Draft preface to the first American Edition (1924)

I suppose the Flower beneath the Foot is really Oriental in origin, although the scene is some imaginary Vienna. The idea came in Algeria while writing Santal. One evening (or it may have been early morning) just as the lights were being extinguished of a supper-restaurant in Algiers, a woman, almost assuredly an American, sailed unconcernedly in, & sank down with charming composure at a table not far from mine, & to myself I murmured: ‘her Dreaminess, the Queen!’ Later, in the radiant dawn, just outside, I beheld an Arab boy asleep beside the summer-sea, & to myself I murmured: ‘his Weariness, the Prince!’ And from these two names the Flower just came about. It did not occur to me, at the time, I believe, to fabric a story from so singularly little; but a short while afterwards, in another town, his Weariness I saw again. Everywhere in fact his Weariness, or his simulacrum, appeared; all Princes, all weary – wonderful boys – wearier, even, than me! And his Weariness recalled her Dreaminess, & then, quite naturally, & quite cosily, figures & objects composed themselves about them. The Queen’s Ladies – her hectic Maids, the Palace, the Furniture, the Gardens &, above all, the ambitions of her Dreaminess the Queen for his Weariness the Prince – an alliance with England, poor woman, was the nadir of her dreams! Thus, gradually, characters & dialogue came together in my mind, & my tale of Islam began to bore me unutterably, & I longed to begin the Flower. A kind of nostalgia (which may only have been waywardness,) turned all my thoughts towards Vienna. And it was a veritable craving for Vienna, too. I remember it was at Touggourt in mid-Sahara while assisting at a sunset from the minarette of a Mosque, that I found the Duchess of Varna’s court-dress – the green of Nile water. ‘Vi’ & Olga’s little soul-trip on the Lake, chapter, (I think,) eleven, suggested itself while watching two shed rose-leaves in a Moorish fountain. Such clinging, tender, courageous little rose-leaves they were – curious ones as well. Other elements, of course, went towards the shading & formation of my Flower, which really is as much a country-buttercup as a cattleya-orchid!

Ah, the East . . . I propose to return there, some day, when I write about New York.

RONALD FIRBANK