a peace so secure that in it not even Mrs. Hardy's tea-cups rattle on the tray."

Still, it was not just the sight of the small, slim figure in khaki, puttees, and leather gauntlets arriving on his huge, glistening bike that alarmed his friends in 1923, but the impression he gave that he cared nothing for his life and was looking for a way to end it. The Kenningtons were disturbed by his "nihilistic" thoughts. Lawrence confided to Curtis, in a series of long, heartfelt letters, his "craving for real risk." To Shaw he confessed, "I haven't been in the mood for anything lately except high-speed motorbiking on the worst roads." Of course motorcycles always appear suicidal to those who don't ride one, and Lawrence was an excellent rider; nevertheless, he was riding perhaps the most powerful motorcycle one could buy in 1923, and boasted of the risks he took.* This was no pose. Lawrence's unhappiness-intensified by intense feelings of guilt-was deepening into despair, and his friends feared that suicide was possible. He wrote alarmingly to Hogarth, and even more alarmingly to Curtis, about his dislike of all animal life, especially his own, and of his antics on his motorcycle, when he "swerved at 60 M.P.H. onto the gra.s.s by the roadside, trying vainly to save a bird." Shaw was moved to write directly to Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, urging him to give Lawrence "a position of a pensioned commanding officer in dignified private circ.u.mstances," and put to an end the "shocking tomfoolery" of Lawrence's service in the ranks, which he compared to "Belisarius begging for oboles in an ungrateful country," and warning darkly of the embarra.s.sing consequences if Britain's most famous war hero took his own life. Baldwin was unable to do this; he took Lawrence's case up with Trenchard, though he failed to change Trenchard's mind about readmitting Lawrence into the RAF. Hogarth, who had been doubtful about the approach to Baldwin in the first place, wrote with slightly weary realism to Shaw: "Lawrence is not normal in many ways and it is extraordinarily difficult to do anything for him.... He will not work in any sort of harness unless this is padlocked on to him. He enlisted in order to have the padlocks rivetted on to him." This was no pose. Lawrence's unhappiness-intensified by intense feelings of guilt-was deepening into despair, and his friends feared that suicide was possible. He wrote alarmingly to Hogarth, and even more alarmingly to Curtis, about his dislike of all animal life, especially his own, and of his antics on his motorcycle, when he "swerved at 60 M.P.H. onto the gra.s.s by the roadside, trying vainly to save a bird." Shaw was moved to write directly to Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, urging him to give Lawrence "a position of a pensioned commanding officer in dignified private circ.u.mstances," and put to an end the "shocking tomfoolery" of Lawrence's service in the ranks, which he compared to "Belisarius begging for oboles in an ungrateful country," and warning darkly of the embarra.s.sing consequences if Britain's most famous war hero took his own life. Baldwin was unable to do this; he took Lawrence's case up with Trenchard, though he failed to change Trenchard's mind about readmitting Lawrence into the RAF. Hogarth, who had been doubtful about the approach to Baldwin in the first place, wrote with slightly weary realism to Shaw: "Lawrence is not normal in many ways and it is extraordinarily difficult to do anything for him.... He will not work in any sort of harness unless this is padlocked on to him. He enlisted in order to have the padlocks rivetted on to him."

What saved Lawrence in 1923 was work: not in the army, where his job-"half-clerk, half-storeman"-hardly taxed his ability, but on his ever more complicated and expensive plans to get Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom printed and published as he wanted it to be. Lawrence's att.i.tude toward his immense book alternated between a sense of failure and a glimmering of hope, sustained by those of his friends who had read it, and whose judgment resembled Siegfried Sa.s.soon's, who wrote to him: "d.a.m.n you, how long do you expect me to go on rea.s.suring you about your b.l.o.o.d.y masterpiece: It is a great book, blast you." E. M. Forster wrote to him in the same vein: "I can't cheer you up over the book. No one could. You have got depressed and muddled over it and are quite incapable of seeing how good it is." printed and published as he wanted it to be. Lawrence's att.i.tude toward his immense book alternated between a sense of failure and a glimmering of hope, sustained by those of his friends who had read it, and whose judgment resembled Siegfried Sa.s.soon's, who wrote to him: "d.a.m.n you, how long do you expect me to go on rea.s.suring you about your b.l.o.o.d.y masterpiece: It is a great book, blast you." E. M. Forster wrote to him in the same vein: "I can't cheer you up over the book. No one could. You have got depressed and muddled over it and are quite incapable of seeing how good it is."

