Robertson Davies

Karsh, Yousuf, 1908-2002 · 1977

The exotic ambience of the Master's Lodge at Massey College, Toronto, where Canada's pre-eminent man of letters resides, suits him perfectly. In the classic statues, antiques, and richly bound rare books around his home is evidence of his love for literature, art, and music. He is a civilized man, a scintillating conversationalist with a gift of combining erudition and earthy humour. I find it interesting (and, I suspect, quite wrong) that Davies has interpreted his attachment to civilization as a special Canadian characteristic. 'I'm not a great lover of the wilderness,' he once remarked. 'In this I think I'm a real Canadian. My forebears were genuine pioneers and their idea was to get inside and keep the wilderness outside. The struggle was always toward civilization rather than toward all that rubbish out there that you had to clear up.' The impeccable English tea which I shared with Davies and his wife, Brenda, was proof that he carries on the family tradition of exorcising the wilderness from his urban refuge. I doubt that Davies, so profoundly right about so many other things, has correctly judged the old instincts of his people. Nowadays most of them live in cities, yet the wilderness constantly pulls them back to its solitude and mystery, forever colouring and haunting the subconscious of a nation conceived in lonely places (Karsh, 1978).