By the way, I find that I have only one (torn) pair of pajamas, and my dictionary does not give the word for them. Que faire? The dictionary, however, gives the German equivalent for gracilent and pudibund. You might do something with that, but I lack inspiration.8 I really feel very constipated intellectually. Some people say that pain is necessary (‘they learn in suffering’ etc),9 perhaps others that happiness is. Both beside the point, I think: what is necessary is a certain kind (could one but catch it!) of tranquillity, and sometimes pain does buy bring it. A kind of tranquillity which Dostoievsky must must have known when he was writing his masterpieces at top-speed to keep from starving. But I have come to fancy that a perfectly commonplace happiness (such as I now find so attractive!) would be a great stimulus. For when you have all those little things you cease to fret about them, and have room for a sort of divine dissatisfaction and goût [taste] for the tragic which is quite harmless, d’ailleurs [moreover], and compatible with a bank account. I think perhaps that only the happy can appreciate the tragic, or that the tragic only exists for the happy. Anyhow, I have become a great friend of the petites gens de l’histoire,10 materialist, even ‘householder’. Das ewig weibliche.11 –
– Bien affectueusement Tom.
Be sure to let this matter alone if at all inconvenient, for I think that the agency will perhaps forward it themselves. If you did go there you could let them do it.
1–Conrad Aiken, poet, novelist and critic: see Glossary of Names.
2–TSE was imitating WL’s magazine Blast 1, which had appeared in June, and included a series of Blessings and Curses. Several of the characters here recur in TSE’s Bolo poems. Aiken’s memoir of TSE at Harvard and afterwards offers an account of the ‘hilariously naughty parerga’ about Bolo, Columbo and others: ‘these admirable stanzas … were to continue for years as a sort of cynical counterpoint to the study of Sanskrit and the treatise on epistemology’.
3–A. C. Swinburne, ‘Laus Veneris’, l. 55.
4–The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, a polyptich by the van Eyck brothers, is the altarpiece of St Bavo’s Cathedral.
5–Andrea Mantegna (c.1431–1506) painted three versions of St Sebastian, the last of which is in the Ca d’Oro in Venice. A ribbon curling from a candle in its bottom right-hand corner bears the motto ‘nihil nisi divinum stabile est; caetera fumus’ (‘nothing is permanent unless divine; the rest is smoke’), quoted in the epigraph to TSE’s poem ‘Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar’. The St Sebastian in Bergamo is by Raphael (Antonello da Messina’s is in the Staatliche Gemäldegalerie, Dresden); and Hans Memling’s St Sebastian is in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Brussels.
6–‘Disputation contra Hasenpfeffer’.
7–‘Polemics contra Krapp’.
8–‘Pudibund, in the clinging vine’ (‘Exequy’, TWL: Facs, 102–3).
9–‘He said: “Most wretched men / Are cradled into poetry by wrong, / They learn in suffering what they teach in song”’ (P. B. Shelley, Julian and Maddalo, ll. 544–6).
10–‘The humble people of history’.
11–‘The Eternal Feminine’ (Goethe, Faust, l. 12,110).
TO Conrad Aiken
MS Huntington
25 July 1914
c/o Herr Supdt. Happich,
Luth. Kirchhof 1, Marburg a. Lahn
Dear Conrad,
I’ve written to Murray, who will forward the bag, so don’t concern yourself. I hope you are happily stowed away in the country by this time. I find myself very well fixed here chez the Herr Pfarrer, his wife, and his daughter Hannah. The people are extremely kind, the quarters comfortable, the view from my windows (south) excellent – over roofs and hills – the house is on the side of the hill, and the hill is steep – the food is excellent – I find that I like German food! I like German people! and we have five meals a day. I stuff myself; the Frau Pfarrer thinks I don’t eat enough. Then I swim (there are baths) or walk (there are beautiful walks among the woods) but not far, because I must always be back in time for the next meal.
