by T. S. Eliot
273 wash] H; wash, C, D
278–279 leialala | Elizabeth] D, H; leialala | [blank line] | Elizabeth C
286 Southwest] H; South-west C, D
287 down stream] D, H; down-stream C
300 Sands.] D, H; Sands, C
303 fingernails] H; finger-nails C, D
h i s t o r i c a l c o l l a t i o n
1 3 1
313 swell] D, H; swell, C
316 deep sea] D, H; deep-sea C
318–319 whirlpool. | Gentile] D, H; whirlpool. | [blank line] | Gentile C
319 Jew] D, H; Jew, C
322 torchlight] C, H; torch-light D
335 water we should stop and drink] C, H; water amongst the rock D
339 mountain] C, D, H; mount in B
345 mudcracked] H; mud-cracked C, D
345–346 houses | If ] D, H; houses | [blank line] | If C
346–358 [lines indented]; [flush left] C, D, H
356 pine trees] D, H; pine-trees C
358 no water] D, H; no water. C
363 wrapt] C, D; wrapped H
365 —But] D, H; But C
366 air] D, H; air,
370–371 only | What] D, H; only | [blank line] | What C
383 Tolling] D, H; Telling C
388 home,] D, H; home C; home. B
391 rooftree] roof-tree C, D, H
401 Datta:] D, H; Datta: C
401 what] D, H; What C
411 Dayadhvam:] D, H; Dayadhvam: C
415 aethereal] C, F; aetherial B, D, H
418 Damyata:] D, H; Damyata: C
419 oar] D, H; oar. C
420 calm,] D, H; calm; C
425 set] D, H; see C
426–427 down | Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli aªna | Quando fiam ceu chelidon] H; down | [blank line] | Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli aªna | Quando fiam ceu chelidon C; down | [blank line] | Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli aªna | Quando fiam ceu chelidon D; down | Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli aªna | Quando fiam uti chelidon 1936
429–430 Le Prince . . . à la tour abolie | These] D; Le Prince . . . à la tour abolie | [blank line] | These H; Le Prince . . . de la tour abolie | These C
432 Datta . . . Damyata.] C, H; Datta . . . Damyata. D
433 Shantih shantih shantih] D, H; shantih shantih shantih C
1 3 2
h i s t o r i c a l c o l l a t i o n
Notes
Notes are omitted from C, D.
[Introductory note] Cambridge F; Macmillan B, H
[Introductory note] will immediately recognise] will immediately recognize H
[Introductory note] Adonis, Attis, Osiris] Atthis Adonis Osiris B, H
23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v.] H omits
31. V. Tristan und Isolde] ed.; 31. Tristan und Isolde B, H
60. Cf. Baudelaire: | “Fourmillante . . . | “Où . . . passant.”] 60. Cf Baudelaire: |
Fourmillante . . . | Où . . . passant. H
63. Cf. Inferno] ed.; 63. Cf. Inferno B, H
[Note to l. 63] “di . . . | “che] di . . . | che B, H
64. Cf. Inferno IV, 25–] ed.; 64. Cf. Inferno 25– B 64. Cf. Inferno IV, 2v– H
[Note to l. 64] “Quivi . . . | “non . . . | “che . . . tremare”] Quivi . . . | non . . . | che
. . . tremare] H
[Note to l. 64] pianto, ma’] pianto ma] H
[Note to l. 92] “dependent . . . vincunt.”] ed.; dependent . . . vincunt B, H
[Note to l. 100] III, l.] ed.; III l. B, H
[Note to l. 115] III, l.] ed.; III l. B, H
126. Cf. Part I, ll. 37, 48.] ed.; 126. Cf. Part I l. 37, 48. B; H omits 138. Cf. the game . . . Women Beware Women] ed.; 138. Cf. the game . . . Women beware Women B, H
196. Cf. Marvell . . . | 197. Cf. Day . . . ] 196. Cf. Day . . . | 197. Cf. Marvell . . . B, H
[Note to l. 197 (final ellipsis is Eliot’s)] “When . . . | “A . . . | “Actaeon . . . | “Where
. . . skin . . .”] When . . . | A . . . | Actaeon . . . | Where . . . skin . . . H
[Note to l. 196] “To His Coy Mistress”] ed.; To His Coy Mistress B, H