In the latter part of 1923, hope took the upper hand. Lawrence decided to take on himself the printing and binding of a subscribers' edition of 100 copies of Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, aimed at "the unG.o.dly rich." The book would be lavishly printed and ill.u.s.trated, and printed according to Lawrence's frequently eccentric or antiquarian opinions, and each copy would be bound in a different material or style. The book would cost thirty guineas; it would be ready in a year and a half; and Lawrence estimated that the total cost of producing it would be about 3,000. Since each subscriber would have to pay his or her thirty guineas up front, the book would be self-financed. This was an outrageously optimistic business plan. In the end it would cost Lawrence about 13,000 aimed at "the unG.o.dly rich." The book would be lavishly printed and ill.u.s.trated, and printed according to Lawrence's frequently eccentric or antiquarian opinions, and each copy would be bound in a different material or style. The book would cost thirty guineas; it would be ready in a year and a half; and Lawrence estimated that the total cost of producing it would be about 3,000. Since each subscriber would have to pay his or her thirty guineas up front, the book would be self-financed. This was an outrageously optimistic business plan. In the end it would cost Lawrence about 13,000* to produce the subscribers' edition, a crippling debt; and the number of copies went up considerably because he insisted on giving the book to those of his friends who could not afford the subscription and to people he loved or respected too much to accept money from them, such as Storrs, whose check he tore up. (Those who held on to their copies would have had a windfall-they could be resold instantly for many times thirty guineas, and the last one auctioned in the United States, in 2001, went for more than $100,000.) to produce the subscribers' edition, a crippling debt; and the number of copies went up considerably because he insisted on giving the book to those of his friends who could not afford the subscription and to people he loved or respected too much to accept money from them, such as Storrs, whose check he tore up. (Those who held on to their copies would have had a windfall-they could be resold instantly for many times thirty guineas, and the last one auctioned in the United States, in 2001, went for more than $100,000.) For the next three years, Lawrence was constantly occupied with the problems of printing his book, as well as with elaborate subterfuges he concocted with the rival American publishers Frank Doubleday and George H. Doran (who would eventually merge in 1927 to form one company), intended to protect his copyright in the United States. Lawrence brought to his role as a publisher the same attention to detail and energy that he brought to everything he set his hand to, managing one of the most intricate and complicated jobs in the history of book production from his bunk in a barracks, or from the NAAFI reading room of a military camp. (The intricacy and complications were largely due to his own demands and prejudices about book design.) Of course, as is so often the case with Lawrence, he wanted to eat his cake and have it too. On the one hand, he wanted his friends to be able to read the book in the form of a sumptuous, private, limited edition; on the other hand, he wanted to avoid reviews and to prevent the general public from reading it at all.

Both Robert Graves and Bernard Shaw expressed concern about libelous material in the 1922 "Oxford" text-libel is always a big problem for authors in Britain, because of the strictness of British libel law as compared with that of the United States-but it does not seem to have been a fear of lawsuits that held Lawrence back from publis.h.i.+ng his book in the normal way. Any British publisher would have had the text read for libel, and a solicitor who specialized in libel law might have suggested comparatively small changes that would have protected Lawrence and his publisher, rather than large cuts. More likely, the truth is that in writing Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom Lawrence had, like most authors of a memoir, expressed his own version of events, and was not eager to have it contradicted or debated in public. Much of the factual material in the book has since been confirmed by the release in the 1970s of many if not most of the doc.u.ments, but throughout the book Lawrence, consciously or unconsciously, attributed to himself decisions and actions that were often initiated by others. No doubt, as he wrote, revised, and rewrote Lawrence had, like most authors of a memoir, expressed his own version of events, and was not eager to have it contradicted or debated in public. Much of the factual material in the book has since been confirmed by the release in the 1970s of many if not most of the doc.u.ments, but throughout the book Lawrence, consciously or unconsciously, attributed to himself decisions and actions that were often initiated by others. No doubt, as he wrote, revised, and rewrote Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, getting with each revision farther away in time from the events, he made himself increasingly the hero of the book. He did not falsify events or invent them, as he has been accused of doing, but he put himself at the center of the story, and by 1923 he was not anxious to expose himself to criticism, or to objections from others who had served in the Middle East. getting with each revision farther away in time from the events, he made himself increasingly the hero of the book. He did not falsify events or invent them, as he has been accused of doing, but he put himself at the center of the story, and by 1923 he was not anxious to expose himself to criticism, or to objections from others who had served in the Middle East.

