The Letters of T. S. Eliot, Volume 1: 1898-1922 (15 page)

1–Signs (above and right):
NACH DER SCHÖNEN AUSSICHT [TO THE BEAUTIFUL VIEW]; BIER LOKAL [PUBLIC HOUSE]. HEUTE ABEND UM 8 UHR KUNSTLER-KONZERT [THIS EVENING AT 8 P.M. ARTISTS’ CONCERT
].

2–Walter Cook (1888–1962), Harvard Class of 1911, archaeologist and teacher.

3–William C. Greene. See letter of 14 Oct. 1914. He had been at Harvard with TSE and Aiken, working alongside them on
The Advocate
, and went as a Rhodes Scholar to Oxford in 1912.

4–Chestnut Hill, Newton, Newton Highlands and Somerville were then suburbs of Boston.

5–‘Rally Round the Flag, Boys’ (1862), by George F. Root, was originally a rallying song for supporters of the Union, but was also sung in an adapted form by Confederate troops.

PC
Houghton

[Postmark 22 August 1914]
¹

c/o British Linen Bank,
Threadneedle St, London

 

Dear Eleanor,

I have just got to London after being five days on the route. The
Germans treated us royally, but we had to stay in Marburg two weeks
without any outside communication, and did not feel very much at ease. I
will write about it soon. Do write to me here.

Tom.

1–Germany declared war on Russia on 1 Aug. 1914, and on France two days later. Germany’s invasion of neutral Belgium on 4 Aug. provoked Britain to declare war on Germany the same day.

MS
1 Houghton

23 August 1914

28 Bedford Place, London

Dear Mother,

I hope that by this time you will have received the letter that I sent by the courtesy of Mr Bicker, to mail in Boston. I did not write during the two weeks after the outbreak of war, because I could obtain no certain information as to the probability of letters arriving, and hoped (as proved to be the case) to be able to telegraph from London before any such letters could reach you. I did send one card (in German) asking for money – which proved unnecessary, and I hope that you received my cable of the 3rd of August.

I confess that I did feel a little doubtful of the advisability of remaining in Germany a day or two before war was declared against Russia; but it never entered my head that England would declare war too: and we all supposed that after the mobilization, we could (as proved the case for those of us who were Americans) slip away without difficulty. Besides, I had come to Germany
expressly
. The summer school was just opened that day, and I did not want to lose my summer for a scare. It was not until evening (August 2) when the pupils assembled that I appreciated the seriousness of our position. We were told it would be impossible to leave for a fortnight; that it would be impossible for the summer course to continue; but that to fill our time during the enforced stay various makeshift courses and conversation groups would be arranged. The director made a speech in which he cautioned us to be very careful, to avoid crowds, and not to talk in foreign languages in the street. By this time he had got us pretty well frightened of course, and no one was taking very keen interest in the proposed courses. The Russians, who knew they wouldn’t get out anyway, were miserable and silent; there appeared to be only one Frenchman, the professor, who was also miserable; the English and Americans were talkative and excited. We made a list of names, and we tried to communicate with the consul at Frankfurt, and couldn’t think of anything else to do, and disbanded for the evening. At first I was for taking the makeshift course, but as it gradually came upon me that I might need the money I decided to withdraw, and was subsequently glad I did. I had 20 marks cash; 10 went for the cable; next day I got 45 marks back which I had paid for the course; and subsequently, my $40 American Express checks proved to be good. But there were several days when I found my letter of credit useless, I feared that I might have to stay till my 40 marks would no longer get me over the frontier; for although I was not paying my board (they knew I could not) there was laundry every week, soap, haircuts etc. In the event, I had quite enough.

There was really no danger for us, but the suspense – penned up with no certain communications and no knowledge of when we could get out, and with only imperfect sympathy with the people we were among, (though we saw only German papers and felt that Germany was quite in the right); all this made a fortnight seem a month. There were eight or nine of us who used to gather every evening at the Kaiserhof, pool our misinformation and take heart from the fact that no one knew anything. Gradually the group dwindled; one man went to Berlin; one tried to get to Italy; at the end there were four of us, who hoped to reach Rotterdam together. As for the English, the women were all right, and are now getting away; as for the men, they stay’d in their houses, or went to the Poorhouse, where I suppose they are yet, – looked after sharply and getting board at seven and a half marks a week, but humanely treated. There was one Irishman, a very plucky chap, who managed to keep about, and joined us every evening. He came to the train to see us off. I suppose he is in the Poorhouse by this time; he had only 80 marks left.

When we made up our minds to leave, I did not know whether it would be possible to get to England or not, but there was a rumor (nothing was more than a rumor) that one could get money by having one’s letter of credit viséd by a consul, and I thought I could throw myself on the consul at Rotterdam, in any case. Anything to get out of the country, even if we had to travel steerage (we were prepared for that). We left Marburg Sunday afternoon. The trip to Frankfurt is ordinarily an hour and a half. It took five hours. Mobilization ended, but they were still on the lookout for bombs. There were soldiers on the train, too, reservists. I shall never forget one woman’s face as she tried to wave goodbye. I could not see his face; he was in the next compartment. I am sure she had no hope of seeing him again.

