#ch study. diana prince.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Hearts of Steel (Ch. 3 of 3)

Len heads back to his Earth, temporarily, with Sara by his side. But fixing what he'd left behind won't be easy, and sometimes the idea of "home" is more complicated than it seems.

And here it is! I’ve really enjoyed writing this version of Leonard, but this is it for now. (Probably.) Many thanks, as always, to @larielromeniel​. Can also be read here at AO3.

Sara wakes what is, by her fairly developed internal clock, about two hours after they’d fallen asleep, curled up together in the comfortable-if-small motel bed. Len’s left arm is thrown across her hip, his chest against her back, and she can still feel him breathing, deep and steady, at peace at least in this small, calm corner of his Earth. She pauses a moment to see if he wakes, smiles when he doesn’t, and then slowly moves from his loose grasp, rising to stretch, arms over her head, and sigh.

She doesn’t really want to put her uniform back on, but neither of them had thought to bring changes of clothing. Still, at least it’s dirt- and water-resistant. (Thanks, Cisco.) She rinses it off and hangs it up, knowing it won’t be long before it’s dry, smiling as she sees Len had already done the same with his.

She thinks, too, about going back to the industrial park to check on Lisa and Mick, to try again to get through to Lisa, to make sure Mick’s made it through the process unscathed. But something says it wouldn’t be a good idea, both in the case of the younger Snart and the elder. Nothing prevents them from visiting later to make sure all is well, she reminds herself, thinking with regret about the way things had gone. And maybe…

Len makes a startled noise in his sleep, and Sara turns, watching his eyes flicker open. He stares at the empty side of the bed a moment, then struggles into a sitting position even as she moves forward so he can see her.

The look of relief he gives her is startling…and saddening. Did he really think she’d leave? But in a way, he’s just lost two relationships in his life that go much further back, so why not this one?

The look of alarm moves nearly immediately to consideration, and a slight smirk as Len leans back a little, considering her continuing state of undress. Sara pouts at him—he’s got a sheet still pulled over most of himself—and the smirk grows, at least until he glances at the old clock radio on the bedside table and regret flickers through his eyes.

“Sadly, I do think we should be moving on,” he says, regret also filling his tone. (At least he also pulls the sheet aside as he stands, Sara thinks with amusement, enjoying the view.) “I want to hit an old safehouse to pick up some things. And the, uh, ‘Cold groupies,’ as you called ‘em, are probably looking for us.” Something sad crosses his face again. “And…Lisa knows I helped out Amari’s family, once. If she decided she wanted to…wanted to…”

He can’t make himself say it. Sara can’t make herself think of a good response. So instead, she just moves forward to kiss him again, and he lets himself be distracted.

Len returns the key to Amari in the office as Sara waits outside, studying their surroundings and wondering idly what she’ll do if actually confronted with Cold groupies. (Brag, she decides.) As Len slips back out, he gives her a small smile, and they start walking back toward city center, shoulder to shoulder.

They walk, for the most part, in silence, but as the taller buildings of downtown come into view, Sara glances over at Len, who appears lost in thought.

“You should probably tell them,” she says quietly. “Someone from your Justice League. They might be looking for you. Wondering about you.”

Len glances over. “Eh. I doubt it,” he says with a sigh. “Or…well, actually did I think Barry would look in on us by now—he usually knows what’s going on in Central to an utterly annoying extent, but…”

“You could tell me.”

They both stop in their tracks.

The voice is feminine, musical with an accent Sara can’t quite place, and she turns quickly, even as she registers Len’s intake of breath with the awareness that there’s no alarm in him. And then she freezes.

“Holy,” she breathes, “shit.”

Len darts a glance at her. “I know, right?” he mutters, then looks back at the woman before them, running a hand through his hair and giving her a simultaneously fond and nervous expression Sara’s never seen on him before.

“Diana,” he says, just a bit awkwardly, reaching around to rub the back of his neck. “Hi.”

The black-haired woman watching them steadily is tall and...well, the best word is maybe "statuesque," in a way that speaks both of extensive physical training and excellent genes. Her get-up—gold and red and blue and Sara doesn't really know where to look without being distinctly impolite, if incredibly impressed—screams "hero," and there's a shield slung on her back and a sword at her hip, as well as a coiled, golden rope that seems to be...glowing?

