T.S. Eliot (1888–1965)  

The Waste Land (1922)

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse
oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum
illi pueri dicerunt:
Sebulla pe theleis;
respondebat illa:
apothanein thelo."

 

 

For Ezra Pound

il miglior fabbro

 

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD


APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
 
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  
Memory and desire, stirring  
Dull roots with spring rain.  
Winter kept us warm, covering          5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding  
A little life with dried tubers.  
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee  
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,  
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,   10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.  
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.  
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,  
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,  
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,   15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.  
In the mountains, there you feel free.  
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.  
 
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow  
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,   20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only  
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,  
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,  
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only  
There is shadow under this red rock,   25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),  
And I will show you something different from either  
Your shadow at morning striding behind you  
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;  
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.   30
                Frisch weht der Wind  
                Der Heimat zu.  
                Mein Irisch Kind,  
                Wo weilest du?  
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;   35
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'  
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,  
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not  
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither  
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,   40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.  
Od' und leer das Meer.  
 
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,  
Had a bad cold, nevertheless  
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,   45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,  
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,  
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)  
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,  
The lady of situations.   50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,  
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,  
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,  
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find  
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.   55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.  
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,  
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:  
One must be so careful these days.  
 
Unreal City,   60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,  
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,  
I had not thought death had undone so many.  
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,  
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.   65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,  
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours  
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.  
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!  
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!   70
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,  
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?  
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?  
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,  
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!   75
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'  
 
II. A GAME OF CHESS


THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
 
Glowed on the marble, where the glass  
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines  
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out   80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)  
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra  
Reflecting light upon the table as  
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,  
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;   85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass  
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,  
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused  
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air  
That freshened from the window, these ascended   90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,  
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,  
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.  
Huge sea-wood fed with copper  
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,   95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.  
Above the antique mantel was displayed  
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene  
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king  
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale  100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice  
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,  
'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.  
And other withered stumps of time  
Were told upon the walls; staring forms  105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.  
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.  
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair  
Spread out in fiery points  
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.  110
 
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.  
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.  
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?  
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'  
 
I think we are in rats' alley  115
Where the dead men lost their bones.  
 
'What is that noise?'  
                      The wind under the door.  
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'  
                      Nothing again nothing.  120
                                              'Do  
'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember  
'Nothing?'  
  I remember  
Those are pearls that were his eyes.  125
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'  
                                                         But  
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—  
It's so elegant  
So intelligent  130
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'  
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street  
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?  
'What shall we ever do?'  
                          The hot water at ten.  135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.  
And we shall play a game of chess,  
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.  
 
When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—  
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,  140
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.  
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you  
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.  
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,  145
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.  
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,  
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,  
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.  
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.  150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.  
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.  
Others can pick and choose if you can't.  
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.  155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.  
(And her only thirty-one.)  
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,  
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.  
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)  160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.  
You are a proper fool, I said.  
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,  
What you get married for if you don't want children?  
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  165
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,  
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—  
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.  170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.  
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.  
 
III. THE FIRE SERMON


THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
 
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind  
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.  175
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.  
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,  
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends  
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.  
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;  180
Departed, have left no addresses.  
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .  
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,  
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.  
But at my back in a cold blast I hear  185
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.  
 
A rat crept softly through the vegetation  
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank  
While I was fishing in the dull canal  
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse  190
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck  
And on the king my father's death before him.  
White bodies naked on the low damp ground  
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,  
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.  195
But at my back from time to time I hear  
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring  
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.  
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter  
And on her daughter  200
They wash their feet in soda water  
Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!  
 
Twit twit twit  
Jug jug jug jug jug jug  
So rudely forc'd.  205
Tereu  
 
Unreal City  
Under the brown fog of a winter noon  
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant  
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants  210
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,  
Asked me in demotic French  
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel  
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.  
 
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back  215
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits  
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,  
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,  
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see  
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives  220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,  
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights  
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.  
Out of the window perilously spread  
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,  225
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)  
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.  
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs  
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—  
I too awaited the expected guest.  230
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,  
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,  
One of the low on whom assurance sits  
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.  
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,  235
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,  
Endeavours to engage her in caresses  
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.  
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;  
Exploring hands encounter no defence;  240
His vanity requires no response,  
And makes a welcome of indifference.  
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all  
Enacted on this same divan or bed;  
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall  245
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)  
Bestows on final patronising kiss,  
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .  
 