The solution-a brilliant one-was to limit the readers.h.i.+p to those who were either friends (like Hogarth) or admirers (like Storrs and Allenby), and who would not rush to write long, disputatious letters to the Times. Times.** Lawrence often had contradictory impulses. On the one hand, he wanted to prevent Lawrence often had contradictory impulses. On the one hand, he wanted to prevent Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom from becoming a collector's item; on the other, by making almost every copy of the subscribers' edition different in some way-with variations in binding, and in the number and placement of the ill.u.s.trations-he inevitably produced a limited edition that would keep bibliophiles busy and puzzled for decades. from becoming a collector's item; on the other, by making almost every copy of the subscribers' edition different in some way-with variations in binding, and in the number and placement of the ill.u.s.trations-he inevitably produced a limited edition that would keep bibliophiles busy and puzzled for decades.

In early to mid-1923, Lawrence was still waiting for Shaw's long-promised suggestions and corrections to the 1922 proof, and still circulating copies to those who had served with him and whom he respected for their comments. Colonel A. P. Wavell (the future Field Marshal) wrote back encouragingly, and the Hardys expressed their admiration. All this ought to have cheered Lawrence up, but failed to do so. He was weary of the book, sick of the Army ("A black core ... of animality"), "brooding" on his own sense of dissatisfaction, unable to sleep more than an hour a night, and existing on one meal a day, usually breakfast; and although he was living in a hut with twenty-one other soldiers and a corporal, he felt as lonely as he had been in the attic on Barton Street in London. In an effort to keep his mind occupied, and produce an income beyond the army's two s.h.i.+llings nine pence a day, he asked Cape about the possibility of doing some translation from the French, estimating that he could probably produce about 2,000 words a day-a figure that was seriously overoptimistic. Cape proposed that he should translate J. C. Mardrus's 4,000-page Mille et Une Nuits (The Arabian Nights), Mille et Une Nuits (The Arabian Nights), a formidable task. In preparation for this, Lawrence agreed to translate a French novel, a formidable task. In preparation for this, Lawrence agreed to translate a French novel, Le Gigantesque, Le Gigantesque, about a giant sequoia tree, a book he came to dislike more and more as he translated it. He persisted with it, however-it was eventually published by Cape as about a giant sequoia tree, a book he came to dislike more and more as he translated it. He persisted with it, however-it was eventually published by Cape as The Forest Giant The Forest Giant-but the effect was to deter Lawrence from taking on anything as challenging as Mille et Une Nuits. Mille et Une Nuits. He took instead a French novel about fishes (even stranger than a novel about a tree), a book which he thought (correctly) English readers might not take to. When he was not translating, he and his friends worked on his cottage, repairing and altering it to his taste. He carved in the lintel over the front door of Clouds Hill two words from Herodotus best translated as "I don't care," or perhaps more to the point, "I couldn't care less." He took instead a French novel about fishes (even stranger than a novel about a tree), a book which he thought (correctly) English readers might not take to. When he was not translating, he and his friends worked on his cottage, repairing and altering it to his taste. He carved in the lintel over the front door of Clouds Hill two words from Herodotus best translated as "I don't care," or perhaps more to the point, "I couldn't care less."*

When the Shaws were persuaded to visit Lawrence in his cottage, as the Hardys and E. M. Forster did, Bernard Shaw remarked, perceptively, that Lawrence's pretense of living "humbly with his comrades" as "a tanker-ranker" was misleading, and that surrounded by his army friends at Clouds Hill "he looked very much like Colonel Lawrence with several aides-de-camp."