Her look is not without amusement and even affection, though, and she smiles at Len before turning her head and regarding Sara, who feels her mouth going dry. Drier. (So she has a...a predilection...for badass dark-haired women, OK?) Still, Sara lifts her chin and meets the woman's eyes, trying to convey that she means no harm here—in fact, rather the opposite.

Diana studies Sara a moment longer, then inclines her head, regally, a salute of sorts.

“Sister," she says solemnly, and Sara feels like she's just been given an accolade she didn't even know she'd coveted. Then Diana turns her head again and regards the speechless Len.

"Leonard," she says in that musical accent. "Barry is...out of town." A tilt of her head. "Very out of town, really. I said that I would pay mind to Central City, in his absence. I did not expect to see you."

There's a question, in the statement, and Len clears his throat, obviously trying to figure out precisely what it is and how to answer it.

"No one said anything about what happened?" he asked diffidently. "In National, couple months back?"

Diana nods. "There was a portal," she notes. "So Victor said. He brought in the meta responsible, but the man wasn't truly in control of his powers." She tilts her head. "We feared you dead or lost. But neither could anyone figure out how to reach you."

"Yeah...I landed in a different Earth. But I fell in with ...friends." Len takes a deep breath, then, squaring his shoulders, and looks at Sara and back at Diana. "Sara Lance, White Canary, this is Diana Prince," he says, a bit formally. "Justice League founding member, princess of Themyscira." A pause. "Also known as Wonder Woman."

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" Sara muses, still a bit dazed, then shakes her head at the other woman's amused look. "Pleased to meet you...your highness?"

Diana's lips quirk, just a little. "That is not necessary," she says, humor in her tone. "But...Lance?" She looks back at Len. "White Canary?"

"Yeah, well, there are some differences." Len hesitates, then nods as if to himself, meeting Diana's eyes. "And I'm going back. To stay. The League doesn't really need me here, and I’m not...I can't go back to what I was before. I've got people, there." He looks at Sara. "And a...home. And..."

His voice trails off, but Diana lifts an eyebrow, looking back and forth between them. "Ah," is all she says. "Well, I shall convey your...resignation to Bruce. And Barry. You will be missed."

Len snorts. "I somehow doubt that," he mutters, but waves a hand as Diana gives him a questioning look. "Thank you. I..." He hesitates again. "The...the two called Lady Midas and Heat Wave. Central City Rogues. Ask Barry. They..." A deep breath, and an admission. "She's my sister, and he's the closest thing I've had to a brother, here." He meets her eyes. "Watch out for them? If you can? They have powers they can't control, and I tried to help them, but...I don't know how that's gonna work out."

It's obvious there's a lot of story there Len isn't telling, but to Sara's surprise, the other woman simply regards him another long moment and then nods.

"I will," she says simply. "I give you my word."

There's not so much more to say after that, honestly, and while Len's never been one to give up a chance to chat up Diana, neither does he want to further outline his many failings to her (or to Sara, who already knows them far more than most). It seems, now, to be a good time to take his leave, officially, of both her and of the League.

"Thank you," he says soberly, giving Diana a direct look and something far more sincere than his habitual smirk. "For that. For...more than that." For treating him like a valid member of the League. For fighting alongside him when the others were still giving him that suspicious side-eye. For being…being.

And then, without waiting for a response, he glances back at Sara (who's still eyeing the other woman with a tentative expression of both respect and lust, both of which he gets) and nods, to her, turning away, heading off down the street, keeping sentiment at bay.

And Sara gets him too, because she falls into step without a word, just a nod to Diana, and they walk a moment, shoulder to shoulder, silent, in solidarity. But they’re only to the end of the block when Len slows again, glancing behind them.

Diana is still there, watching.

“Just a sec’,” he tells Sara. “Really. I…”

But he can’t finish. He just turns, and jogs back toward the princess of Themyscira, who watches him calmly with no surprise at all.

He stops a few feet again, taking another deep breath, and meets her eyes again, surprised at the understanding he finds there.

"Diana?" he blurts out. “A question?”

And then again, before she can do more than nod: “Am I doin’ the right thing? I…I’m leaving everything. My world. This time on purpose. Because I made connections there, and more…I…” He glances back at Sara, who’s also watching calmly. “I…it doesn’t seem like I deserve…”

But Diana holds up a hand, startling him into silence, and regards him solemnly.