I enclose some stuff – the thing I showed you some time ago, and some of the themes for the ‘Descent from the Cross’ or whatever I may call it.1 I send them, even in their present form, because I am disappointed in them, and wonder whether I had better knock it off for a while – you will tell me what you think. Do you think that the Love Song of St Sebastian part is morbid, or forced? Then there will be an Insane Section, and another love song (of a happier sort) and a recurring piece quite in the French style beginning
‘The married girl who lives across the street
Wraps her soul in orange-coloured robes of Chopinese.’ –
Then a mystical section, – and a Fool-House section beginning
‘Let us go to the masquerade and dance!
I am going as St John among the Rocks
Attired in my underwear and socks …’
Does it all seem very laboured and conscious? The S. Sebastian title I feel almost sure of; I have studied S. Sebastians – why should anyone paint a beautiful youth and stick him full of pins (or arrows) unless he felt a little as the hero of my verse? Only there’s nothing homosexual about this – rather an important difference perhaps – but no one ever painted a female Sebastian, did they?2 So I give this title faute de mieux.
Send me some verse, please. I am working up my Greek, mornings, and read Logische Untersuchunger3 evenings. We rejoice that the war danger is over.
Affy. T. S. E.
Appearances appearances he said
I have searched the world through dialectic ways
I have questioned restless nights and torpid days
And followed every by-way where it lead
And always find the same unvarièd
Interminable intolerable maze.
Contradiction is the debt you would collect
And still with contradiction are you paid
And while you do not know what else you seek
You shall have nothing other to expect.
Appearances appearances he said
And nowise real; unreal, and yet true;
Untrue, but real – of what are you afraid?
Hopeful of what? Whether you keep thanksgiving
Or pray for earth on tired body and head
This truth is true on all ways you keep the paths you tread
As truth as truth need be (when all is said)
That if you find no truth among the living
You will not find much truth among the dead.
No other time than now, no other place than but here, he said.
He drew the shawl about him as he spoke
And dozed in his armchair till the morning broke.
1–Aiken later sold the poems enclosed in this letter. They were eventually printed in IMH from the drafts that TSE sent with those of The Waste Land to John Quinn in 1922. The Descent from the Cross (which appears to be the provisional title for the collection of poems he was writing at this time, including ‘The Love Song of St Sebastian’) refers to the central panel in Rubens’s great triptych in Antwerp Cathedral, which TSE had recently seen.
2–The OED’s first record of the term ‘homosexual’ is in a translation of Richard von Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis (1892). This is followed by a quotation from Havelock Ellis (1897), and a reference by Bernard Shaw to ‘The forty tolerated homosexual brothels of Berlin’ (NS 21/22 Nov. 1914). St Sebastian became something of a homosexual icon in the late nineteenth century, as in Frederick Rolfe’s sonnets about Guido Reni’s ‘St Sebastian’ published in The Artist magazine (1891), and John Gray’s ‘Saint Sebastian: On a Picture’ (1896). Likewise, Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891) refers to ‘medallions of many saints and martyrs, among whom was St Sebastian’. The first art-historical account of homoeroticism in representations of the saint was by Georges Eekhoud, ‘Saint Sebastien dans la peinture’, Akdemus 1 (15 Feb. 1909).
3–Logische Untersuchunger [‘Logic
al Investigations’], (1900–1) by Edmund Husserl (1859–1938), Austrian founder of the philosophy of phenomenology. TSE’s annotated copy of the 1913 edition, inscribed ‘T. S. Eliot / Marburg 1914’, is in the London Library.
4–TS Hornbake Library. For TSE’s manuscript, see IMH, 75–9.
5–So, correctly, ‘led’.