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,  
Hardly aware of her departed lover;  250
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:  
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'  
When lovely woman stoops to folly and  
Paces about her room again, alone,  
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,  255
And puts a record on the gramophone.  
 
"This music crept by me upon the waters"  
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.  
O City city, I can sometimes hear  
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,  260
The pleasant whining of a mandoline  
And a clatter and a chatter from within  
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls  
Of Magnus Martyr hold  
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.  265
 
      The river sweats  
      Oil and tar  
      The barges drift  
      With the turning tide  
      Red sails  270
      Wide  
      To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.  
      The barges wash  
      Drifting logs  
      Down Greenwich reach  275
      Past the Isle of Dogs.  
            Weialala leia  
            Wallala leialala  
 
      Elizabeth and Leicester  
      Beating oars  280
      The stern was formed  
      A gilded shell  
      Red and gold  
      The brisk swell  
      Rippled both shores  285
      Southwest wind  
      Carried down stream  
      The peal of bells  
      White towers  
            Weialala leia  290
            Wallala leialala  
 
"Trams and dusty trees.  
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew  
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees  
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."  295
"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart  
Under my feet. After the event  
He wept. He promised 'a new start.'  
I made no comment. What should I resent?"  
'On Margate Sands.  300
I can connect  
Nothing with nothing.  
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.  
My people humble people who expect  
Nothing.'  305
      la la  
 
To Carthage then I came  
 
Burning burning burning burning  
O Lord Thou pluckest me out  
O Lord Thou pluckest  310
 
burning  
 

 

 

 

IV. DEATH BY WATER



PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
 
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell  
And the profit and loss.  
                          A current under sea  315
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell  
He passed the stages of his age and youth  
Entering the whirlpool.  
                          Gentile or Jew  
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,  320
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.  
 
V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID


AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces
 
After the frosty silence in the gardens  
After the agony in stony places  
The shouting and the crying  325
Prison and place and reverberation  
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains  
He who was living is now dead  
We who were living are now dying  
With a little patience  330
 
Here is no water but only rock  
Rock and no water and the sandy road  
The road winding above among the mountains  
Which are mountains of rock without water  
If there were water we should stop and drink  335
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think  
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand  
If there were only water amongst the rock  
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit  
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit  340
There is not even silence in the mountains  
But dry sterile thunder without rain  
There is not even solitude in the mountains  
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl  
From doors of mudcracked houses
                                 If there were water
 345
  And no rock  
  If there were rock  
  And also water  
  And water  
  A spring  350
  A pool among the rock  
  If there were the sound of water only  
  Not the cicada  
  And dry grass singing  
  But sound of water over a rock  355
  Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees  
  Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop  
  But there is no water  
 
Who is the third who walks always beside you?  
When I count, there are only you and I together  360
But when I look ahead up the white road  
There is always another one walking beside you  
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded  
I do not know whether a man or a woman  
—But who is that on the other side of you?  365
 
What is that sound high in the air  
Murmur of maternal lamentation  
Who are those hooded hordes swarming  
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth  
Ringed by the flat horizon only  370
What is the city over the mountains  
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air  
Falling towers  
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria  
Vienna London  375
Unreal  
 
A woman drew her long black hair out tight  
And fiddled whisper music on those strings  
And bats with baby faces in the violet light  
Whistled, and beat their wings  380
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall  
And upside down in air were towers  
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours  
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.  
 
In this decayed hole among the mountains  385
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing  
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel  
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.  
It has no windows, and the door swings,  
Dry bones can harm no one.  390
Only a cock stood on the rooftree  
Co co rico co co rico  
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust  
Bringing rain  
 
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves  395
Waited for rain, while the black clouds  
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.  
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.  
Then spoke the thunder  
D A  400
Datta: what have we given?  
My friend, blood shaking my heart  
The awful daring of a moment's surrender  
Which an age of prudence can never retract  
By this, and this only, we have existed  405
Which is not to be found in our obituaries  
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider  
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor  
In our empty rooms  
D A  410
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key  
Turn in the door once and turn once only  
We think of the key, each in his prison  
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison  
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours  415
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus  
D A  
Damyata: The boat responded  
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar  
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded  420
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient  
To controlling hands  
 
                      I sat upon the shore  
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me  
Shall I at least set my lands in order?  425
 
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down  
 
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina  
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow  
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie  
These fragments I have shored against my ruins  430
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.  
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.  
 