Soon after meeting Lawrence, Shaw described him as "a grown-up boy," and there is an element of truth to this: both as regards Lawrence, many of whose interests and tastes (motorcycles, for example, or the tiny, cozy cottage, with sleeping bags coyly marked Meum Meum and and Tuam) Tuam) remained boyish, and who scrupulously avoided any of the adult entanglements of love, marriage, and domesticity; and as regards Shaw's own relations.h.i.+p to him, which was that of an exasperated father. Lawrence had not only adopted Shaw's name as his own, but found in the name of the village where the Shaws lived, Ayot Saint Lawrence, a kind of portent. Lawrence's visits to the Shaws throughout 1922 and 1923 had made him, to all intents and purposes, almost a member of the family, and also gave him the unusual opportunity of sharing in the creation of one of Shaw's best plays, remained boyish, and who scrupulously avoided any of the adult entanglements of love, marriage, and domesticity; and as regards Shaw's own relations.h.i.+p to him, which was that of an exasperated father. Lawrence had not only adopted Shaw's name as his own, but found in the name of the village where the Shaws lived, Ayot Saint Lawrence, a kind of portent. Lawrence's visits to the Shaws throughout 1922 and 1923 had made him, to all intents and purposes, almost a member of the family, and also gave him the unusual opportunity of sharing in the creation of one of Shaw's best plays, Saint Joan. Saint Joan. His visits were curtailed when one of his fellow privates borrowed his motorcycle and crashed it, but he soon managed to acquire another Brough, and in the meantime remained in constant correspondence with both Shaws. His visits were curtailed when one of his fellow privates borrowed his motorcycle and crashed it, but he soon managed to acquire another Brough, and in the meantime remained in constant correspondence with both Shaws.

Occasionally, Public Shaw launched a Jovian taunt at Private Shaw: "I have written another magnificent play. When I finish a play, I write another: I don't sit down gloating in a spectacular manner over how the old one is to astonish the world. Yah!" Nevertheless, Charlotte sent Lawrence the draft acting script of Saint Joan, Saint Joan, and Lawrence responded- boldly-with a long, detailed letter of suggestions to the great man. He answered via Charlotte, though he must have been aware that she would show the letter to her husband. He did not comment on the way Shaw had made use of his character and career in creating the part of Saint Joan herself. Like Lawrence, Joan had fought a powerful army to place a king "upon the throne of a nation-state"; like Joan, Lawrence had succeeded against the odds, and had then been dismissed (as she was martyred); like Joan, Lawrence combined unearthly courage with the ability to inspire men to follow him, and invented unorthodox military tactics that confounded the professionals; like Joan's, Lawrence's small size, humility, and modesty, whether real or feigned, did not prevent him from being the center of all attention wherever he went; and like Joan, he adopted a costume that separated him from his own countrymen-he went barefoot, in the robes of an Arab, and she wore the armor of a man. Even Joan's way of expressing herself in the play resembles Lawrence's-Shaw was nothing if not observant in pursuit of a character. In the words of Michael Holroyd, Shaw's biographer, "With their missionary zeal to mould the world to their personal convictions, Joan and Lawrence were two small homeless figures elected by the Zeitgeist and picked out by the spotlight of history." The comparison intrigued Shaw from his first meeting with Lawrence and gave him the key to creating a Shavian heroine who was at once saintly and proud, modern and medieval, as well as a deeply androgynous figure. and Lawrence responded- boldly-with a long, detailed letter of suggestions to the great man. He answered via Charlotte, though he must have been aware that she would show the letter to her husband. He did not comment on the way Shaw had made use of his character and career in creating the part of Saint Joan herself. Like Lawrence, Joan had fought a powerful army to place a king "upon the throne of a nation-state"; like Joan, Lawrence had succeeded against the odds, and had then been dismissed (as she was martyred); like Joan, Lawrence combined unearthly courage with the ability to inspire men to follow him, and invented unorthodox military tactics that confounded the professionals; like Joan's, Lawrence's small size, humility, and modesty, whether real or feigned, did not prevent him from being the center of all attention wherever he went; and like Joan, he adopted a costume that separated him from his own countrymen-he went barefoot, in the robes of an Arab, and she wore the armor of a man. Even Joan's way of expressing herself in the play resembles Lawrence's-Shaw was nothing if not observant in pursuit of a character. In the words of Michael Holroyd, Shaw's biographer, "With their missionary zeal to mould the world to their personal convictions, Joan and Lawrence were two small homeless figures elected by the Zeitgeist and picked out by the spotlight of history." The comparison intrigued Shaw from his first meeting with Lawrence and gave him the key to creating a Shavian heroine who was at once saintly and proud, modern and medieval, as well as a deeply androgynous figure.