TO Eleanor Hinkley
MS Houghton
26 July 1914
bei Herrn Suptdr. Happich,
Luth. Kirchhof 1, Marburg a. Lahn
Dear Eleanor
Mit freun[d]lichem Gruss aus Deutschland! [With friendly greetings from Germany!] Here I am, safely out of harm’s way, settled in the bosom of the family of the Lutheran Pastor, and the church is right across the street. I have just been to church, and feel as good as gold. This will not be an exciting summer, but I think a pleasant one, though I hope you will not circulate any gossip about me and the Pastor’s daughter. She is named Hannah. In the evening, when we gather about the lamp, and the Herr Pfarrer takes a nap and composes his thoughts, and the ladies sew needlework, then the Frau Pfarrer says ‘Ach Hannah, spiel uns ein Stuck Beethoven’, [‘Oh, Hannah, play us a bit of Beethoven’,] and Hannah spiels for 15 minutes. Hannah also sings, and can talk a little French and English (but she hasn’t tried it on me). Then we read the paper, and discuss the Balkan Question, and the difference in climate between America and Deutschland. Altogether they are aw’f’ly good people, and we all eat a great deal. I feel that I am quite in darkest Germany. I have heard talked not a word of English since my arrival. This is a small town, but as small towns in Germany sometimes are, more a miniature compact city than a small town, as it has very good shops, and a cunning little street car that runs round the town on one track, and little narrow streets. You walk down the middle of the chief business street, and the street is about as wide as a very wide sidewalk, and on the sidewalks just two people can pass squeeze by (two Germans). As the town is very small, and the university numbers 2500, the students are much in evidence. Lately they have been having student fests, and the various clubs parade the streets in the evening carrying paper lanterns of their colours (usually three colours); and as they come winding down the steep narrow streets it makes a pretty sight. The houses are much decorated too; apparently each student hangs a flag of his club colours out of his own window.
The students appear a little cub-like and uncouth, but are fearfully polite – I have always considered the Germans the politest people on earth. In fact everyone, servants, railroad employés, and all, are very obliging.
From my window I have a beautiful view (there is a little grove – telegraph poles, I believe? I am not strong in botany). The house is on the side of this steep hill, and my window looks out over the roofs toward distant hills on the other side of the Lahn valley. The country about is really quite charming, hilly and wooded, with nice walks, not too wild; a woody farming country, such as I like – I don’t care for ‘sublime’ scenery, do you? Only one cannot walk far, or one would miss a meal; – for we have five a day. One is either just recovering from a meal or just preparing for one. As I was going out to swim the other day the Frau Superintendent (Superintendent seems to be a sort of rector) suggested that I had better eat some bread and sausage to fortify myself. Really, the food is very good; I had not supposed that I could like German food.
I shan’t have anything very exciting to narrate this summer; this is as peaceful a life as one could well find. Perhaps I shall make some amusing acquaintances in my summer-school; the reception is next Sunday evening. They have excursions, just as in Cambridge, and I intend to participate in them. You must tell me about your Summer School and I will tell you of mine … I wrote to Walter Cook;2 has he come to see you? I think that he will if the letter reaches him. Do you know Bill Greene,3 or shall I send him an introduction to you? You would like him, I know; he is not intense, but he is very gentle and good and nearintellectual. He will be in Cambridge this winter.
I wished that you had been on the boat; there were some amusing characters. Miss Levi was very attractive in her way. She is an Irish Roman Catholic Jew! Her mother was Irish. – There were several persons on the boat who claimed to come from Chestnut Hill4 – ‘but it’s really Newton’. Sometimes it was Newton Highlands, – but I think every Newton had a representative. You should have seen us round the piano on the 4th July, singing ‘Rally, rally round the Flag, Boys!’5 They were awfully good people, some of them. Then there was Miss Bessie Wood, of Somerville (do you know her? She is a Saff.); everyone thought I was her nephew.
Affy
Tom.
1–Signs (above and right): NACH DER SCHÖNEN AUSSICHT [TO THE BEAUTIFUL VIEW]; BIER LOKAL [PUBLIC HOUSE]. HEUTE ABEND UM 8 UHR KUNSTLER-KONZERT [THIS EVENING AT 8 P.M. ARTISTS’ CONCERT].
2–Walter Cook (1888–1962), Harvard Class of 1911, archaeologist and teacher.
