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diff --git a/1321-0.txt b/1321-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39c8948 --- /dev/null +++ b/1321-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,798 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1321 *** + + THE WASTE LAND + + By T. S. Eliot + + + + + +Contents + + I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD + + II. A GAME OF CHESS + + III. THE FIRE SERMON + + IV. DEATH BY WATER + + V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID + + NOTES ON “THE WASTE LAND” + + + + + “Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis + vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: + Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.” + + _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 + 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, + 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, + (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; + “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. + _Oed’ und leer das Meer_. + + Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, + Had a bad cold, nevertheless + Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, + 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. + 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. + 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! + “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. + 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, + 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 + 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 + 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. + “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 tomorrow? + “What shall we ever do?” + The hot water at ten. + 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, + 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. + 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 all right, 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 + 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. + 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 + 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. + 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. + 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 + 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, + 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, + 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 + And walked among the lowest of the dead.) + Bestows one 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 smooths her hair with automatic hand, + 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. + + 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 + 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 + 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.” + + “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.” + 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 sea swell + And the profit and loss. + A current under sea + 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 + Prison and palace 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 + 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 + And no rock + If there were rock + And also water + And water 350 + A spring + 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 + 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? + + 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 + 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 + 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 + Waited for rain, while the black clouds + Gathered far distant, over Himavant. + The jungle crouched, humped in silence. + Then spoke the thunder + DA 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 + 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 + DA 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 + Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus + DA + _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? + 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 + + Line 415 aetherial] aethereal + Line 428 ceu] uti— Editor + + + + + NOTES ON “THE WASTE LAND” + + + 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, Cambridge) 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 recognise in the + poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies. + + I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD + + Line 20. Cf. _Ezekiel_ 2:1. + + 23. Cf. _Ecclesiastes_ 12:5. + + 31. V. _Tristan und Isolde_, i, verses 5-8. + + 42. Id. iii, verse 24. + + 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. + + 60. Cf. Baudelaire: + + + “Fourmillante cité, cité; pleine de rêves, + Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.” + 63. Cf. _Inferno_, iii. 55-7. + + + “si lunga tratta + di gente, ch’io non avrei mai creduto + che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta.” + 64. Cf. _Inferno_, iv. 25-7: + + + “Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare, + “non avea pianto, ma’ che di sospiri, + “che l’aura eterna facevan tremare.” + 68. A phenomenon which I have often noticed. + + 74. Cf. the Dirge in Webster’s _White Devil_. + + 76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to _Fleurs du Mal_. + + II. A GAME OF CHESS + + 77. Cf. _Antony and Cleopatra_, II. ii., l. 190. + + 92. Laquearia. V. _Aeneid_, I. 726: + + + dependent lychni laquearibus aureis + incensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt. + 98. Sylvan scene. V. Milton, _Paradise Lost_, iv. 140. + + 99. V. Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, vi, Philomela. + + 100. Cf. Part III, l. 204. + + 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_. + + III. THE FIRE SERMON + + 176. V. Spenser, _Prothalamion_. + + 192. Cf. _The Tempest_, I. ii. + + 196. Cf. Marvell, _To His Coy Mistress_. + + 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 . . .” + 199. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these + lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia. + + 202. V. Verlaine, _Parsifal_. + + 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. + + 210. “Carriage and insurance free”] “cost, insurance and + freight”-Editor. + + 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. + + 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. + + 253. V. Goldsmith, the song in _The Vicar of Wakefield_. + + 257. V. _The Tempest_, as above. + + 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.). + + 266. The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. + From line 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn. + V. _Götterdämmerung_, 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.” + + 293. Cf. _Purgatorio_, v. 133: + + + “Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia; + Siena mi fe’, disfecemi Maremma.” + + 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. + + 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. + + 357. This is _Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii_, the hermit-thrush + which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (_Handbook of + Birds of 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. + + 366-76. 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 heiligem 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.” + + 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. + + 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.” + 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.” + + 424. V. Weston, From _Ritual to Romance_; chapter on the Fisher + King. + + 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.” + 428. V. _Pervigilium Veneris_. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and + III. + + 429. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet _El Desdichado_. + + 431. V. Kyd’s _Spanish Tragedy_. + + 433. Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an + Upanishad. ‘The Peace which passeth understanding’ is a feeble + translation of the content of this word. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1321 *** |