[Note to l. 202] “Parsifal”] ed.; Parsifal B, H
[Note to l. 218 (opening ellipsis is Eliot’s)] et “maior . . . | . . . maribus,” dixisse,
“voluptas.”] ed.; et maior . . . | . . . maribus’, dixisse, ‘voluptas.’ B, H
[Note to line 218] “est . . . plagae,” | . . . “ut . . . | . . . feriam!”] ed.; ‘est . . . plagae,’ |
. . . ‘ut . . . | . . . feriam!’ B, H
[Note to l. 264] Churches] ed.; Churches: B, H
[Note to l. 266] Götterdämmerung] Götterdämmerung H
[Note to l. 266] Rhine-daughters] ed.; Rhinedaughters B, H
[Note to l. 279] 279] ed.; 276 H
[Note to l. 279] Elizabeth, ] ed.; Elizabeth B, H
[Note to l. 357] unequaled] unequalled H
[Note to ll. 366–376] in heiligem] ed.; im heiligem B, H
[Note to l. 401] sympathise] sympathize H
[Note to l. 401] Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad] H; Brihadaranyaka—Upanishad B
[Note to l. 407] “Ere . . . | “Make . . .] ed.; Ere . . . | Make . . . B, H
[Note to l. 411] “all’orribile] ed.; all’orribile B, H
[Note to l. 429] Gérard] ed.; Gerard B, H
[Note to l. 429] “El Desdichado”] ed.; El Desdichado B, H
[Note to l. 356] 356] ed.; 357 B, H
[Note to l. 359] 359] ed.; 360 B, H
[Note to ll. 365–375] 365–75] ed.; 366–76 B, H
e l i o t ’ s c o n t e m p o r a r y p r o s e
l o n d o n l e t t e r , m a r c h 1921 1
The Two Stupidities
I take up this task of writing a London letter with an overwhelming sense
of diªculty. As I first proposed it to myself, there was no diªculty at all:
it was to mention any work, or any momentary appearance of intellect or
feeling, which seemed to deserve mention, to use any opportunity to con-
sider the writing of living authors whom I respect, and to construct such
a portrait of the time as might be in my power. Then I reflected that there
is in contemporary English literature a very great deal which I cordially
detest; and that I could not make an honest portrait without calling atten-
tion to these things. Yet I recognized that by so doing I might arouse the
glee, and draw upon myself the approval, of exactly that part of American
opinion which I abominate. One must face the fact that the imbeciles on
either side of the water are very glad and quite able to perceive, by that
sort of hostile sympathy which exists only among members of the same
family, the imbecilities of the great fraternity on the other side; and that
this perception only confirms them in their own variety of stupidity. I can
claim no great originality in diagnosing either of the two stupidities; the
only possible originality is in their collocation. There is Mr. Mencken, a
brilliant specialist in American depravity, whose last book I have read with
strong admiration.2 And only recently, when I mentioned, rather gently
as I thought, a very conspicuous feature of English stupidity, I was gaped
1 3 5
1 3 6
e l i o t ’ s c o n t e m p o r a r y p r o s e
at by one of the smaller English reviewers, for my words of “elegant an-
guish.”3 It pleased me to reflect that a critic of the same stripe had once
referred to Matthew Arnold as an “elegant Jeremiah”; although this coinci-
dence merely proved the immortality of the English reviewer, and not any
similarity between Matthew Arnold and myself.4 However, if these letters
succeed in being written with any competence, I am almost certain to be-
come an object of
international execration; a disaster in which I pray very
vigorously that The Dial may not share.
