Under the Volcano

by Malcolm Lowry

“Then it was poor little defenceless Montenegro. Poor little defenceless Siberia. Or back a little further still, Hugh, to your Shelley’s, when it was poor little defenceless Greece—Cervantes!—As it will be again, of course. Or to Boswell’s—poor little defenceless Corsica! Shades of Paoli and Monboddo. Applesquires and fairies strong for freedom. As always. And Rousseau—not douanier—knew he was talking nonsense—” “I should like to know what the bloody hell it is you imagine you’re talking!” “Why can’t people mind their own damned business!” “Or say what they mean?” “It was something else, I grant you. The dishonest mass rationalisation of motive, justification of the common pathological itch. Of the motives for interference; merely a passion for fatality half the time. Curiosity. Experience—very natural … But nothing constructive at bottom, only acceptance really, a piddling contemptible acceptance of the state of affairs that flatters one into feeling thus noble or useful!” “But my God it’s against such a state of affairs that people like the Loyalists—”