            Shantih shantih shantih  





NOTES
Not only the title, but the plan and a good deal of the incidental symbolism of the poem were suggested by Miss Jessie L. Weston's book on the Grail legend: From Ritual to Romance (Macmillan). Indeed, so deeply am I indebted, Miss Weston's book will elucidate the difficulties of the poem much better than my notes can do; and I recommend it (apart from the great interest of the book itself) to any who think such elucidation of the poem worth the trouble. To another work of anthropology I am indebted in general, one which has influenced our generation profoundly; I mean The Golden Bough; I have used especially the two volumes Adonis, Attis, Osiris. Anyone who is acquainted with these works will immediately recognize in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

Epigraph: Petronius' Satyricon (first century A.D.) recounts the story of the Sibyl of Cumai, given eternal life, but thus doomed to perpetual old age: "For once I myself saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the children said to her, 'Sybyl, what do you want?' she replied, 'I want to die.'" The Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae. The Cumaean Sibyl prophesied by "singing the fates" and writing on oak leaves. These would be arranged inside the entrance of her cave, but if the wind blew and scattered them she would not help to reassemble the leaves to form the original prophesy again. The Sibyl was a guide to the underworld, its entry being at a nearby crater. Aeneas employed her services before his descent to the lower world to visit his dead father, but she warned him that it was no light undertaking. She warned Aeneas that the descent into Hades was easy, but that it was a great labor to climb back out. Although she was mortal, the Sibyl lived about a thousand years. This came about when Apollo granted her a wish; she took up a handful of sand and asked to live for as many years as the grains of sand she held but she didn't ask for enduring youth, and Apollo allowed her body to wither away because the Sibyl did not consent to have sex with him. Her body grew smaller with age and eventually was kept in a jar. Eventually only her voice was left.

Dedication: "The better maker," Eliot's recognition of Pound for his extensive, sensitive help in shaping the poem. The quotation from Dante's Purgatorio canto 26, line 117, was a tribute to the Provençal poet Arnaut Daniel.

The Burial of the Dead: the phrase is from the burial service of the Anglican Church.

Starnbergersee: a lake near Munich. Lines 8-16 echo passages in Countess Marie Larish's My Past (1913). Countess Marie Louise Larisch von Moennich (also known as Countess Marie Louise Larisch-Wallersee) (1858-1940), niece and confidante of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, was born Marie Louise Elizabeth Mendel in Augsburg, Bavaria, the illegitimate daughter of Ludwig Wilhelm, Duke in Bavaria (1831-1920) and actress Henriette Mendel (1833-1891). Her father renounced his rights as firstborn son, and Henriette (or Henrietta) Mendel was created Baroness of Wallersee (Freifrau von Wallersee) in preparation for their morganatic marriage in 1859. From 28 May 1859, Marie was thus a Baroness of Wallersee (Freiin von Wallersee). Marie became the confidante of her aunt, the Empress Elisabeth of Austria, being selected at least partly because of her skills on horseback. Their relationship was shattered by the revelation, after Crown Prince Rudolf's death at Mayerling, that Marie had acted as go-between for him and his lover, Baroness Mary Vetsera. She married Count Georg Larisch of Moennich, Baron of Ellgoth and Karwin (1855-1928). The marriage had been arranged by the Empress. They later divorced. Marie had five children during this marriage, though only the first two were indisputably fathered by her husband. She then married musician Otto Brucks (1854-1914). They had one child, Otto. Marie met and conversed with the poet T. S. Eliot, and part of their conversation found its way into his epochal poem The Waste Land. Marie is said to have been given a great deal of "hush money" not to publish her memoirs, and to have accepted voluntary exile to the United States in exchange for an annual pension of $25,000. She, of course, published her memoirs anyway—a series of ghost-written works which are completely undependable factually.

Bin gar keine: "I am no Russian, I come from Lithuania, a real German."

Line 20 Cf. Ezekiel 2:7. Eliot's note: God addresses Ezekiel as "Son of man," and calls upon him to "stand upon thy feet, and I will speak unto thee."

23. Cf. Ecclesiastes 12:5. The prophet points to old age when "the grasshopper shall be a burden and desire shall fail."

25. Isaiah 32:1-2 prophesies that when the Messiah comes it "shall be [ . . . ] as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land."