Prolegomena to Poetry
Mr. Harold Monro has just produced a book entitled Some Contemporary
Poets: 1920, which is a particularly useful book for my horrid purpose.5 It is, I hope, no injustice to Mr. Monro to say that his book has every appearance of having been written to order. We have all written books to order,
or we have conceived the desire, at times of penury, of being asked to write
a book to order, and some moralists tell us that desire is as sinful as com-
mission. But the peculiar e¤ect of Mr. Monro’s labours appears to be, that
everything in contemporary poetry (1920) is reduced to a precise level of
flatness. Our judgement is thus left free, if unguided. It is to be wondered
that the “general reading public,” to whom its publishers say it should ap-
peal, and who can hardly be other than a small section of what Arnold
called the Philistines, will make of it.6 Some of the poets whom Mr. Monro
chats about are dull, some are immature, some are slight, some are down-
right bad: Mr. Monro’s e¤ect is to make them all seem dull, immature,
slight, and bad. And some are good, but we do not get that impression
from the book.
The first suggestion which this book gives me is that what I may call
the centre of gravity of dulness lies, in America and England, at di¤erent
points. Nearly the whole body of the Established Church of contemporary
literature in America must appear a little ridiculous, if no worse, to even
the most latitudinarian littérateurs of Established contemporary literature in England. I cannot conceive Mr. Edmund Gosse, for example, really being taken in by the e¤usions of Miss Repplier or the Reverend Mr. Crothers,
although I can conceive of his commending them with a kindly Olympian
patronage which might take in the recipients.7 The Polite Essay is, in fact,
done rather better in England, and this truth is not reserved for a few pro-
found minds. Nevertheless the Established Church of literature does occa-
l o n d o n l e t t e r , m a r c h 19 2 1
1 3 7
sionally patronize, with the semblance of enthusiasm, American literature
which happens to amuse it. It is creditable that Spoon River should for a
time have aroused interest here; unfortunately, its success has been more
lately duplicated by the poetry of Mr. Vachel Lindsay.8 His apparent “Ameri-
canism” and vigorous freedom from shame about his simple tastes amuse
the orthodox, while his Y.M.C.A. morality represents something more re-
mote than a massacre in Armenia.9 His verses have appeared in an English
periodical.10 But I cannot believe that he is treated with more respect than
that with which Clemenceau and Lloyd George bonified President Wilson.11
One must therefore reject the belief that there is any near equivalent
in England for the Reverend Mr. Crothers, or Lindsay, or Mr. Mabie, or
that there is any exact parallel anywhere between English life and American
life (though there are constant curious resemblances when one has ceased
to expect them).12 And the standards by which one disposes of American
bad writing and English bad writing will not be the same. The conventional
literature of America is either wretchedly imitative of European culture,
or ignorant of it, or both; and by this standard one easily expels either
the Reverend Mr. Crothers, with his parish tea-party wit, his dreadful Non-
conformity, or Mr. David Graham Phillips, with his exploitation of the
Noble Fallen Woman who, in England, has vanished into the underworld
of romance.13 But there is no simple international comparison of cultures
by which to deal so easily with, let us say, Mr. John Drinkwater.14 I cannot
point to any existing society which produces finer average specimens than
Mr. Drinkwater; I can only point to a few individuals in England; and it
is always open to Mr. Drinkwater’s admirers to protest that my few indi-
viduals are impostors. The most obvious thing to say, the thing which
makes it diªcult for the critic to say more, is that the work of Mr. Drink-
water is dull, supremely dull. But when one turns to view the work of a
numerous host of Drinkwaters, incipient Drinkwaters, decayed Drink-
waters, cross-bred Drinkwaters, this adjective ceases to satisfy the intelli-
gence. Any social phenomenon of such dimensions must present more
interest than that.
