SOURCE: "Norman Douglas," in The Kenyon Review, Vol. XIV, No. 4, Autumn, 1952, pp. 660-68.

In the following essay, Flint surveys Douglas's career, praising his travel writings but concluding: "his literary reputation must remain a small one."

So, while her arm rested lightly on mine, we wandered about those gardens, the saintly lady and myself; her mind dwelling, maybe, on memories of her one classic love-adventure and the part she came nigh to playing in the history of Europe, while mine was lost in a maze of vulgar love-adventures which came nigh to making me play a part in the police courts of Rome.

—from Alone, referring to Malida von Meyserberg the mystic.

Norman Douglas died last spring on Capri, a handsome, white-haired, venerably boisterous old gentlemen of eighty-four who had survived many reverses of fortune, including official banishment from Italy by the Fascists from the mid-thirties until 1946. Like Lawrence...