Lawrence was courageous enough to criticize one scene as "adequate" and another as "intolerable." But on the whole he liked the play, and he praised the fifth act as "pure genius," though several people have felt that Saint Saint Joan Joan would have ended better without it (among these were Lawrence Langner and the Theater Guild, producers of the play in New York, who were afraid the audience members would miss their last train home). Lawrence pointed out that Shaw "doesn't know how men who have fought together stand in relation to one another," and gave him some sensible suggestions. Once the play had opened, Lawrence went to see it in London, and wrote to Charlotte of Sybil Thornd.y.k.e's performance as Joan, "There isn't as much strength in Joan ... as I had gathered in reading her," but added that since he had made the role and the text his, in his mind, "there was a little resentment at having others' interpretations thrust on my established ones." would have ended better without it (among these were Lawrence Langner and the Theater Guild, producers of the play in New York, who were afraid the audience members would miss their last train home). Lawrence pointed out that Shaw "doesn't know how men who have fought together stand in relation to one another," and gave him some sensible suggestions. Once the play had opened, Lawrence went to see it in London, and wrote to Charlotte of Sybil Thornd.y.k.e's performance as Joan, "There isn't as much strength in Joan ... as I had gathered in reading her," but added that since he had made the role and the text his, in his mind, "there was a little resentment at having others' interpretations thrust on my established ones."

Although Lawrence never enjoyed his years in the army as a private, one senses, in 1923 and 1924, not so much a softening of his att.i.tude as an increasingly busy social and intellectual life that kept his mind off it. He was often in London, and was once even invited to a dinner to celebrate Armistice Day, given by Air Chief Marshal Trenchard. Lawrence accepted provisionally: I'd like to very much: but there are two difficulties already in my view: It is Armistice day, and I do not know if leave will be given.

I have a decent suit, but no dress clothes at all.The leave I will ask for....The clothes are beyond my power to provide: and I fear that Lady Trenchard might not approve a lounge suit at dinner....Please ask her before you reply.

In the event, Lawrence attended the dinner at the Army and Navy Club in uniform, surely the only private soldier in the British army to be dining that evening with the equivalent of a four-star general. Again and again, there are instances of Trenchard's breaking the rules for Lawrence. He called General Chetwode, the army adjutant-general, to arrange for special leave for Lawrence, and called again, in a rage, because Lawrence, who was on the defaulters' list for having missed a parade in order to accept an invitation to tea from Thomas Hardy, was unable to meet him at the Air Ministry. Despite Lawrence's complaints, there was no lack of powerful friends smoothing his path, and no hesitation on his part in asking them to do so.

Nor was there a lack of glamorous job offers. Sydney c.o.c.kerell tried to persuade Lawrence to accept the post of professor of English literature at Tokyo University, a position of some prestige; and Trenchard gave him a chance to complete the official history of the Royal Flying Corps in the 1914-1918 war, since the author of the first volume, Sir Walter Raleigh,had died leaving four or five volumes to go. Hogarth had given the job a try, but he was suffering from "all sorts of minor ailments," as well as diabetes, and the air war was no great interest of his. Here, surely, was a job Lawrence could do superbly-and without having to leave England-but he turned it down, because he did not want the responsibility, and offered it instead to Robert Graves, who, with a wife, children, and a mistress, was in great need of money. But Graves also declined what Lawrence described as "a three-year job, worth 600-800 a year," an optimistic guess, since the completion of the official RFC history would, in fact, take another twelve years.