31. V. Tristan und Isolde, i, verses 5–8. In Wagner's opera, the lines are sung by a sailor aboard Tristan's ship, thinking of his beloved in Ireland: "Fresh blows the wind homeward; my Irish child, where are you waiting?"

36. In Ovid's Metamorphoses, X, Hyacinth is a young boy slain by a rival for Apollo's love. In Greek mythology, Hyacinth or Hyacinthus was a divine hero. He is the tutelary deity of one of the principal Spartan festivals, the Hyacinthia, held every summer. The festival lasted three days, one day of mourning for the death of the divine hero and the last two celebrating his rebirth. In the myth, Hyacinth was a beautiful youth beloved by the god Apollo. According to myth, the two competed at discus. They took turns throwing it, until Apollo, to impress his beloved, threw it with all his might. Hyacinth ran to catch it, to impress Apollo in turn, and was struck by the discus as it fell to the ground and he died. Another myth adds that the wind god Zephyrus was actually responsible for the death of Hyacinth. The lad's beauty caused a feud between Zephyrus and Apollo, which was aggravated by the fact that Hyacinth preferred the radiant archery god Apollo. In jealousy, Zephyrus blew Apollo's discus off course, so as to injure and kill Hyacinth. When he died, Apollo didn't allow Hades to claim the boy; rather, he made a flower, the hyacinth, from his spilled blood. According to Ovid's account, the tears of Apollo stained the newly formed flower's petals with the sign of his grief. The myth is one of the many popular representations of the beautiful spring vegetation slain by the hot sun of summer.

42. Id. iii, verse 24. "Wide and empty the sea," the message given the dying Tristan, waiting for the ship bringing Isolde.
 
43. Sosostris: the name allues to Sesotris, a 12th-dynasy Egyptian king, adapted by Aldous Huxley in Chrome Yellow (1921) to Sesostris, the Sorceress of Ectabana, a woman fortune-teller.

46. I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot pack of cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own convenience. The Hanged Man, a member of the traditional pack, fits my purpose in two ways: because he is associated in my mind with the Hanged God of Frazer, and because I associate him with the hooded figure in the passage of the disciples to Emmaus in Part V. The Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the 'crowds of people', and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself. (Eliot's note).
 
47 Phoenician Sailor: According to Eliot's note, the Smyrna merchant (I. 129) "melts into the Phoenician Sailor." The Phoenicians were seagoing merchants who spread Egyptian fertility cults throughout the Mediterranean. He is a type of the fertility god annually "drowned" as a symbol of the death of winter.
 
48 From Ariel's song in Shakespeare's The Tempest, I.ii. 398. Ariel sings of the transformation from the supposed death to "something rich and strange." See also "A Game of Chess," 1.125.
 
49-50 Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks. Suggestive of several "situations": literally, beautiful lady, the name ambiguously expands into the names of the poisonous nightshade, of a cosmetic and of the Madonna, or Virgin Mary, painted by Leonardo da Vinci as Madonna of the Rocks.
 
51. Wheel. The wheel on one of the Tarot cards is the Wheel of Fortune.
 
52. One eyed merchant. cf. Mr. Eugenides, 1.209; on the Tarot card he is shown in profile, thus "one-eyed."

60. Cf. Baudelaire:
Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,
Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.
 
Swarming city, city full of dreams, / Where the specter in full day accosts the passerby." Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil).
63. Cf. Inferno, iii. 55–7:
                      si lunga tratta
di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto
  che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta. Translation: "So it ran on, and still behind it pressed / a never-ending rout of souls in pain. / I had not thought death had undone so many / as passed before me in that mourful train." Referring to those living without praise or blame (the Opportunists chose neither good nor evil).

68. A phenomenon which I have often noticed (Eliot's note). This was partly the route Eliot took for many years to his desk at Lloyd's. If he passed under the clock of the "Bankers Church" at nine, he would have been on time at the office, a few steps down the street. The church is also possibly an allusion to the Chapel Perilous in the Grail Legend. See also lines 388-9.
 
 
70 Rome won the naval battle at Mylae (260 B.C.) in a commercial war against Carthage.
 
71-75. These lines constitute a parody of the anticipation of the resurrection of the fertility god. Eliot's note refers to Webster's The White Devil (1612). A Roman woman fears her murdered relatives will be disinterred: "But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, / For with his nails he'll dig them up again." In welding his "theft,"—Eliot's term for such literary "borrowing"—into something "new" he made two significant changes: "foe" to "friend" and "wolf" to "Dog," thus alluding to the "Dog Star"—the bright star Sirius whose annual positioning coincided with the flooding of the Nile in consonance with the fertility ceremonies. The passage has occasioned a great deal of speculative comment with reference to naturalistic and humanistic suggestions that seem at odds with the rebirth of the god.