3–William C. Greene. See letter of 14 Oct. 1914. He had been at Harvard with TSE and Aiken, working alongside them on The Advocate, and went as a Rhodes Scholar to Oxford in 1912.
4–Chestnut Hill, Newton, Newton Highlands and Somerville were then suburbs of Boston.
5–‘Rally Round the Flag, Boys’ (1862), by George F. Root, was originally a rallying song for supporters of the Union, but was also sung in an adapted form by Confederate troops.
TO Eleanor Hinkley
PC Houghton
[Postmark 22 August 1914]1
c/o British Linen Bank,
Threadneedle St, London
Dear Eleanor,
I have just got to London after being five days on the route. The
Germans treated us royally, but we had to stay in Marburg two weeks
without any outside communication, and did not feel very much at ease. I
will write about it soon. Do write to me here.
Tom.
1–Germany declared war on Russia on 1 Aug. 1914, and on France two days later. Germany’s invasion of neutral Belgium on 4 Aug. provoked Britain to declare war on Germany the same day.
TO His Mother
MS1 Houghton
23 August 1914
28 Bedford Place, London
Dear Mother,
I hope that by this time you will have received the letter that I sent by the courtesy of Mr Bicker, to mail in Boston. I did not write during the two weeks after the outbreak of war, because I could obtain no certain information as to the probability of letters arriving, and hoped (as proved to be the case) to be able to telegraph from London before any such letters could reach you. I did send one card (in German) asking for money – which proved unnecessary, and I hope that you received my cable of the 3rd of August.
I confess that I did feel a little doubtful of the advisability of remaining in Germany a day or two before war was declared against Russia; but it never entered my head that England would declare war too: and we all supposed that after the mobilization, we could (as proved the case for those of us who were Americans) slip away without difficulty. Besides, I had come to Germany expressly. The summer school was just opened that day, and I did not want to lose my summer for a scare. It was not until evening (August 2) when the pupils assembled that I appreciated the seriousness of our position. We were told it would be impossible to leave for a fortnight; that it would be impossible for the summer course to continue; but that to fill our time during the enforced stay various makeshift courses and conversation groups would be arranged. The director made a speech in which he cautioned us to be very careful, to avoid crowds, and not to talk in foreign languages in the street. By this time he had got us pretty well frightened of course, and no one was taking very keen interest in the proposed courses. The Russians, who knew they wouldn’t get out anyway, were miserable and silent; there appeared to be only one Frenchman, the professor, who was also miserable; the English and Americans were talkative and excited. We made a list of names, and we tried to communicate with the consul at Frankfurt, and couldn’t think of anything else to do, and d
isbanded for the evening. At first I was for taking the makeshift course, but as it gradually came upon me that I might need the money I decided to withdraw, and was subsequently glad I did. I had 20 marks cash; 10 went for the cable; next day I got 45 marks back which I had paid for the course; and subsequently, my $40 American Express checks proved to be good. But there were several days when I found my letter of credit useless, I feared that I might have to stay till my 40 marks would no longer get me over the frontier; for although I was not paying my board (they knew I could not) there was laundry every week, soap, haircuts etc. In the event, I had quite enough.
There was really no danger for us, but the suspense – penned up with no certain communications and no knowledge of when we could get out, and with only imperfect sympathy with the people we were among, (though we saw only German papers and felt that Germany was quite in the right); all this made a fortnight seem a month. There were eight or nine of us who used to gather every evening at the Kaiserhof, pool our misinformation and take heart from the fact that no one knew anything. Gradually the group dwindled; one man went to Berlin; one tried to get to Italy; at the end there were four of us, who hoped to reach Rotterdam together. As for the English, the women were all right, and are now getting away; as for the men, they stay’d in their houses, or went to the Poorhouse, where I suppose they are yet, – looked after sharply and getting board at seven and a half marks a week, but humanely treated. There was one Irishman, a very plucky chap, who managed to keep about, and joined us every evening. He came to the train to see us off. I suppose he is in the Poorhouse by this time; he had only 80 marks left.