Although Lawrence still shrank from the prospect of letting people read Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, he had made the important step of putting its financing in the hands of Robin Buxton, a friendly banker, who as Major Buxton had led an Imperial Camel Corps unit of 300 men in support of Lawrence during the latter part of the war. Buxton was a rare type-an unflappable banker, endowed with energy, common sense, and a real affection for Lawrence; and Lawrence seems to have put together a "brain trust," consisting of Alan Dawnay, Hogarth, and Lionel Curtis, to advise him on how many copies to print and what to charge. He was, as usual, an infuriatingly difficult author. He wrote to Buxton: "I'd rather the few copies: I had rather one copy at 3,000 than 10 at 300, or 30 at 100 or 300 at 10....1 hate the whole idea of spreading copies of the beastly book." All this, of course, was still based on the notion that the whole job could be done for 3,000, which was hopelessly optimistic. At the same time, Lawrence decided that for moral reasons he should not make any money from the book, and gave up any claim to royalties. His choice of using the Oxford University Press to set the type was thwarted when it backed out, fearing the libel problems in the text. Lawrence eventually settled on hiring his own printer, an American named Manning Pike recommended by the artist Eric Kennington. Although this was his first attempt to design and set a book, Pike was a craftsman-artist after Lawrence's heart. Still, Pike soon became a martyr to Lawrence's cranky ideas about typography, a legacy of his pa.s.sionate admiration for William Morris. Lawrence cut and changed the text to make paragraphs end on a page, to eliminate "rivers" of white s.p.a.ce in the type, and to eliminate "orphans" (small pieces of text at the end of a paragraph). Lawrence's interest in typographical design soon became obsessive, and without a publisher like Cape or an editor like Garnett to control expenses, he began altering his text merely for the sake of its appearance on the page-Pike was, after all, in no position to contradict him. "The business will be done as crazily as you feared," Lawrence wrote to Shaw, and he was not exaggerating. Shaw's own ideas about spelling, punctuation, and typesetting were at least as cranky as Lawrence's, but his business sense was far sounder; he squeezed the maximum amount from his publishers, and was horrified that Lawrence proposed to forgo any profit from his book. Leaving his brain trust to find the necessary number of subscribers, Lawrence proceeded to have plates made of the ill.u.s.trations and pay for the typesetting equipment Pike needed. He went through at least one more nerve-shredding round of revising the text, and then did so again as Pike began to produce proof sheets. This time he was aided, or perhaps hampered, by Shaw's detailed suggestions and advice (followed shortly by Charlotte's somewhat more timidly expressed ones), which finally arrived like a bombsh.e.l.l two years after Lawrence had first sent him the book: he had made the important step of putting its financing in the hands of Robin Buxton, a friendly banker, who as Major Buxton had led an Imperial Camel Corps unit of 300 men in support of Lawrence during the latter part of the war. Buxton was a rare type-an unflappable banker, endowed with energy, common sense, and a real affection for Lawrence; and Lawrence seems to have put together a "brain trust," consisting of Alan Dawnay, Hogarth, and Lionel Curtis, to advise him on how many copies to print and what to charge. He was, as usual, an infuriatingly difficult author. He wrote to Buxton: "I'd rather the few copies: I had rather one copy at 3,000 than 10 at 300, or 30 at 100 or 300 at 10....1 hate the whole idea of spreading copies of the beastly book." All this, of course, was still based on the notion that the whole job could be done for 3,000, which was hopelessly optimistic. At the same time, Lawrence decided that for moral reasons he should not make any money from the book, and gave up any claim to royalties. His choice of using the Oxford University Press to set the type was thwarted when it backed out, fearing the libel problems in the text. Lawrence eventually settled on hiring his own printer, an American named Manning Pike recommended by the artist Eric Kennington. Although this was his first attempt to design and set a book, Pike was a craftsman-artist after Lawrence's heart. Still, Pike soon became a martyr to Lawrence's cranky ideas about typography, a legacy of his pa.s.sionate admiration for William Morris. Lawrence cut and changed the text to make paragraphs end on a page, to eliminate "rivers" of white s.p.a.ce in the type, and to eliminate "orphans" (small pieces of text at the end of a paragraph). Lawrence's interest in typographical design soon became obsessive, and without a publisher like Cape or an editor like Garnett to control expenses, he began altering his text merely for the sake of its appearance on the page-Pike was, after all, in no position to contradict him. "The business will be done as crazily as you feared," Lawrence wrote to Shaw, and he was not exaggerating. Shaw's own ideas about spelling, punctuation, and typesetting were at least as cranky as Lawrence's, but his business sense was far sounder; he squeezed the maximum amount from his publishers, and was horrified that Lawrence proposed to forgo any profit from his book. Leaving his brain trust to find the necessary number of subscribers, Lawrence proceeded to have plates made of the ill.u.s.trations and pay for the typesetting equipment Pike needed. He went through at least one more nerve-shredding round of revising the text, and then did so again as Pike began to produce proof sheets. This time he was aided, or perhaps hampered, by Shaw's detailed suggestions and advice (followed shortly by Charlotte's somewhat more timidly expressed ones), which finally arrived like a bombsh.e.l.l two years after Lawrence had first sent him the book: Confound you and the book: you are no more to be trusted with a pen than a child with a torpedo....I invented my own system of punctuation, and then compared it with the punctuation of the Bible, and found that the authors of the revised version had been driven to the same usage, though their practice is not quite consistent all through. The Bible bars the dash, which is the great refuge of those who are too lazy to punctuate....1 never use it when I can possibly subst.i.tute a colon; and I save up the colon jealously for certain effects that no other stop produces. As you have no rules, and sometimes throw colons about with an unhinged mind, here are some rough rules for you.When a sentence contains more than one statement, with different nominatives, or even with the same nominative repeated for the sake of emphasizing some discontinuity between the statements, the statements should be separated by a semicolon when the relation between them is expressed by a conjunction. When there is no conjunction, or other modifying word, and the two statements are are placed baldly in dramatic apposition, use a colon. Thus, Luruns said nothing; but he thought the more. Luruns could not speak: he was drunk. Luruns, like Napoleon, was out of place and a failure as a subaltern; yet when he could exasperate his officers by being a faultless private he could behave himself as such. Luruns, like Napoleon, could see a hostile city not only as a military objective but as a stage for a placed baldly in dramatic apposition, use a colon. Thus, Luruns said nothing; but he thought the more. Luruns could not speak: he was drunk. Luruns, like Napoleon, was out of place and a failure as a subaltern; yet when he could exasperate his officers by being a faultless private he could behave himself as such. Luruns, like Napoleon, could see a hostile city not only as a military objective but as a stage for a coup de theatre: coup de theatre: he was a born actor. he was a born actor.You will see that your colons before buts and the like are contra-indicated in my scheme, and leave you without anything in reserve for the dramatic occasions mentioned above. You practically do not use semicolons at all. This is a symptom of mental defectiveness, probably induced by camp life.But by far the most urgent of my corrections-so important that you had better swallow them literally with what wry faces you cannot control-are those which concern your libels. I spent fifteen years of my life writing criticisms of sensitive living people, and thereby acquired a very cultivated sense of what I might say and what I might not say. All criticisms are technically libels; but there is the blow below the belt, the impertinence, the indulgence of dislike, the expression of personal contempt, and of course the imputation of dishonesty or unchast.i.ty which are not and should not be privileged; as well as the genuine criticism, the amusing good humored banter, and (curiously) the obvious "vulgar abuse" which are privileged. I have weeded out your reckless sallies as carefully as I can.Then there is the more general criticism about that first chapter. That it should come out and leave the book to begin with chapter two, which is the real thing and very fine at that, I have no doubt whatever. You will see my note on the subject.I must close up now, as Charlotte wants to make up her packet to you.