76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mal. The apposite lines in the introductory poem to the volume may be rendered, "Hypocrite reader!—my likeness—my brother!"

II. A GAME OF CHESS

 

The title "A Game of Chess" refers to Thomas Middleton's A Game of Chess (1627), about a marriage for political purposes, and Women Beware Women (1657), in which a chess game is used as a means of keeping a woman occupied while her daughter-in-law is being seduced, the seduction being described in terms of chess. See also 1.137.

77. Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, II. ii. 190: "The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, / Burn'd on the water."

92. Laquearia. V. Aeneid, I. 726: dependent lychni laquearibus aureis incensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt. An echo of the "paneled ceiling" of the banquet hall in which Queen Dido of Carthage received Aeneas. She commits suicide after Aeneas leaves her to found Rome.
98. Sylvan scene. V. Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 140. "Sylvan scene" is the phrase used in Satan's first visit to the Garden. The actual scene, however, is that of the "change of Philomel"; and Eliot for line 99 refers to "Ovid Metamorphoses, VI, Philomela." Thus the two failures of love are conjoined—and added to the two previous failures figured in the opulent furnishing of the lady's boudoir. Eve's temptation by Satan will lead to carnal debauchery and expulsion from the Garden. Ovid recounts the rape of Philomela by Tereus, her sister's husband. After he rapes her, Tereus cuts out Philomela's tongue so that she can't tell her sister, Procne. Philomela weaves a tapestry that depicts the rape, thus letting Procne know of her husband's treachery. Eventually, to escape Tereus' wrath, Philomela is transformed into a nightingale. The motif of the transformation of suffering into art continues through line 103 and, pointed to by Eliot's note, in lines 203-6.

103. Jug Jug. The stylized representation of the song of hte nightingale in Elizabethan poetry.

115. Cf. Part III, l. 195.

118. Cf. Webster: 'Is the wind in that door still?"

126. Cf. Part I, l. 37, 48.

138. Cf. the game of chess in Middleton's Women beware Women.

139. demobbed. Slang for "demobilized" form the army after WWI.
 
152. Announcement by the "pub" bartender that it is closing time. Accompanied by rapping on the bar.
 
161. Chemist. Druggist or pharmacist.
 
166. Ham, or the lower end of a side of bacon; suggestively, thigh.
 
172. Alludes both to Ophelia's words before drowning herself, Hamlet Iv.v. 72 and to a popular song "Good night ladies, we're going to leave you now."

III. THE FIRE SERMON
 
The Fire sermon. The title of this section is especially evocative. It serves as a kind of rubric for the various scenes of lust, past and present, which follow, and it anticipates the express references to Buddha's Fire Sermon and St. Augustine's Confessions in the concluding lines and in Eliot's notes on those lines (307-9). Given the accurate London geography of the poem and the fact that The Waste Land began as, and to some extent remains, a poem about London in the Dryden vein, it is worth noting that overlooking the scenes mentioned, especially lines 259-65, is the imposing Monument to the Great Fire of London of 1666. The Buddha's Fire Sermon: The Adittapariyaya Suttra is a discourse from the Pali Canon, popularly known as the Fire Sermon. In it, the Buddha discusses nirvana, using the metaphor of a flame being extinguished to represent the cessation of craving.

176. V. Spenser, Prothalamion. Spenser's refrain, from his poem, a sixteenth century celebration of marriage in the then pastoral setting along the Thames River near London.
 
 
182. In Psalms 137:1 the exiled Jews express their longing for home: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion." Eliot largely finished the poem at Lake Leman, as Lake Geneva is also called, at a sanatorium where he had gone for care.
 
185 and 196. These lines allued to Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," lines 21-24.

192. Cf. The Tempest, I. ii. Ferdinand, believing his father is dead, is "sitting on a bank, / Weeping again the King my father's wreck."

197. Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees:
When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear,
A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring
Actaeon to Diana in the spring,
Where all shall see her naked skin [. . . ]
As punishment for thus seeing the goddess of Chastity naked, Actaeon was changed into a stag, hunted, and killed.

199. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia.
 
201. Eliot here uses some sanitized lines from a bawdy song of World War I, which actually was a parody of the popular ballad, "Little Redwing."

202. V. Verlaine, Parsifal. the last line of which goes, "And O those children singing in the choir." The feet of Parsifal, in Wagner's opera, are washed before he enters the sanctuary. The children are singing at the ceremony. In Verlaine's poem, there are sexual implications.

210. The currants were quoted at a price 'carriage and insurance free to London'; and the Bill of Lading, etc., were to be handed to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft.
 
213. The Cannon Street Hotel is a commercial hotel in that area of the City, the Metropole, a hotel in Brighton popular for assignations.

218. Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a 'character', is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest. Just as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman, and the two sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees, in fact, is the substance of the poem. The whole passage from Ovid is of great anthropological interest:
[. . . ] Cum Iunone iocos et 'maior vestra profecto est
Quam, quae contingit maribus', dixisse, 'voluptas.'
Illa negat; placuit quae sit sententia docti
Quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.
Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva
Corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu
Deque viro factus, mirabile, femina septem
Egerat autumnos; octavo rursus eosdem
Vidit et 'est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae',
Dixit 'ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,
Nunc quoque vos feriam!' percussis anguibus isdem
Forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.
Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa
Dicta Iovis firmat; gravius Saturnia iusto
Nec pro materia fertur doluisse suique
Iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte,
At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam
Facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto
Scire futura dedit poenamque levavit honore.
Summary of this Latin passage: Tiresias saw two snakes copulating, separatedthem and became a woman; after seven yeras he saw the same sight, again separated them, became a man again. When Jove and Juno disputed whether more pleasure is love was enjoyed by male or female, they referred the question to Tiresias, who said women. Juno in her anger blinded him, but Jove, unable to undo her action, gave him the power of infallible divination.

221. This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had in mind the 'longshore' or 'dory' fisherman, who returns at nightfall.
 
234. Bradford. A manufacturing town in Yorkshire, England, noted for the rapid fortunes made during WWI.
 
246. The site of Teresias' prophecies and of his witnessing the fate of Oedipus and Creon.
 

253. V. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield. "When lovely woman stoops to folly / And finds too late that men betray / What charm can sooth her melancholy, / What art can wash her guilt away? / The only art her guilt to cover, / To hide her shame from every eye, / To give repentance to her lover / And wring his bosom—is to die."

257. V. The Tempest, as above. An exact quotation of Ariel's song of transformation.

264. The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors. See The Proposed Demolition of Nineteen City Churches (P. S. King & Son, Ltd.). Nearby the Billingsgate fishmarket and across the street from "the Cock," "where fishmen lounge at noon," it was known as the "Fishmen's Church." The Anglican church is dedicated to St. Magnus, Earl of Orkney, who died in 1117. It is mis-named as St. Magnus was not martyred for his religious beliefs but was executed after being captured during a power struggle with his cousin, a political rival.

266. The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. From line 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn. V. Götterdammerung, III. i: The Rhine-daughters.

279. V. Froude, Elizabeth, vol. I, ch. iv, letter of De Quadra to Philip of Spain:
  In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on the river. (The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop, when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they should not be married if the queen pleased.
A reference to the fruitless love affair of Queen Elizabeth and the Earl of Leicester.
 
293-4. Highbury, Richmond, Kew, and Moorgate are all areas in or around London.

293. Cf. Purgatorio, V. 133:
'Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;
Siena mi fe', disfecemi Maremma.'
 
 
300. Margate Sands. A resort on the sea where Eliot, suffering from stress, spent a short period before going to the sanatorium on Lake Geneva.

307. V. St. Augustine's Confessions: 'to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears."

308. The complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon (which corresponds in importance to the Sermon on the Mount) from which these words are taken, will be found translated in the late Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism in Translation (Harvard Oriental Series). Mr. Warren was one of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in the Occident.

309. From St. Augustine's Confessions again. The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.
 
The last five lines of the "Fire Sermon" Eliot virtually instructs the reader to consider together. Of line 307, he quotes St. Augustine. Of line 308, he points to "the complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon. Of line 309, after citing Confessions again.

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID


In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book), and the present decay of eastern Europe. See lines 360, 388, 369 respectively.
 
 
322-330. Allusion to Christ's travail in the gardens of Gethsemane and Golgotha—but also to that of the other slain gods of anthropology through whom new life is invoked.
 