“Do you love her, Leonard?” she asks after a moment, tone wistful and commanding at the same time, full of memory and loss and passion.

When it comes down to it, it’s the easiest question in the world. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then, there is your answer. When in doubt, choose love. Always, choose love.” Stunning him into silence, she steps forward and kisses him, briefly, on the cheek, stepping back just as swiftly to smile at him, a joyous expression that has him blinking at her in dumbfounded wonder.

“And now, gods-speed, Leonard Snart,” she tells him quietly. “You have weathered the cold. Enjoy the warmth.”

"Leonard?” is all Sara asks as he rejoins her.

"Yeah, well, she's the only one who gets away with that, here." He sneaks a glance at Sara, who doesn’t seem bothered by that kiss on the cheek at all, but instead seems serene and amused.

God, he loves her, he thinks abruptly, again, then grins, stopping to face her.

“Let me show you my city,” he says.” Before we leave. We have a few hours. And I’m starving. What do you say?”

Her grin, slowly spreading across her face, is as wide as his. “Lead on.”

And he does.

They hit the Ice Box first, where the owners greet Len gleefully and generously offer them meals in exchange for a photo, and excellent pie for dessert.

From there, avoiding the groupies, they take to the rooftops again, and even Len is laughing as Sara flies like her namesake across gaps, turning to taunt and challenge him until he dares enough to catch up to her, grabbing her shoulders as the sun starts to set and kissing her again deeply as the sunset paints the sky. (They know someone in a nearby window is taking a photo of them. They don’t care.)

Once it’s dark, they break into the Flash Museum, which is closed for the evening, and Len proudly shows Sara the “Captain Cold” exhibit. They take a selfie for posterity’s sake and steal the question mark at the end of the “Hero or Villain?” marquee, and Len goes into the gift store and signs every single piece of merch with his image on it. (“They should be paying me royalties, you know.”)

And then, as the hours tick down, Len leads them to a quiet working-class neighborhood, jimmying the lock on an abandoned-looking apartment building to step silently into a musty-smelling ground-floor studio apartment.

“I pay peanuts to keep this thing for emergencies; the landlord’s out of the biz but can’t be bothered to actually take care of the place,” he mutters to Sara. “Advance rent will run out at the end of the month. Might as well take a few things.”

Despite his casual words, Sara notices how quickly he crosses to a small safe tucked into a corner of the room, and how carefully he removes a few items: a few photos, two books, a small wooden box. Without even bothering to close it, then, he rises, glances around, and nods to her.

“OK,” he says quietly. “We can go now.”

And then, as Sara watches, he stiffens, staring past with an expression that’s simultaneously horrified…and hopeful? She whirls, and freezes herself, at the sight of Mick Rory, fire-free and larger than life, standing there, watching them.

For a moment, she thinks it’s her Earth’s Mick. But…there are too many scars.

"Yeah, well, you don't make it easy to find you, asshole,” the bigger man rumbles, responding to a comment Len hasn’t even made. “Took me hours.”

Len swallows, watching him, and Sara carefully moves out of the way, still watching both of them. “I didn’t know you were going to be doing so,” he says quietly. “I woulda stayed, but…you OK?”

Mick studies him a moment…and then, unexpectedly, grins. It makes him look even more like Earth-1 Mick.

“I woke up and no more fire,” he says, raising his hands to admire them. “First thing I did was get a cold beer.”

Len makes an involuntary noise, and Mick tilts his head, watching him. Then he nods again.

“And talked Lis down,” he adds, in a diffident mumble. “The other two pills, they’re safe. I left ‘er staring at them, but I made ’er promise she wouldn’t take one ‘til I got back.”

Len drags in a shaky breath. “Do you think…”

“Yeah, she will. Take it, you mean? Yeah. She misses…lots of stuff.” Mick frowns at him. “You really leavin’?”

Len just stares at him another moment, and Sara gets it. He’s made some peace with leaving with business undone, and now…

“Yeah,” Len says after a moment, an echo. “I figure I’ve done enough damage now. Take care of her, would you?”

“Lis? Sure, but she can take care of herself. Even without the stupid powers.” Mick smirks, then looks at Sara. “So. Blondie. An’ you take care of this bastard, OK?”

Sara actually has to blink something out of her eyes. “Yeah, I will. I promise.” She pauses. “You…take care of yourself too.”