E. M. Forster too had written to Lawrence in detail, criticizing the elaborate style, which Lawrence toned down considerably now that publis.h.i.+ng the book was a realistic prospect. It was a moment that was at once stimulating and deeply depressing for Lawrence, as if he were at once summoning up from the past and finally burying the experiences of two years of war, six years after it had ended. He had carried the burden of Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom for so long that it must have seemed to him impossible to put it down. for so long that it must have seemed to him impossible to put it down.

It was soon apparent that there would be no shortage of subscribers-indeed, Lawrence would have trouble keeping the number down to the limit he wanted to set-and also that the entire project was going to prove far more costly than he had supposed. The extraordinary workload he had heaped upon himself, on top of a soldier's normal day, would have broken the health of a far stronger man, and there is ample proof that he was sinking deeper into depression. It is no accident that he had written confidingly to Charlotte Shaw a kind of de profundis, de profundis, explaining his experience at Deraa: explaining his experience at Deraa: I'm always afraid of being hurt: and to me, while I live, the force of that night will lie in the agony which broke me, and made me surrender.... About that night I shouldn't tell you, because decent men don't talk about such things.... For fear of being hurt, or rather to earn five minutes respite from the pain which drove me mad, I gave away the only possession we are born into the world with-our bodily integrity. It's an unforgiveable matter.