330. Suggestion that this is the road to Emmaus. The Bible notes that Jesus was seen in Emmaus, the very day of the resurrection, after Jesus’ appearance to Mary Magdalene and after Peter and John ran to the tomb only to find it empty (John:20). While two disciples (including Cleopas) are walking along the Emmaus road, Jesus appears to them and begins interacting with them. When they reach the village of Emmaus, the disciples ask Jesus to stay with them to eat as he seemed willing to walk on. After he prays and breaks the bread, they recognize him, and he disappears. Then they come back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples about it, and while they share their excitement Jesus appears once again. (Luke:24, John:20). Emmaus is the name of a place which has been proposed to be located in various sites in present-day Israel and the West Bank.

357. This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birds in Eastern North America) 'it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats [. . . . ] Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequalled.' Its 'water-dripping song' is justly celebrated.

360. The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted.

367–77. Cf. Hermann Hesse, Blick ins Chaos:
Schon ist halb Europa, schon ist zumindest der halbe Osten Europas auf dem Wege zum Chaos, fährt betrunken im heiligen Wahn am Abgrund entlang und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnisch wie Dmitri Karamasoff sang. Ueber diese Lieder lacht der Bürger beleidigt, der Heilige und Seher hört sie mit Tränen.
 
393. In folklore, the cock's crow was thought to indicate the departure of ghosts. In Matthew, as Christ predicted, Peter denies him three times before the cock crows.
 
396. The Ganges River in India is sacred to Hindus, a place of purification.
 
398. Himavant. A Himalayan mountain.

401. 'Datta, dayadhvam, damyata' (Give, sympathize, control). The fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka—Upanishad, 5, 1. A translation is found in Deussen's Sechzig Upanishads des Veda, p. 489. With this introduction of the onomatopoetic Sanskrit, the density of allusion seems to intensify.

407. Cf. Webster, The White Devil, V, vi:
                                 [ . . . ] they'll remarry
Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider
Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs.

411. Cf. Inferno, xxxiii. 46:
ed io sentii chiavar l'uscio di sotto
all'orribile torre. Translation: "And from the base of that horrible tower / I heard the sound of hammers nailing up the gates [ . . . ]" (Reference to Ugolino who is starved to death in the locked tower).
  Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 346:
  My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its elements alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it [ . . . . ] In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul.
 
417. Coriolanus. Shakespeare's Coriolanus deals with his tragedy. According to Plutarch, Coriolanus represented the Roman aristocracy and was well respected in the Roman Senate for arguing against the democratic inclinations of the plebeians. He was permanently banished from Rome upon being convicted on charges of misappropriation of public funds. He later turned against Rome and made allegiance with the same Volscians he had once fought against. Plutarch's account of his defection tells that Coriolanus donned a disguise and sneaked into the home of a wealthy Volscian noble, a certain Tullus Aufidius, and appealed to him as a supplicant. Coriolanus and Aufidius then persuaded the Volscians to break their truce with Rome and raise an army to invade. When Coriolanus's Volscian troops threatened the city, Roman matrons, including his wife and mother, were sent to persuade him to call off the attack. At the sight of his mother Veturia, wife Volumnia and children throwing themselves at his feet in supplication, Coriolanus relented, withdrew his troops from the border of Rome, and retired to Aufidius's home city of Antium. Aufidius then raised support to have Coriolanus put on trial by the Volscians, and then formed a conspiracy to assassinate him before the trial had ended.

424. V. Weston, From Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King. The king in the Grail legends typically lived on a river or seashore. Fish is a fertility or life symbol. This meaning was often forgotten, however, and the title of the Fisher King in medieval romances was accounted for by describing him as fishing.

427. V. Purgatorio, xxvi. 148.
'Ara vos prec per aquella valor
'que vos guida al som de l'escalina,
'sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor.'
 Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina. Translation: "Then he, too, hid himself within the fire / that makes those spirits ready to go higher." Where the poet Arnaut Daniel, remembering his lechery, speaks this line.


428. V. Pervigilium Veneris. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III. "When shall I be like the swallow?" Eliot's note refers to this Latin poem, with its echo of Philomela, recalling the idea of finding a voice through suffering. In this anonymous poem, the myth is imaged in the swallow. "O Swallow, Swallow" appears in one of the songs in Tennyson's "The Princess."

429. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado. "The Prince of Aquitaine in the ruined tower." Title of sonnet translated: "The Disinherited One." His desolation has been brought on through the death of his wife. In Gerard de Nerval's El Descichado, The Prince of Aquitaine is described as "the dark man, the disconsolate widower, / The prince of Aquitainia whose tower has been torn down; / My sole star is dead,—and my constellated lute / Bears the black sun."

431. V. Kyd's Spanish Tragedy. When Hieronymo in Kyd's play is asked to write a court play, he replies, "I'll fit [supply] you." Through the play, despite his madness, he is able to revenge himself on the murderers of his son in a pattern similar to that of Hamlet.

433. Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. 'The Peace which passeth understanding' is a feeble translation of the conduct of this word. The Upanishad is a sacred Hindu text.

________________________________

Eliot vocabulary

tuber—A swollen, fleshy, usually underground stem of a plant, such as the potato, bearing buds from which new plant shoots arise.

"[ . . . ] feeding a little life with dried tubers" (1. 6-7).

cupidon—image of a coy Cupid.

"[ . . . ] From which a golden cupidon peeped out [ . . . ]" (80).

unguent—a slave for soothing or healing.

"[ . . . ] Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, / unguent, powered, or liquid [ . . . ]" (88).

neurasthenia—a condition of nervous debility (not in use).

ref. to the Neurasthenic woman in section II: A Game of Chess.

coffer—an ornamental sunken panel in a ceiling or dome (lacuna).

laqueraria—c.f. lacunar, the ceiling or undersurface of any part, especially panels sunken or hollowed.

"[ . . . ] And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air / That freshened from the window, these ascended / In fattenting the prolonged candle-flames / Flung their smoke into the laquearia, / Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling" (89-93).

mince words—moderate or restrain one's language to be polite or avoid giving offense. From the literal sense of cutting meat or vegetables into small pieces.

"[ . . . ] I didn't mince my words [ . . . ]" (140).

demotic—Of or relating to the common people; popular: demotic speech; demotic entertainments.

"[ . . . ] Asked me in demotic French / To luncheon [ . . . ]" (3.213).

garret—room or space under a sloping roof of a house.

"White bones naked on the low damp ground / And bones cast in a little low dry garret [ . . . ]" (193-194).

Smyrna—ancient city on the Aegean coast.

"Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant" (209).

dugs—udder or breasts of a female animal.

"I, Tieresias, old man with wrinkled dugs" (228).

carbuncle—A painful localized bacterial infection of the skin and subcutaneous tissue that usually has several openings through which pus is discharged.

"the young man carbuncular" (231).

propitious—Presenting favorable circumstances; auspicious.

"The time is now propitious [ . . . ]" (235).

leeward—On or toward the side to which the wind is blowing.

sparNautical. A wooden or metal pole, such as a boom, yard, or bowsprit, used to support sails and rigging.

"Red sails / Wide / To leeward, swing on the heavy spar" (269-271).

supine—lying on the back or having the face turned upward.

"'[ . . . ] By Richmond I raised my knees / Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe [ . . . ]'" (294-5).

carious—decayed.

"[ . . . ] Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit [ . . . ]" (339).

shore—To support by or as if by a prop: shored up the sagging floors; shored up the peace initiative.

"[ . . . ] These fragments I have shored agaisnst my ruins [ . . . ]" (430).

Fisher king—also called the Wounded King figures in Arthurian legend as the latest in a line charged with keeping the Holy Grail. Versions of his story vary widely, but he is always wounded in the legs or groin, and incapable of moving on his own. When he is injured, his kingdom suffers as he does, his impotence affecting the fertility of the land and reducing it to a barren Wasteland. Little is left for him to do but fish in the river near his castle Corbenic. Knights travel from many lands to heal the Fisher King but only the chosen can accomplish the feat. This is Percival in the earlier stories; in the later versions Percival is joined by Galahad and Bors.

fertility rites—religious rituals that reenact, either actually or symbolically, sexual acts and/or reproductive processes. As with the sacrifices of humans which many scholars think that ancient peoples made to ensure good fortune (be that as to harvests or hunting or warfare or other endeavors), fertility rites are a variety of sympathetic magic in which the forces of nature are to be influenced by the example acted out in the ritual.

Gethsemene—In the New Testament, a garden east of Jerusalem near the foot of the Mount of Olives. It was the scene of Jesus's agony and betrayal.

Gogotha—a hill near Jerusalem where Jesus was crucified.