I do not make the mistake of supposing that Keats, or Shelley, or
Wordsworth, or Tennyson can be incriminated in the production of the
Georgian Anthology.15 Good poets may usually have a bad influence, but
their influence is usually much more restricted. I cannot see in the Geor-
gian Anthology any such influence as Wordsworth, Keats, and Shelley
1 3 8
e l i o t ’ s c o n t e m p o r a r y p r o s e
had upon Arnold, Tennyson, and Browning. The dulness of the Georgian
Anthology is original, unique; we shall find its cause in something much
more profound than the influence of a few predecessors. The subtle spirit
inspiring the ouija-board of Mr. J. C. Squire’s patient prestidigitators is
not the shattered Keats but the solid and eternal Podsnap himself.16 This
party represents, in fact, the insurgent middle class, Mr. Monro’s General
Reading Public. At the very moment when the middle class appears to be
on the point of perdition—beleaguered by a Coalition Government, the
Three Trades-Unions, and the Income Tax—at this very moment it enjoys
the triumph, in intellectual matters, of being able to respect no other stan-
dards than its own.17 And indeed, while its citadels appear to topple, it is
busy strengthening its foundations. Year by year, royal birth-day by royal
birth-day, it gains more seats in the House of Lords; and on the other
hand, if it rejects with contumely the independent man, the free man, all
the individuals who do not conform to a world of mass-production, the
Middle Class finds itself on one side more and more approaching identity
with what used to be called the Lower Class. Both middle class and lower
class are finding safety in Regular Hours, Regular Wages, Regular Pensions,
and Regular Ideas. In other words, there will soon be only one class, and
the second Flood is here.
This social evolution is not, of course, peculiarly British, and I am ready
to admit that it may have more revolting forms elsewhere. I have no wish
to dwell upon the subject; I only introduced it as a background to the Geor-
gian Anthology. I do not wish either to dwell upon the dulness of this
book; that the writers cannot help. What I wish to comment on is the ex-
treme lack of culture on the part of a number of writers in prose and verse;
and when I say this I hear already the repeated epithets of “elegant an-
guish,” and “dusty face,” and “précieux ridicule” with which my eªcient
clipping-bureau has lately refreshed me.18 I am prepared to be accused,
so unconscious is the humour of the multitude, of self-advertisement. But
it is certain that culture does not reside solely in a university education, or
in extensive reading; and it is doubtful whether culture is perc
eptibly devel-
oped by a busy life of journalism. A literature without any critical sense;
a poetry which takes not the faintest notice of the development of French
verse from Baudelaire to the present day, and which has perused English
literature with only a wandering antiquarian passion, a taste for which
everything is either too hot or too cold; there is no culture here. Culture
l o n d o n l e t t e r , m a r c h 19 2 1
1 3 9
is traditional, and loves novelty; the General Reading Public knows no tra-
dition, and loves staleness. And it must not be supposed that this great
middle class public which consumes Georgian poetry corresponds to the
public of Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox.19 I intend no disrespect to that lady,
whose verse I have read with ease and some pleasure. The Georgian public
is a smallish but important public, it is that o¤ensive part of the middle
class which believes itself superior to the rest of the middle class; and su-
perior for precisely this reason that it believes itself to possess culture.
Returning to Mr. Monro’s book, we find a number of poets, a very
small number, who cannot simply be described as purveyors to the General
Reading Public. There is Mr. Nichols, who is too nimble to be dull, and
who is very immature; if he could free himself from the circumambient
vulgarity and in several ways forget himself, he might rise to a superior
place.20 Then there is the curious spectacle of Mr. Huxley, one of the very
few who have experienced the influence of Laforgue, and who writes (I
believe it is no secret) one of the brightest pages in the Athenaeum; before he has thoroughly worked out Laforgue into a perfect language of his own,
he skews o¤ into “Leda,” which, although the work of a much more sophisti-
cated temperament than Mr. Squire’s, is really a concession to the creamy
top of the General Reading Public.21 There is Miss Sitwell.22 She is tediously
given to repeating herself, but this repetition is perhaps her consciousness
of the fact that she has a genuine little vision of the age, quite her own.
This peculiar way of seeing things, which is not capable of much develop-
ment, is what is interesting; not her technique, which is insuªcient. And
individually, there are poems by Mr. Herbert Read and Mr. Aldington
which endure.23 But what is good (on looking over for the last time Mr.