At Frankfurt we had to spend the night, and see the consul next day. Here there was good news; boats were moving to England. We have our passes viséd by the Dutch consul, and went on. We had taken a chance; it was not certain that we could get through Cologne by train; but the boats down the Rhine would have taken three days, and it was raining. Some went to Cologne. In the train we fell in with a man I had known in college, with his wife, and as we filled one compartment, had a pleasant day. Of course there was little enough to eat, as no dining cars were run. We reached Cologne at 10 p.m. after a change and a tedious wait. We made a good supper, and decided to press on the same night. So we tried to sleep with our heads on tables in the waiting room, and were very uncomfortable till 3 a.m., when we took our train. The train was crowded; Germans but some Americans; and we were packed in tight. We got underway late, just at daybreak. At 7 a.m. we had to change again, and had time for breakfast. There was another change; then another, and we reached the frontier about 3 p.m. We were very nervous, expecting to be searched, but they did not even open our bags; looked at our passes – ‘
Amerikaner – ach, schoen!
’ [‘American – oh fine!’] let us by.

It was a tremendous relief to be in neutral country; even the landscape seemed more peaceful. We reached Rotterdam at 10 p.m. and got the last room in the hotel. I slept very solid! We had to wait a day there; a most uninteresting shipping town. There two of our party got passages on a freighter for $100 apiece to Boston. The last man and I took a train for Flushing – changing twice – slept on the boat, an excellent boat; and got to London the following night. And that’s all. The American pass does anything in Germany. They are making a strong bid for American sympathy.
²
I was treated with the greatest courtesy everywhere. As the German press offers only a very one sided view of affairs, it is safe to say that they are getting this sympathy from Americans in Germany. Besides, they are extremely hospitable and warmhearted; all the hosts of Americans in Marburg told them to stay and not to think of paying. The people in general are persuaded of the rightness of the German cause; so was I, to a certain extent, till I found that the English papers were making exact contradictions of the German. Germany is animated by an intense spirit, but I don’t see how she can possibly win. They will do no harm to England; the waters as we approached were black with English warships. And Germany is putting forth every ounce of strength. ‘
Deutschland kaempft um das Existenz!
’ [‘Germany is fighting for her existence!’] they say and they are right.
But I think it is better that Germany should go
. London is full of Americans but I have not met any acquaintances yet.

[incomplete]

 1–From a copy in her hand.

2–‘As soon as the panic that followed the outbreak of war had subsided, elaborate orders were issued that every courtesy should be shown to Americans, and all this week special trains have been running for their benefit from Munich, Frankfurt and other centres to Rotterdam and Flushing, where nothing was left undone which could give to the departing guests a favourable last impression of Germany’ (
The Times
, 25 Aug. 1914).

MS
Houghton

Monday 7 September [1914]
¹

28 Bedford Place, Russell Square,
London
W.C.

My dear Henry,

I will ask my tailor to send you some samples at once, if he has any winter goods now; he could make you a suit to my measure; as he is a cash tailor he would have to have the money before you have the suit. I will pay him if you like, when the time comes.

I fear that I have no interesting anecdotes of my adventures beyond what I have already imparted. I was interviewed by a reporter when I got here, but had nothing interesting to give him even had I been willing to communicate it. It is really much more interesting to be in London now than it was to be in Germany: the latter experience was much like the childhood’s exasperation of being in an upper berth as the train passed through a large city. – In fact it was an intolerable bore. There, one was so far from any excitement and information that it was impossible to work; here in all the noise and rumour, I can work. The quarter where I live is rather foreign anyway, being composed exclusively of boarding houses, in rows, all exactly alike except for the fancy names on them; and now we are full up with Belgian and French refugees, whole families of them, of the well-to-do sort, with babies and nurses;
²
– we have just acquired a Swiss waiter instead of a German one who was very unpopular (one excited lady said ‘what’s to prevent him putting arsenic in our food?’ I said ‘Nothing! – he already puts blacking on my tan shoes’) so I have been talking French and acquiring a war vocabulary. The noise hereabouts is like hell turned upside down. Hot weather, all windows open, many babies, pianos, street piano accordions, singers, hummers, whistlers. Every house has a gong: they all go off at seven o’clock, and other hours. Ten o’clock in the evening, quiet for a few minutes, then a couple of men with late editions burst into the street, roaring: GREAT GERMAN DISASTER!
³
Everybody rushes to windows and doors, in every costume from evening clothes to pajamas; violent talking – English, American, French, Flemish, Russian, Spanish, Japanese; the papers are all sold in five minutes; then we settle down for another hour till the next extra appears: LIST OF ENGLISH DEAD AND WOUNDED. Meanwhile, a dreadful old woman, her skirt trailing on the street, sings ‘the Rosary’
⁴
in front, and secures several pennies from windows and the housemaid resumes her conversation at the area gate.
⁵

I find it quite possible to work in this atmosphere. The noises of a city so large as London don’t distract one much; they become attached to the city and depersonalise themselves. No doubt it will take me some time to become used to the quiet of Oxford. I like London better than before; it is foreign, but hospitable, or rather tolerant, and perhaps does not so demand to be understood as does Paris. Less jealous. I think I should love Paris now more than ever, if I could see her in these times. There seems to have come a wonderful calmness and fortitude over Paris, from what I hear; the spirit is very different from 1870. I have a great deal of confidence in the ultimate event; I am anxious that Germany should be beaten; but I think it is silly to hold up one’s hands at German ‘atrocities’ and ‘violations of neutrality’. The Germans are perfectly justified in violating Belgium – they are fighting for their existence – but the English are more than justified in turning to defend a treaty. But the Germans are bad diplomats. It is not against German ‘crimes’, but against German ‘civilisation’ – all this system of officers and professors – that I protest. But very useful to the world if kept in its place.

Yours
affy Tom