This Mick gives her an odd look. Then, showing the remarkable perception she knows her Mick is capable of, he says, “I don’t know you. But…you know me?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” She can’t really bring herself to say more. Fortunately, this Mick just snorts and nods, then looks back at Len.

“Figures I can’t remember the gorgeous blonde,” he mutters. “Snart?”

Len is still blinking, but then manages: “Mick. You need anything, you…and I know this sounds weird…track down a guy called ‘Vibe,’ OK? Ask…ask the Flash. They can, uh, put you in touch with me.”

Mick gapes at him. Then: “Um. OK,” he manages. “I can do that.”

“OK.” Len looks him in the eye. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Snart. And…good luck.”

The alley is deserted, this time of the evening, and Len’s glad for that. He checks his watch, then the sky, and sighs, looking at Sara.

It’s not that he’s not OK, leaving this Earth. He is, especially now, but he’s still not sure life, fate, whatever, is going to let him get away with this.

Minutes left, really. He studies the sky, then looks almost involuntarily at Sara, who looks at him at almost the same time.

“Ready?” she whispers. “You OK with this?”

“Hell yeah.” He hesitates. “You?”

“Len…”

But whatever she’s about to say, it fades as the breach, as promised by Cisco Ramon, appears before them. The way home.

Len stares at it. Takes a deep breath. Then looks at Sara.

“Is it too cheesy to say, ‘Let’s go home?’” he asks her, smiling, holding out his hand. “ ‘Cause…well, let’s be honest, that won’t stop me.”

Sara laughs back at him, reaching out to take the hand. “Cheesy,” she chides him. “But…true?”

“That it is.” Len lifts her hand to his lips. “Shall we?”

“We shall. God only knows what the team’s gotten up to.”

“Eh. Mick will keep ‘em in line.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Len can’t help a laugh. “Well…depends on the line, doesn’t it?” He tightens his grip on her fingers. “Let’s go see what we need to clean up, captain.”

“As long as it’s ‘we,’ captain.”

“Always.”

And, together, they leap through the breach. Hand in hand.

Home.

When you've been fighting for it all your life You've been struggling to make things right That’s how a superhero learns to fly…

#captain canary #hearts of steel #legends of tomorrow

[abzilp]

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 recognise in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.

I. The Burial of the Dead

    Line 20. Cf. Ezekiel II, i.     23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v.     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, 55-57:                                             “si Iunga tratta          di gente, ch’io non avrei mai creduto               che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta.”     64, Cf. Inferno IV, 25-27:          “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, I. 190.     92. Laquearia. V. Aeneid, I, 726:          dependent Iychni 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, I. 204.     115. Cf. Part III, I. 195.     118. Cf. Webster: “Is the wind in that door still?”     126. Cf. Part I, I. 37,48.     138. Cf. the game of chess in Middleton’s Women beware Women.

III. The Fire Sermon

    176. V. Spencer, 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.     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 yestrae 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 Iicetinrita cuiquam          Facta dei fecisse deo) pro Iumine 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 tum. 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.     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 heiligem Wahnam Abgrund entlang und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnisch wie Dmitri Karamasoff sang. Ueber diese Lieder lacht der Burger beleidigt, der Heilige und Seher hört sie mit Tränen.”     402. “Datta, dayadhvam, damyata” (Give, sympathise, 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.     408. 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.”     412. 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 experiences falls within my alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it. . . . In for each is peculiar and private to that soul.”     425. V. Weston: From Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King.     428. V. Purgatorio, XXXVI, 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.”     429. V. Pervigilium Veneris. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III.     430. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado.     432. V. Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.     434. 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.

#t. s. eliot #the waste land #notes #poetry #collage #materials

[theexpectedguest]

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 Atthis Adonis 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 II, i.

23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, 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 rèves,

"Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant."

63. Cf. Inferno III, 55–57:

"si lunga tratta di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta."

64. Cf. Inferno IV, 25–27:

"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. 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 . . ."

197. Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress.

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.

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 Rhinedaughters.

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.

312. 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 sottoall'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.

434. 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.

[theexpectedguest]

III. THE FIRE SERMON

176. V. Spenser, Prothalamion.

192. Cf. The Tempest, I. ii.

196. 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 . . ."

197. Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress.

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.

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 Rhinedaughters.

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.

312. 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.