What he did not not point out was that in the description of the incident in point out was that in the description of the incident in Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom it is quite clear that the real horror was it is quite clear that the real horror was not not the pain, but the fact that he experienced pleasure at the pain; that his s.e.xual "surrender" was as "unforgivable" in his mind as it would be for a woman experiencing pleasure from a gang rape. He certainly never mentioned that he had gone to considerable trouble and some expense to reproduce the moment, whenever the need overcame him. Jock Bruce was still in his hut at Bovington, and among the soldiers he invited to his cottage. the pain, but the fact that he experienced pleasure at the pain; that his s.e.xual "surrender" was as "unforgivable" in his mind as it would be for a woman experiencing pleasure from a gang rape. He certainly never mentioned that he had gone to considerable trouble and some expense to reproduce the moment, whenever the need overcame him. Jock Bruce was still in his hut at Bovington, and among the soldiers he invited to his cottage.

Lawrence's misery continued. He appealed once more to be allowed back into the RAF, but even a change in government did not help; the Conservative secretary of state for air, Sir Samuel h.o.a.re, was adamantly opposed to having Lawrence back in the RAF. h.o.a.re, who had known Lawrence well in Palestine and Jordan, feared the inevitable publicity, and may also have resented the direct appeal that Shaw made to Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin over h.o.a.re's head, which suggested that Lawrence might take his cause to the newspapers. John Buchan put in a good word for Lawrence with Baldwin as well, but to no avail. Baldwin, a man who combined extreme political shrewdness with genuine indolence, must have felt besieged by Lawrence's friends, but true to form, he listened politely and did nothing.

To Buchan, Lawrence at least offered an explanation of a kind, writing to thank him for talking to Baldwin: "I don't know by what right I made that appeal to you on Sunday.... They often ask 'Why the R.A.F.?' and I don't know. Only I have tried it and liked it as much after trying it as I did before. The difference between Army & Air is that between earth & air: no less." Even Lawrence's pal at Bovington, Corporal Dixon, thought he was crazy on the subject of the air force, as did the sinister Bruce, but it made no difference; "I can't get the longing for it out of my mind," he wrote Buchan, and that was true. Lawrence's yearning for the RAF was not a matter of reason.

Meanwhile, Manning Pike was slipping far behind with his typesetting-Lawrence had committed his book to a man who was not only inexperienced but subject to "fits of extreme depression," and on top of that "had an unhappy marriage." Lawrence, sunk in depression himself, was obliged to cheer Pike up. At the same time, Buxton, Lawrence's banker, was reluctant to increase his overdraft. In the end, there seemed no other way out but for Lawrence to resign himself to staying in the Royal Tank Corps, and sell the rights to an abridged version of Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom to finance the printing of the subscribers' edition. Cape, despite Lawrence's earlier decision to withdraw from his agreement to the abridged version, offered Lawrence a comparatively modest advance of 3,000; and with whatever misgivings, Lawrence accepted it, and agreed to publication in 1927, giving himself enough time (and money) to complete the limited edition. Most, if not all, of the abridgment had already been made by Garnett, but of course it would now have to be redone in view of the changes Lawrence had made in the text of the complete book. to finance the printing of the subscribers' edition. Cape, despite Lawrence's earlier decision to withdraw from his agreement to the abridged version, offered Lawrence a comparatively modest advance of 3,000; and with whatever misgivings, Lawrence accepted it, and agreed to publication in 1927, giving himself enough time (and money) to complete the limited edition. Most, if not all, of the abridgment had already been made by Garnett, but of course it would now have to be redone in view of the changes Lawrence had made in the text of the complete book.

Lawrence might have continued to serve in the RTC and work on the two different versions of his book, however unhappily, but in May 1925 Lowell Thomas's With Lawrence in Arabia With Lawrence in Arabia was at last published in Britain. It had been a huge success in the United States, and became one again in Britain, reviving curiosity about Lawrence at just the moment when he felt most defeated. The same old exaggerations, told in the jocular voice of an American pitchman, were made more unbearabl